After Him: An Enemies-To-Lovers Romance (Virgin Island Series Book 1)

by L. L. James

  Glaring daggers across the room at him, Carm had to reluctantly admit she was impressed by the change in him. With his professional attire of slate grey slacks and blue Oxford shirt, and his hair subdued, he little resembled the man that had walked out of her hotel room that morning. The change of clothes brought a hard edge to his personality.

  She was beginning to understand how he could make such a heartless decision about Kate. He was able to, because he had no heart.

  At length, Carm responded. “Fine. We’ll sit and discuss this like civilized adults. Before we do, I want to say that I think you’re despicable, unfeeling, and a lousy human being.”

  “Good. Now that we’ve exchanged pleasantries lets get down to business.” Marek pushed away from the wall and returned to his seat behind the desk.

  Carm stared at him. The man was unflappable. And it irritated the hell out of her.

  Huffing, Carm sat down in the high backed chair and waited. Impatience got the better of her, however, and she blurted, “You can’t pull your business from my sister’s coffeehouse, Marek. I would hold you personally responsible for putting her out of business.”

  Marek sifted through some papers on his desk and said without looking up, “From what I understand, it wouldn’t be such a bad thing if she did go under. She’s been handling her affairs poorly and immaturely. Her husband feels it would be best for me to withdraw my support so that I don’t feel any effects of her ill behavior and before she tries to con me as she has her other business partners. I cannot fault his logic.”

  Outraged, Carm spouted, “What are you talking about? Kate is a talented, shrewd businesswoman and she’s been handling her affairs brilliantly! Her ex-husband is lying to you. There are some personal grievances between them and he’s only trying to get even with Kate. Surely you won’t believe him without all the facts.”

  Marek looked up and frowned, “What is your last name? I haven’t had time to look at the marriage certificate.”

  “It’s Hogue, but that has nothing to do with Kate and her café. Can we get back to that?” She smoothed her hands down her thighs and frowned. What did her last name have to do with anything?

  “Hogue, is it? Interesting. Is it German?”

  “It’s Scottish. Ugh, I wasn’t going to dignify that with a remark. My sister, remember? I’d really like to discuss your plans for remedying the problem.”

  Marek leaned back in his cushy leather chair. Carm felt her face heat and her blood pressure rise from his intense perusal and shifted her eyes to the floor. It didn’t seem to matter that at the moment she despised everything about him, her body was determined to respond favorably to his presence. Damn her fickle hide.

  He had the most exotic pair of eyes she’d ever seen and they turned her on. It was unnerving as hell and it pissed her off.

  Tipping her chin at a defiant angle, Carm braced herself and looked him in the eye and waited. Apparently they were going to have a little battle of wills. Well, let the games begin, because she wasn’t backing down. Not until he agreed to what she wanted.

  For a tense moment they stared hard at each other in silence. Then Marek spoke. Carm did a mental happy dance at that victory, small as it was. At this point she wasn’t above a little juvenile behavior.

  Releasing a heavy sigh that could have parted her hair it was so strong, Marek spoke, “Do you want to do this here or would you rather continue this over a nice glass of lemonade out on the patio. I, for one, prefer the patio.”

  My, aren’t you the gracious host? Biting her tongue, Carm agreed with a nod, “Lemonade please. It’s a gorgeous afternoon and I’d much prefer to discuss this outdoors.” Where I could easily dispose of your body, if need be.

  “Very well, follow me.” Marek stood and brushed past her, his shoulder briefly touching hers.

  A spark of electricity tore through them and he stopped directly in front of her. Glancing down, Marek settled his gaze on her parted lips and murmured, “Very interesting.” He surprised Carm further by skimming the back of his long fingers down her cheek.

  Jumping like a skittery rabbit from his touch, she burst out, “Lemonade!” Smooth, Carm. Very smooth. Now he knows how he affects you.

  Well, how could she play the unaffected ice queen when his touch made her melt like ice cream on a summer sidewalk? She really needed to work on that. She couldn’t stand him, she had to remember that.

  She took a deep breath and began a mantra in her head. He’s a jerk, he’s a jerk, he’s a big fat jerk. Hmm, that seemed to be working, so she swept her hand toward the double doors and smiled. “Lead the way, Mr. Stokes.”

  Marek grinned back, a wicked gleam in his crystalline eyes. “Shall we? This way then, Mrs. Stokes.”

  Carm tripped over her strappy, heeled sandals. Righting herself before he could come to her aid, she glared daggers at him and muttered a crude, obscene suggestion. The pig just laughed. Just frigging laughed in response.

  The man just loved to antagonize her, damn him. Mrs. Stokes, her ass. She’d show him Mrs. Stokes. Right upside his thick skull.

  Straightening her jacket, Carm tugged it down with a jerk and followed behind him, her eyes burning into his back. She hoped his expensive shirt went up in flames.

  As he swaggered ahead of her, she finally allowed a look around the place. Mainly it was in attempt to keep from staring at his delectably firm rear-end and broad, ripped shoulders. The man had the body of a god, no doubt about it.

  Clearing her throat, she looked around as they passed through a huge living room. She noticed that the walls were painted the same soothing dusky peach as the entryway allowing the spaces to flow seamlessly together. A large leather sofa in a rich shade of deep caramel, sporting bright throw pillows, sat facing the large fireplace—and Carm practically drooled over the fantastic vintage steamer trunk Marek used as a coffee table. She also loved the dark rattan chairs with thick cream cushions. He’d perked them up by adding a few more vibrant pillows.

  Her fingers itched to trace over the antique bronze candelabra and matching candleholders displayed on the mahogany fireplace mantel. More large, exotic houseplants in beautiful glazed pots dotted the room and covered most available surfaces.

  Rich woods and lots of natural textures created a relaxing environment, giving the room a decidedly British Colonial casual elegance. He had great taste, she had to give him that.

  Marek glanced over his shoulder. “Did you say something, cheri?”

  “Nope. Just keep walking, smart ass.”

  Grinning like a naughty schoolboy, Marek turned his head back around and chuckled.

  He’s a jerk, he’s a jerk, he’s a big fat jerk. Carm was getting mighty familiar with the little mantra. She found it had an almost calming effect.

  A bold piece of pottery caught her eye across the large room. It sat high on a pedestal in the far corner. She changed direction and crossed the expanse of hardwood floor, across the bamboo rug and stopped in front of it.

  It was breathtaking.

  In a room filled to the brim with gorgeous paintings and valuable tchotchkes, for some reason the large, elegant sculpture caught her attention. It was a large, fluid dolphin of the purest hue of blue, arched delicately in the air. It looked like it had leapt right out of the water and hung, magically suspended.

  She reached out and traced a finger over the smooth blue glaze, smiling at the small touch of whimsy the artist had added to the otherwise sophisticated sculpture. The dolphin held a single flower of an intense shade of red in its mouth.

  “What do you think, Carm? Does it meet your standards?”

  She let out a small yelp. The man had snuck right up behind her. Letting her hand drop, she replied, “It’s gorgeous, Marek. Where did you find it?”

  Carm turned toward him as he shrugged his shoulders and said, “I didn’t find it, cheri. I made it.”

  Her mouth dropped open in shock. “No way. You made this? You couldn’t have. How, when?”

  He grim
aced a little and lifted a hand to rub at the base of his neck. “My mother is a sculptor and clay worker. That’s how she made a living when I was a kid. Her mother, a native to this island, taught her when my mother was a kid growing up on St. Barts. And my mother passed the skill on to me.”

  Carm tried to move beyond the shock of him creating such a beautiful thing to the information he’d just leaked. It was the most he’d ever exposed of himself.

  “Your mother grew up on St. Barts? Isn’t that a French colony?”

  Marek nodded, “Oui, cheri. It is. My mother is half French and half Islander. She moved to Tortola when she was carrying me.”

  So that explained the odd combination of accents. Except for the faint American, but Carm figured she would weasel that out of him later. She wanted to know more about this.

  “So, your mother was French and Islander and your father was British, correct?”

  Marek gave a half smile and shrugged his shoulders. “I’m a real melting pot of ethnicity, what can I say?”

  She gazed at him for a moment. Hm, that explained some things. Like his fantastic complexion and his curly hair. Not to mention his eyes. No one could forget those eyes.

  “Wait, you said your mother used to sell pottery. What does she do now? Did your father leave her a salary to subsist on when he passed?”

  A shadow crossed Marek’s face, and she watched as he withdrew from her. She must have said something really, really wrong. She searched his face for clues but found none. His face was a blank slate.

  He spun around and began walking. Over his shoulder he said to her quietly, “My parents were never married. My mother, Maria is her name, owns the Green Island Inn where you’re staying. She’s been married to my step-father for over ten years and they have a home over at Soper’s Hole.” Marek paused before adding, “Now, are you finished with your interrogation, cupcake?”

  Not by a long shot. But she realized now was not the time to press him, so she agreed and stored the information in the back of her mind for later. There seemed to be a few layers to William Marek Stokes. He was quite the mystery.

  And Carm loved a good mystery.

  Seven

  Marek strode down the hall and entered the kitchen. Carm had poked at a sore spot, definitely. He rarely talked about his past—didn’t like to talk about it—but somehow she’d made him leak information before he’d even realized it was happening. The woman was damned good—sneaky as a sleuth.

  All she’d had to do was bat her lashes and look at him with her innocent blue eyes and he’d been lost. Hell, if she’d added a smile to her little act and a caress or two he’d have spilled his whole less than pristine past.

  That knowledge scared the hell out of him.

  There were things in his past best left buried. But, if he didn’t watch out, Carmen Hogue would uncover it all. Best thing for him would be to do what she wanted, and then send her packing.

  Strange that he didn’t feel completely thrilled about that plan. Damned if conflicting emotions didn’t battle one another when he thought about sending her away. Hmm, very odd.

  Marek strode into the kitchen, Carm hot on his heels. The woman had wisely remained silent after he’d cut off her slew of questions. It wasn’t that he was ashamed that he was a bastard. He just didn’t like to discuss it. She must have picked up on that fact. Smart woman.

  Opening the side-by-side refrigerator, Marek reached in and pulled out a pitcher of lemonade. Mrs. Carrins had made it fresh from his lemon trees that morning. Why the woman insisted on doing it the hard way instead of buying frozen concentrate he’d never know. But he wasn’t complaining, Mrs. Carrins made the best fresh squeezed lemonade on the whole island.

  Ignoring Carm, he brushed past her and grabbed two tall glasses from a cupboard and turned to go outside. Jerking his head in the direction of the French doors, he motioned her ahead of him.

  Sunny chose that moment to saunter into the kitchen and beg to be let out. Carm startled as the tiny meow broke the awkward silence. He felt his lips twitch with amusement at the look on her face.

  With her hand on her heart, he looked from him to the orange tabby and asked, “What do you feed that cat? She’s fatter than the one at the inn.”

  Placing a mock look of insult on his face, Marek gasped, “Are you calling my cat fat? How dare you? You’ve upset her delicate sensibilities, look. She’ll probably be put off her food for days.” He ended the sentence on a sarcastic drawl.

  Carm leveled a deadpan stare on him and responded dryly, “Somehow I highly doubt that.”

  He chuckled at that, glad that the cat had come into the kitchen when she had. Sunny had unknowingly helped break the palpable tension between the two of them.

  Gesturing her to exit through the doors, Marek gently nudged the cat along with his foot and followed. They stepped outside and were greeted by a soft, cooling breeze and the cheerful sound of birds chirping.

  Setting the pitcher and glasses on the rattan table, Marek reached over and pulled out a chair for her. Though she tried to hide it, he saw the look of utter surprise that crossed her face.

  He scowled at that. He wasn’t a complete ass, for crying out loud. His mother had taught him manners. It irritated the hell out of him that Carmen thought him some type of ogre. If she knew him at all she wouldn’t think such crap.

  Taking a deep breath, he smoothed the frustration away. It wouldn’t help the situation if he let himself get riled. In fact, that’s probably what the contrary woman was hoping for.

  Finally, she seated herself and spoke. “Thank you. It’s refreshing to see you do have some manners after all.” Carm reached for the lemonade and filled the glasses. “Now, let’s talk business, shall we? What are you going to do about my sister?”

  Annoyance vibrated in him as he took the offered glass. The bloody woman liked to shoot below the belt. That was fine, he’d let it roll right off his back. Damned if he’d stoop to her level. Yet.

  “I don’t plan on making any decision until I have all the facts. Her husband—excuse me, ex-husband—made a very good case for why I should discontinue doing business with Café Venetia. Unless you can convince me otherwise, I intend to pull my support.”

  Marek watched anger flash across her face and had to admire the way she controlled it. Though he knew she was angry, she took a sip of her chilled drink and remained silent and gazed out over the sprawling yard. Taking the opportunity to study her in the sunlight, Marek raked his eyes over her in appreciation.

  Carm was pure woman, no doubt about it. Voluptuous and lush, with curves in all the right places. When she’d stepped into his office it had taken all his control to not let her effect on him show. She’d looked amazing in her chic tailored suit and bright silk top. All shine and polish with her sleek hair and jewelry. Her funky necklace with the large beads that rested between her cleavage instantly drew his attention and he’d wanted nothing more than to trace his fingers over the delightful mounds.

  Now in the sunlight, with her hair shimmering and the sun kissing her smooth flesh, she was a dream come true. A goddess.

  A goddess with a razor sharp tongue.

  Marek blinked when she spoke and reached for his own drink. His mouth had gone dry as the Sahara Desert.

  “If you believe a word of what my ex brother-in-law told you then you’re a fool, Marek. I consider you many things, but a fool is not one of them. Now, do you want to hear the truth or do you want to continue along your biased, chauvinistic road of thinking?”

  He stared at Carm with her shoulders and back stiff and noticed how tense she was. Enjoying her discomfort, he murmured, “By all means cheri, enlighten me.”

  Carm whipped her head to face him. “You’ll be begging for Kate’s business when I’m through, Mr. Stokes. If you don’t then you are a fool.”

  Maybe. And maybe not. Marek leaned back and relaxed in his chair. It was going to be interesting to find out.

  When Carm finished her explanation, Marek
placed his glass on the table and stood up. There were some men in the world who should be shot for the way they treated women. Apparently Mark Benson was one of them.

  Marek looked out over the deep green grass and focused on an enormous mango tree in the distance. Storing the appalling information away, he thought back to the phone conversation he’d had with Kate Benson. At the time he’d thought her pleading tone an act, put on in an effort to stall for time until she covered her tracks. How could he have been so wrong?

  Mark Benson had come all the way down to meet with him and had appeared on the level. His concern had seemed genuine as had his professionalism. Marek was rarely fooled by people, but Mark Benson had gotten the best of him, and it pissed him off.

  Marek didn’t take kindly to being scammed.

  Carm had remained silent after finishing her explanation and sat quietly in her chair. During her speech she’d discarded her jacket and now sat in the paper thin magenta silk top. Marek had been tempted to run his fingers down the length of her tanned arm.

  Now he stepped off the patio without a backward glance in her direction and paced away from the house. Seething with outrage, Marek ripped the flower head off of a passing hibiscus bush and swore. Merde! How any man could mistreat a woman in such a way was beyond his comprehension. It was even more appalling to think about when the woman in question was carrying a child.

  Needing space to sort through the information, he wandered down the hill toward the beach. Stopping at the edge of the lawn, he found a stone bench surrounded by waving banana plants and sat.

  The answer was simple: he couldn’t pull his business and support from Café Venetia. In fact, he had something new and highly specialized that he’d started working on that would greatly benefit the little café. He’d give them the exclusive on it for the first year or two.

  And he was going to have a heart-to-heart with Mark Benson. He’d tried to manipulate the wrong man and was going to regret the day he’d lied to Marek Stokes. There was one thing Marek couldn’t abide and that was a liar. And Mark Benson wasn’t just a liar, he was a liar that preyed on vulnerable women.