Beach Reads Box Set

by Madden-Mills, Ilsa

  “Hey, Mami. What can ol’ Papi do for you. Bradley, a drink for my lady friend.”

  Frankie took the vacated bar stool next to him and picked up the rum the bartender poured for her.

  “Papi, you took my friend. You can tell me where he is.”

  Papi laughed, and after a second, the rest of his friends joined in. “I already tol’ your friend. I don’ want his money. I don’ need his money. You get me?”

  “If you don’t want money, what do you want?” Frankie said, lowering her voice to a flirtatious purr.

  “I’ve got me mates, me rum, and a good story for the day. What more do a man want?” Papi asked.

  “How about another story?” Frankie offered.

  “I’m listenin’.”

  Frankie was desperate. The man had information she needed, and if she didn’t get it out of him the nice way, Aiden was going to throw tens of thousands at some mercenaries to drag the truth out of him.

  She leaned in and whispered her offer to him. Papi’s eyes widened to the size of the soggy coasters on the bar.

  “You tell me everything you know in return?” Frankie asked, clarifying.

  He nodded as if in a trance. “Oh yeah. You got a deal. But you first.”

  Frankie shot a glance at the door to the grocery and made sure Aiden and Antonio were nowhere to be seen.

  “A deal’s a deal,” she said, untying the halter top to her dress.

  Her unbound breasts enjoyed the temporary freedom and the weak breeze pushed down from the drooping ceiling fan above. Papi’s jaw dropped, hypnotized. The rest of his cronies followed suit.

  She counted to five, making sure everyone had seen what needed to be seen and then tied her dress neatly back in place. She downed the shot of rum in one swallow and slapped the glass back on the bar.

  “Drinks for everyone,” Papi announced coming out of his breast trance and tossing his arms in the air. The crowd cheered.

  “Talk, Papi,” Frankie insisted.

  “Okay. Alls I know is dis guy calls me up and says he got a driving job for me. He needs me to pick up his frien’ at Oistins. Oh, and his frien’ might not want to get in the car so I should bring some help.”

  “He asked you to kidnap someone.”

  “No, no, no! Dis man, he gives me your friend’s number. I call him and tell him I have a surprise for him. Drunk Americans are not bright, not bright!” Papi pointed a gnarled finger at Frankie.

  “Preaching to the choir, Papi. Keep talking.”

  “So, he’s like ‘Cool, man. A surprise.’ An I’m like, I’ll see you on the sidewalk. I’m in a white van. And he went there willingly, and my frien’ helped your frien’ into the van, and that’s that.”

  Poor, stupid, drunk Chip.

  “Where’d you take him?”

  “Rockley Ridge Resort by Sandy Lane. But good luck getting’ in dere. Some big to-do tonight. All Hollywood an’ stuff. Lotsa security.”

  “Who took Chip off your hands when you got to the resort?”

  Papi shrugged and pushed another glass of rum at her. “Don’ know. He did not feel the need to introduce himself. He pay me. I leave.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “Big burly like guy. Like a bear. I dunno. But he was just hired muscle, I think. He said his boss would be happy.”

  “What did they do with Chip?” Frankie asked.

  Papi tapped her glass with his and they drank.

  “Ahhh, that’s the good stuff,” Papi hissed out. “Anyway, your friend was sleepin’. He passed out drunk on the ride. So, the big guy carried him toward the elevators like a bride.”

  “And you left and came here.”

  “To celebrate an easy night’s work.”

  “Thanks for your time, Papi,” Frankie said, sliding off the stool.

  “Thanks for your boobs,” he said enthusiastically.

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  She found Aiden and the kid pacing the sliver of front porch of the shop. Aiden was dialing. Antonio was munching on a fish sandwich.

  She plucked her own sandwich out of the bag and grabbed one of the Cokes she’d stashed in there. “Call off the cavalry, Aide. We got a location.”

  Aiden hung up the phone. “Where?”

  “Rockley Ridge Resort,” Frankie announced, pleased with her investigative abilities.

  “Let’s go!” Antonio said, waving them toward the van. “My uncle will wake up soon and want to go home.”

  “The fourth sandwich is his,” Frankie told him.

  “Thanks, Frankie. You’re a hell of a girl,” Antonio said, wrestling the wheel one-handed while clutching his sandwich in the other.

  “Here. You might as well eat,” Frankie said, handing Aiden another sandwich.

  “How’d you get him to talk?” Aiden asked, peeling back the wrapper and eyeing the fish.

  Frankie looked everywhere else but his face. “I asked, and he told me.”

  “Bullshit,” Aiden said.

  “I told him what information I needed, and he was happy to share,” she lied.

  “So, you’re not going to tell me how you dragged the information out of him when he turned down a thousand bucks just a few minutes earlier?” Aiden pressed.

  “I guess some things are worth more than money,” Frankie said innocently.

  “Kid, you know anything about the Rockley Resort?”

  Antonio whistled. “FAN-cy. Good security, too,” he said cagily.

  Frankie whipped out her phone, praying it still had a charge. It was dead. “Shit. Gimmie your phone, Kilbourn.”

  He handed it over, and Frankie opened the browser. “Why were you googling me? Creeper!” She slapped Aiden’s arm. His last tab was an image search of her.

  “I told you. I’m interested in you, and when I’m interested in something, I do my research.”

  “First of all, I’m a someone, not a something, buddy. Secondly, where do these pictures come from?”

  “Social media mostly,” Aiden said, leaning over her shoulder to look.

  “Excuse me, guys,” Antonio called from the driver seat. “I think you’re getting off track.”

  Uncle gurgled from the backseat and dragged himself into a seated position. He cleared his throat. “Ah ah HEM!”

  Frankie handed him the bag with the last sandwich and Coke.

  Uncle nodded his thanks and dug in.

  “Right. I’ll yell at Aiden later.” Frankie decided. She typed in the resort’s name and hit the news tab.

  “Double shit. This is not good. Little Miss Trellenwy—what the hell kind of name is that? You rich people are the worst at naming kids.”

  “Back to the matter at hand,” Aiden nudged her.

  “Right. Trellenwy Bostick, Hollywood star and heiress to Napa Valley wine fortune got married there today,” she said reading from a gossip site. “So far no pics because the security’s too tight. How are we getting in there?”

  “I can get you over the wall about a half kilometer down. You’ll have to fight your way through some vegetation, but you can come out on the beach,” Antonio put in.

  “Antonio, I hope you only use your powers for good,” Aiden said to the boy.

  “Mostly good,” Antonio promised.

  “We can’t sneak into a wedding like this,” Frankie said looking down at her mini dress.

  “What else do you have with you?” Aiden asked.

  “Nothing good enough to crash high society except for my bridesmaid dress.”

  He stroked a hand over the hair on his chin. “That’ll do.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Frankie didn’t know who Aiden called or how they managed it, but as Antonio buzzed up to the front door of their hotel, the concierge was waiting outside with two garment bags.

  Aiden swung the side door on the minivan open just wide enough to grab the bags and throw cash at the man, and then they were off again.

  Uncle was snoring peacefully in the backseat having washed down his fis
h and Coke with the rest of the rum.

  “If this dress gets wrecked, Pru is going to kill me, and then she’s going to kill you because I’m going to tell her this is all your fault,” Frankie announced. She slid onto the bench seat behind Aiden and unzipped the bag to reveal the reason behind her second part-time job. The two-thousand-dollar bridesmaid dress. The one Pru had offered to buy for her. The one Frankie insisted on buying herself even though her fingers physically cramped while signing the credit card slip. The gold sequined V-neck gown cost more than the entire rest of her wardrobe combined.

  He turned around. “What makes you think this is my fault?” Aiden demanded.

  “Eyes up front, mister. Both of you,” she said, when Antonio adjusted the rearview mirror. “I’m saying it was your idea to use the wedding clothes to sneak into another wedding. I’m sure Pru’s no bruises, no cuts, no hickeys also extends to no destroying your couture.”

  Aiden slid over in his seat to block the kid’s view. Frankie did her best to shimmy into the dress while keeping everything important covered with her mini dress. Finally in the gown, but without the proper undergarments, she twisted in the seat.

  “Zip me, Aide?” she asked, offering her back to him.

  She peered over her shoulder as he abandoned the buttons on his Oxford shirt, leaving it delectably open. Regrettably, she’d missed him getting into his pants.

  She felt his hand at her hip, holding her in place while he guided the zipper up to the middle of her back. Her flesh burned where his hand still lingered, and she scooted away from him.

  She’d already come to her senses once tonight. Once was more than enough where kajillionaire ladies’ man Aiden was concerned. Besides, they had a groom to find.

  “Rockley straight ahead,” Antonio announced, pointing in the direction of the van’s headlights.

  “Drive past it and then turn around,” Aiden ordered peering through the window into the night.

  The resort was walled off quite literally by a tall stucco wall painted a soft, sandy yellow. It seemed to go on for a mile. Not only was the gate closed, but there were half a dozen security people standing at attention in front of it.

  “Who did you say was getting married?” Aiden asked Frankie.

  Frankie consulted his phone. “Trellenwy Bostick. Technically she and her groom got married last weekend in Napa at her family’s vineyard. This is the party. Ultra-exclusive, all the non-wedding guests at the resort had to sign non-disclosure agreements,” she read. “Private security to ensure Trellenwy’s privacy. Blah blah blah. Basically, we’re screwed.”

  Antonio drove past the resort and pulled into a gravel parking lot that flanked the beach. “I can get you in,” he announced confidently.

  “What are you going to do? Forge us an invitation?” Frankie asked.

  “Me and my brother used to walk to the resort on the beach. Sold a few bracelets before security chased us out.”

  “The beach will be crawling with security,” Aiden pointed out.

  “Yeah, but between the road and the beach is like a jungle. Trees, bushes, no lights,” Antonio grinned.

  “And if the gate is guarded and the beach is guarded, no one will be looking in the jungle,” Frankie said triumphantly.

  “Exactly. Hang on, guys.” Antonio floored the old van past the hotel gate as if he were a man on a mission.

  “Slow down, desperado,” Frankie yelled.

  “If we go by all slow and pokey, they’re gonna get suspicious.”

  Aiden laughed softly.

  “I’m going to let you out down here, further away from the hotel in case you make a lot of noise climbing the wall.”

  “Let’s do this.” Frankie wedged her feet into her incredibly impractical wedding heels. She hoped the jungle was more of a neatly trimmed landscape that she wouldn’t break both ankles exploring.

  Aiden eyed her in the dark interior of the van. “Maybe you should stay put. Let me go find Chip.”

  “Please. Like I’m going to let you go in there alone. Besides, a couple dressed for a wedding will be a hell of a lot less suspicious than James Friggin’ Bond wandering up the beach in a tux. You’re not leaving me.”

  He looked like he wanted to argue further but wisely shut his mouth when Antonio swerved across the road and pulled up to the curb. “Good luck, guys.”

  Aiden pulled out another bill from his billfold. “You’ve been immeasurably helpful tonight, Antonio.”

  The kid pocketed the money cheerfully. “If you get caught, don’t mention my name.”

  Frankie threw him a salute as she stepped out the door. “Thanks, kid.”

  “Here’s my card.” Antonio shoved a business card out the window at her. “Call me anytime you need anything.”

  Frankie took it and tucked it into her clutch. “That kid is either going to end up running a drug cartel or a small country someday,” she predicted as she watched the taillights recede in the dark.

  “Uh-huh,” Aiden said, noncommittally. “How good are you at climbing walls?”

  It turned out not very. She ended up needing a boost from Aiden, whose hand lingered a lot longer than necessary on her ass. But in the end, she made it up and over, landing hard enough to knock the wind out of her. The sound of snagging chiffon on the way down made her wince. She was still gasping for breath when Aiden nimbly landed beside her, her shoes in his hand.

  “You okay?” he asked, pulling her to her feet.

  “Fine. Totally fine,” she wheezed. She stepped away from the flowering shrub she’d flattened with her comical landing and brushed the dirt off of the skirt of her dress. She’d felt the fabric tear as she flopped over the wall graceful as a humpback whale and hoped she hadn’t done any real damage. Pru would kill her… if there was a wedding to be killed over. “Crap! I tore the skirt. It’s okay. I can fix it.”

  “Come on,” Aiden whispered. He grabbed her hand and led the way into the dark.

  Frankie couldn’t see shit. But Aiden seemed to have night vision, pulling her through the vegetation and around trees in the scant moonlight. The peepers chirped in a loud, never-ending serenade to the night. The air was thick with exotic fragrances. Aiden’s feet were sure beneath him while she tripped over roots and branches and god knew what that weird squishy thing was. All that she could see was the broad shadow of Aiden’s shoulders in front of her as he towed her through the forest.

  They were getting closer to the ocean. She could hear the waves, taste the tang of salt on the air. Aiden stopped in front of her and she walked into his broad back.

  She heard the far-off beat of club music.

  Up ahead, through leafy palm fronds and a smattering of moonlight, Frankie could see lights. Purple and silver flashes seemed to pulse to the thrumming beat of music. Someone had brought L.A.’s hottest club to paradise or at least a very expensive DJ to an heiress’s second wedding.

  “I think we’ve found the party,” Aiden said quietly.

  “Okay, so what are we supposed to do?” Frankie asked. “Roll up out of the shrubs and order a round of shots?”

  “Tequila or whiskey?” he asked.

  “Tequila is always the answer.”

  “Let’s try to get a little closer,” Aiden said. “Then we’ll discuss our bar order.”

  “Wait, what’s our backstory? Who are you? Who am I? How do we know Trell?”

  “Trell?” Aiden asked, his lips quirking on one side.

  “Obviously if we’re her friends we don’t call her Trellenwy.” Duh.

  “Fine. I’m an old friend of Trellenwy, and you’re my date.”

  “Why aren’t I an old friend of Trellenwy?” Frankie demanded. Her foot caught on a thick root and she went sprawling to the ground. “Oh, man! How am I going to get poison berry juice out of this?” she rubbed at the stain from the plant she’d landed on. It looked like the period fairy had pointed her wand all over Frankie’s hip. “Crap. Okay. I can fix this. I’ll soak it in… something.”

 
; Aiden sighed. “Franchesca, what’s more believable? A socialite has an acquaintance with a wealthy New York business owner with a reputation for dating women just like her or the daughter of Brooklyn deli owners?”

  “Excuse me. Are you saying I can’t pass for upper class?” Frankie challenged.

  “Shut up.”

  He clamped a hand over her wrist and dragged her forward, skirting the lights and music.

  It was nearly one a.m. in paradise, and she had a sexy, crazy rich bachelor who could have made a lucrative career out of being beautiful dragging her around in the dark. Frankie should have been squealing with joy on the inside. Instead? She was pissed. Annoyed at the whole thing. That someone would take Chip. That she couldn’t “pass” for being some dumb socialite with more money than street smarts. That some security guard would potentially believe Aiden would have a better chance of knowing Trellenwy. That they didn’t exist in the same worlds. And she didn’t know why that mattered.

  Sure, she could let Mr. Big Deal Kilbourn put his hands on her. But in the eyes of the entire world, she was the lesser partner here. He had the power, the control. He’d tire of her and move on, as he had with every other woman in his life.

  The sound of the waves was louder now. The lights and thump of the music was behind them. She could see moonlight dancing on the ocean through the trees that separated them from the beach. There was no more talking now. They were just a billionaire and his nameless date out for a late-night stroll.

  A twig snapped under her foot, and Aiden swore quietly. He turned and pulled Frankie against him. She wanted to tell him to get his damn hands off of her. To go to hell.

  He took her down to the sand in a move so smooth she barely felt the shift in her gravity.

  “What are you doing?” she hissed as he covered her body with his. She shoved at his shoulders and froze when she felt his cock twitch against her as it hardened.

  He didn’t bother answering her before his mouth crushed down on hers. She wasn’t prepared. Couldn’t have prepared. Not for the rush of heat that washed through her, the electricity that coursed through her. His lips were strong and firm, demanding. But Frankie wasn’t one to give up the upper hand. She gripped his lapels and fought for control of the kiss. When he opened his mouth, it was her tongue that surged forward. Aiden growled low in his throat and stroked into her mouth, tasting and toying.