by Caro LaFever
Finally, he was free.
One of the many reasons he’d bought Cendrillon Island. Freedom from people and their judgments. Freedom from clothes, if he so desired. Freedom.
He stepped into the shower, and turned on the water. The condo might be relatively old, but one of the benefits was the powerful flow hadn’t been affected by the numerous conservation rules passed in the last few years. The hot water steamed around him and Jiggs groaned as he slid onto the tiled floor outside the door.
Home.
Or at least, home in Miami, if not his true home on the island.
Riq stood under the stream, letting the heat soothe his lingering irritation. Even though he’d delivered the lesson and escaped before being trapped into looking at more Migneault financials, he still felt a disgruntlement that provoked.
Carajo.
Exactly. Maurice Migneault and his pretty daughter could go to hell. He’d made his point with both of them. The father knew he wasn’t interested in the slightest, no matter how many pleas were sent his way. And the daughter now knew he could kiss without losing control of the situation and walk away without a backward glance.
He grabbed the soap and slid it across his body, leaving a streak of bubbles behind. Turning to face the showerhead, he let the water stream down his chest and belly.
And his cock.
“Coño,” he muttered.
His hard cock.
Not letting himself care, he stroked it with one hand, leaning on the other so he could take the weight of his bad leg. The nagging ache of his knee was replaced with the dense ache in his groin.
She came to him, the princesa.
In her flaming-red dress of challenge. In those dark-blue eyes of the sea. In the way her lips formed on his, bringing him under her spell.
His hand pumped.
His imagination went wicked and wild.
Her dress disappeared, replaced by nothing except skin. Her blonde hair fell in waves of curls barely covering her breasts. Those silky legs and gorgeous ass beckoned to him when she turned to run away.
No running away. Not in his dreams.
The hand went faster. His imagination pulled her back.
Plush breasts, their weight so right, brushed on his skin, heating him. She smiled, not the tight smiles she gave him tonight, but rather in a sultry, seductive invitation. Kneeling before him, she pouted her pretty lips and leaned in to…
With a grunt, he came, an intense, hot orgasm that caught his breath and plunged him into the fire of lust he kept denying and yet, couldn’t escape. Pleasure pulsed through him like a hurricane of need, so hard and fast, he felt like he got picked up and twirled around until his head filled with dizziness.
He came back to himself, gusts of air billowing in his lungs, a line of goose bumps rising on the skin of his arms and legs. A low, feral sound of disgust rumbled from him.
Jiggs rustled on the floor beside the shower.
Panting out the last of his lust, he wrenched the water to ice cold and stuck his head under. He blanked his mind until he was shivering. He didn’t want her in his head anymore, dammit. He didn’t want her anywhere near him at all.
Jiggs looked up as soon as he stepped from behind the curtain. His buddy jumped up, bright blue eyes gazing at him with adoration.
“I’m an idiot,” he stated to himself and to the dog.
Taking one step, he stared into the foggy mirror. He swiped off the condensation and glared at himself with grim determination.
He needed a change of pace.
Time to get the princesa out of his head. And escape her father, too. Because he knew by the last look in Migneault’s eyes as he’d left tonight, the man hadn’t given up on his fruitless quest. It had been a month since he last visited his island, and seeing that he wasn’t planning on investing in the perfumery, he had nothing keeping him in Miami for the foreseeable future.
Pacing into the bedroom, naked, Riq slid his cell phone out of his pocket.
One text to his mimi.
One more to the condo’s resident caretaker.
And a final one to the marina where he kept his boat.
Next, he checked the weather. August in Florida meant possible hurricanes. He scanned the forecast and grinned at what he saw.
A tropical storm was sliding off the coast of Africa and heading across the Atlantic. If he was lucky, the squall would turn into a full-blown hurricane. He’d have a few days to prepare for it before the landing and then, he’d hopefully have a day or two of using his survival skills and conquering whatever got thrown his way.
Fantástico.
He’d have some fun, get away from any Migneault irritations, and spend time alone on his island.
What more could he ask for?
“Well, Jiggs.” He sat on the bed and scratched behind the dog’s ear. “Ready for an adventure?”
Risa didn’t visit her Grandma Olsen as often as she used to. Between college classes and Spencer, the last few years she’d been busy.
A tug of guilt roiled inside, as she drove onto the simple concrete driveway and stopped the car. The 1940’s bungalow hadn’t changed, its tiled roof and wide windows were shaded with the decades-old palm, mango, and avocado trees her grandmother had planted when she moved in.
She shut the engine off on the car.
The new car her daddy had just given her this morning. The vintage VW bug wasn’t ultra expensive. Not like a Porsche or a Mercedes-Benz. And she’d been asking for her own transportation, so she didn’t have to wait on her father’s schedule and the family limo. But it was still a new purchase, and after what the caveman had said two nights ago, it stung in her brain that maybe she should have made it clear—she didn’t need anything right now. Perhaps her father shouldn’t be spending money on her.
Or anyone or anything other than the family company.
Sighing, she opened the door and stepped out.
Her grandmother appeared in the windowed doorway and smiled as she pushed it open. “Pooh. You’re looking sharp.”
Like Candice, her daughter, her grandma valued looking good and staying classy. Though she’d given up on high heels, she still wore the pearls her husband had bought her on their twentieth wedding anniversary, and her cream cotton dress was crisply ironed.
“Hi, Grandma.” She leaned in and grabbed one of the two drooping plants from her office. “How are you?”
“Better than that plant.” Grandma Olsen’s dry humor, something Risa appreciated after the sweetness of her parents’ love, lightened her guilt. “Come in and tell me what’s new.”
Walking into her grandmother’s home was like walking back in time. Nothing had changed from when she’d been a little girl. Not the aqua-swirl of the wallpaper. Not the plush blue chairs with their lace covers on the backs. Not the dainty china teacups and porcelain dolls Grandma had inherited from her ancestors.
“Give me that plant before it dies completely.”
Risa chuckled and handed the fern over. Her grandmother pecked a kiss on her cheek before bustling toward the old-fashioned kitchen. “Do you want some tea, Pooh?”
Her other favorite nickname. She shared it with Winkie because she’d been a small girl when her grandmother had given her the bear, and also the first of many Winnie the Pooh stories. “Tea would be lovely.”
“Tell me about the job.”
She walked into the kitchen and slumped onto one of two wooden chairs circling the small, round table. “Nothing much to say.”
Grandma Olsen shot her a look. “That’s what you said the last time you visited and I figured it was because you only just started.”
The comment wasn’t meant to be a rebuke for not visiting for almost two months, but guilt still billowed. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around—”
“Nothing to be sorry for.” With expert fingers, the old woman began plucking dead leaves from the plant. “You’re a young, vibrant woman, and I wouldn’t expect you to spend a lot of time here.”
Which was the problem.
“Migneault Perfumery’s in trouble,” she blurted.
“Is it?” Gray brows rose, yet surprise didn’t enter the navy-blue eyes she’d inherited.
“You knew?”
“Not exactly.” Finishing the trim, her grandmother dumped the fern in the sink and began pouring water into the container.
“What does that mean?”
“It means—” the sink spout got turned to fill the tea kettle “—I know your father.”
“Daddy’s great.” Immediate defensiveness rose.
“Yes, he is.” Her grandmother shot her another look before continuing. “But he’s not cut out to run a company.”
She sucked in a shocked breath. “Grandma…”
A sigh escaped the older woman. “Maurisa.”
“What?”
“You’re not a child anymore, although I still reserve the right to call you Pooh.”
A well of tears knotted in her throat, surprising her.
Putting the kettle on the stove, Grandma Olsen swiveled to look her in the eye. “Your father would be far happier running a tourist fishing business, rather than the perfumery.”
“But that’s his job.” Worry and fear, and a startling realization that her grandmother was on to something made her head spin.
“That was his father’s job, not Maurice’s.”
The statement sunk in, too, adding to her confusion. “If Daddy doesn’t run the perfumery, who will?”
“There’s a question.” Wiping her hands on the yellow-flowered apron she used to protect her dress, the old woman pulled the whistling tea kettle off the stove and poured the boiling water into two delicate china cups. “Come with me. Let’s sit on the deck.”
Following in her wake, Risa couldn’t understand what the point of this conversation was. If her father didn’t run the company, then it might be best to sell it for what they could get and be done with it. According to the caveman, that probably meant they’d have to sell the house she grew up in, too. The house her mom loved, and off which her daddy had his prized fishing dock.
How was her father going to run a fishing business if he didn’t have a dock? How would her mom survive without her terrace and the lazy days by their pool?
A shudder of horror ran through her. She couldn’t let that happen. She couldn’t.
Plus, something deep inside wanted to prove to the caveman he was wrong. Wrong about her parents and their company. And about her.
She wasn’t only a pretty princesa.
She wasn’t.
Her grandmother led her out into the back patio, where she kept a garden filled with roses, jasmine, and magnolias. Easing into a wicker chair, she placed the two teacups on the antique table Risa had once used as a castle for her Barbies. The scent of the flowers bloomed in her nose as she sat and took her first sip of chamomile tea. A peace flowed between them, something she’d grown to cherish as she got older.
“What would you do, Pooh, if you ran the company?”
Shock ricocheted inside, and her head jerked up to gape at her grandmother. “Me?”
“Yes, you. Why not you?”
“But…but…” She stopped, stumped at the absurd thought. She might not be a spoiled little princess like the caveman thought. And she might want to do more at work, though she wasn’t sure what more meant. However, that didn’t mean she could run a company with over a hundred employees and a dozen perfumes on the market.
“You’re far smarter than you give yourself credit for,” her grandmother continued, her face serene, as if she hadn’t planted a bomb in her granddaughter’s brain. “You received straight As in college, and graduated summa cum laude.”
Which she hadn’t cared about, because Spencer had dropped his own bomb the night before, by breaking up with her.
“Getting excellent grades isn’t running a business.”
“That’s true. But you’re also very good with people. You were president of your sorority.”
While she appreciated the confidence, Risa knew she’d need far more than a college diploma and a sunny personality to run a company the size of Migneault Perfumery.
“You’ve always reminded me more of Marcel, your grandfather, rather than your father.”
She gaped again. Her grandfather, unlike her daddy, had been gruff and to the point. He’d loved her, she knew that, but he hadn’t minced words and ran an extremely tight ship. Even in her early teens, she’d known his character and temperament.
“Grandma.” Plopping the teacup on the matching saucer, she grimaced. “I’m nothing like him.”
“Just think about what I’ve said.” Her grandmother rose to take both empty cups and sail toward the kitchen. “I’ve got the replacement fern in the front parlor.”
This had been their habit for years—ever since she’d moved into the sorority house. She had four ferns altogether, but two were always nursing their wounds at her grandmother’s while the other two braved her black thumb in her college bedroom and now, at her office.
By the time she placed the restored fern on the front seat of her VW, the usual afternoon storm clouds were rolling from the ocean. A humid wind whipped her grandmother’s silver curls around her cheerful face.
“Might have a hurricane coming,” the older woman mused as she looked at the sky. “Might want to mention that to my harebrained daughter.”
“Mom is not harebrained.” She leaned in to kiss the powdered cheek. “She’s just not like us.”
“True.” Old navy-blue eyes stared into hers. “I believe in you, Pooh. You’ll find a way to make this work.”
A lump of excited anxiety flooded into her gut. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing’s impossible, Maurisa.” Her grandmother gave her a last hug. “Remember that.”
Fol-de-rol and fiddle-dee-dee,
Of course, is impossible.
The Fairy Godmother
Chapter 9
Risa spent the entire night rolling around in her bed, hugging Winkie, and thinking.
Then, like a spark from the universe, it came to her.
Bolting up, she stared across the room and through the glass doors to the gentle waves of the pool. Moonlight filtered on the water, turning it from silver to darkest black. The leaves of the palm trees wafted in the soft wind, creating a sense of comfort inside her.
Except the idea couldn’t be stopped by the familiar and comfortable.
The idea was too amazing and exactly right.
She jumped from the bed and bounded to the laptop sitting on the dresser. A variety of websites skimmed across the computer screen, building her excitement. Yes, it would take re-investment, and they were apparently short on cash. But the idea was sound.
The memory of her grandmother’s flowers blooming their scent into her nose turned the excitement into certainty. She’d always trusted her intuition. Grandma Olsen said it was a woman’s way of getting through the world with a female sixth sense. Well, she was going to go with this.
She was going to make this happen.
By the time morning rolled around, she hadn’t slept a wink, and yet she felt more alive than she had since she last went on a date with Spencer. The thought of him crushed her heart, but her head and her gut were so excited, she didn’t much care.
Racing to the waiting limo, she scrambled in, ready for her daddy to arrive.
Usually, her father was prompt. Today, though, she had to wait for almost ten minutes before he appeared. He came out of their home dressed in his usual uniform of bow tie and crisp suit. However, the coat seemed to wilt in the humid August air, and the expression on his face matched.
Worry for her daddy eclipsed her excitement, but only for a second.
She’d make this right. She’d save the day. She knew it.
When he opened the limo door, his brows rose at the sight of her. “Didn’t I just buy you a car?”
“I need to talk to you.” Her hands tightened on her empty briefcase, the excitement pulsing inside. “I’ve got a plan.”
“Do you?” He slumped into the leather seat and waved at the driver with a limp hand. “Are you and your mother going shopping later?”
“It’s not that kind of plan.”
“I know Paris was put on hold for a time, Princess, and I’m sorry about that.” His black mustache drooped. “But don’t worry. You can make your plans for the trip soon. I promise.”
“Daddy.” Irritation mixed into the excitement, creating a brew of anxiety inside her. “I’m not talking about shopping or going to Paris. I’m talking about a plan for the perfumery.”
His brown eyes lit with amusement. “I suppose you’re planning on redecorating the lobby.”
“No, I’m not.” For the first time in her entire life, her voice was sharp when she spoke to her father. “I’m being serious.”
His eyes widened at her tone. “Don’t be upset. I’ll find a way to get your and your mom to Paris.”
It struck her that her daddy had probably been struggling with the company for years while trying to keep her mom and her happy. He hid all these problems, thinking it would only distress Mom and her—and he’d been right. Except, unlike her mom, she could handle bad news. She needed to understand how bad their situation was so she knew how to proceed with her plan.
The weight of it must have been horrible, though. Sympathy for him welled inside.
But she had graduated now. She was an adult, and could help if he’d let her. She reached over and patted his hand. “Daddy.”
“Yes?” Looking down at their hands, he smiled, a wistful sort of smile.
“I’m here now. I can help you.”
“You are a help to me. Always.” He lifted his head to gift her with another smile. “Sitting there being beautiful is enough for me.”
“It’s not enough for me.” She struggled for the words to make him understand. “Not anymore.”