by Jo Grafford
“I know, babe. I’ve watched the recording at least two dozen times. I couldn’t be more proud of you.”
“What recording?” she exclaimed. “I didn’t see any cameras. Only a single bird. And the caribou, of course,” she sighed. “Oh, wait. The bird. It was one of your drones, wasn’t it?”
“One of Raj’s special creations,” he affirmed. “How else do you think I’ve known exactly when and how long to extend your training hill each time you were ready to advance?”
“Well, aren’t you a genius?” She tried to recall if she’d ever scratched or done something inappropriate when she thought no one was watching. He could have at least warned her.
“Me? No. Raj? Probably,” he returned cheerfully.
“I take it this means you’re not trying to build a case as to why I should stop jumping?” she inquired sweetly.
“Would it work?” he asked dryly.
“No.” She blew him a kiss. “How long did the doctor say it would be before I can get back out there?”
“Few days. Maybe a week. Pretty much whenever you feel like it, since you didn’t break anything.”
“Before Christmas, then.” She gave a small bounce of excitement in her hospital bed that made her wince in regret. “Hopefully,” she sighed.
“Jovie?”
Dash’s voice thickened with so much emotion that she gazed at him in surprise.
“What is it?” she asked quickly. “Are you okay? Is everything okay? Well, despite me being here.” She waved ruefully at her bed.
He nodded and moved from the chair to sit gingerly on the edge of her mattress. “You remember how I said I wished you were my girl with no strings attached?”
She nodded worriedly, wondering where he was going with this.
“Well, I’ve changed my mind.”
She didn’t doubt he still wanted her to be his, so that left only one thing. “You want strings,” she said carefully, scanning his ruggedly beautiful face that had become so precious to her. Did this mean what she thought it meant?
“I want lots of them, babe. Lots and lots of strings.” He leaned in to gather her gently in his arms. “I want every one of my heartstrings tied to yours for the rest of my life.”
Despite how much it hurt to move, she reached up to cup his cheek. “I want those kinds of strings, too. With you, Dash. Only you.”
“Forever?” he pressed in a rough voice.
“And always,” she promised.
He muttered something unintelligible and buried his face against her neck. “How soon will you marry me?” His voice sounded muffled but exultant.
“Soon.” She pressed her cheek to the top of his head. Something told her that Gordon Holliday might want to weigh in on their wedding date. He was one of those men who had an iron in every fire, a finger in every pie.
“Not soon enough.” He nipped little kisses against her neck, working his way up to her jawline. “One more thing, babe.”
“Hmm?” She was too busy breathing in his signature spiced rum scent and reveling in the softness of his merino sheep’s wool blazer to speak.
“I know this is asking a lot with your skiing career and all, but is there any chance you’d ever want a little Jovie or a little Dash in our lives?” He brushed his lips against hers. “Our own little skiers and jumpers to train?”
His question took her breath away. It was several moments before she could find her voice again. “You want to start a family with me? For real?”
His eyes had gone all soft, like a half-melted Chocopologie Chocolate Truffle. “Like I said, babe. Lots of strings.”
All the joy and wonder of Christmas was in his voice.
Her heart brimmed with so much happiness that it spilled into the room, enveloping them both. “Then my answer is yes.”
<<< THE END >>>
I hope you enjoyed the first book in The Holliday Islands Resort Series! Below is the complete list for your convenience. Don’t forget to stop by our reader group for book chats and other festivities on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/groups/ChatSipandRead/
Much love,
Jo
Book 1: The Dashing Groom — Jo Grafford
Book 2: Dancing to the Altar — Christi Bortner
Book 3: Love Came Prancing — Danni Roan
Book 4: Her Christmas Vixen — Ginny Sterling
Book 5: Comet’s Blazing Love — Jenna Brandt
Book 6: Cupid Takes a Wife — Marie Higgins
Book 7: Donner Let Her Go — Amelia Adams
Book 8: Blitzen the CEO — Lisa Prysock
Book 9: Rudolph’s Runaway Bride — George McVey
Book 10: Mommy’s Kissing Santa — Kit Morgan
Sneak Preview: Lawfully Loyal
Lilibeth Macy clenched her teeth as the small, private jet she’d chartered from New York City landed with a bouncy little bump. Though it wasn’t the pilot’s fault they’d had to fly through choppy winds to reach the cozy tropical town of St. Rose, she was close to tears from how much the turbulence had jarred her injuries. She was in so much pain that she debated checking into the nearest hotel and postponing her appointment with her late aunt’s attorney. It was still hard to believe she’d actually inherited a beach cottage from a woman she’d never met — Jillian Ferraro, the twin sister of her estranged father, no less! As odd and unexpected as it was, the inheritance couldn’t have come at a better time.
Lilibeth desperately needed a remote town in which to disappear for a few weeks while she recovered from a near-fatal car accident. No one besides her agent and tour manager knew where she was, and they were sworn to secrecy. That meant she was safe — at least for now — from the paparazzi, the endless demands of her singing career, and the constant badgering of her ex.
Her cell phone vibrated from an incoming text. She stiffened as she read it.
Hope you made it safe to wherever you are. Call me when you can. Yours, Arlo
Her heart thudded sickeningly, and she bit her lower lip — hard. Okay, so maybe traveling to St. Rose wouldn’t stop her ex from hounding her. She briefly considered and discarded the idea of blocking his number. Knowing him as she did, he would likely use it as an excuse to come looking for her, and that was the last thing she wanted.
To an outsider, his message might sound sweetly innocuous, but she knew better. He was a controlling creep of a man who’d all but had her clock in and out with him the past year while they were dating. He’d kept tabs on every concert, charity event, and party she attended, including showing up uninvited to a few of the private ones. In short, he’d acted like he owned her, until she’d finally gotten the nerve to break things off between them two weeks ago.
The morning after their car accident.
Which he’d caused by taking the wheel while intoxicated.
He was lucky the officer on duty had recognized her and more or less given them a free pass. He was also lucky she wasn’t pressing charges against him. In some ways, she was glad he’d screwed up so badly. It had given her the perfect excuse to break up with him.
She was no longer his to text, call, or check on. Why did he persist in pretending otherwise?
Then again, Arlo Bass had never been good at taking no for an answer. He did what he wanted and took what he wanted, a trait she’d found flattering when he first started pursuing her. She’d since learned the filthy rich model and body builder was concerned about one thing only — his own needs. Their whirlwind relationship had turned toxic within the first six months. She was relieved it was over. At least, she was until a few minutes ago when he’d texted again. His inability to let go was starting to feel both suffocating and alarming. What was it going to take to send him packing for good?
Sighing, she limped her way down the short aisle of the jet. It was a sumptuous cabin of cream leather and chrome furnishings. “Thank you,” she murmured to the white-haired pilot who was busy adjusting the controls in his cockpit.
He glanced up at her and smiled. “Sorr
y about that landing. It was pretty windy the last few minutes, wasn’t it?”
“Not your fault,” she assured quickly.
“Maybe not, but…” His kind gaze swept the white plaster cast covering her left arm from elbow to wrist. “You sure you’re okay?”
“I will be. Thanks.” In a few more days…or weeks…or months… She bit her lip again and gingerly descended the stairs, one painstaking step at a time. She held the railing tightly with her right hand, silently praying she wouldn’t trip. A full two weeks had passed since the accident, but her body was still recovering. Though most of her external bruises had faded, every inch of her was still stiff and sore from her many internal injuries. According to her team of doctors, she was lucky to be alive. That said, she moved around these days like a woman who was forty or fifty years older than her current twenty-five years — like a complete invalid. Ugh!
She reached the bottom of the stairs and filled her lungs with the fresh, tropical air. It smelled of sand, sunshine, and ocean waves. Though the June temperatures were warm and sultry, a shiver of excitement worked its way through her. She could already picture all the lazy hours she would be spending on the beach. Florida was shaping up to be the perfect place for her to convalesce in peace.
Unlike bustling tourist trap cities like Panama City and Orlando, St. Rose was apparently part of a privately owned mega resort and hotel conglomerate, located approximately one hundred miles north of Inverness. According to her late aunt’s attorney, the common property and business sections of the town were managed by Montgomery Enterprises. This meant Lilibeth now owned her aunt’s cottage home and about half an acre of beachfront property, but she would be responsible for paying a rather hefty set of annual resort dues to help maintain the surrounding lakes, golf courses, school, and community center. All in all, it was a small price to pay for true privacy, something that was rare and precious to a musical celebrity like herself.
Her gaze hungrily took in the small airport landing strip. About fifty yards to her left stretched the glimmering waters of the ocean. To her right was the tiny St. Rose Airport and Welcome Center. It was a white adobe building with two-story windows and a wide, covered entryway supported by enormous round pillars.
A small cargo truck, one barely bigger than a golf cart, zipped in her direction. Two employees hopped out wearing yellow and orange reflector vests. They nodded to her and proceeded to unload her significant pile of luggage. She didn’t look back at them as they worked, not wanting to witness their expressions. She’d been unsure how long she would be staying in St. Rose, so she hadn’t exactly packed light. There were at least a dozen suitcases and an additional four or five trunks to transport her portable amplifier, projector, expandable screen, laptop, multiple hard drives, guitar, music stand, and sheet music.
Before she had the time to shuffle her feet all the way across the parking lot to the Welcome Center, a sleek black limousine nosed alongside her and stopped. The driver, a young blonde man in a black suit, slid from behind the wheel and held up a sign bearing her name.
“Miss Lilibeth Macy?”
She nodded gratefully and waited while he opened one of the rear passenger doors for her. “Who sent you?” Normally, she was accompanied by no less than two bodyguards when she was being bustled into a limousine.
“Mr. Jack Forrest, your attorney.”
As it turned out, Mr. Forrest, himself, awaited her inside the limousine. He was a short, balding man with heavily wrinkled features and a voice that held a tremor. “Ah, Miss Lilibeth! May I call you that?” He stretched out both hands to her, revealing crisp white sleeves bearing silver cufflinks beneath his herringbone blazer.
“You may.” She waited until she was seated to hold out a hand.
He took it between both of his, cradling it with awe and reverence. “So we meet at last! I’ve heard so much about you from Jillian.” He shook his head, and his dark eyes turned glassy with emotion. “May she rest in peace.”
His show of emotion made Lilibeth uncomfortable, like she was intruding on something sacred. She withdrew her hand from his to fasten her seatbelt. “I’m not sure if you know this, but I never met her.”
He nodded sagely, his dark gaze turning shrewd. “I am aware of that unfortunate fact.”
What a presumptuous thing to say! She gaped at him. “My parents were estranged after their divorce.” She’d been raised by her mother, Maureen, since age five. Her father, George Macy, had never come around — not for birthdays, holidays, music recitals, or any other events.
He nodded again. “Your parents’ divorce was truly a tragic ordeal.”
“He cheated on her!” Lilibeth snapped. It was unfortunate, for sure, but hardly tragic. Their short-lived marriage was a black spot in her past she quite honestly hadn’t given much thought in years. She’d long since gotten over the hurt and bitterness about having an absent father. Thank God for an all-consuming career like hers. Since age fifteen, it had left her with little time for anything besides singing and performing.
Mr. Forrest shrugged the padded shoulders of his expensive suit. “I imagine you’re old enough to realize there are two sides to every story.” Before she could splutter out another heated response, he straightened his spine. “Here’s the other side: Your Aunt Jillian loved you very much. She followed your career like it was her personal religion. Just wait until you see her collection of photos, posters, and scrapbooks. She owned every music album and every concert t-shirt. I probably ought to warn you; her home is like a shrine.” He cast a sideways glance at her. “To you.”
Most of the air left Lilibeth’s chest. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.” She slumped against the black leather seat, feeling every ounce of her soreness and exhaustion.
“You will, dearie.” Mr. Forrest reached over to pat the top of her right hand. “You will.”
Several minutes of silence passed between them. She stared out the window. They were traveling northwest on a two-lane highway that overlooked the beach. Here and there, a beachcomber lay sunning or a small cluster of people in swimsuits played beach ball, but the area was otherwise free of traffic and the usual throng of humans. On either side of the road were well-manicured medians bearing palm trees and plants with fiery tropical blooms.
Lilibeth turned abruptly to face Jack Forrest. “What happened to my aunt? At least tell me that.”
He offered her a sad smile. “Lung cancer, I’m afraid. She was a closet smoker. Her only vice, from what I could tell.”
“And her husband?” Her aunt’s last name was Ferraro, which meant she had to have married at some point.
“Taken from her by a blasted heart attack a few years back.” He grimaced and patted her hand again. “No children, though they always wanted them. In some ways, you were like the daughter they never had.”
“How?” Lilibeth couldn’t quite get her arms around such a preposterous claim. “Like I said before, we never met.”
He grinned as if laughing at a private joke. “You did hear the part about her owning every concert t-shirt of yours, right?”
Her brows shot up. “You’re trying to tell me my aunt, whom I never met, attended my concerts?”
“Every single one.” His emphatic nod nearly brought his chin to his chest.
Her throat constricted as she struggled to understand. “Why didn’t she reach out to me? I would have…” She stopped short, not knowing what she would have done if she had known her aunt was in the audience at one of her concerts. Ever since she could remember, her mother had forbidden her to have any contact with the Macy side of the family.
“She tried. See?” Jack Forrest spread his hands as the limousine slowed and pulled into a residential neighborhood. “Like I said, there are two sides to every story.”
“Why am I just now hearing about this?” Lilibeth demanded irritably.
“Your mother refused to let them contact you, claiming they had no right to disrupt your life and musical career with more of their so-c
alled family drama.”
“Oh-h-h-h.” Her breath came out slowly, drawing out the word. That sure sounded like something Maureen Macy would say. She’d always been a helicopter parent — hovering over every bite that went into her daughter’s mouth, personally selecting nearly every outfit she wore, and micromanaging her voice and guitar practice schedules.
Lilibeth hadn’t enjoyed a normal childhood by any stretch. There’d been precious few outings with other children her age, since her mother insisted that perfecting her craft was far more important than playing. And there’d been zero contact with George Macy or anyone else on his side of the family. Lilibeth had always presumed it was because her father didn’t want anything to do with her. Was it possible there was another reason?
“Have you met my father? Do you know anything about him? Where he lives? What he does for a living?” The questions poured from her like a dam bursting.
The limousine driver braked and brought the vehicle to a halt.
“We’re here!” Jack Forrest announced. “This is the home Jillian Ferraro left to you, her beloved niece.”
The increased cadence of his words gave her the impression he was relieved to have an excuse not to immediately answer her questions about her father.
She gazed out the door their driver opened for her, and her mouth fell open. Her brain had conjured up all sorts of images on the plane ride to St. Rose, but nothing prepared her for the Mediterranean style mansion sprawling before her. A vast swimming pool with a lazy river circled one side of the property beneath waving palms. A two-story cottage graced the other side, boasting the same Mediterranean lines as the mansion. It was simply a lot smaller. Sort of… It was still a two-story in its own right, but it was more or less dwarfed by the enormous structure next door.
I was told my aunt left me her beach cottage. Lilibeth’s gaze drifted back to the smaller home. She pointed to it. “Is that one mine?”