by Diane Rapp
Duncan flipped the microphone away from his face and shouted, “Want a drink?” As Duncan’s grinning face turned in her direction, she could see her strained expression reflected in the mirror finish of his aviator glasses. She made an effort to smile.
“What you got?”
He opened a cooler and said, “Passion fruit punch, grape soda, or Diet Coke.”
“Punch.”
“Roger that.” He handed her a cold can and shouted, “Hey, copper. You want punch or what?” He tossed a can back without waiting for an answer. “Steven always drinks punch. You make a good pair.”
Duncan winked, the skin crinkling behind his glasses, as he sipped a diet Coke. He looked rail thin under baggy clothes, yet the man drank diet soda. Kayla relished the taste of her own fruity drink.
She felt the steady engine vibration through her chair, like one of those massage chairs in the mall, and her tension eased. She leaned her head against the window and enjoyed the scenery. Buildings looked like Monopoly pieces and trees resembled fuzzy green pipe cleaners. They flew along Grenada’s rocky northern coast sparsely dotted with villages. Lush vegetation cloaked the rugged terrain like a fluffy green blanket.
Kayla opened her book to study the Caribbean map. Grenada was at the bottom of the Windward Islands. To reach St. Kitts their route would cross many of the islands in her book.
She glanced at Steven. Packages filled the cargo hold, held in place by cargo nets or piled loosely in a random-looking jumble. Steven had arranged orange life jackets on top of cargo crates and dozed comfortably despite the lumpy surface.
Kayla asked, “How many stops do you make?”
Duncan screwed his mouth sideways. “Some days twenty, the record’s thirty-two before midnight.”
“Midnight? When do you rest?”
“When I’m done.” He frowned and lowered his sunglasses. “If you need to use the head, there’s time when we refuel in Dominica,” he looked at his large watch, “about an hour from now.”
“I can wait.” Kayla started to sip her juice, but thought it was better not to fill up.
The air time between islands was surprisingly short. After the first heart-stopping landing, Kayla became accustomed to the ten-minute stops. Duncan climbed back into the cargo hold as the plane stood with its engines sputtering. Steven and Duncan acted as a conveyor belt spewing packages into the hands of ground crew before catching new ones.
Sandy white beaches, imposing volcanoes, green banana or sugarcane fields, and quaint villages clustered along rocky shorelines blurred together. The novelty of viewing islands from the air wore thin. Flying into the glare of the afternoon sun, Kayla closed her eyes and fell asleep. Duncan removed the empty can of punch from her hand, but declined wiping her mouth with a napkin. After all, he was “no damned stewardess.”
Duncan banked the plane to land and touched her shoulder. “Time to wake up, we’re at St. Kitts.” He flashed a lopsided grin. “Good snooze?” he asked.
“Yeah.” She was surprised at how rested she felt.
“We aim to please at Air Cargo Drop,” he joked, and then spoke into his headset. “Roger that.” He banked the plane and prepared for landing.
Roger that, Kayla thought. Air Cargo Drop, the fastest service in the Caribbean. See twenty islands in one day with ten-minutes of ground time on each island. As they approached the airport, Duncan spoke non-stop while the plane landed, the wheels tentatively touched the ground and then squealed against the tarmac.
Kayla unbuckled and squeezed out of the cockpit, eager to stretch her legs. Duncan grudgingly allowed her a quick hug before she climbed out. They watched Duncan’s Yankee cap nod through the window and the engines revved for takeoff.
“You made a big hit with him,” Steven said.
The small plane jumped from the pavement and Kayla smiled. “He’s quite a character, works much too hard.”
Steven shrugged. “He intends to retire a millionaire.”
“If he doesn’t kill himself, working.”
“It’s a good job Duncan can’t sleep in the air, or he’d never touch foot on the ground.”
Steven flashed his badge and a bored customs official waved them through with a cursory glance at their bags.
Kayla hefted her bag onto her shoulder. “What a way to travel. I have a personal bodyguard who slips through customs without a wink.”
He held the door open. “The only person who gets through faster is someone in a leg cast and wheelchair.” Outside they escaped the pandemonium of taxi drivers hawking their trade by heading to a parking lot.
“You borrow another car?” Kayla asked.
“This one’s mine. I leave it in the car park and use it on my days off.”
The MG roadster was an older model but the teal-green paintjob looked pristine and the tan interior smelled of leather conditioner. Neat, clean, and sporty, the car reflected Steven’s personality.
Kayla enjoyed the small-town atmosphere of St. Kitts. Wispy white clouds floated across the distant face of the volcano and lush green fields spread out from its foundations. The rich smell of damp soil drifted from tilled sugarcane fields as they drove south on the new road leading to the South Peninsula.
Kayla asked, “Where are we going? The seaport is the other way.”
“The Andromeda doesn’t arrive until tomorrow morning. I thought we’d stay in a hotel for a change. I know you haven’t seen St. Kitts’ newest resort.”
Kayla smiled. “When I last visited the South Peninsula most of the occupants were monkeys.”
He nodded. “More monkeys live on St. Kitts than people.” He adjusted the rearview mirror.
Kayla glanced over her shoulder and felt relieved when no one followed.
Steven pulled over at a lookout point. The peninsula stretched out in a flat plane covered by dense stumpy trees, the arid portion of the island. The salt pond sparkled in the afternoon sun and they could see the cone-shaped volcano on Nevis across the channel. Surrounded by pure white clouds, the peak looked like an island floating in the sky.
Kayla said, “I understand why Columbus named the island Las Nieves. When he first saw it, the clouds looked like snow covering a Spanish mountain peak. It’s beautiful.”
Steven’s lips curved into a dreamy smile. “At sunset the channel between the two islands resembles a caldron of molten gold.”
“You should be the one writing a guide book.” Kayla resisted an urge to touch his smooth cheek.
The wind blew a lock of his curly chestnut hair loose. “Use any phrase of mine in your next book.” He stroked her cheek and a hot shiver spread through her body. She leaned into the caress until a shock of fear jolted her back to reality. She sat up and wondered what Steven had planned.
With a half smile, Steven turned the key and the motor hummed. “Watch for the family of monkeys living just inside the gates of Nesbitt Gardens.”
“Named after Frances Nisbet, the wife of Alexander Hamilton?”
“No, named after George Nesbitt, a master chef who worked twenty years on cruise ships. He built this resort and he’s a special friend of mine.”
“Good, I enjoy meeting your friends.”
A carpet of grass stretched to the edge of a pristine white beach. The grounds were filled with tropical plants. Tree-sized scarlet poinsettia, orange and purple bird of paradise, and purple bougainvillea grew against a backdrop of lacy ferns. Mango, guava, and papaya trees became manicured sculptures with droplets of fruit hanging like ornaments and giant breadfruit trees became umbrellas of shade for the five bungalows and the main building of the resort.
Built in the West Indies gingerbread-style with wooden clapboard siding and elaborate trim, the bungalows had been painted in garish color combinations that surprisingly complimented each other. The private porch of each cottage enjoyed a view of Nevis framed between sparkling water and deep blue sky.
“It’s enchanting.” Kayla sighed.
“Thought you’d like it.” He led h
er up a flower-lined path to a blue cottage trimmed in lavender. As he opened the door, Kayla’s stomach fluttered. What was Steven expecting?
“My cottage is the yellow one with green trim next door,” Steven said and led her inside. “I took the liberty of ordering a few clothes for you since you packed in such a rush.” He gestured at the open closet.
Kayla marveled at Steven. Patrick would have expected her to yield to his amorous plans, displaying a vile temper if she balked. She cursed herself for comparing the two men again. Patrick’s ghost would not ruin this relationship!
She fingered the delicate batik fabric of a dress in the closet and felt relieved. Yesterday she sent her best things to the laundry, depleting an already meager wardrobe. “When did you manage to arrange to buy clothes?” she asked smiling.
“I called George while you were visiting the priest. The ship’s laundry is wretched and slow, so I assumed you left things behind.”
“Are you having me watched?”
Steven shook his curly head. “Experience qualifies me as a ship’s laundry expert. My laundry gets lost or ruined so I keep spares cached away on layover islands.”
“Is St. Kitts a layover island?”
Steven nodded. “My favorite. I’d best get moving or neither of us will have time for a shower. I’ll pop back in an hour.” He saluted as he sauntered down the path.
She took a long, slow shower, enjoying the luxury of hot water slithering down soapy skin like fingers caressing her body. She thought about Steven with water dripping down his hard body. Kayla’s pulse quickened and her head felt light. Did she really want Steven to act like a perfect gentleman?
She rubbed the fluffy towel against her skin in an effort to force her body to obey her mind, but the tingling sensation after the rubdown left her feeling more sensuous. When she slipped into the long batik dress, its silken folds rubbed against the warm flesh of her aroused body and she imagined how Steven’s fingers might feel against her sensitive skin. The thought jolted her like an electric charge.
Her body ached from physical need but anxiety nestled in her chest, like a knot, ready to choke her if she relaxed and took a chance. Was she ready to take a risk? As she applied makeup a knock interrupted her thoughts. He was early. She answered the door smiling.
A stocky dark-skinned stranger smiled back. He was about sixty with short black hair streaked with gray and camouflaged a rotund figure by dressing in a loose batik shirt over crisp linen slacks. She cast him as a mature Bill Cosby.
“Miss Sanders?” he asked in a deep voice.
“Yes.” She opened the screen.
“I’m George Nesbitt, the proprietor of this resort,” he said, offering a large callused hand. “Steven told me about you,” she said. She shook his hand and gestured for him to enter the bungalow.
George lifted bushy eyebrows and said, “I have a few things to tell you about Steven Young, things you have a right to know.”
Kayla pursed her lips. A knot of anxiety in her chest tightened and her inner voice shouted, I told you so!
George laughed at her expression. “Don’t look so worried.”
“Sorry, I’ve had a bad experience.” Kayla plopped onto a wicker chair.
George eased his girth into the wicker love seat. “So has Steven. He won’t tell you on his own and will probably skin me for telling you.”
She leaned forward. “Really?”
He rubbed his chin. “Steven was married. She was a real knockout, the kind of woman who turned heads when she walked into a room, and she knew it! When Steven accepted this assignment, she was eager to come to the islands. Steven built them a cottage on a beach and believed they were happy.”
He fixed black eyes on hers. “The life here is slow and easy. She got bored I guess, just packed up and left him with an empty house. When the divorce papers arrived, Steven realized she’d gone to the lawyer a good month before she left but never said a word. She broke his spirit. Life had no meaning. He deliberately got into dangerous situations, hoping to end his misery.”
Kayla frowned. “Why are you telling me?”
George ran meaty hands through short gray hair. “Steven’s going to kill me. He’s a good man, one who needs love. This is the first time he’s serious enough about a woman to bring her here. If he’s falling in love with you, I need to know if you feel the same way about him.”
Kayla blinked. She smoothed the soft batik fabric of her dress and said, “Steven’s lucky to have good friends. George, I’d like you to do me a favor . . .”
That evening Steven and Kayla walked down the moonlit path to the dining room. The mouth-watering aromas of fresh baked bread, garlic, and meat grilling over a wood pit fire filled the sultry air. They sat at a table for two. Candles flickered over white linen and sparkling china as George served them personally. The green soup, a puree of onions, carrots, and dasheen tasted so spicy Kayla’s eyes watered. They ate tart mango sorbet and sipped a fruity white wine between courses.
George presented the main course, a platter of Caribbean lobster accompanied by thick potato-flavored slices of breadfruit swimming in cheese sauce. The tender lobster in garlic butter dissolved on their tongues. When Steven finished the fried bananas topped with ice cream and sweet papaya chunks, he rolled his eyes.
“I couldn’t eat another bite,” he said.
Kayla leaned across the table and wiped a drip of ice cream from his chin. “I think you handled the dinner with gallantry.” She gestured at the empty plates.
“I wouldn’t want to insult George now, would I?” He patted his full stomach. “It’s a good job I don’t eat here every night or I’d need a new wardrobe.”
“Me too. Let’s take a walk on the beach,” Kayla said.
A lazy tropical breeze whispered through the trees bearing a scent of jasmine and ginger. Steven and Kayla slipped off their sandals and walked barefoot in the sand, holding hands. “Would you like to come in for a drink?” Kayla asked as they arrived at her bungalow.
“Certainly.” He followed her into the screened porch where a bottle of champagne sat in a bucket of ice between flickering candles. He looked puzzled.
“I arranged it with George. We had a long conversation today. You didn’t tell me you sold your beach cottage to invest in this resort,” Kayla said.
Steven shrugged. “It’s a good investment. I get first choice of cottages when I’m in port, which is a tremendous advantage for a traveling man. Who needs a house?”
“George told me you saved his life, something about being threatened by a drug dealer.”
Steven averted his gaze. “George is a bit too talkative for his own good. When did you two have time for this long conversation?”
“While you were dressing, he came to ask my intentions.” Kayla uncorked the champagne.
Steven groaned. “I should never have brought you here. He’s an interfering old crook and I’ll thrash him soundly for…”
Kayla pushed him onto the love seat and poured two glasses of champagne.
Curling her bare feet up underneath her legs, Kayla nibbled on his earlobe. “Why didn’t you tell me about your wife?”
He abruptly stood up. “George had no right to tell you about her!” He paced the length of the porch frowning. “What did he tell you?”
Kayla blocked his path, encircling his neck with her arms. His hot hands slipped around the curve of her waistline.
“She divorced you without warning.”
Steven swallowed hard. “She sent a letter with the divorce papers, claiming she hated the islands, hated my job and was bored with me.”
“She caused you more pain than Patrick ever caused me. I’m sorry.”
“Why?” he asked, brushing his fingers through the soft curls of her hair.
“I’ve done nothing but complain about Patrick, brooding like a spoiled child. He treated me rotten, but it was nothing compared to your pain.”
Steven’s arms tightened around her. “We’re kindred spiri
ts with a shared experience that drew me to you. I’ve felt a powerful attraction from the moment we met, but it’s more than physical. My heart was dead until I met you. Suddenly I felt alive again. It’s been ever so much fun investigating this case at your side.”
Steven gazed into her eyes. She touched the small creases radiating from the corners of his eyes, the result of pain. “You’ve never fallen in love with another woman?” she asked.
“No.”
“George worries about you and asked if I was falling in love with you.”
Steven stiffened.
Kayla looked into his eyes. “I told George that I am falling in love with you.”
With a whoop of laughter he kissed her, and she poured herself into the kiss with a building hunger. Pulling her against his body he gripped the small of her back with one hand and caressed her full breast through the soft batik fabric with the other hand. Kayla gasped as he rubbed her nipple with his thumb. He raised the dress over her head and allowed it to float to the floor, cupped her bare breasts, and bent to kiss each one.
Unbuttoning his shirt, Kayla ran hot fingers across his body. Groaning at the pleasure of her touch, he swept her from her feet and tossed her playfully onto the bed.
He gazed at her naked skin, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight. Suddenly he grimaced. “Darling, I didn’t bring any protection. I didn’t think . . .”
“No worries.” Kayla pulled packets out of the night table. “George gives a new meaning to room service.” She sat up and pulled him closer, stripping off his shirt and pants.
Kayla shivered as he nibbled her earlobes, working his way down her neck to her breasts, then caressing her buttocks and thighs. Time faded. A dreamlike pleasure supplanted reality as their bodies melded, harmonizing with each other, and yielded to passion.
Afterwards they lay sated and comfortable. She snuggled into the curve of his body. She thought, How could any woman leave a man as caring and sensual as Steven? His wife must have been an idiot!