“We bring out the best in each other, you know,” Zale said as he kissed each one of her fingertips. “Perhaps, we could see each other again. I could take a flight to Manhattan.”
“Will it be worse in the end if we string things along? We live in completely different places and are tied to so many different things.” She offered him a weak smile, but her throat constricted.
“We still have tonight.” He let go of her hands, pushed his chair back, and she followed suit. Her feet were bare and sank into the cool, powdery sand.
The space around Gemma’s heart expanded, and she threw herself into his arms, holding nothing back.
Chapter 10
Zale took Gemma’s carry-on as they exited the flight and walked into the Martha’s Vineyard Airport. Typically he was eager to get back to the island, especially after such a bumpy flight, but his time spent with the woman beside him had been a sweet reprieve from the real world. It was over in the blink of an eye, and the moments they shared would soon be but a memory. Maybe that was the thought contributing to his melancholy. Once the plane was firmly on the ground it was easy to see why they’d experienced so much turbulence when landing. The winds were brisk, and the sky overrun with billowing clouds.
“I didn’t think we were expecting any kind of storm.” Gemma frowned and scrolled through her phone. “My grandfather called twice, which is rare unless he needs something.”
Gemma rolled her shoulders before lifting the phone to her ear. Her brow furrowed as she listened to the message. The expression shouldn’t look cute, but on her, it did. Throughout the flight an odd tightening took hold of his chest. He memorized the way she curled into him, the sensation of her head resting on his shoulder. As they drew closer to Martha’s Vineyard, he sucked the sweet scent of her shampoo deeper into his lungs. What they had shared was over, and it was a blessing she was taking the ferry to the mainland. It would be far too easy to get wrapped up in a woman like Gemma. He ignored the pang near his heart and continued walking through the airport, weaving around throngs of vacationers in various stages of departures and arrivals.
“Strange,” Gemma said lowering the phone to her side and tucking it into her purse. “My grandfather’s voicemail insisted a tropical storm took a turn and is now coming up the coast.”
“I think we would’ve heard something.” He pulled his cellphone from his pocket, scrolling through recent news.
“We were a bit preoccupied.” Her smug grin was all it took to flare his need for her to life. He was expecting to be sated after a day and night with her, but he only wanted more. He shook off the frustrating thought. If there really was a storm coming, the last thing he needed was a distraction, no matter how amazing.
“Zale, look.” Gemma’s fingers curled around his bicep, stopping him from moving forward. The wall televisions lining the terminal were set to the Weather Channel, and a Breaking News Alert.
A young news anchor with pastel pink lips was delivering the news. “Hurricane Esmerelda has changed tracks, hitting Cape Hatteras, North Carolina. With the storm’s trending pattern, it seems more and more likely that the Cape and the Islands will be hit by some intense weather. Concerned residents are stocking up on water and supplies and doing what they can to minimize property damage. Deborah, to you.”
The screen switched to a seasoned reporter, standing with her back to several expansive homes on the shore of the Cape. “We haven’t seen a storm form this quickly since tropical storm Allison, in 2001, Amy, or with such an unpredictable path. There’s also a lingering pocket of unrelated thunderstorms happening in the area right now. On Tuesday though, winds could potentially reach seventy miles per hour. We’re anticipating this storm to decrease in intensity as it makes its way up the coast, but homeowners like Linda and Frank Mulligan are still bracing themselves for a tropical storm.” The camera focused on a couple who stood beside the reporter, the woman in pearls and an embroidered lobster polo, the man in khaki shorts and boat shoes.
Zale swore under his breath. They had less than forty-eight hours to prepare, and the weather wasn’t exactly pleasant at the current moment, either. Adrenaline coursed through him. Of course something like this happened the moment he took a bit of downtime. There were last minute preparations to keep everyone safe and minimize property damage. Ones he needed to tend to immediately. Gemma’s fingers squeezed his arm. They exchanged a look and began walking with purpose toward the doors that led to the parking lot.
“This is crazy. I had no idea a storm could move that fast.” Gemma shook her head as they exited through sliding glass doors, the strong winds tossing her hair all over. Her gaze went straight to the skies, and she tugged her bottom lip between her teeth. So alluring, and she had not a clue what she did to him. “Oh my gosh.” She stopped again, this time looking down at her phone.
“What is it?”
“The ferry has docked in the mainland. All trips are canceled until further notice.”
This was the worst possible news. Or perhaps the best, depending on which side of his brain he listened too. With the ferries canceled, Gemma would have to stay on Martha’s Vineyard for a few more days.
“You’ll have to ride out the storm here, then.” He wasn’t sure how he felt about having her at the resort longer than expected, but the horror on her face was like sharp steel puncturing his chest. It shouldn’t matter that she wanted to leave. That had been the plan all along. No strings attached. No one gets hurt.
“The harbor is steps from the resort.” His tone was short and cold, but he didn’t care. He needed to focus on the constants in his life. His family and the business. “I need to get barriers up, signs in place.”
Gemma slid inside the passenger seat while he stored the luggage in the trunk. Rain began to fall in thick drops just as he was rounding the car. He jumped behind the wheel, secured his seatbelt, and threw the car in reverse, all too aware that the air around them had changed. Gone was the carefree, sensual lover from the day before. Now she sat with her hands clutched in her lap, jaw set, desperate to get off the island. More than likely she was more concerned with cutting ties with him after their affair than fear of the storm. He didn’t think anything scared Gemma Dalton. Meanwhile, he had nearly asked her to stay in his room. Foolish. He needed to get his head in the game. The chill emanating from Gemma was like a nor'easter.
"Zale, I’m sorry, I—" Her voice was calm, but remote.
“No. Don’t apologize. It’s understandable you want to leave.” He didn’t dare look away from the road. There were a thousand things weighing on his mind—the impending tropical storm, typical end-of-month stress—to concern himself with the tightening in his gut over Gemma’s rejection. When they finally pulled under the portico, one of the housemen was there to greet them. Zale got out of the driver's side, tossed the keys with a nod, and rounded the car. Gemma didn't wait for him to open the door. Instead, she slipped from the passenger side and faced him. "Is there anything I can do to help before the storm?"
“I have a few things to wrap up. Things that I must do on my own.” He gestured toward the sliding doors.
Ouch. Gemma had just been dismissed, but she nodded and held her chin high. He didn’t need to know how much she was impacted by his tone and rejection.
“Good luck, then,” she said curtly and outpaced him, doing her best not to race to the elevators. She passed his office door and heard it open and shut a few moments later. Once she was behind the safety of the silver elevator doors, she released a huge breath and let her shoulders drop. When she reached her floor, she was ready to curl up on the plush bed and cry into her pillow, but instead she needed to fold her clothes and figure out a way to stuff everything into her suitcase.
She'd had such a wonderful trip, but reality was a cold, hard slap. Maybe he thought their time together meant less to her because she was eager to get back to New York. It wasn’t that though. She was just afraid of spending more time with him, of getting too close. And she was only kidd
ing herself. She wasn’t sure how she’d come to care for Zale so quickly, but she had.
Gemma sighed and refused to let her chin wobble. She’d known the emotional risks when she agreed to sleep with Zale, but when her heart faltered, she clammed up and closed herself off. No one in her life had taken half the time that Zale had to make her feel special. Her childhood was lonely and competitive, and her adult life wasn’t much different. And what a depressing thought that was. Now Zale was holed up in his office, where he’d probably remain until the storm, working himself to the bone because he was too stubborn to delegate some of the work—even to her, which was just plain ridiculous. By the time she reached her door, she’d worked herself up into a good frustration. Screw it. She opened the door just enough to toss her weekend tote inside and spun on her heels. Zale was getting her help whether he like it or not.
Her hand glossed over the banister as she skipped quickly down the steps. Once on the main floor, Gemma rounded the corner and came to the office she’d spotted on the first day. She rapped her knuckles against the cold glass as she knocked, but she didn’t bother waiting for Zale to answer before she breezed in.
“Gemma.” Zale glanced up from his computer, lips set in a thin line. “What are you doing here?” Like the man, the space was refined and masculine. It suited him.
“Helping you.” The knotted Persian rug cushioned her feet as she approached his desk. “A storm will be on your doorstep by Tuesday morning. There’s so much to do to prepare. More than even you can do on your own.”
He shook his head and looked back at the screen. “I have it covered.”
“How’s your stock of batteries and bottled water? What about non-perishables?” Her muscles tightened, ready to jump into action and strategize a plan for success.
“We stock up during our pre-season prep. The staff and guests will be comfortable. And members of the community who seek shelter.” Zale sat up straighter in the buttery leather work chair.
“Zale, let me help you. What else needs to be done?” She walked to the desk and pulled out the chair across from him. He looked up, and their eyes met, instantly padding the room with a thick layer of longing from the intimate moments they had shared. She couldn’t deny that she wanted more moments like that again.
“You’re my guest here. I’m not about to saddle you with responsibilities.” Zale scanned his screen and started typing.
“Guest? Don’t lump me into that category. It’s insulting.” Zale’s eyes snapped back to hers, his expression unreadable. “Organizing and strategizing are in my wheelhouse.”
“I don’t need help. What I do need is time to focus.”
She leaned forward and crossed her arms over his desk, invading his space. “What are your managers doing?”
“Taking care of their departments, just like they should be.” He squared his shoulders, stared at her with narrowed eyes. He wasn’t intimidating in the least, not to her.
“You have incredible talent here—some of the best in the industry. It’s times like these you need to draw on their skills. You don’t want to rely on anyone else, because it would mean giving up a bit of control.” She paused, noticed how his jaw ticked. Sometimes it paid off to be at ease in uncomfortable silence. The first one to break usually was on the losing end of the argument. A minute ticked by, neither of them willing to break the silence first. Then she did something she’d never done before. “This is silly. Your mother should be dropping Mila off soon, right? We’re wasting time.”
“No one’s ever pushed my buttons quite like you do,” he ground out, but she detected a hint of pride in his tone too. She like that. A lot.
“Well, it’s about time.” She sat back in her chair, giving him some space. “I’ll take it as a compliment.”
“I imagine you’ll wear it like a badge of honor,” he muttered. Her lips curved up at the sarcastic waves of his voice.
“All right,” he said. Gemma tempered the tentative smile building on her lips, and there was a soft flutter in her belly. Perhaps, he trusted her more than she thought. “I need banquet event orders to help the team prepare the shelter. Meal times, snacks, room set up. I also need someone to make everyone aware of the first responder meals. Plan for fifteen firemen, a dozen or so police officers.”
“Do you have a standard menu you want me to use?” She reached for the sleek laptop Zale had taken from his desk drawer.
“Lady’s choice. We typically set up a few round tables and refresh the linens frequently so they can come in and out as they please.” Zale’s attention reverted back to his own, much larger screen and she logged into the laptop with the password that was scribbled on a sticky note.
Gemma knew the event planning software, and it took her no time at all to draft the necessary orders that would let the staff know how to set up, what to serve, and when to cleanup. “Done.” Six pages fluttered out of the printer and into her waiting hands. She scanned them over, and once she was pleased there were no mistakes, strode across the office. No sooner than her fingertips touched the door handle, Zale cleared his throat.
“You’re leaving?” he asked. “Thank you for drafting the orders.”
“I’m going to route them to the various departments.” She checked her watch. “I’ll stop in before I go up to my room.
“I’d like that.” Zale’s eyes darkened, his pupils dilatating. Was he thinking of earlier when they’d made love before leaving the resort? Because she hadn’t been able to forget the way his lips had so deliciously branded hers, how he’d claimed her body in every way imaginable. It really wasn’t a smart decision to get any closer to Zale than she already was, but never had a man elicited such a physical or emotional response from her.
The lobby was filled with chatter and laughter; men holding frosty glasses of beer or tumblers of scotch, woman herding their children or shuffling around in spa robes and sandals. There was so much life here, even without the noise of the city—in fact, without the blinding lights from high rises and neon signs, she could see much clearer. How long did she want to fight and claw her way to the top in an organization that didn’t appreciate her vision? Focus.
It was her infatuation with Zale that made her second guess everything she was working toward, and the instant connection with the island—the beauty, sense of peace, and the firmly bonded community—that made her dreams and vision wander aimlessly. The corners of her lips dipped. Returning to the grueling pace of the city, and a place where Zale was not, suddenly seemed less appealing, but it wasn’t like she could pick up her life and relocate. And even if she could, Zale had done nothing to indicate he wanted a relationship with her. She filled her lungs with the soothing scent of eucalyptus as she walked past the spa area. This place only seemed so beautiful, so magical because it was different from everything she’d ever known. Zale was making her mind spin because she wasn’t used to men with so much compassion, who were doting fathers and mindful businessmen. She needed to focus on her goals, before she lost sight of everything she’d been working toward.
Chapter 11
Zale balanced a bottle of chilled mineral water and two silver dinner trays and knocked on Gemma’s door for the second time. His mother had called while Gemma had been routing paperwork around the hotel to let him know she was taking Mila out to dinner to allow him more time to prep for the storm. With Mila, a meal out was always a three-course affair so they might be gone for a while. As a single father, time alone was rare, and he’d planned to ask Gemma if she wanted to grab something to eat, but she never returned after routing the event orders.
He tilted his neck from side to side to release some of the tension that had built there. Zale straightened when footsteps padded on the other side of the door, and the lock slid and clicked. Gemma stood in the doorway, hair damp, fresh-faced, and wearing one of the terry cloth robes with the Stargrass logo embossed on the breast pocket. She wore his robe. Maybe not his personally, but the ones he’d had designed. For some reason, it stru
ck a chord, like she belonged in it, belonged here. It was a sharp punch to the gut. Zale tried to swallow and found his throat tight and dry.
Gemma ran the palms of her hands down the plush robe, cast her eyes downward, then back up at him. “What’s all this?” She stepped back to let him over the threshold.
He strode in, instantly struck by the citrus scent swirling in the air. The room smelled of her perfume—the one he couldn’t get enough of. “The hostess said you hadn’t stopped by the restaurant for dinner, so I took the liberty of picking something up. May I join you?” It was far too windy to sit out on the balcony, so he walked into the kitchenette and placed the trays on the breakfast nook.
“Of course. Thank you for thinking of it. I didn’t swing by your office because it was later than I expected. I thought Mila would be back by now. Is everything all right?” A little crease formed between her brows.
“She’ll be later than expected, too. My mom took her to dinner,” he said as Gemma slid into the chair across from him.
“They have an amazing relationship, don’t they?” An earnest smile brightened her face. She was still in the bathrobe, resting casually across from him. In her presence, he was able to relax. It was as though they shared a meal together all the time after work. The odd sensation in his chest troubled him. He hadn’t thought twice about bringing up dinner, even though their relationship was supposed to end the moment they arrived back in Martha’s Vineyard.
He nodded. “I’m so glad they do. It’s good for them both.”
Gemma removed the silver top from her plate and gave a deep sigh. “Smells delicious.”
“Alfredo is usually a safe choice.” They ate quietly for a few moments, before he placed down his fork. “I didn’t get a chance to thank you for earlier.”
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