by Mari Carr
Mad About Meg:
Mari Carr
Chapter One
“What do you mean you don’t have my rental car anymore? I called weeks ago to reserve it,” Meg asked exasperatedly. Her flight to Eros Isle had taken three times longer than it was supposed to due to an oncoming storm and an unexpected layover in Houston because of some faulty gauge on her first connecting flight.
“Yes ma’am, I’m sure you did, but as I said before, when you didn’t arrive by five o’clock we rented it to someone else. This policy was stated in the rental agreement you signed,” the harried clerk answered.
The airport was packed even though it was midnight on Thursday. Every Valentine’s Day weekend, the small tropical island hosted its own romance fest called Cupid’s Carnival. Meg watched a program about it on the Travel Channel over Thanksgiving break. At the time, she thought the romantic escape was just the salve she and her fiancé needed to spice up their waning relationship. She immediately began saving her money and booked their nonrefundable escape to Eros Isle the second weekend in February as a surprise. The nonrefundable part didn’t bother her until she caught her two-timing boyfriend unwrapping another woman under the tree on Christmas Eve. Unwilling to justify losing such a tremendous amount of money, she decided to forge ahead with her long, romantic weekend, sans the romantic part. If nothing else, the trip to the island was a welcome break from work and winter weather and she could use the long weekend to figure out where in the hell she had gone so wrong with her life.
Unfortunately, her real-life experience wasn’t turning out to be the sun, fun and fiesta the program promised. She’d already missed her first whole day of vacation, spending it on overcrowded planes and waiting in interminable airport lines rather than lounging by the pool at her resort hotel drinking fruity drinks with umbrellas in them. Then to add insult to injury, she’d spent the last two hours waiting for her luggage which apparently was—at this very moment—on a slow boat to China. An extremely annoying airline agent was now in possession of her name and hotel information with plans to send her luggage on “just as soon as we find it.” Yeah right. Chances were good she would be back in Virginia before it ever made an appearance.
“Do you have any cars left?” Meg asked disappointedly. She specifically rented a convertible sports car, looking forward to four days of cruising around the island with the top down.
“I have one vehicle left.” The clerk was clearly relieved she wasn’t going to kick up more of a fuss. Quite frankly, she was too tired to complain. “It’s a very roomy mini-van.”
“Terrific,” Meg answered with a sarcastic smile. “Plenty of leg room for little old me and no luggage.”
Signing all the appropriate forms, Meg waited inside the door of the airport while an employee of the rental agency fetched her mini-van. She killed the time trying to recall exactly what she’d put in her carry-on bag as she waited. No more clothes, she thought, glancing down at the comfortable travel outfit she’d worn. Having spent the last twenty-two hours in it, she would have preferred to burn it rather than have to wear it again tomorrow. She had all her money—thank goodness, her camera, her passport and hotel information, aspirin—hallelujah and her now useless cell phone. She’d dropped and broken it while waiting for her connecting flight in Florida.
Yep, I’m now officially in Hell.
Finally, the employee pulled up with what the rental agent had referred to as ‘a fine car.’ Clearly, her definition of ‘fine’ varied somewhat from the agent’s. If she had any strength left in her body, she would go back and beat the guy over the head with her busted cell phone. Looking down at the directions to her hotel, she silently said a prayer that the heap of junk in front of her would make it the ten miles she needed to drive.
“Here you go, miss.” The young valet offered her a smile she felt the incredible urge to run her fist through. “Welcome to Eros Isle.”
As if on cue, the sky opened up and rain began to come down in a deluge. Dripping wet and cold, she climbed into the monstrous van, prayed the windshield wipers worked and made her way out of the airport parking lot with her head pounding and her teeth chattering.
After thirty minutes of poor visibility and two missed turns, she finally found the right road. According to her directions, she was only a mile from her destination and a quick glance at the clock told her it was nearly 1 a.m. Thunder and lightning was now accompanying the pounding rain and the deafening sound of it was only adding to the pressure building behind her eyes. She should have taken a couple of those aspirin back at the airport.
Bright lights in her rear view mirror blinded her for a moment as a car came up behind her too quickly for her comfort. “You’ll just have to hold your horses, hot shot,” she murmured to the car now riding her rear bumper.
“Back off, asshole.” The car continued to drive too close. She tapped on her brake lights twice hoping the driver would get the message, but the car continued to crowd her.
Apparently tired of tailgating, the car crossed the double yellow line and began to pass her. She was even more annoyed when she realized it was an enormous limousine.
“Oh perfect,” she mumbled. “Rich boy too important to wait.”
Suddenly a pair of headlights approached from the opposite lane and Meg’s heart stopped in her chest as she watched the limo speed up to pass her before careening head-on with the other car. All she could see before slamming on the brakes was the limo’s license plate—MAD 1—taunting her. Meg swerved off the road and into a ditch as the limo began coming back into her lane before fully completing his pass. Her mini-van came to a relatively easy stop despite the fact Meg was screaming her head off and not really focusing on her driving. Looking up, she saw the limo continue down the road and the taillights of the other vehicle disappearing behind her.
“What kind of place is this?” If she ever got her hands on that limo driver, she’d kill him.
Taking a deep breath and trying to still her shaking hands, she hit the gas in an attempt to pull back out onto the road. Spinning tires greeted her and no amount of gear-switching would budge the car.
“Shit!” she screamed to the cavernous car. Grabbing her carry-on bag and throwing it over her shoulder, she climbed out of the car, kicking the tire as she passed to stalk down the road toward her hotel.
After ten minutes of trudging through the mud and the rain, the gods smiled on her as she saw the sign for her hotel. Picking up the pace, she sprinted across the dark parking lot. As she approached the front door of the hotel, she spotted MAD-1 sitting under the covered entry way. The stress of the day broke free as she watched the young chauffeur get out of the driver’s seat to open the back door. Meg saw red as she headed for the man who made her wreck her lousy rental car. Out of the corner of her eye she watched a man and woman emerge from the car, but her entire focus concentrated on the cocky blond driver. Walking up to him, she put a finger in his chest and let loose.
“You stupid, ignorant, son of a bitch,” she screamed at the startled man. “You could have killed me. You aren’t fit to drive a bicycle, let alone a limo. And as if that’s not bad enough, you leave me stuck in a damn ditch by the side of the road in a storm in the middle of the night. I should call the police and have you arrested for reckless driving. I should—”
“Excuse me, miss,” a calm voice said behind her. Turning, Meg looked up into the face of one of the most handsome men she’d ever seen in her life. Standing behind him with her mouth agape was his perfect female counterpart—an equally beautiful, actually stunning—brunette. Unfortunately, the man’s extraordinary good looks only deepened her fury as she took in his dry, immaculate, not-a-hair-out-of-place appearance.
“And you!” Meg could hear the hateful words spew from her mo
uth, yet she was unable to stop them. “You sit in that goddamned car like some kind of king and don’t even tell him to stop. Clearly you must have more money than brains considering you would hire him to drive your fancy car.”
“I’m afraid I’m not sure what you are talking about,” the man answered smoothly despite her insults.
Further angered by his calm demeanor, she continued berating him. “Sure you don’t. That man runs me off the road not ten minutes ago and you don’t have a clue what I’m talking about.”
The man glanced sharply at his driver. “George, is this true?”
Looking at his feet, the young chauffer appeared chagrined by his actions. “I didn’t know she ran off the road.”
“You didn’t know? Did you pull over to check?”
“We were on a tight schedule,” George mumbled. “Already late.”
“Rob.” The attractive woman from the limousine was clearly uncomfortable with the coming confrontation. “I’m going to go in if you don’t need me anymore tonight.”
“Of course, Lana,” Rob replied, “it’s late. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Good night,” Lana purred softly before making her elegant departure. Meg had to restrain herself from rolling her eyes at the woman’s red carpet worthy performance and the two men gawking at her pert little behind as she strolled away.
“And the Oscar goes to…” she mumbled.
“I beg your pardon?” Mr. Gorgeous asked.
“Christ,” she muttered as all the fight left her. “Forget it. I’m wet, cold, hungry, tired and quite frankly, I don’t give a shit about any of this anymore. Bye.” Meg was well aware that her departure—unlike Lana’s—was less than stellar with water streaming off her now see-through pink blouse, mud squishing between the toes of her sandals and her mass of curly blond hair hanging in her face.
“Miss,” the elegant man named Rob called out to her, but Meg kept walking. The end of her hellish day was in sight and nothing was going to stop her from soaking in a nice hot bath, crawling between the soft cotton sheets of her king-sized bed and sleeping until noon.
The night clerk at the front desk seemed to take in her dirty, wet appearance with disdain. “May I help you, ma’am?”
“Yes.” Meg rummaged through her damp bag for her hotel confirmation number. “I have a reservation. My name is Meg Williams. I have the confirmation number here somewhere. Oh yes, here it is.” She pulled out the crumpled computer printout page with her reservation information.
Glancing at his computer, then at her paper and then back at the computer, the man’s earlier haughtiness disappeared before he tugged at his collar and sighed heavily. Meg closed her eyes and waited for the words she’d heard so many times today.
“I’m very sorry, Ms. Williams. There seems to be a problem with your reservation.”
“Of course there is,” she answered woodenly. “Let me guess, my name isn’t in your computer and you don’t have any more rooms.”
The man actually flushed. “Well, actually, yes, that’s true. You have to understand Cupid’s Carnival is our busiest weekend.”
“Save it.” Meg cut him off with her hand. “Are there any other hotels nearby?”
“There are,” the man began, stumbling before adding, “however—”
“They’re all booked too.”
“There isn’t a single vacancy on the island.”
Looking around, Meg spotted the hotel bar.
“How late is the bar open?”
“Until three a.m.” The clerk was clearly surprised by the fact she wasn’t arguing more.
Numb and exhausted beyond belief, Meg merely nodded before walking away. All the fight had been beaten out of her. Eros Isle had officially kicked her ass. Dragging her shoulder bag on the ground behind her, she trudged toward the bar, unable to think beyond what drink she was going to order.
Chapter Two
Rob watched the petite blonde who had attacked his driver so fiercely limp toward the hotel bar. After she’d left him in the parking lot, Rob questioned George about the incident, only to discover that his foolish chauffer had indeed run the poor woman off the road. George—a last minute replacement for his regular chauffer—had apparently thought to impress Rob by getting him to the hotel from the airport in record time. The only problem was Rob had been too tired to notice the man’s reckless attempt. He hadn’t wanted to confess to the angry woman he had actually been asleep during her terrible ordeal.
“Ah, Mr. Madison,” Pierre greeted him from behind the desk with a genuine smile. “Welcome back.”
“Thank you Pierre. It was quite a trip, I’m afraid. Everything okay here?” Rob couldn’t help but look back toward the bar. The blonde had disappeared inside.
Noticing his glance, Pierre looked uneasy. “I’m afraid the infamous Timothy has struck again.”
Rob had to fight to restrain a growl from emerging. Timothy had served as the reservation clerk for one month until it came to the attention of Pierre, the hotel manager that he was imputing all the information into the computer wrong. As a result, none of the reservations taken during the idiotic man’s four weeks of employment were recorded.
“I thought we’d taken precautions against this?” Rob glanced back toward the bar where his hapless blonde had disappeared.
“Yes, sir. We hold back four rooms every night just in case. This weekend I kept eight rooms open, however with it being so busy—”
“You’ve already given away all of those rooms.”
“And then some,” Pierre confessed. “I just sent a couple to the Wakefield Resort. I’ve called all over the island and there truly isn’t another room to be had. I was just thinking to myself that perhaps we were safe when she walked in.”
“Terrific.” Rob rubbed his hands over his travel weary face. He’d been in negotiations to purchase property in New York all week. Delay after delay had prevented him from leaving until finally this afternoon—with the ink still drying on the contract—he headed for his private jet, ready for some serious rest and relaxation. The last thirty-six months had been nonstop business meetings, conferences and charity events and he was taking some well-earned vacation time. Glancing at his watch he considered leaving the woman to her own devices for a split second before turning and making his way toward the hotel bar.
The bar was fairly quiet and Rob could only assume most folks were resting up for the festivities set to begin tomorrow. He found her in a quiet corner nursing a drink and shivering. Stopping by the bar, he asked Todd, the bartender for his usual.
“And another one of whatever that young lady is having.”
Todd smiled at his request. “Yes sir. A martini and a Scarlett O’Hara.”
Picking up the drinks, Rob studied her as he approached the table. Her face was truly lovely. She had a wholesome, girl-next-door look he found surprisingly appealing. Spending so much of his time with women who spent a small fortune on cosmetic surgery, personal trainers and makeup, he found her natural appearance refreshing. Her long blonde hair was still damp from her run in the rain, but as it dried, natural ringlets appeared and he imagined it was quite thick and soft. She had a healthy red glow on her cheeks, no doubt from the running or perhaps the cold. Rob felt an instant attraction to her, something he couldn’t recall ever feeling before. She shivered again and Rob shook himself out of his reverie.
“Excuse me.” He graced her with the most charming, least threatening smile he could muster. No doubt, he had some making up to do.
“Hello again.” Her voice was soft, her tone distinctly friendlier than he expected.
“I was hoping I could join you for a few minutes.” He gestured to the two drinks in his hands.
Nodding, she pointed to the seat across from her. “Sure.”
“Peace offering.” He placed the red drink he’d bought in front of hers, hoping his joke might work.
Moving her empty glass out of the way, she smiled. “That wasn’t necessary.”
&nbs
p; “I’m afraid it was,” Rob answered. “My driver’s actions were reprehensible.”
She interrupted him. “No, please, you don’t have to apologize. I’m terribly embarrassed by my behavior. I’m sure you won’t believe this, but I’m typically not such a hateful bitch.”
“I didn’t think you were anything of the sort.” Rob was surprised by her apology. If anyone was in the wrong, it was clearly him or at least George.
“Thank you for the drink.” She grinned before picking it up, silently toasting him and sipping it.
“A Scarlett O’Hara?”
“It’s my favorite, cranberry juice and Southern Comfort. I was planning on drinking only fruity island concoctions, but after the day I’ve had, I needed a stiff drink.”
“Ah, I see,” Rob said. “If I’m not mistaken, I detect a bit of a southern accent?”
“Just a bit. I’m from Northern Virginia. Most folks there can’t decide if they’re northerners or southerners. I like to refer to myself as a middler. How about you? Where do you hang up your hat?”
“Everywhere,” Rob answered honestly. “My work keeps me traveling pretty much nonstop.”
“And during your childhood?”
“Army brat.” He truly didn’t have roots anywhere in the world. He owned homes on both coasts as well as in three different countries, but he never spent more than a month at a time in any of them. Watching her try to hide her shivering, he stood and took off his suit jacket.
“Here.” He draped it around her shoulders. “You’re about to shake yourself off that chair.”
She started to protest, but he cut her off. “I insist.”
“Thank you. So what’s this business of yours that doesn’t allow you to settle down?”
Rob was taken aback by the question. Surely she knew who he was. Looking closely at her, he determined she truly didn’t know him. Used to being recognized instantly, Rob silently savored this anonymity.
“Uh,” he stumbled, unwilling to give up this unique experience. “Just a businessman. Real estate and that kind of thing.” He realized his answer was vague at best.