Her Man To Remember

by Suzanne McMinn

  His family thought they were watching their golden boy lose it.

  “Mother, I have to go,” he said, bringing his thoughts back to the present.

  “But when will you be back in New York?”

  “I don’t know when I’m coming back. In fact, I’m thinking about making an investment here, a bar called the Shark and Fin. So don’t expect me back right away and don’t worry about me. I’m fine. I’m doing business.” If anything would convince his family he was fine, it was the idea that he was making an investment—though they probably wouldn’t be thrilled it was in Thunder Key. He said goodbye and hung up before his mother could get in another word.

  He stared out the open garden doors of the bungalow. Beyond lay a perfect, picture-postcard world. White sands, blue ocean, clear sky. He closed his eyes, let the palm fronds rustling in the ocean breeze take him away….

  Leah danced out the garden doors, silhouetted against the barely dawn blue-gold world. “Come on, you’re too slow!”

  He told her to wait. He was shaving. She tickled him. He laughed, but kept shaving. “I can’t wait. I hope you can catch me—before someone else does!” She disappeared.

  Roman dropped his razor, ran out of the bungalow wearing nothing but a towel. Leah could do that to him, make him do crazy things that didn’t come naturally to his conservative, subdued, Bradshaw personality. He raced across the empty, secluded beach, holding on to the towel and his dignity just barely, and caught up with her in the water—or maybe she caught him because somehow she was in his arms, her legs wrapped around his waist.

  They fell into the shallow sea together, her sparkling green eyes his only contact with the world, and then somehow his towel disappeared and her bikini bottoms slipped away…and she had him doing things in the dawn-misted surf that were very un-Bradshaw-like indeed—

  Roman opened his eyes, gasped. How could it still hurt so much? How could he still miss her so deeply? How could he still feel her in his arms?

  Unable to keep his mind off her, he went straight to the Shark and Fin. He was early, but he couldn’t wait any longer. He walked, taking the boardwalk trail through a mangrove-lined lagoon that stood between the resort hotel and the town. He’d rented a car after flying in to Key West airport, but since he’d arrived on Thunder Key, he hadn’t touched it.

  As he came out of the grove and into the town, he turned down the narrow, overgrown road that led to the Shark and Fin. Beyond the beachside bar and grill, he saw dolphins jumping in the brilliant blue water.

  Dolphins mean good luck, Leah had told him when they’d seen dozens of them dancing up out of the waves during a seaplane tour of the Keys.

  He hoped she was right. He could use some luck.

  The Shark and Fin was just opening for the day. The front door was open to the fresh air and rapidly warming morning. Ceiling fans moved the lazy air as Leah sat at a scarred oak table by a large window, her fingers racing over a sketch pad. Her eyes were intensely focused on her creation.

  Roman stopped in the doorway, just taking her in with his eyes, his heart. How many times had he caught her in the exact same pose, working on one of her designs in their apartment in the city? Memories washed over him and he could barely breathe for a moment. He knew he couldn’t speak yet.

  She’d showered since her run—her hair was still damp on the ends. Leah had always been too impatient to get on with her day to blow-dry her hair. Her makeup was minimal—also as usual—just enough to highlight her glossy lips, outline her remarkable eyes, trace her high cheekbones. She wore a hot-pink sleeveless tank top and capri bottoms in white. She swung one sandaled foot while she worked, and he noticed that her toes were painted with little hot-pink smiley-faces.

  She was oblivious to him, lost in her work.

  But he wasn’t oblivious to her. His pulse had shot into overdrive as soon as he’d laid eyes on her, and the past swamped him again.

  You remind me of someone. He’d been hard-pressed not to blurt out everything when she’d said those words to him. I don’t know you, do I? What was he supposed to say, to do? His heart screamed for him to pull her into his arms and tell her she belonged to him, they were husband and wife, she was his Leah, dammit.

  No. You don’t know me. His words had been true—she didn’t know him. Not yet.

  But she would, in time. Take it slow, that’s what he kept telling himself. Slow, slow, slow.

  It was killing him. But he was scared, so scared, of losing her all over again. What if she remembered him—and didn’t want him? It was she who’d had divorce papers drawn up—not him. Had it been some kind of last-ditch attempt to shake him into changing, into noticing her, into putting her first?

  “Hi,” he said quietly, coming forward into the bar now, finally recovering his voice.

  Startled, she looked up at him. As their eyes met, it was as if he heard the surf roar straight into the bar and he felt himself drowning all over again.

  “Oh, hi,” she said, scraping her chair back and standing to greet him. She dropped the sketch pad and pencil to hold out her hand, very businesslike, but he didn’t miss the nervous tuck she gave her hair, pushing it back behind her ear.

  She gave him her all-too-familiar crooked smile, and that alone nearly made him lose it.

  Then she surprised him by blushing as their hands met. She had a shy side, this new Leah. For all that was the same, there were so many differences, and he wanted to know all of them. He had to know everything about her new life.

  “Thank you for meeting with me this morning,” he said smoothly, letting go of her hand despite every shouting fiber of his being that wanted him to do the opposite, to pull her all the way into his arms, hold her and never let go. But rushing Leah was probably the worst thing he could do if he didn’t want to lose her again.

  He had to file his red-hot longing for her in the same place where he had kept the grief and guilt of losing her for the past eighteen months.

  “I’ve been in touch with Morrie,” she said. “He suggested I give you a tour of the bar, then if you’re still interested, I’ll put through a call to him and let you two hash out the details.”

  “Great,” Roman said agreeably. He’d already decided to buy the bar. He didn’t need to know the details. Hell, he’d buy the whole island if he had to.

  The tour didn’t take long. The bar itself was wide-open, airy, bright with the morning light pouring in. There was the requisite back room with a pool table, and the small kitchen where the cook whipped up conch chowder and fried catch-of-the-day, along with a few other simple short-order items.

  “Can I see upstairs?” he asked.

  He knew it was an intimate request since she lived in the upstairs apartment, but it would be his, of course, if he purchased the bar. He had every right to see it.

  He wanted to see where she lived.

  She appeared to hesitate, then she said, “Sure.”

  He thought he saw a hint of blush tinge her cheeks again. She led the way up the narrow, cramped back stairs.

  “This is it,” she said, opening the door and standing out of the way.

  He walked past her into the room. Against one wall, a counter, sink and stove made up the kitchen. A Murphy bed took up another wall, but she hadn’t put it up, and the twisted sheets and piled pillows made his chest tighten. The entire apartment was characteristically Leah-messy. He noticed she had walked to the large window. She stood there, framed by light sheers that left the ocean view uncluttered, except for a strange concoction of branches, suede lacing, beads and feathers that hung down in the center.

  The rest of the room was taken up by a small dinette with two chairs and a plump tan love seat with a round coffee table. She grew a pot of overflowing ivy and miniature sunflowers in the center of it. Spare sketch pads and pencils, a couple of books and magazines and a box of shells and thread for her jewelry loaded up every spare inch of space around the plants.

  “You’re an artist?” he inquired casually.
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br />   She turned to face him. “I design a few things—clothes, jewelry,” she said.

  Her designs had been sold in expensive boutiques in Manhattan. She had been just as self-effacing about her work then.

  Leah had never taken herself seriously. She could have made a fortune, but she’d never operated that way. The demand for her work had always been much higher than her production. She wasn’t lazy—on the contrary, she worked very hard. But she hadn’t been willing to let it consume her.

  It had been just one of the ways they’d approached life differently.

  “You’re a very creative person,” he commented. He was all-business, conservative. Maybe we were never meant to be, she’d told him once when they were fighting. We’re too different.

  “You haven’t even seen my work.”

  “I’d like to see your work,” he said, covering quickly. “Is it showcased here on the island somewhere?”

  Of course, he’d already seen her recent work displayed on the boardwalk. The day he’d been there, a reggae band was performing for free in the courtyard. Beyond, the public beach offered dive shops and snorkeling gear rentals. A sign in front of the marina advertised a bucket of fish for a dollar to tourists who wanted to feed the pelicans and huge tarpons swarming below the dock.

  He’d fed the fish and watched Leah from the distance as she entered a boutique.

  “There’s a small shopping center on Rum Beach,” she said. “It’s called Smugglers Village. You can see my work there in the Artisans Cove boutique.”

  “Maybe you could show it to me,” he suggested, managing to sound blithe. “I haven’t had a chance to see much of Thunder Key, and if I’m going to be making a property investment here, I’d like to find out more about the island first. It wouldn’t be a date,” he added to defuse any argument before she made it.

  Again he caught her faint blush.

  “I’m sorry I made such a big deal about that,” she said. “I know that sounded stupid. I’m not ready to date, that’s all.”

  “Why is that?” he asked, carefully.

  She was very still, then she answered in a quiet voice, “I’m not sure. Really, I don’t know why I’m even telling you this.”

  The confusion in her soft eyes hurt him.

  “I know how you feel,” he said gently. “I was married, but—” he began, then waited. For a reaction, anything—

  “But what?” she prompted, her eyes wide.

  One heartbeat, two. “I lost her, in an accident.”

  She blinked. “I’m sorry,” she said, sympathy gleaming in her eyes. He even saw moisture there. She was ready to cry—for him.

  Leah had always been one to respond to others’ pain. Not long after they’d married, one of her friends from the studio had suffered an inoperable back injury in a car accident. Like Leah, Nikki Bates had no family, and it had been Leah who had sat by her hospital bed, visited her with food and helped her when she was finally sent home. And no one had been more crushed than Leah when Nikki overdosed on pain medication only weeks before Leah disappeared.

  The suicide of someone so close to her had torn Leah apart—and it was for exactly that reason that when one of the crash investigators had tried broaching the possibility that Leah might have driven her car over that bridge on purpose, Roman had flatly dismissed it. There was just no way. Leah had been too hurt by Nikki’s death to ever leave anyone else with the cruel guilt of losing someone that way.

  Roman changed the subject, not ready to talk more about the past yet. Not ready to risk that she would remember him before he’d had a chance to convince her that he was a different man.

  “What is this?” he said, reaching out to touch the artistic creation of beads, feathers, branches and suede in the window. There wasn’t much in the apartment, so he was curious about what she would choose to display. He had to focus on getting to know this new Leah.

  “It’s a dreamcatcher.”

  “What’s that?” he asked. He’d never seen anything like it.

  “It’s from an old Native American legend,” she explained. She touched the beaded suede laces that made up a web. “The web catches the good dreams, and the hole in the center—” She put her fingers in the opening. “The bad dreams go out through here.”

  “Do you have bad dreams?” He stepped closer to her, wanting so much to hold her. He had to clench his fists at his sides to prevent himself from following through on the urge.

  She nodded. “Yes. Sometimes.”

  He couldn’t stop himself from asking, “About what?”

  “I don’t know exactly,” she said softly, looking away. “I never remember much of them.”

  Was he the bad dream she couldn’t remember?

  Now it was her turn to change the subject. She took a deep breath, exhaled and looked straight at him again. “Why don’t we go downstairs to Morrie’s office and you can talk to him on the phone, then I’ll—” She gave a light shrug, smiled her crooked, heart-destroying smile. “Maybe we can go down to the boardwalk. Joey will be in, and a couple of the waitresses. I don’t have to be here till later. If you still want me to, I can show you around.”

  “That sounds perfect,” Roman said. He forced a smile, feeling like a lying bastard in spite of all his good intentions. But he was fully prepared to keep on lying, as long as he had to.

  He needed time. He needed to seduce her all over again—and this time he needed to do it right.

  He’d lost Leah once, and he’d be damned if he was going to lose her again.

  Chapter 3

  What drugs had she been on when she’d decided this was a good idea?

  Okay, she didn’t do drugs. Had never done drugs. That she knew of. But Leah was pretty sure she’d been high on something when the words, If you still want me to, I can show you around, had popped out of her mouth.

  Morrie had asked her to get to know his potential buyer. He wanted to sell the bar, but not to just anyone. He wanted to know the bar wouldn’t be torn down or all the staff fired. But she hadn’t had to offer to take Roman around town. It had been an impulsive, stupid idea. It wasn’t even like her to be impulsive. At least, if it ever had been like her, it wasn’t like her now. She was careful, cautious, wary.

  But she knew what’d had her high.

  Roman Bradshaw’s dimple that—when he smiled—made her think he wasn’t scary at all. But it was an illusion. He was scary. Her strong reaction to him was proof.

  And now she was stuck with him for the whole morning. Thank God they weren’t alone.

  Smugglers Village teemed with activity. The boardwalk included a bookstore, a sandal shop, a sportsman’s paradise, the standard touristy T-shirt booth and a cozy little restaurant offering a menu of Keysy food. The Artisans Cove was full of New Age samplings like incense, candles, oils, yoga guides, along with jewelry and clothing. A number of artists showcased their work on consignment, taking turns to work in the shop. Leah manned the counter one morning a week.

  “So these are yours.” Roman touched a display of beaded bracelets. He’d dressed in jeans today, with a white T-shirt that clung to his shoulders and pecs. He was an eye-catching man, and she wasn’t the only one who’d noticed.

  The artist working the cash register had lifted her brows when they’d come in, but Marian had been helping another customer, thankfully. Leah felt uncomfortable coming into the shop with Roman. She’d made it clear to everyone she knew that she wasn’t interested in dating, and she didn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea now.

  “Yes, those are mine,” she said, then realized he’d pointed them out before she’d told him. “How did you know?”

  “Just guessed,” he answered easily. “They remind me of the work I saw in your apartment.”

  “These are mine, too.” Leah pointed at another rack holding crystal and ethnic stone necklaces. “And the designs in that window.” She indicated a clothing nook near the door. “I use all hand-printed fabrics from a studio in Key West.”

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bsp; “They’re beautiful,” Roman said. “I’m impressed.”

  His fingers were long, strong-looking, and she found herself staring at them. Wanting to touch them.

  “Don’t be,” she said. “It’s nothing. It’s just something I do for fun.” She forced herself to look away from his hands, unnerved by how everything about him fascinated her, drew her and repulsed her all at once.

  He turned from the jewelry counter, an intense look suddenly crossing his face. “You always do that.”

  “Always do what?” A dizzy sensation crawled up her spine. Do I know you? And he’d told her no. Had he lied? How would she ever know?

  “You put yourself down. You never—”

  “You don’t even know me. How can you say that?”

  Now he was the one who looked off-kilter, and his gaze on her was odd.

  “You’re right.” He looked away. “I don’t know why I said that. These are great, that’s all. I gave you a compliment. Just say thank you.” There was something suddenly sad in his face.

  “Thank you,” she said, and had a strange urge to add… What? She didn’t even know.

  The bell on the door clanged. The customer had left the shop. Marian hurried over. Her gaze on Roman was clearly appreciative.

  Leah felt a weird twist in her chest.

  “Hi, Leah.” She was still looking at Roman.

  “Marian, this is Roman Bradshaw. From New York. He’s thinking of buying the Shark and Fin. I’m showing him around the Key a bit. Marian’s another artist,” she explained to Roman. “She’s a potter.”

  “I see. Well, welcome to Thunder Key, Roman Bradshaw.” Marian stuck her hand out and smiled flirtatiously.

  Roman took her hand briefly. Marian was tall, blond, self-assured. Everything Leah was not. Dammit, was she jealous? She had never felt this way before, and she didn’t like it. Marian was a sweetie, and truly, she’d been a good friend. She was the one who’d invited Leah to join the Artisans Cove group. She was single and manhunting—as Marian herself put it—and Leah had made a huge point of the fact that she wasn’t.

  But she hated how Marian was looking at Roman. It made her feel possessive and childish and ridiculous.