by Rachel Woods
The resort owner’s attack had been savage, and yet there was something hypnotic and enticing about the brutality he’d displayed. His aggressive ferocity was both violent and sexy. Despite herself, she’d been turned on by the idea of the hands he’d used to hit the Asian man caressing her nipples, trailing along the surface of her skin as they moved past her navel and then lower, slipping between her—
“Are you okay?” the resort owner asked, concern in his hazel stare.
“Am I okay?” She rolled her eyes. “Did you really just ask me that?”
“Can you tell me what happened?”
“It’s obvious what happened to me!” she said. “A crazy asshole broke into my casita and tried to kill me! The question is not what happened. The question is why did it happen? How was some psycho able to break into my casita? I thought this resort was safe!”
“It is safe—”
“The website said this resort was a relaxing and safe tropical oasis in the jungle—”
“Relaxing, safe rainforest sanctuary,” he corrected.
“Whatever,” she said through gritted teeth. “The point is, your website lied. Relaxing and safe, my ass. I don’t know what the hell kind of place you’re running, but in case you didn’t notice, I am not relaxed, and I do not feel safe!”
“Ms. Edwards, I am very sorry that this happened to you,” he said. “And I want you to know that I will do whatever I have to, whatever it takes, to make sure you’re okay and you enjoy the rest of your stay. After I call the police, I am going to meet with my security team—”
“Your security team?” she scoffed. “Is that a joke? A security team is supposed to make you feel secure, and I have never felt more unsecure in my life!”
“I am going to find out how that man was able to get into your casita,” he continued. “But, rest assured, he won’t get a second chance to hurt you again.”
“Well, of course, he won’t,” she said. “Because you killed him. Dead men don’t attack helpless women!”
“He’s not dead.”
“Are you sure?” she asked. “You beat the hell out of him.”
“Because he was assaulting you,” he said, frowning. “I was trying to stop him from hurting you.”
“What is it?” Spencer asked, wary of his searching gaze, the way those hazel eyes seemed to roam over her body, almost as tangible as if he was touching her. “Why are you staring at me?”
“Your tone,” he said, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly.
“What about my tone?” she asked, unable to tell if his gaze held amusement or derision.
“It’s a bit ungrateful,” the resort owner said. “More than a bit, actually.”
“Ungrateful? Excuse me?” She gaped at him, trying to move her wrists beneath the rope. “I am not ungrateful! I am petrified! I was viciously attacked! And then I was calf-wrestled and tied up like a heifer! God knows where that asshole planned to take me or what he was going to do to me when we got there! So, excuse me if I don’t seem grateful enough for you!”
“Ms. Edwards, I’m sorry,” he said, holding up both hands. “You’re right. You’ve been through a lot. I shouldn’t have accused you of not being thankful that I saved your life.”
“You saved my life?” She glared at him. “Is that what you think?”
“What I think, Ms. Edwards,” he said, “is that if I hadn’t come in here when I did, there’s no telling what that guy would have done to you.”
“Oh, so now you think you’re some kind of hero? Well, let me tell you something,” she said. “I didn’t need you to come in here and go all jungle warrior on him for me, okay? I was handling the situation!”
“And while you were handling the situation,” he said, walking away from the bed. “You somehow got your hands tied behind your back?”
Spencer scooted to the foot of the bed.
“What the hell happened to the phone?” he asked, glancing back at her and then at the floor, where the house phone lay in pieces, wires strewn across the tile.
“When I was handling the situation,” Spencer said. “I threw the phone at the guy.”
The resort owner sighed and then said, “I’ll be back.”
“What? Where are you going?” Alarmed, Spencer made her way off the bed, mindful of the river stones as she stepped on the tile.
“I need to call the police, but I think I dropped my phone outside. So, I’ll have to use the one in the kitchen because you broke this phone.”
“I didn’t break the phone!” Offended, she said, “I was trying to defend myself. The damn phone ended up broken because he ducked out of the way at the last minute.”
Shaking his head, the resort owner headed out of the bedroom.
“Come back here!” she said. “You need to untie me!”
“You sure you need my help?” he said over his shoulder, walking out of the bedroom. “Don’t want you to think I’m trying to be a hero. Wouldn’t want you to accuse me of not letting you handle the situation.”
Frustrated and flummoxed, she stayed on his heels as he headed into the living room.
“Considering that I was almost killed on your property,” she said, “I think you should be a little bit more considerate of me and my feelings and what I had to endure!”
Sione Tuiali’i stopped abruptly.
Squealing, Spencer skidded, unable to stop her momentum, and crashed into the resort owner’s back. Taking a step back, she overcompensated, lost her footing, and cried out as she teetered backward and—
He turned and grabbed her, steadying her so she wouldn’t fall on her ass. His fingers wrapped around her arms gave her a surprising jolt of pleasure. Disturbed by her response to his touch, she stared ahead and found herself eye level with his massive, muscled chest.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re right. You’ve been through a very traumatizing situation, and I need to be more sympathetic and understanding. Again, I’m very sorry, and I hope you’ll accept my apology.”
“I’ll think about accepting your apology,” she said, adopting a sassy tone, even though his sincerity was evident. “After you untie me.”
chapter 13
San Ignacio, Belize
Belizean Banyan Resort - Honeymoon Casita
Deciding not to antagonize Ms. Edwards any further, Sione bit his tongue. He would forget about the comeback he wanted to sting her with, which would have been something about not wanting to untie her. She looked good with her hands tied behind her back, defenseless and helpless. He could do what he wanted to her, and she wouldn’t be able to get away.
He supposed she wouldn’t have appreciated his mocking, and he would have been treated to more of her insolent attitude. Her bitchiness should have irritated him, but he rather liked the boldness. It brought out the sultriness he found so intriguing. Her annoyance held a hint of self-reliance, which suggested she had no time for vengeance or carrying grudges. He had the feeling she wouldn’t hold his earlier lack of sympathy toward her plight against him.
Sione hadn’t meant to act as though he didn’t care, because he did. The safety and well-being of his guests was the most important thing to him. When he’d seen the Asian guy tying her up, he’d had no problems giving into his anger to make sure nothing bad happened to her.
He would have done the same for any of his guests. For whatever reason though, she’d accused him of trying to run to her rescue and be a hero instead of being glad he’d saved her. The ungrateful attitude had reminded him of his ex-fiancée. He didn’t have time for another woman making him feel as though helping her was the least he could do.
The entitlement in Ms. Edwards’ tone and demeanor made him feel as though what he’d done deserved no applause. Not that he was even looking for effusive gratitude, because he wasn’t. He didn’t want Ms. Edwards to gush over him and thank him profusely for rescuing her, but he didn’t want her to bitch at him for saving her life either.
He untied her, disturbed by the welts and abr
asions on her wrists from the rope burns.
“Thank you,” she said, careful as she pressed a finger against her wrist.
“There should be a first aid kit in the kitchen,” he said, guiding her to the dining room table. He pulled a chair out, and after she sat down, he went to the kitchen. Returning to the table, he removed a small plastic bottle and several cotton balls from the kit.
“Tell me what happened,” he said, reaching for her hand.
“What are you going to do?” she asked, trying to pull her hand away.
“Just going to clean the wounds.”
“Is it going to sting?”
“I don’t think so,” he said. “It’s peroxide.”
Her gaze wary, she allowed him to pull her hand closer to him.
“Now, tell me what happened,” he said, soaking a cotton ball with peroxide.
“The guy broke into the casita,” she said and then winced when he pressed the cotton ball against her wrist. “And he attacked me.”
“You didn’t see him breaking into the casita?”
“I was unpacking,” she said, making another face as he dabbed the cotton ball across the abrasions on her skin. “And then I turned around, and the next thing I knew, I was slapped in the face.”
Sione winced. The idea of her being slapped in the face rekindled his anger, and for a moment, he wished he’d broken the guy’s neck. But when the wish lasted longer than a moment, he struggled to combat the violent thoughts. “Did he say anything to you?”
“Anything like what?”
“Did he give you any indication as to why he broke into the casita?” he asked. “Was he trying to rob you? Or was there something in the casita he wanted? Or—”
“I think he was, um, trying to rob me,” she said. “Because he wanted my purse.”
“Your purse?”
Nodding, she said, “It’s Hermes. Vintage. Worth about twenty thousand.”
“A twenty-thousand-dollar purse?” he echoed, staring at her, shocked, but not really surprised. She looked like the kind of woman who liked expensive things; her beauty was a suitable match for luxury goods, but something in her gaze made him doubt her ability to afford high-dollar trinkets.
“Why did he tie you up?” he asked. “If he wanted the purse, why didn’t he just shove you aside, take the purse, and get out as quick as possible?”
“How the hell would I know what goes on in the mind of a psychotic purse snatcher?” she asked. “Maybe he tied me up because I fought him. I wasn’t going to let him take my purse. My sister gave it to me, and she went through a lot to get it.”
“Still seems strange.”
“What seems strange?”
“Going through the trouble to tie you up,” Sione said.
“Maybe that’s his thing,” Spencer said. “Maybe he likes to tie women up before he snatches their purses. I don’t know. Like I said—”
There was a loud, abrupt slam.
“What the hell?” Sione jumped up from the table and headed toward the bedroom.
Moments later, in the master suite, he stared at the empty space on the floor in front of the bamboo-wood wardrobe, and he couldn’t help but remember something else his father had always told him.
Don’t ever assume a man is down for good. Make sure he won’t ever get up again.
“What is it?” Ms. Edwards asked.
“Damn it,” he mumbled, turning to her. “The son of a bitch is gone.”
chapter 14
San Ignacio, Belize
Belizean Banyan Resort – Manager’s Office
Sione pressed the phone to his ear, his heart slamming as the receptionist regretfully informed him that Walter Perales was not available at the moment. She was more than happy, however, to take a message and have Mr. Perales return his call. Hesitating, Sione took a deep breath. Walter Perales was his ex-fiancée’s attorney and the person who could possibly tell him whether or not his father had visited his ex in prison.
Sione had been reluctant to contact Perales, and he was more than relieved that he wouldn’t have to seek answers to questions he really didn’t know how to ask. If he left a message, the attorney would inform his client of the call, and the last thing he wanted was his ex thinking that he believed her wild, foolish bullshit.
“Sir?” the receptionist prompted.
Deciding against leaving his name and number, Sione said, “I’ll try him another time. Thanks.” Sione hung up the phone then sat back in his leather chair, rubbing his jaw.
He was glad he hadn’t left a message. Glad he wouldn’t have to worry about being tense and on edge, waiting for Perales to call him back. Sione didn’t really want to talk to the man but figured he would have to eventually—if he wanted to find out the truth.
Richard wants me dead.
Sione stood and walked to the window, thinking about all the shit that had happened today. His ex-fiancée’s claims about Richard threatening to kill her had been only slightly worse than the situation with Spencer Edwards. The most beautiful girl he’d seen in a long time turned out to be abrasive and ungrateful.
If that wasn’t bad enough, a guy with a tattoo of a green snake on his face had broken into her casita, exposing serious flaws in the resort security system and dangerous faults in his belief that his father’s instruction no longer had any power to influence him.
Ten years away from Richard Tuiali’i’s persuasion should have been proof enough that he’d changed. There hadn’t been any relapses in the past decade.
And yet, part of him, a huge, significant part, wondered if the changes he’d made had only been surface repairs, like a fresh coat of paint over a bloodstained floor. Over time, the paint would begin to chip and the truth would be revealed.
Staring out at the jungle beyond the windows, Sione worried he was only one bad situation away from turning back into the person he used to be, the person he wanted to forget and to pretend he’d never been.
One wrong circumstance could turn him into the man Richard had raised him to be, and all his uncle’s efforts to save him from that vicious, cold-hearted life would have been in vain, wasted.
There was a knock on the door.
“Come in,” Sione called out, turning toward the door as it opened.
Marie poked her head into the office. “I’m getting ready to leave,” she said. “Need anything before I go?”
“No thanks, I’m okay.”
Pushing the door back, his secretary stepped into the office. “Sorry it was such a weird day for you today.”
“Well, even the worse days have to come to an end, right?”
Nodding, she gave him a sympathetic smile and then asked, “Did the police find the guy who broke into the honeymoon casita?”
“Unfortunately, they didn’t,” he said, remembering his disappointment when the head of security had shown him the surveillance tapes. The cameras were positioned at odd angles, and the intruder had been able to avoid being captured on film. “But I’m sure they will.”
“Marco said there was no forced entry.”
“No, there wasn’t,” he confirmed, making a mental note to remind the security team not to divulge any information about the investigation, especially to any staff personnel who were prone to gossip.
Speculation had to be contained before it got out of control and spread to his guests, who might allow unfounded fears to drive them away from the resort.
“This mess with some man breaking into the honeymoon casita is not good for business,” Marie said. “You don’t need people thinking the resort isn’t safe. Folks don’t go on vacation to get robbed. They will stay away from places where people get slapped around and tied up.”
After Marie left and he was alone in his office, with nothing but the ceiling fan whirring above him, chaotic thoughts swirled through his mind, from the attack on Spencer Edwards to the lapses in his security to his ex-fiancée’s ridiculous story. Mostly, Marie’s dire predictions took precedence.
Sione rubbed his eyes, then opened the bottom drawer, and took out a bottle of Blue Label and a shot glass. He couldn’t take Marie’s unfounded worries as a criticism of his abilities to manage and maintain the level of success his uncle had obtained. But there was a warning in her ominous words he couldn’t ignore. Nothing could jeopardize the success of the resort. Failure would ruin him.
chapter 15
San Ignacio, Belize
Belizean Banyan Resort – Honeymoon Casita
“You asshole!” Spencer screamed into the burner phone seconds after Ben answered. “First you steal my passport so I can’t leave the country! Then you have some psycho break into my casita and tie me up!”
“Sweet girl, please,” Ben said. “You need to relax.”
“Why don’t you just call the cops on me,” she said, stalking back and forth across the bedroom. “Just go down to the D.A.’s office and tell them you want to file a formal complaint against me and give them that damn video tape!”
“Sweet girl, calm down,” Ben said. “Think rationally. You don’t want me to show the video to the police.”
“Yeah, I do! Because I would rather go to jail than be forced to do a favor for a man who hates me so much that he would steal from me and have someone break into my casita!” she yelled as she cried. “I already feel like I’m in prison anyway!”
“Sweet girl, do not be melodramatic,” he said. “You need to get ahold of yourself. You are not in prison. If you were, you would be out of your mind or dead.”
“I feel like I’m out of my mind,” she raved, her head spinning with hysteria as she stomped toward the bureau chest across from the bed. “I feel like I have died and gone to hell!”
“Will you stop these damn histrionics!” Ben thundered.
His deep lilting roar broke something within her and she burst into tears.