Mila skidded to a halt before she collided into them. “Welcome to your first clambake.” Gemma couldn’t help but smile when Mila held the corners of her dress between her thumbs and pointer fingers and curtsied. “Red is your color,” she added matter-of-factly before acknowledging her father.
“Did you invite Ms. Dalton to join us for dinner?” When Zale didn’t immediately respond, Mila’s lips pursed, and she turned back to Gemma. “We have a blanket set up on the other side of the buffet. Will you join us?” Two matching pairs of turquoise eyes waited for a response—one eager, and the other hesitant.
“That would be lovely, thank you.” Gemma returned Mila’s currently triumphant smile.
“Great. Let’s get to the buffet before the strawberry shortcake shooters are gone.” Mila skipped ahead of them, waving to everyone she passed.
“I hope we’re not hampering your plans for this evening.” Zale took the first step, and they began walking to the elaborate dinner setup. A breeze rushed off the harbor and her dress fluttered up around her ankles.
“Not at all.” Her voice was little more than a whisper—his mere presence made her pulse race—the fewer words she used the better. Her grandfather had taught her long ago that the best facial expression was one that revealed nothing at all. Between her constant blushing and the way her voice involuntarily dropped to a husky purr when Zale was near, she was afraid he’d see right through her cool exterior to the attraction beneath. If Zale knew the impact he had on her, he would have the upper hand. No, she needed to remain in control and professional.
In the delicate balance of the proposed sale laid all of her hopes and dreams, some conceived in childhood, and she was afraid they were going to slip through her fingers. The brand would do better, be better, with her as COO. The position was an aspiration she had to fulfill, because without her high-ranking status at Dalton, who was she? Gemma was afraid to look in the mirror and learn the answer. She was nearly thirty with no close friends or meaningful relationships. Work was her life.
Gemma took a cleansing breath and shook off the somber mood. The scents of buttery cornbread mingled with smoky spices and her mouth watered.
Men in linen shirts and boat shoes grinned at Zale like an old college friend, and the ladies, well, who could blame them for taking a second glance at him? The buffet was attended by several chefs and servers who greeted guests and kept everything tidy. Gemma bypassed the large raw bar on ice, and was handed a woven basket lined with a checkered linen napkin by a white-gloved attendant with a bright smile.
She glanced over her shoulder at Zale. “Nice touches.” Gemma’s stomach growled softly at the selections. She walked past the lobster and steamers to the fried clam strips, added some new potatoes, and roasted vegetables.
“Mila’s already at the blanket.” Zale put his basket on a tray, added three glasses of cucumber infused water, and rollups of silverware.
“Lead the way.” They walked over the lush green lawn to a blanket spread over the powdery sand. Mila regarded her with the largest smile she could manage with peanut butter-and-jelly stuffed cheeks. Despite her sophistication, she was still a kid with a hodgepodge of mac and cheese, PB&J, a mini cupcake, and one of the strawberry desserts she mentioned on her plate. Gemma sank down and tucked her legs to her left side, thankful for the long dress with a bit of stretch. Zale placed the tray between them and joined her on the blanket.
“You promised you’d try a few vegetables.” Zale passed a glass of water to Mila and a napkin for the grape jelly oozing over her chin. She quickly dabbed it away.
Mila wrinkled her petite nose at Zale. “And you promised they’d hold the you-know-what.”
“Spinach is public enemy number one in Mila’s world.” His tone was disapproving but his eyes twinkled all the same.
“I tend to agree. It’s the smooshy, kind of slimy texture that gets me.” Gemma scrunched her nose back at Mila, who giggled. She stretched out her legs and sat up a bit straighter.
Mila looked up from her food like Gemma had just made a moving speech. “Maybe we have more in common than I thought.” Warmth slowly spread through Gemma’s chest, similar to the sensation she got when she made a million-dollar sale for Dalton.
The two girls Mila was with earlier raced by, sand kicking up behind the heels of their sneakers. “Daddy, please can I go play?”
Zale glanced down at his watch. “Okay, but half hour tops. It’s a school night.”
Mila rushed off to join the excitement, and a hush fell over the blanket. Only the whistle of the wind and lapping waves filled the space between them. Zale was staring at her, into her, and her heart galloped accordingly inside her chest. What was a man like Zale thinking when he looked at her that way?
The setting was too intimate to talk business—and she had no overwhelming urge to discuss his thoughts on the carefully typed document she’d agonized over. She should be jumping out of her seat to get an answer before he left for his speaking engagement, for Pete’s sake. Still, she wanted to know about the man in front of her, spellbinding with the evening glow at his back. Pull it together. Maybe it was best if they dealt with business head on tonight, so she could cut her stay short and board a flight in the morning. There was so much more than her own desires at stake—there were team members who had families to support, medical bills to pay, and vacations to plan. They were doing it all on a bare-bones benefit package, and she’d already drafted a new one to enact on her first day as COO.
“Is something wrong?” Zale’s brows knit together as he looked at her thoughtfully over his water.
Heat raced to her cheeks. “The view is so lovely, it makes me daydream a bit.”
Zale nodded. “Yes, that’s what drew me to the place. I was fourteen—my mother and I had immigrated from Greece—when I started washing dishes at The Slipper Shell. I never imagined I would have it as my own.”
Gemma looked down at her plate to hide her expression of surprise. She’d just assumed he’d come from a privileged upbringing. What grit and determination the young boy must have had. How had he come to own the property? They both picked at their dinner for a moment, as the sun dipped behind the horizon. Her meal would’ve been fantastic if she could taste it, but currently all of her senses were engrossed in Zale.
“How did you come to buy it?” She watched him over her glass and her throat constricted a bit when he met her eyes.
“I didn’t. Mr. Howe, the former owner, was a mentor to me. He had no children of his own. No close relatives. When he passed, the hotel was left to me in his will. Over the years, I had listened. Watched. I absorbed everything I could from employees and guests. I had made investments in stock trade with the tips I picked up from Wall Street bankers who talked shop on their vacations.” Zale picked up his empty plate and glass, and placed both back on the tray. “I was the hotel’s sales manager when the property was left to me.”
“And your other resorts?” She asked and stacked her nearly cleared plate onto of his. Zale moved the tray onto the sand, and even though they had more space without it, the blanket seemed to shrink.
“Two years later I opened the second property on Nantucket, followed by the third in Kennebunkport, Maine. Each one gave me the same feeling as this one. Awe maybe, but mostly a sense of home.”
Gemma’s insides flip-flopped. It was as if he was describing her exact emotions when she stepped off the ferry onto Martha’s Vineyard, and then shook his hand under the portico.
“And what of your story? Why did you choose to work for your grandfather?” The color of his eyes spoke to clear skies and swaying palms, but there was a shrewdness behind them, always assessing and retaining.
“It’s not nearly as exciting as yours,” A gust of wind freed a piece of her hair from its clip, and Zale reached forward and tucked it behind her ear. Heat erupted over her cheekbones, where his fingers had touched. He drew back quickly, as if he’d been burned, and cleared his throat. His gesture hadn’t been profess
ional, and it seemed to catch them both off guard.
She wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of such sweet gestures, and while the contact had felt nice, it could not become a habit. There was too much at stake—her career and this promotion. She’d gone too long without recognition for her talents. This could be her only chance to prove her worth to the board, and her family.
Her voice was slightly strained as she continued, “I traveled all over the world with my grandparents at a young age when they visited their hotels. I loved the places, but more, I loved to learn about the people who worked there and the guests. I got my Bachelor’s in Hotel Management and then a Master’s in Hospitality Management. My family thought I was foolish to go to school when the brand was ours and I could have a position regardless.”
“You didn’t want to settle for an average managerial position though,” Zale said, understanding her undertone completely.
“No, I didn’t. And early on I realized while the brand ranked at the top on paper, it was far from being the best.” Part of her recognized that she shouldn’t be telling him this, that she was compromising the contract. The other part was desperate to confide in him.
“In what way?” He raised a dark slash of brow.
“We should be providing cutting-edge training to our employees, and more competitive reasons to grow with the hotel. I want to change all that so we can be the best on the inside and out. I can’t do that until I’m appointed COO.”
“Why haven’t you been given the position yet? You’re qualified and have a vision for the brand.” Again, his brows drew together. “And your grandfather is CEO. That should hold some weight.”
“Actually, it doesn’t. I’m the last person he wants to see in the role, because it will mean changes and…” Gemma let her words disappear into the building wind that tugged at her hair and dress. Why had she offered up some of the company’s weaknesses and her own? She was overwhelmed with the ominous task of gaining the board’s trust, of the intense attraction bubbling to the surface for Zale. If she didn’t get out of here, she was going to do something she’d later regret.
“I’ve got to get going.I It’s getting late, and I still have emails to answer.” There was an odd tightness in her chest. She didn’t want the night to be over, because she wanted to be tangled up with Zale in the worst way. And that was ridiculous and silly. Zale wasn’t a friend or a romantic prospect; he was a business opponent—one who was winning the joust.
“Don’t work too hard.” He stood up and offered his hand to her.
She hesitated for one breath, then two before placing her palm against his. A sense of warmth and welcome coursed through her when he grasped on to help her to her stand. They both paused, eyes locked. Zale let his hand drop and he took a step back, putting space between them. The sound of breathless giggles swirled in the air, and the trio of girls walked down the great lawn toward them, shoulders bumping and whispering. Oh, to be young again. She brushed the sand off her dress and bent down to retrieve her wristlet.
“Hello, Avery. Hello, Ally.” Zale offered the children a bright smile and automatically handed Mila her water from the blanket. She was breathless from all the running and jumping.
“Hi, Zale,” they answered in unison, trying but failing to hold back giggles. The combination of Zale’s bronze skin, blinding white teeth, and turquoise eyes were apparently a deadly combination for females of all ages.
“This is Ms. Dalton. It’s her first stay at the Stargrass.” Zale moved to pick up their dinner tray.
“Oh, we’ve been here hundreds of times,” Avery said haughtily. The girl gave her a once-over and turned back to Zale. A smile quirked at the corner of Gemma’s lips—she’d been dismissed quickly and efficiently. Their poor parents must have their work cut out.
“Nice to meet you, Ms. Dalton.” Ally said in a tone fit for a presidential candidate. “Avery wants to know if she’s your girlfriend.” Ally smirked at Zale and then shared a chuckle with Mila.
“Ally!” Avery gasped and turned redder than the lobsters displayed on the buffet. “Did not.”
“Ms. Dalton is a corporate visitor, here on some business.” Zale bundled the picnic blanket under their tray and sent the girls a smile.
“It was lovely meeting you both, and wonderful to see you again, Mila, but I must get going.” Gemma took a quick escape and started up the lawn.
“Ms. Dalton,” Zale called behind her. “The best way to see the Vineyard is by bicycle.”
“Thank you for the tip, perhaps I will.” She gave him a curt nod and found her way back to her room.
There was a missed call from her grandfather—one she didn’t feel like returning, because for the first time she’d forgotten all about the proposal. They hadn’t even discussed it over dinner, and it was unsettling that she hadn’t minded. She listened to the message to ensure there wasn’t an emergency at home, but he only had questions about the sale. He hadn’t even bothered to ask how she was doing. The lack of a close familial bond was more apparent now than ever—and most days the absence was glaring. She hated to admit something so sad about her family ties, even to herself, but it was true.
Her jaw clenched as she tossed the phone onto the plush mattress and put a hand to her forehead. Gemma wouldn’t be rushed—she needed a few more days before she started to give Zale a nudge about a final decision. He had mentioned he was leaving Friday for a previous commitment, so she’d need to push him for an answer tomorrow unless she wanted to extend her stay at the hotel.
It was disheartening that her grandfather seemed to care more about acquiring Zale’s hotels than anything that had to do with her life. She learned early on that the quickest path to his heart was through achievement. She’d bypassed developing meaningful friendships, relationships, an actual social life in exchange for success—and a bit of her grandfather’s love.
She’d just opened the sliding glass when there was a knock on the door. Gemma sighed and crossed the room. She opened the door to find a room service waiter standing there.
“My apologies for the interruption, but I was instructed to deliver this.” Gemma took the outstretched tray and thanked the lady who offered it. A violet iris stretched out of a single stem vase. They grew abundantly around the resort, and this one looked hand-picked. She unfolded the note, and her heart rate kicked up a notch, as she read the scrolled words.
You missed dessert.
As I mentioned, the island is best seen by bicycle. If you’d care for a tour, arrive at nine under the portico. Sleep well.
Gemma lifted the silver cover to find a fruit tart that looked too pretty to eat—almost. Her mind swirled with Zale’s words. Did he intend to meet her for a bike ride, or was he telling her of some group tour run by the hotel? She’d sleep on it and make her decision in the morning. In the back of her mind, she already knew the answer. It was foolish, dangerous even, but when she was with Zale, something lit inside her and she became more vibrant, more alive. Besides, they could discuss his decision to sell. Her grandfather’s missed call was the perfect catalyst to get her back to business. It was beyond time for her to prove to the board she was worthy enough to lead the company, finally have her family acknowledge her place within the business, and most importantly, make the Dalton name mean more than dollar signs. The brand could stand for something good for all of the people it touched daily. To do that though, she had to get her head back in the game.
Chapter 6
A cool breeze blew off the harbor, and Zale glanced up from his watch as Gemma walked onto the portico. Her lustrous hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she’d dressed for the ride in olive-colored capri pants and a white cotton t-shirt.
“I was afraid I missed you.” She sent him a smile that sweetened her lovely features, and his pulse bobbed in his throat.
“I nearly put the bikes away, but I’m pleased you decided to join me. Did you sleep well?” He instantly regretted asking, as the thought of what she might wear, or n
ot wear, to bed stirred his nerve endings.
“So well I wondered what your chef mixed in the fruit tart.” Her eyes sparkled—everything about her just shined, much like the morning sun reflecting off the harbor. Zale fought the urge to clear his tight throat and instead held one of the helmets out to her. She secured the straps under her chin and mounted the bicycle. “It’s been years since I rode a bike,” she said, and pushed off the ground for momentum. Zale’s shoulders stiffened when the bicycle wobbled beneath her, then relaxed as she regained her balance.
He swung one leg over the side of his bike and rode up next to her. “It looks like it came back easy enough.”
“For now. Let’s see what happens when we get on a trail.” She laughed, and the sound filled the open air. It was a good thing, a humble thing, to be able to laugh at oneself. Another checkmark on Gemma Dalton’s list of admirable qualities. How quickly he was forgetting why she was here in the first place, and his own agenda where she was concerned.
He planned to satisfy the part of him that wanted to know exactly who Gemma was and pacify the other part that was cynical of the opposite sex by proceeding with caution. With Mila involved, he couldn’t take any chances. It had been a long time since he’d been with a woman, and typically the absence of a love life didn’t bother him, but Gemma stirred something locked away. He seen the way she’d blushed, how her pupils dilated when she looked into his eyes. If she were willing, would he entertain the idea of a no-strings-attached-fling?
Since Margaret left, he’d buried himself in work and fatherhood. It was his responsibility to ensure Mila’s feelings were protected, and that meant being very cautious about who he let into their lives, but with Gemma leaving in a few days he wouldn’t have to worry about his daughter growing attached. The other question was how a fling might jeopardize his original agenda of becoming an affiliate. This was his family’s future he was thinking of. He couldn’t afford to let his desires come first. Unless there was some guarantee that their personal affairs could be kept separate from business, he really should push the whole thought from his mind. That was exactly what he was going to do. Gemma was off-limits.
SEDUCTION AT THE STARGRASS Page 5