Miss Guided: a Guide to Love novella

by Adams, Alexia

  Twenty minutes later Marcus couldn’t contain the laughter. He let out a whoop that had everyone in his vicinity staring at him.

  “Shush, we’ll be stampeded in the rush to get one,” Crescentia said, although her eyes danced with laughter as well.

  “What the hell am I going to do with a statue of the Pitons made out of volcanic ash? They look like they were cast in the bra Madonna wore in the early 90s.” He held it against his chest and gyrated provocatively, much to the disgust of the elderly woman examining the shell jewelry at the next stall.

  Crescentia had her hand over her mouth, trying to hold back her laughter. “I don’t remember that. I was just a small child.”

  “Good, then you haven’t been scarred for life. On the other hand, I think this will make an excellent present for my mother.” He handed over the requested amount to the stallholder without bargaining. “You have to carry it for me though. My hands are full with my other purchases.” He’d bought something from nearly every stall, not because he wanted the items, but because it made her smile when he proclaimed each ludicrous gift the perfect item for one of his relatives.

  “From the way you talked with Liam, I thought you two were orphans,” she said as she carefully placed his pointy Pitons in the back of the van. “Are you actually brothers? You have different last names?”

  “Same mother, different fathers. Liam has our mother’s maiden name. I have a father and a mother and step-mother and two half-siblings. But Liam’s the only one I really consider family.”

  She stared at him for a moment then turned away. “So which of these presents is for him, then?”

  You are.

  Except the conviction with which he said it in his head was refuted by a burning sensation in his stomach. Crescentia was wonderful. She was warm and witty, smart and feisty. She was fiercely loyal to her aunt and uncle, and spoke about them with love. Yet there was an independence that was at odds with a hint of vulnerability he’d sensed in her. She was a woman who wanted to stand on her own but probably wouldn’t mind if a strong arm was there to hold on to from time to time. It would serve her well if she got together with Liam, as he was often called away at a moment’s notice.

  There were two problems with his plan. The first was finding a time to get Crescentia and Liam together. The second would be extricating himself from the scene. The more time he spent with her, the more he wanted to spend. She was an intriguing woman, and as a mystery writer he loved a good puzzle. He had an intuition that to learn about this woman would take more than the lifetime he had left. And that desire had nothing on the raging lust that hammered through his body every time he looked at her. He wanted her for himself, and this was one area where he couldn’t lay the groundwork for his brother.

  Falling for the prospective sister-in-law was definitely not part of the plot.

  Chapter 3

  Crescy pulled the van up in front of The Palms resort and let the two couples off the bus. They each pressed a tip into her hand and exclaimed profusely how much they’d enjoyed the day. She smiled and nodded, and wished them an enjoyable rest of their stay on the island. Taking a deep breath, she turned back to the van.

  That left Marcus. Just Marcus. Her brain filed through her options. One, ask him to take a taxi back to his resort, except that went against every grain of island hospitality bred into her. Two, silently drive him to his resort, then hightail it back to her home and forget the man even existed. That was the sane option. Three, offer to stop at a cafe, get a picnic supper, take him to a deserted beach and see if he could live up to the promise in those sexy eyes. That way lay insanity, but a damn good night.

  “Do you mind if I ride up front, seeing it’s only the two of us?” Marcus’s deep voice sent a shiver up and down her spine. She could imagine what it would be like for him to whisper wicked suggestions in her ear as they slow danced under the moonlight. Great, now I’m getting romantic. A quick tumble in the sand was one thing; getting all squishy inside and wanting romance was another.

  “Sure, no problem.” Because having him beside her, where she could see him, touch him, was way better than behind her. Not.

  She pulled out of the resort, drove half a mile, and stopped. There was a line of traffic in front of her as far as she could see. Switching on the radio, the announcer mentioned an accident that had the highway shut down. They were estimating two hour waits in each direction.

  “I take it that affects us?” Marcus didn’t seem at all upset at the fact they weren’t likely to move from this spot for the next couple of hours.

  “Yeah.” She rubbed her hand over her eyes. This day just wouldn’t end.

  “Would you allow me to take you for dinner? Then hopefully by the time we’ve eaten the traffic will have cleared.”

  She glanced over; his offer appeared genuine. How was he to know she was battling lust where he was concerned? Surely, she could survive one meal without spontaneously combusting. “Thank you, that would be nice. I know a restaurant not too far from here. But you have to let me pay. After all, you are a guest of St. Ives Tours and Travel.” Hopefully, if they went to her cousin’s restaurant, he’d comp the meal.

  “No way. I pay or don’t go.”

  She bristled and he seemed to catch that vibe.

  “How about a compromise? I’m a writer. If you tell me some amusing stories about people who have taken this tour, no names required, I can use them in my books. Then I can expense the meal as research. Deal?”

  It was reasonable. And she did have stories to tell. “Deal. What kind of stories do you write? Romance?” She pretended not to know. When it was clear, she u-turned on the highway.

  “Mysteries, with a touch of romance. What’s life without romance?”

  My life. She shrugged and drove the twenty minutes to the restaurant listening as Marcus talked about Liam. It was an odd choice of conversation, but it kept her mind off the man next to her, so she let him ramble on about how great his brother was. Entering the restaurant, a dozen locals were there. Everyone stared as the door closed behind them.

  “Crescy, heard you were back. Good to see you, girl. Why you don’t come around sooner?” Her cousin, Roland, pulled her into a bear hug, lifting her clear off the floor. “Who’s the bétjé?”

  She introduced Marcus. “This is a guest of Uncle Robert’s tour company. We got stuck in traffic and decided to eat instead.”

  “Sure, sure.” Roland ushered them over to a small table at the back of the restaurant, far away from the eyes still staring at Marcus. It was like he was the first bétjé, white person, they’d seen. Although given the popularity of his books, it could be because people recognized him. Even Roland was a bit flustered as he handed them the plastic coated menus.

  “Sorry, I should have thought this through better. I’m sure this isn’t what you had in mind. We should have gone to one of the resort restaurants,” she said, glancing around the homely and working-class bistro.

  “This is perfect. I don’t enjoy eating at the resort. It’s too sterile. When I travel I try to immerse myself in the culture. I’m glad you brought me here. Can I ask a question?”

  She took a large sip of her ice water. “What’s that?”

  “Crescy?”

  “Crescentia is such a mouthful. So my family and friends call me Crescy.” He could call her Crescy, except it was too intimate an invitation at the moment. Their legs were touching under the table and she could feel the heat from his body and smell the subtle aftershave that made her mouth water.

  He nodded and then stared at the menu. “What do you recommend?”

  “Rice ‘n peas and curry goat,” she said without hesitation. If Roland used his mother’s recipe, she’d crawl on her knees for miles to get some.

  A huge smile creased his face and annoyingly her heart sped up. Before she could ask what tickled his fancy, Roland arrived to take their order. Deferring to her with a nod of his head, she ordered for both of them.

  “What’s
got that smile on your face? Have you had curry goat before?”

  “Not recently. But when you talk to your cousin, or forget, your St. Lucian accent comes back. Why do you hide it?”

  “I don’t hide it.” She sat up straighter in her chair and shifted her legs away from his.

  His only reply was an infuriating smile. An infuriating, sexy smile. She should have stayed stuck in traffic.

  ***

  Marcus sat back in his chair and stared at Crescentia’s animated face, not bothering to hide his delight. The arrival of two bottles of Piton beer helped loosen her tongue and she was regaling him with the story of a woman who wanted to know when the last virgin had been sacrificed in the volcano at Soufrière. The woman refused to believe it hadn’t happened, so Crescentia had been forced to make up a story about her great-great-aunt who refused to marry the pagan priest and so ended up as his victim. As she spoke, her accent got thicker.

  “Und so I told da woman dat when great-great-auntie stood on de edge of da volcano, never minding da fumes would ‘ave choked her lungs and made talkin’ impossible, she cried out, ‘lips that touch liquor will never touch mine’, before she trew herself into da boilin’ lava. Und dat crazy woman said to me, ‘oh, I always wondered where that expression came from.’”

  Marcus wiped a tear of laughter from his eye. The smile on Crescentia’s face was huge and he sucked in a deep breath. She was so amazing. Beautiful and funny and full of life. Liam was going to love her. The thought of his younger brother, and the real reason he was getting to know Crescentia, wiped the smile off his face.

  “Crescy, the highway’s still blocked, and the weather report came on and said a storm is heading this way. You’d best take the back road and get goin’,” Roland said as he cleared away their empty plates.

  She glanced at her watch and seemed shocked at the time. “I didn’t realize how late it was. Roland, please call Auntie and Uncle and let them know I won’t be home tonight. I’ll get a room somewhere. I don’t want to drive all the way back to Hess from Silver Sands in a storm.”

  “Will do, mind how you go now.”

  “Dako,” she replied, not realizing she’d slipped into Creole.

  Marcus grabbed the check Roland placed on the table before Crescentia could pick it up. He peeked at it briefly before putting bills on the table to cover twice the amount. He’d have paid three times as much for the entertainment and delicious food the evening had provided. And given the dilapidated state of the van, he figured money was pretty tight in the St. Ives household. Before she could comment on his payment, he ushered her out the door with the words, “Are storms this time of year usually bad?”

  “Bad enough.” She hurried to the van and unlocked first his side and then raced around to the driver’s door. The wind had picked up and blew strands of her hair across her eyes. A roll of thunder drowned out the frenzy of the palm fronds whipping in the wind.

  After several attempts, the engine turned over and Crescentia patted the dashboard. Her face relaxed and she shot him a relieved smile.

  “Sorry, I didn’t keep track of the time. You must be anxious to get back to your hotel.” She’d slipped back into her quasi American/St. Lucian accent. Gone was Crescy; she was back to formal Crescentia.

  “No need to apologize. I had the greatest time. I think I should pay you double, a tour and dinner.”

  “I don’t charge to go out with a man,” she replied.

  Great, Marcus, make the woman feel like an escort.

  “That’s not the way I meant it,” he replied, for once at a loss for words.

  A large drop of rain hit the windscreen, soon followed by another, until the wipers couldn’t keep up. The tires skidded on the narrow dirt road, now a sea of mud. Through the dim headlights he could barely make out the form of a small building ahead until it was illuminated by a blinding flash of lightning.

  Crescentia’s knuckles showed white on the steering wheel as she battled to keep the van on the road. “I’m going to have to pull over. It’s too dangerous to drive.” Her words were punctuated by an enormous clap of thunder. She wrestled the van onto a small driveway and pulled up next to the little hut.

  “Where are we?” Marcus asked after another flash of lightning, immediately followed by a clap of thunder so loud it shook the van from side to side.

  “A pineapple farm. They sell produce from this hut in season. The nearest house is about five miles away.”

  The rain, which had been torrential up to this point, redoubled its efforts and all he could see out the windows was a wall of water.

  “Well, we’re safe,” he replied. “Might as well wait out the storm here. At this intensity it’s probably won’t last long.”

  Crescentia looked doubtful and jumped as another thunderous roll sounded above their heads. “I’m not a huge fan of storms,” she said. Her hands shook so much it took two attempts to remove the keys from the ignition.

  Chivalry fought a battle with desire inside him and he couldn’t tell which was the winner. “I know we only met today, but if it would help to have a pair of arms around you I can hold you and tell you an amusing story to keep your mind off the storm.”

  She glanced at him as though he might be crazy then slid across the plastic seat at the next clap of thunder. He opened his arms and she snuggled into his chest, the curls at the top of her head tickling his face. There’d be no disguising the increase in his heart rate from where her head rested against his chest. He hoped to hide the fact that other areas of his body were also increasing with her softness pressed against him. Her hand went around his waist and she heaved a huge sigh, like she’d finally got what she’d waited for all day.

  He’d promised her a story; however, his mind went blank. All he could think about was her in his arms, the warmth of her body against his, the smell of her hair and the way the curls tickled his chin. He should tell her about his rare heart condition, and that he’d be lucky to live another year. Then the pity on her face as she realized he was dying would quench the lust in his veins. Women he’d told before had either tried to mother or nurse him, or run off not wanting to tie themselves to a ticking time bomb. Although in his case, it was the faulty ticker that was the issue. He opened his mouth but the words wouldn’t form. He couldn’t bear to see Crescy pity him. He’d give himself the fantasy, just for tonight, that he had a future.

  “I think you’ll be telling this story soon. Of the time you went for a tour of St. Lucia and ended up stranded in the dark with the terrified tour guide in your arms.” She hesitated then took a deep breath.

  She raised her face to his; her dark eyes searched his, her lips slightly parted. Thank God breathing was an automated function because he was pretty sure he’d forget to do it about now. Her hand slid up his side in a sensual caress, round to the back of his neck, and pulled his head down to hers.

  Who closed the gap between their lips he never knew, as a sensory overload wiped out all memory circuits. Her lips were soft beneath his, her mouth warm and inviting. When she slipped her tongue into his mouth his whole body went rigid. A deep groan eclipsed the sound of thunder until he realized the noise was coming from him.

  While their tongues dueled, his hands roamed. Up and down her back until they slipped beneath the fabric of her shirt. Her bra gave way with relative ease, and of their own volition his hands swept around the front to touch the bounty revealed. Her breasts were heavy, more than a handful. His thumbs flicked up over her hard nipples. He longed to taste them, kiss and caress them until she begged him for more.

  Another bolt of lightning illuminated the van interior. He was supposed to be distracting her from the storm, not seducing her. He struggled to remember Liam and the reason he’d pursued this woman, but his body wouldn’t let his mind override his need. She was luscious, she was in his arms, and he couldn’t resist.

  His hands were full of Crescentia St. Ives, and he was in heaven.

  ***

  Crescy might just explod
e. Marcus’s eyes lived up to their promise. While his lips and tongue kept her brain from thinking, his hands had her ready to melt. She arched her back to get closer.

  Too soon he removed his hands, pulled her T-shirt back down, and released her lips. He kissed his way across to her ear and nibbled on her lobe. A soft sigh of regret filled her eardrum, sending a shiver of desire through her. “I don’t have protection.”

  That he was thinking of practicalities when all she could think of was sexual release was to his credit. “Sorry, I…” How did you explain attacking a tourist while technically on tour?

  “You are such an incredible woman that one simple kiss and I lost my head. I am the one who should apologize. I took advantage of your fear.” He pulled in a deep breath and shifted in the seat.

  She pulled away, refastened her bra, and returned to the driver’s side. The rain had lessened to a downpour and the thunder and lightning had diminished to every few minutes. The storm was making its way across the island. The road would be slippery, but if she drove slow and careful, passable—provided she could concentrate on driving, and not on the ache between her legs or the burning fire ignited by his kiss. She couldn’t ever remember being this hot for a man, and it rattled her miss independent backbone. Crescentia St. Ives didn’t need a man. Unfortunately, her body hadn’t received that memo.

  Digging the keys out of her pocket, she put them in the ignition and twisted. Nothing, not even a click. She tried again, making sure the van was in neutral and the emergency brake engaged. Still nothing.

  “Is the battery dead?”

  “I have no idea. If I really wanted to be helpful to my family, I should have studied mechanics rather than law. You’re a man, can you fix it?”

  His deep laugh filled the van, flooding her with warmth. This is what she missed in her life—laughter.

  “Unfortunately, gender does not dictate mechanical ability. Give me a couple weeks and I can write an expert mechanic who will hop out of this van, and despite the presence of lightning, raise the hood and stick his head into a metal cavern and fix whatever is not working.”