by Zoe York
Saving the world.
Except really, the only task here was to save Will, and that fucker hadn’t gotten back to him.
Mick had texted three times and left him two voice messages. He wasn’t blowing up the guy’s phone again, not when there was a solid chance he was away on an unexpected mission. A real one that didn’t involve a plantation and a gorgeous girl with mocha skin and sun-kissed curls.
And since Mick was out of the navy and off the teams, whatever Will was doing—if it was work—was none of his business.
Bitter resentment twisted in his guts. And then he hated himself for that reaction.
He grabbed his phone and threw himself on the single bed he’d claimed for his own. No new emails. The crappy reception out here let texts through, but his email hadn’t downloaded in days.
Staring up at the dark ceiling, he waited for Brayden to answer the phone.
No answer.
Next he called Finn Callahan, who he’d just seen a few days earlier. Finn was a former SEAL teammate, and the last time Mick had seen him, he’d been living it up. Damn. Had it really only been a few days? A weekend of sparring with Cara and he felt like he’d been in Miralinda forever. And not in a good way.
Finn answered on the first ring. “Hey man, how’s the island paradise?”
“Not as…paradise-y as expected.” Mick sighed. “Are you still island-hopping yourself?”
“Shit. That’s too bad. Nah, I’m back in Florida now. You looking for a place to crash?”
“Nope. It’ll work out, I’m sure. But…I can’t get a hold of Will.” Mick rubbed between his eyes. He’d taken his time getting to Miralinda, knowing he had months to get the project started. When was the last time he’d talked to his buddy. Two weeks ago? Three? “I don’t have access to the internet here. My phone’s only so good, you know? I’m going to go in search of an internet cafe tomorrow, see if I can sneak onto the dark net. But can you do me a solid and find out where he is—even if you can just tell me they’ve gone radio silent and maybe a timeframe they’re expected to return?”
“Can do.”
“Thanks, I owe you one.”
“I’m sure I’ll call it in at some point. And seriously, if you need to come here for a bit…We can always use an extra pair of hands.”
Finn and a couple of former SEALs had started a canine-training business in the Florida Keys. They kept the military supplied with working dogs, and also placed canines with private businesses that needed the additional security. It wasn’t a bad offer, but Mick frowned at the thought of leaving Villa Sucre. No, he didn’t want to do that. This was a frustrating speed bump, that was all. “I’m good. Just need to connect with Will.”
“All right, brother. I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thanks, man.”
He lay in the dark for a while, rolling their conversation over and over in his head. Thinking of Cara, tucked into that ridiculous tent of hers.
Who pitches a tent in a ballroom?
Why not stay in one of the rooms upstairs?
She was making a statement. More to the point, she knew what statement she wanted to make. One of righteous ownership.
Mick’s possessive feelings were murkier. More about the idea of the place than the place itself. What it represented.
So he lay in the dark and waited for another dawn. Another day. Hoping that when it came, it would bring clarity or peace or, if he was damn lucky, both.
Since he didn’t sleep, morning didn’t bring either peace or clarity. Instead he got up when the jungle started stirring and scowled at the birds as they swooped and soared along the ocean’s edge that he knew was just past the trees.
He had a headache.
He wanted breakfast, something hot and filling, but Cara had laid out a clear boundary: stick to their own spaces.
Looking at the sky, heavy with white clouds, but grey in the distance, he also realized that he didn’t have a lot of time to dick around making fancy omelets for pretty women.
For himself. Not Cara.
Unless she was hungry.
The band around his head tightened and he growled. A protein bar and a bottle of water would do just fine. He grabbed those and his phone and wallet, shoving the latter two into his pockets as he ate and walked as quickly as he could toward the house.
He should have moved his moped down to the servants’ quarters last night.
Now he’d have to cross into her space just to leave the property. Not really, of course. He could walk around the main house.
Could.
Wouldn’t.
Except he didn’t even need to go inside to find her. Not that he’d wanted to find her, he lied to himself. Because of course that was why he’d been heading toward the kitchen, with a plan to retrace his steps on Friday. Right down the centre of the plantation.
Marking his claim, a claim that was fresher and less clear than hers, but still…it needed to be made.
Mick Fraser wasn’t going anywhere.
This was his future, he’d been promised it like a lifeline when his world blew up, and he was going to fight for it.
Cara was on the back veranda, reading. She set her book down as he approached and stood, moving to block his entrance to the house.
She wore jean shorts again today, just like the first day, and a sky blue t-shirt that set off the bronze of her skin and the bright, daring anger in her eyes.
Why did she have to be so captivating?
Why did he have to care about her feelings?
Why did she have to have so many damn feelings, anyway?
“Working hard?” he snarled, stopping on the path a few feet away from the steps.
“Waiting for the workmen to show up.” She shrugged. Island time. “They might not. A storm is coming.”
“Good to know. We won’t employ them when we take over the estate.”
She laughed at him, as if unaffected by his bluster. “Not going to happen, but if it did…good luck with that. You take what you can get around here. And when a storm starts brewing…you pick up a book.”
He snorted. “Well, I’m going into town.” If he tapped out another God damned email on his phone, he’d want to punch something. “Don’t fucking do anything while I’m gone.”
She gapped at him. “Excuse me? I think that’s what I’m supposed to say to you when I leave!”
“Like you’d ever leave!” He was yelling now, practically shaking from the adrenaline suddenly coursing through his body. It wasn’t strictly speaking true. She’d left the day before, in fact. But logic and reason eluded him whenever he fought with Cara. All the fucked-up chemistry clouded his judgment. “You moved into the damn ballroom just so you could keep an eye on me!”
“Because you’re an intruder.” She stomped down the stairs and right into his space. “Because you’re ruining everything, Mick Frasier.” She shoved her hands against his chest, and he grabbed her wrists to…not stop her, exactly. Now that he had his hands on her, he wasn’t pushing her away.
Maybe he should pull her closer.
That felt like a good idea, deep down inside. He could breathe her in and maybe, if she got close enough, she’d fit into the ever-present achy hollow in his chest.
She might not like him, and right now he didn’t like anything, but he wanted her.
He wanted her so much it hurt.
And she was close enough that her legs brushed his, her elbows dug into his chest, and he could see every glittering facet of her hazel eyes.
He let her go.
She fisted his t-shirt in her hands. “Let’s get one thing clear. I don’t trust you. I only have to leave because there’s no running water here.”
He smirked, more than willing to goad her now that she had her hands on him. “There’s a perfectly good bathtub right beside my bedroom, sweet cheeks.”
Her nostrils flared as she narrowed her eyes. “You’re a pig.”
“Why? Because I’d rather imagine you sliding into
a bubble bath than harping at me about something completely out of my control?”
A wounded growl sounded in her throat and she slapped one hand flat against his chest.
“Hit me again,” he said low, under his breath. “Punch me.”
She balled her fist and bounced it too lightly against his pecs.
He wanted more. He grabbed her wrist and pressed her tightly clenched fingers to his mid-section. “I’m not going anywhere, Cara. You’re going to have to try a hell of a lot harder than that.”
“I’m not going to hit you,” she whispered, her fist still pressed hard against his abs.
“Then kiss me.”
That wasn’t what he’d meant to say. But when she gasped and her gaze flew back to his face, he couldn’t regret it. Yes, he thought. Kiss me. Punch me. Make me feel anything other than this empty fucking ache.
In the distance, thunder rumbled in warning.
Cara’s lips parted and her eyes widened in shock. After last night, she couldn’t be surprised that he wanted her to kiss him, could she?
On the other hand, this was the second time in as many days that he’d made his desire pretty fucking clear and she’d shot him down. So who was the clueless idiot, really?
He needed to go into town. He dropped her wrist, ignoring the way she swayed slightly into him. “Never mind. I have to go.”
“Mick…” she trailed off, her voice sliding into nothingness. Her eyes darkened as she stared into his face. “Maybe after we hear something.”
He laughed. “You’re not going to want to have anything to do with me then.”
She jutted her chin out as she crossed her arms and stepped back a step. Two steps. Whatever moment they’d just shared was over. He could practically hear the vault doors slam shut.
Screw her, then. He didn’t need any extra drama. He shook his head. “You’re a stubborn—”
“Don’t,” she said, unexpected steel making that one word solid. Vault, indeed. “Whatever you were going to say. Just…don’t.”
He frowned. “You think I’d call you a name?”
She looked down at the ground. “I think you’d do anything to throw me off-kilter.”
The only way he wanted to disrupt her life was throwing her over his shoulder and carrying her off to that stupid tent so he could get as far under her skin as she was under his.
But his infatuation was clearly one-sided.
And stupid as fuck.
He snarled something that he’d meant to be a laugh but probably ended up sounding feral. Rude.
Right on target for her impression of him.
With a calm he definitely wasn’t feeling for real, he turned and stalked as quickly as he could around the house.
He needed coffee, the internet, and a new supply of beer. All before the storm rolled in, or his head exploded, whichever came first.
SEVEN
CARA STARED DUMBLY AS MICK TWISTED ON HIS HEEL AND DISAPPEARED.
Come back, she wanted to cry out. Come back and I’ll kiss that pissed-off look right off your face. But she’d screwed that up, pushing him away for the second time.
She wouldn’t get a third shot at a kiss. She knew that to her very core.
It was for the best, she told herself, but the way her body felt cleaved in two, a raw tear right down her centre, she wasn’t convinced.
Worse, she’d insulted him. It was a knee-jerk reaction to having been treated poorly in the past, and when she thought about it, maybe in the present, too. Every interaction she had with Mick set her past so-called relationships with men in stark contrast.
No man had never commanded her to kiss him. Had never teased her or even made her dinner. Never made her feel a fraction of the crazy roller coaster of emotions that Mick had created in her.
God, what a mess.
She stared out at the sea. It looked like this storm might blow past. They’d get some rain, though, so painting was out. With a sigh, she headed back inside. She triple-checked that the work orders were posted outside each door, just in case anyone came by to work, then stuck a note on the front door that she’d gone into town.
With any luck, she’d be back before Mick returned and he’d never be the wiser that she’d left.
A hot flush of anger flooded through her body. She did too leave. Just because she was staking an active claim on the plantation didn’t mean that she was psychotic.
Maybe she would stay away for the afternoon. Show him that she didn’t care.
What was the worst he could do in a few hours?
Well, he repaired the bathroom…
Right, so he fixed something. Where was the damage in that again?
There were too many voices in her head. “Stop it!” she said out loud, which wasn’t any less crazy. She tossed her book into her tent—another sign of probable insanity—and grabbed her purse.
She needed to track down the lawyers in New York. And it was time for her to confess her secret to her best friends, because she couldn’t figure this out on her own.
~
“THERE’S A GORGEOUS MAN ORDERING YOU TO KISS HIM AND YOU’RE HERE…WHY?” Arielle blinked at her.
“Because he’s also a threat to my job.” Cara groaned and took another long sip from her drink.
On the other side of the bar, Daphne clucked her tongue in that way she did, warning a talking-to was about to happen. For once, Cara didn’t mind. Her friends could see the situation clearly, she hoped. She definitely didn’t have that ability right now. “You have to…” Daphne trailed off, then rolled her lips together. “Do something.”
“Wow. I wish I’d thought of that,” Cara said, reaching for her glass again. Drowning herself in the rum cocktail seemed wiser and wiser with each passing second.
“Well give us a second.” Arielle laughed. “We’re still trying to process the fact that you’re hiding a sexy beast at the plantation.”
“He’s here in town somewhere,” she muttered. “Maybe the internet cafe.”
Arielle hopped off her stool. “Then I’m going—”
“Nope!” Daphne pointed to the vacated seat. “Sit your butt down. We are not spying on the man. Not until we have a plan.”
Cara snorted. “That rhymes.”
Daphne grabbed her drink. “And you’re drunk.”
“That’s Arielle’s fault.” Cara had downed two of the cocktails in the time it took Arielle to arrive at the resort where Daphne was working an afternoon shift.
“Excuse me for not leaving school children unattended,” Arielle snorted. She taught history and social studies at the town’s only high school. “With storms threatening, I needed to make sure everyone left the building before I rushed to a bar to drink with my friends. It’s called job security.”
“They’re teenagers. They can fend for themselves. And job security is exactly the topic at hand.” Cara sighed. “I’m only tipsy. Give that back.”
Daphne slid the glass back into her hand, and Arielle sat back down.
Daphne leaned both hands on the bar. “Okay, so the plantation might not belong to the Historical Society after all. Let’s assume that’s the case, and plan for worst case scenario. What are your options?”
Cara eyed her phone. She’d called the law offices in New York. If they’d just call her back…right now…and tell her there was nothing to worry about, they wouldn’t need to have this conversation.
Her phone didn’t ring.
“I don’t know,” she said miserably. “That’s why I’ve come to you guys.”
“So right now it sounds like you guys are working under the same assumption—that whoever gets the estate can do whatever they want with it. And if that’s you, then that’s probably true. But if it’s him…” Arielle trailed off, her forehead wrinkling. “Can’t you intervene or something? Protect the building?”
Cara shook her head. “The board is pretty set against anything that requires legal action. That gets expensive really quickly.”
“It’s
a shame there isn’t a lawyer on the board,” Daphne mused.
There were a lot of problems with the board makeup. Cara groaned. “Tell me about it. There’s been an empty seat for months, too. But the nomination process—”
“What?” Arielle interjected. “There’s an opening on the board? Let’s fill it.”
“With a lawyer,” Daphne added. “One who’s under the age of fifty and totally switched on.”
Cara laughed. “Just like that.”
Daphne nodded. Cara turned and looked at her other best friend. Arielle nodded. “Yep. Just like that. Well, not just like that. It’ll probably take a while. So you need to stall.”
“Stall?”
“The sexy man? The lawyers in New York? The will debate? Stall.”
“Uhm…” Cara blinked hard at her drink. No more rum for her. It sounded like her friends were suggesting that she solve the problem with sex. Surely not. “And how do you think I should do that?”
Daphne cleared her throat, then pointed to Cara’s chest and did a little shimmy. “You said he liked looking at you.”
“I don’t think that’s exactly what I said.” Her cheeks flamed. “And I can’t do that.”
“Do you want to kiss him?” Arielle asked.
Yes.
“Do you like it when he looks at you?”
Like wasn’t the right word for how that made her feel. “I don’t dislike it.”
Daphne snorted.
“What do you think I should do? Seduce him and every time his phone rings, shove it out of his hand?”
“Just until we come up with a back up plan,” Arielle said lightly.
“That’s not going to work. You don’t understand how—” She cut herself off. She was going to say they didn’t understand how Mick brought out the worst in her, and her in him, but that wasn’t the whole truth.
He did like looking at her.
She did want him to kiss her.
She didn’t much care for the idea of prostituting herself for the cause, and wouldn’t for any other man, but maybe…
“I don’t know if it will work,” she amended her answer. “But I guess it couldn’t hurt to be nicer to the guy.”