If she was still in the hotel, he intended to find out.
He stepped into shorts and pulled on a T-shirt, then headed down to the breakfast buffet, sore in places he didn’t even know he could be sore.
He spied her sitting at a patio table outside the coffee shop. Fresh-faced, with her hair pulled back in a simple ponytail, she looked younger, more vulnerable. Her clothes were simple, too. Jeans and an orange-and-black Princeton University T-shirt. The sophisticated celebrity from yesterday was gone completely. Interesting. This persona fit her better. But she had a lot of explaining to do.
“You’re taking this playing-hard-to-get game way too seriously,” he said in a low voice as he slipped into the chair beside hers.
Choking on her coffee, she looked up from her newspaper, wide-eyed. Then she just blinked.
“You have nothing to say?”
“I’m not playing hard to get.”
“No, but you’re not who you say you are.”
Her eyes got even wider. “Why do you think that?”
Quinn smiled. “I think after last night, I deserve the truth.”
“What has last night got to do with anything?” There was an edge to her voice.
“Come on, Peyton. If I thought you were a stalker or a terrorist I would’ve turned you in already. I just want to know what’s really going on.”
“My name is Peyton Monahan. And I swear I’ve never done anything like this before.”
“So, why?”
She took a sip of her coffee. “Perhaps I should start at the beginning.”
He leaned back and folded his hands over his stomach, straightened his legs and crossed his ankles. “I’m all ears.”
“Do you remember the horrible earthquake in Mexico City last year?”
Quinn nodded, completely enthralled. How the heck was she going to get from earthquake to wedding crasher?
“Well, they were digging through the rubble of this old church and found a diary written by this Spanish monk…but it was written in Mayan.” She leaned forward and her eyes sparked with excitement. “You know how many people can read and translate ancient Mayan hieroglyphs?”
Before he could shrug, she continued, “Five. Only five people in the whole world. And I’m one of them.”
Her lips turned up in a conspiratorial smile, and he could practically feel the waves of exhilaration.
“I couldn’t believe I actually got to hold this book, much less got asked to translate it.”
“Okay, you’re, like, one of those museum curator types? Wait a minute. Is this going to turn into some Da Vinci Code mystery?”
She waved a hand, shook her head. “I’m a professor at Princeton. My doctorate is in archival science, but my specialty is ancient languages.”
Quinn whistled, impressed. He’d barely managed to earn a simple business degree.
“Anyway, it turns out the diary is over four hundred years old.”
“Whoa.”
“I know, right? I wondered the same thing—what’s a seventeenth-century Spanish monk doing writing his diary in Mayan? I mean, the diary was written when the Spanish were burning all the Mayan writings.”
“Uh, yeah,” Quinn nodded. “That’s exactly what I was going to ask.” Not.
She got this adorable little crinkle between her brows and she tilted her head. Then her expression cleared and the thrill returned to her eyes. “In his diary the monk claimed to have saved some of these writings from being burned. He wrote that he fled Tayasal and hid the codices in a cave. And I think I know where!”
She reached out and grabbed his hand and leaned even closer. “Do you know how rare these codices would be if we can find them? We’ve just got to retrieve them and secure their safe restoration.” She squeezed his hand.
Quinn liked the feel of her hand in his. “You look almost as excited right now as you did in my bed last night.”
Her smile dropped and she yanked her hand back. “What happens on Rapture Island stays on Rapture Island.”
“Of course. But we’re not back in the states yet.”
She seemed to think about that a moment. “True.”
“Look, all this Mayan history is interesting, but what’s it got to d—”
“To do with this wedding? I need funding. I’ve tried everyone, but the recent economic problems have hit my usual patrons hard. My father suggested I ask a businessman who used to fund his expeditions years ago.”
“Ahh, of course. And the rich dude is at this wedding? Who’s the su— Uh…financier you’re looking for?”
“His name is Edward Prescott. Ever heard of him?”
Quinn froze. Peyton kept talking, but he wasn’t listening.
“—CEO of Prescott Industries.”
Damn it.
“—ignored my letters. I heard he’d booked a flight to come here, and my father assured me he wouldn’t miss attending this wedding.”
Nothing like a little irony first thing in the morning. He wanted to laugh out loud.
“If I could just get five minutes alone with him, I know I could convince him to— Quinn? Are you okay?”
She was looking for him.
Since he’d been in charge of the company the past few years, he’d been the one to decide where Prescott Industries made their charitable contributions.
Bits and pieces of memories from work all came together to fit like a puzzle. She was that professor, the crazy old coot—or so he’d thought—that kept pestering his office the past couple of months requesting money for some antiquities expedition. And he’d pitched the letters in the trash and had his assistant block the phone calls.
“Quinn?”
He blinked and Peyton came back into focus. “Yeah. Just too much caffeine on an empty stomach.” For the first time in his life he was glad his name was Smith and not Prescott. As a boy, he’d longed to be legitimate, a real Prescott. He’d have given anything for his father to acknowledge him as his son.
Damn. Something fun and exciting had just become complicated. Why did this woman have to come with an agenda?
Wait a minute. Did she already know who he was and hoped that sleeping with him would soften him up for the sales pitch?
He studied her face. She’d have to be one hell of an actress.
He could tell her who he was and see what she did next. Would she plead her case and then leave, having gotten what she wanted? Maybe. But he didn’t want to take that chance. He’d had to practically beg her to tell him why she was here. Surely that meant she didn’t know who he was. Besides, he wanted to spend more time with her. Without any problems getting in the way.
An idea was niggling its way into his brain. He vowed to tell her who he was tomorrow and take her request for funding under consideration as soon as he got back to the office. She’d had the chutzpah to crash this wedding—it seemed the least he could do. “So, this Prescott guy was supposed to arrive yesterday?”
“I thought I knew his schedule, but I figure he’s got to show up eventually.” She bit her lip. That gorgeous, plump lip that had done such amazing things to him last night.
Concentrate, Quinn. “I think I may have seen his yacht docked in the bay yesterday.” That was technically the truth. He’d decided to take a few extra days and sail his father’s yacht down here from the Keys.
“You did? Oh, my gosh, I didn’t even think of that. Of course. He must be such a recluse that he won’t even stay in the hotel.” Her expression shifted. Worry and distress creased her eyes. “But how can I approach him if he doesn’t leave his yacht till the wedding?”
Guilt nudged him. He reached up and cupped her cheek. So soft. “He has to, at the very least, put in an appearance at the wedding tomorrow night. You can catch him then.”
“But—”
He let his hand drop. “In the meantime, I booked an excursion extraordinaire for today. Come with me.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think—”
“Peyton.” He sighed. “Paradise
vacation? Fun? Remember?”
“Aren’t there other people here you were planning on spending the day with?”
He shrugged. “The only people I know at this wedding are the Maynard’s. I met Maynard Jr. and the newest Mrs. Maynard at a business luncheon one time. Mostly I deal with Maynard Sr.”
“Oh.” Her eyes, more blue than green this morning behind the glasses, blinked several times while Quinn held his breath waiting for her answer. Then she smiled. “I suppose it wouldn’t make much sense to waste the airfare just to sit around in my room watching CNN.”
PEYTON STEPPED INTO the body harness and pulled it up between her legs, while the instructor hooked her into the parachute. Her palms were sweaty and they trembled as she snapped on a life vest. She wasn’t really going to do this, was she? She didn’t do heights. She wasn’t some crazy adrenaline junkie with something to prove.
“Ready?” the orchestrator of her demise asked, grinning like a wild man. The wind ruffled his hair, and Peyton didn’t know what was more enticing—his smile or his strong hands snapping on his life vest as if he’d done this hundreds of times.
“Tell me again why I let you talk me into this?”
“You’ll love it, I promise.” Quinn’s light brown eyes shone with mischief as he stepped into the double-body harness beside her.
He’d promised her a “thrilling experience” and she had to admit, looking out over the dazzling turquoise sea, with the white lines of breakers in the distance, the view from this grassy bluff was absolutely gorgeous. If only they could simply admire it from here while sitting on a nice soft blanket eating a picnic lunch.
But no, Mr. Insanity wanted to be pulled off a two-hundred-foot cliff at ninety miles an hour.
The instructor double-checked all the snaps and buckles, and the towrope, then gave the waiting motorboat a thumbs-up.
The crew returned the signal and the motorboat idled out. The instructor and his assistant held up both sides of the chute.
“Remember, resist the pull,” Quinn urged. “Keep the line tight.”
Their towline began to go taut until it was completely extended.
“Oh, god, I can’t do this. Quinn, tell them to stop.” She dug in her heels and gulped in too much air. She was going to hyper-ventilate.
“Peyton. Look at me.”
His voice had taken on an edge she’d never heard before. It was a command, and she obeyed. His serious gaze captured hers. “I swear I won’t let anything happen to you. You’re safe. Do you believe me?”
Her breathing calmed and she nodded.
“Take my hand.” He held out his hand and she latched on to it. “Good, now it’s just three steps. You can do it.” He squeezed her hand.
Peyton kept her eyes on Quinn as she stepped, one, two, three, and then there was nothing but air beneath her and she was flying over the Caribbean waters.
The wind tickled her bare feet and she finally returned Quinn’s smile.
She looked out over the water. “Ohmigosh, Quinn!” She tapped his arm. “Look, dolphins.” She pointed to their right, where she could just make out a pod of maybe a dozen or more gray fins breaking the surface and disappearing again.
“I’ll see if I can get the boat to take us closer.” He put action to words, gesturing for the water crew to head farther out to sea.
Once they were closer to the fast-traveling pod, Quinn nudged her arm and offered her a waterproof disposable camera.
Peyton snapped a few pictures and spent the next hour marveling at the beauty of the world around her.
A few smaller islands could be seen once they cleared the crescent-shaped bay of Rapture Island. Some were towering lone peaks, jutting out from the sea like otherworldly pillars.
Before she was ready, it was time to land. The motorboat slowed and she and Quinn gently drifted downward. As soon as they splashed into the water, Quinn reached behind them and unhooked them from the chute, and the boat swung around to pick them up.
Quinn climbed in first, and then extended his hand to her. She clasped it, his palm warm and his fingers strong as they wrapped around her and lifted her into the boat with ease. Heat surrounded her as she landed against him. He kept hold of her hand and used his other arm to slide around her waist and pull her close. She felt the tremor in his breathing and sympathized. She was finding it hard to take a deep breath herself.
“Thank you.”
He frowned. “For what?”
“For encouraging me to do this. I’d never have had the guts to parasail. It was the most exhilarating thing I’ve ever done.”
His teeth flashed in a grin. “I find that hard to believe.” At the word hard, he moved his hips and his erection nudged her stomach. “Maybe we should forget the rest of the outings for today and go back to the room.” He nuzzled her temple and nibbled her ear.
“What…” She was having a difficult time concentrating as his lips kissed down her neck. “What other outings?”
“Eles devem receber uma sala.” The boat driver spoke in Portuguese to his assistant and they both snickered.
Mortified, Peyton pulled out of Quinn’s hold, grabbed a towel and covered herself. Then she moved to the seat at the back of the boat.
Quinn narrowed his eyes, a ticked-off glint in them. Glancing at the boatmen, he took a towel and sat beside her. “Did they insult you?”
“No.” She examined her nails and bit a cuticle. “The driver said we should get a room.”
Quinn’s grin returned. “Isn’t that what I was saying?” His grin faded. “I thought after last night…”
“No, it’s not that. I just don’t like making a spectacle of myself in public. It’s uncalled-for.”
“That sounds like something my great-aunt Esther would say.”
“It may sound old-fashioned, but causing a big scene never generates positive results.”
“That bad, huh?”
“What?”
“Your childhood. Sounds like you were never allowed to be a kid.”
Irrational anger bubbled up inside her. “My father did the best he could after my mother died.”
“Hey, I’m sorry.” He reached for her hand but she moved away. “How old were you?”
A ridiculous lump formed in her throat. “Two.”
He whistled. “That’s a long time, just you and your dad.” He took her hand between his and she let him.
“My dad was busy. I—I went to boarding school.”
He grimaced. “Sounds miserable.”
Feeling the need to defend her dad, she shook her head. “Boarding school was great. I had access to a substantial research center and one of the best science curriculums in the country.”
“But didn’t you miss your dad?”
How had they gotten started on this personal subject? And why were all these uncomfortable emotions creeping up after all these years? “He…had important studies. He didn’t need me bugging him.”
“Bugging him? Growing up, I was pissed I didn’t have a dad, but at least I knew my mom wanted me.”
Peyton turned away, squeezed her eyes closed. It’d been her fault her father hadn’t wanted her around. Her fault she’d been sent off to boarding school. Pull it together, Monahan. Quinn doesn’t want to deal with your messy emotions any more than your father did.
But what had he said about his dad? Something wasn’t right. Wait. She pulled her hand out from in between his. “I thought you said your dad was a colleague of Maynard’s?”
Quinn blinked. “Uh…yeah. He decided he wanted to be a part of my life after his wife died. He didn’t have any other kids.”
The boat pulled up to the dock and the assistant hopped out to tie the rope. Quinn shook the driver’s hand, and the driver wished them both a good day.
Peyton extended her hand. “Obrigado pela maravilhosa experiência,” she said, enjoying watching the boatman squirm when he realized she’d understood what he’d said.
Quinn took her hand and helped her step off th
e boat, then kept holding it as they headed back along the dock to the beach. “That wasn’t Spanish, was it? How many languages do you speak?”
“No, it was Portuguese. And I speak seven fluently, but I can only read and write five. I’m learning Arabic now.”
“Arabic.” He frowned.
Darn it. Why’d she have to have such a big mouth? The guy could probably care less about what language she was learning. And she’d babbled on about her childhood. If he had any doubts about her being a total nerd, she’d just dispelled them.
“What languages do you speak fluently?”
She looked up at him as they entered the hotel and let her hand slip from his. “That’s a boring subject. Why don’t you tell me about what you do?”
He looked away, his gaze following a couple headed down a causeway past a sign that read, Addison-Maynard Wedding Rehearsal and Dinner. “I told you, I refuse to think about business this weekend.” His smile and the fact that he took her hand in his again softened his refusal. “Hungry?”
The change of subject caught her off guard. “Starved.”
“Shall we try one of the restaurants?” He did no more than hold her hand and ask the unspoken with his eyes.
She returned his smile. “Let’s order room service.”
4
AFTER SHOWERING IN HER own room, Peyton dressed in the same T-shirt and jeans she’d worn briefly this morning, then stuffed a clean shirt and undies in her bag. Good thing she’d packed for the whole weekend just in case. And the dress she’d arrived in would do for the wedding.
She traveled up in the elevator and knocked on Quinn’s door. He’d won the “which room” argument because his had a balcony.
Quinn opened the door and Peyton stopped short. A small table had been set in the suite’s large living area with fresh flowers, a candle and gleaming silver dome-covered plates. Quinn moved to stand behind a chair with a look of anticipation.
He’d showered and shaved and as she neared she could smell his unique cologne, an intoxicating blend of sandalwood and…something dark and mysterious.
The scent didn’t match the man she knew. Except, when she thought back to last night, she remembered how intensely he’d made love.
By Invitation Only Page 16