After the Storm

by Katy Ames

  “Let alone some guy you barely know.” If Sadie hadn’t been tilted towards him, her body seeking his warmth in the cooling night air, she might have missed his wounded tone. But she did notice and felt an odd impulse to sooth him.

  “I never stop moving when I’m working one of these things, Jack. You said so yourself. If things are running as they should, if you aren’t a problem to solve, I rarely have time to stop. And there is no way for me to keep track of every single person present. Regardless of how charming or attractive.”

  Sadie’s eyes widened in surprise even as the last words fell off her tongue. For a moment she thought Jack hadn’t heard. Or hadn’t been paying attention. But Jack lifted his eyes from his whisky glass, his hazel fixing heavily on her green, refusing to release her gaze for several heartbeats. Damn bourbon, damn bourbon, damn Jack. Sadie felt the heat of a blush against her neck and cheeks, and knew that Jack could see the embarrassment spread across her skin.

  Slowly, as if he didn’t want to startle her, Jack reached out and brushed his knuckle down her cheek, pulling away just below the slope of her jaw. “Too warm, Sadie?” A small shiver raced through her at the timber of his voice, the tremble belying the fact that her flush didn’t have a thing to do with heat. Not from the fire, anyway. “We can move back a bit, if you aren’t comfortable here.”

  “No,” Sadie gave her head a rapid shake. “No, I’m perfectly comfortable. No need to move.”

  “If you’re sure.” Jack inhaled once more, deeply, before dropping his eyes to the rocks glass squeezed tightly in Sadie’s hands. Under his scrutiny Sadie tried to relax her fingers, let some of her tension dissipate. “You still have a way to go with that,” he nodded at her glass. “So I suppose I should carry on entertaining you. As you finish.” His lips quirked up on one side. “As my way of showing appreciation for all of your work. And,” he tapped one finger on her knee closest to him, “for finally deigning to acknowledge my presence. However charming or attractive.”

  Sadie couldn’t help it. She laughed. Jack was teasing her. With his words, with his touch. And she was enjoying herself, thoroughly.

  * * *

  Sadie had hoped staying outside, where there was plenty of space and thinning crowds, would help her keep her distance. But as the mountain air got progressively colder, Sadie got progressively closer to Jack, trying to stay warm. The fire had dwindled and by the time they were finishing their second drink, she and Jack had their legs pressed together under their shared blanket. Touching as they were, Sadie couldn’t hide her.

  “Cold?” But even as Jack asked the question he was replacing his glass with her hands, chaffing her chilled fingers between his warm ones.

  “Probably a sign that we should go inside.” Sadie struggled to keep her voice even as Jack blew warm air into their cupped hands, his lips grazing the outer edges of her fingers. God, they’re warm.

  Her chill gone, replaced by surging heat, Sadie jumped from her seat, the blanket falling to the ground. “Jack, thanks very much for the drinks. I appreciate it. But it’s late and definitely time I head inside. Pack up, get ready for my flight tomorrow.”

  Sadie scolded herself for being disappointment that Jack didn’t protest. She was the one saying goodbye, the one bringing their evening to an end. And now he was standing, giving no sign that he wanted her to stay. No indication that he missed the heat of her body as much as she missed his.

  “You’re probably right. No sense risking bodily harm staying out here all night.” Jack headed for the doors that led from the patio into the lobby, bypassing everyone still gathered in the bar. Sadie followed him through the first floor of the hotel, both headed for the elevator and their respective floors. A silence settled between them. It wasn’t uncomfortable. But Sadie still found herself fidgeting, her brain testing out all of the ways to say goodnight without sounding indifferent. Or saying goodbye without sounding desperate to say the very opposite.

  “Which floor?” Jack’s fingers hovered over the elevator buttons.

  “Five, please.”

  Jack pushed one button.

  For a split second Sadie thought he was planning on following her to her room. Then she remembered that Jack’s suite was on the same floor.

  Get a grip, Sadie. Seriously.

  The ride was short, the elevator chime dinging as the doors opened to an empty floor. Jack motioned for her to go ahead and Sadie tried not to pay attention to just how close he was behind her as they walked down the hall.

  “This is me.” Sadie turned to see Jack motioning to a door. He stood relaxed, one hand pushed into a pocket, the other brushing back a lock of dark hair.

  “Thanks, Jack. For the drinks. And for the chance to sit down, for once.” Sadie couldn’t prevent the smile that spread across her face. “I enjoyed it.” Without thinking, Sadie stepped towards him and rested one hand on his sleeve, “And I promise to notice you next time. Regardless of how big the room.”

  She’d meant to tease, to wave him off with a casual remark and a cheerful smile. But she’d miscalculated.

  Jack’s easy stance disappeared the moment her hand touched his arm, his eyes darkening at her comment. Sadie had just enough time to feel the air shift around her, to catch an inhale of his cologne, before she found herself pushed against his guest room door. His eyes were so close to hers, watching. For what, she wasn’t sure. Panic? Permission? When she made no sign of either, Jack’s eyes dropped. First to her mouth. Then to the rapid pulse at the base of her throat. Down to where her chest was rising and falling, one deep inhale away from touching his.

  Sadie’s mouth had gone dry; she brushed her tongue against her lower lip, tasting the slightest hint of bourbon. That one small movement was enough for Jack.

  The space between them disappeared as Jack brought his body flush against hers. Sadie could feel the strength of him, the hardness, down her entire length, where his chest touched hers, his hips pressed against her abdomen, his legs pushed between hers. Her eyelashes fluttered and she almost dropped her head against his shoulder, a wave of dizziness striking her. But Jack caught her face with one hand, his fingers tracing lightly against her jaw, tilting her up to meet him.

  “Sadie….” Jack whispered her name against her lips, his eyes never leaving hers. The intensity she saw in those hazel depths, it caused her breath to catch and her body to relax at the same time. In anticipation of his onslaught. In acceptance of it.

  Sadie let her head fall back against the door and pushed up on her toes. Jack spread his fingers, pressing them along the delicate skin behind her ear and threading them into her hair. Then his lips were there, brushing hers. Gently. As if he was giving her a chance to change her mind, to push him away. But Sadie only wanted him closer. Which Jack realized when a little moan escaped her as the tip of his tongue met the seam of her lips. He deepened his grip in her hair while Sadie flexed her fingers against the muscles of his chest, their heads angling to give each other deeper access.

  Sadie relished Jack’s sigh as he took her mouth. But her heart seized when she heard a quiet but precise “oh, shit” from down the hallway. So instead of his hand curling around her hip and hers sinking into the strength of his shoulder, Sadie and Jack pushed themselves rapidly – awkwardly – apart.

  Sadie brushed her hands down her thighs and straightened her shoulders before turning in the direction of the voice. She hoped she didn’t look as unraveled as she felt when she met Lizzie’s startled expression. The two women exchanged a rapid, wordless communication. They had worked together for a long time. Had weathered work crisis after work crisis. Lizzie didn’t need to say anything for Sadie to know that her assistant was astonished and horrified by what she’d seen. Any more than Lizzie needed Sadie to say out loud that she felt the same about being caught.

  Sadie shook her head as she saw Lizzie look beyond her. At Jack. Sadie didn’t move, didn’t turn to see the expression Jack gave Lizzie. She stayed rooted to the floor, hoping her legs would remain
steady long enough to get her back to her room.

  “Sorry, Sadie,” Lizzie whispered from where she stood, before turning around and dashing down the hallway.

  Sadie would have to find her, talk to her. Explain. Though what she would explain, she had no idea. Sadie wasn’t clear on what had even happened. How had she and Jack gone from a friendly conversation safe in a crowd, to being alone, clinging to each other with every possibility of disappearing together into his hotel room? She winced at the thought of having to discuss it with Lizzie. But there was no way to ignore it, not with her job and her reputation with her top client caught in the balance.

  “Sadie.” Jack had been silent and motionless for those few awful moments, but as he said her name, Sadie finally turned to face him. When his fingers brush her hand, she pulled back, stepping away from him, trying to get herself to the safety of her room.

  “Goodnight, Jack. I really do need to go.” She couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes; she focused on his right temple instead. “Thanks again.” She waved lamely between them before turning away. Before she was able to take another step, Jack wrapped his fingers around one of her hands. He didn’t try to pull her back, or even turn her around. He just stopped her from escaping.

  “Don’t forget your promise, Sadie.”

  She was still facing the other direction and was surprised he heard her whisper, “My promise?”

  “To notice me.”

  * * *

  After the Island, book one in the Seven Winds Series, is available on Amazon.

  Exclusive Excerpt: After The Fall

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  For an excerpt of After the Fall, the second standalone novel in the Seven Winds Series

  AFTER THE FALL

  Seven Winds Series: Two

  By Katy Ames

  If there was one man in the world Grace Fitzgerald never wanted to see again, it was Mark Donovan.

  Sinfully handsome and notoriously cocky, as a guest at her luxury hotel, Mark was impossible. As the new owner, he’s become a nightmare. The kind that wakes Grace in the middle of the night wishing she could forget how right his lips felt against her own, or how tempting his fingers were on her skin.

  But despite all the challenges Mark and Grace face working together, it’s impossible to ignore the attraction that flares every time they fight for control. Or the secrets that refuse to stay hidden in the luxury of the Seven Winds Resort.

  They’re engaged in a battle of wills. But the real war begins when Mark and Grace realize just how much they have to lose. When mistakes from their pasts threaten everything they’re working for, they have to decide: admit defeat or join forces to save the hotel and each other.

  A steamy, enemies-to-lovers standalone romance from Katy Ames, author of After the Island.

  Copyright Katy Ames, Jenkins Hill Press, 2017

  ISBN: 9780999105511

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional. Any similarities to real persons or events is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  1

  Grace glared at the door, then down at her phone. Then back at the door. She shouldn’t be there. She shouldn’t be the one dealing with this. With him. But the hotel’s general manager was nowhere to be found, and if the man inside called the front desk one more time, Grace knew Carrie would quit.

  “Mr. Donovan,” Grace called out as she knocked forcefully against the heavy door. When she heard no signs of life, she knocked again. Louder. Pressing her ear to the surface, she tried to pick out any sounds from inside. Given the frequency and volume of his phone calls over the past hour, Grace knew he was in there. Swiping past the messages from Carrie clogging up her phone, Grace was about to try the villa’s landline when she heard a crash followed by a muffled shout.

  “Mr. Donovan. This is Grace Fitzgerald from the Seven Winds Resort,” she shouted through the door, digging out her master key. “Is everything alright, sir?” The only answer was a loud thud. “Sir, I understand you’re having an issue.” Though not one that warranted so much noise, she thought. Steeling herself, Grace continued, “Mr. Donovan, I’m coming in.”

  Grace swiped her key and pushed open the door, stepping into the luxuriously understated living room of the Seven Winds Villa. Perched halfway up the island’s long-dormant volcano, the two-floor suite boasted some of the most breathtaking views in the Caribbean. With the primary living area on the top floor and the lower-level bedrooms opening up to the sprawling patio below, guests were surrounded by well-appointed luxury in all of the many rooms. The sterility of the suite’s more high-tech amenities was softened by a palette of whites and creams and sky blues, thick area rugs, and lush flower arrangements. The expansive wall of windows on the far side of the living room was broken up by a series of French doors, all of them currently open, the white linen curtains blowing in the breeze, the warm azure of the ocean visible between each shift and sway.

  Looking around, Grace confirmed that nothing was glaringly wrong, at least not on the main floor. From her position in the living room, she could see the kitchen was empty. As was the dining area, if she didn’t count the abandoned coffee cups and rocks glasses weighing down the enormous glass table.

  Taking a second glance, Grace registered that the villa’s sole occupant had left a wide array of debris scattered across most of the available surfaces. More cups and a few plates of discarded food were stacked on the coffee table bracketed by the living room sofas. Grace scowled as she noticed thick drops of coffee splattered across the pristine white fabric of one. A laptop was open, its screen black, abandoned on the corner of a side table. As she made her way over to close its lid, Grace’s foot connected with something on the floor. Whatever it was rolled away, only coming to a halt when it encountered a throw pillow left carelessly near one window.

  Grace scowled as she retrieved the bottle from the floor. Glenrothes 1970. The five-thousand-dollar bottle of Scotch was completely empty. Perhaps you should make sure he isn’t in the pool. Face down. On that morbid thought, she raced to the terrace beyond the French doors and checked the infinity pool on the patio below. Empty. Thank God.

  At the same time, a loud crack split the air beneath her.

  “Shit, shit, shit.” Grace dropped the forgotten bottle and ran down to the lower level. Whatever she’d expected to find on the ground floor of the resort’s most expensive villa, this wasn’t it.

  There, sprawled on the ground, eyes closed, lips skewed in an off-kilter smile, wearing nothing more than a wrinkled pair of shorts, was Mark Donovan, co-founder and CEO of D&A International. Sinfully handsome, wildly successful, obscenely wealthy, unerringly cocky, undeniably brilliant, famously flirtatious. And, Grace was horrified to realize, unconscious and sporting a wicked cut above one eyebrow.

  “Oh, no, no.” Grace rushed towards him and crouched over Mr. Donovan’s motionless form, her hands fluttering just above his face. Get a grip, Grace. Check to see if he’s breathing, check to make sure nothing is blocking his airways. She focused with a deep breath and shifted her brain to autopilot, running through the CPR procedures all hotel staff were required to know.

  Grace’s pulse calmed substantially when she saw Mr. Donovan’s chest rise in a steady, heavy breath. Definitely not dead. Thank the good Lord. Grace tipped her head back in relief. Skimming her fingers across his forehead, she gingerly checked the cut to make sure nothing was lodged in it. The blood had stopped, a dark red trickle disappearing into the ashy-brown eyebrow that arched defiantly even then. Running an assessing glance across his head and body, Grace confirmed that other than the bruise blossoming beneath the cut, Mark appeared to be perfectly fine. Though unconscious.

  An incoherent mumble broke free of his lips, followed by a mu
ffled snore. Grace amended that last part. Not unconscious. Asleep.

  Slumping back, Grace rearranged herself so she could sit more comfortably on the floor, her eyes fixed on her unwitting patient. Mark was stretched out and motionless, giving Grace an unparalleled view of his starkly beautiful face and meticulously sculpted body. His dark blond hair was a mess, chunks of thick strands stuck up on end where he must have repeatedly raked his fingers through it. His eyes were closed and Grace’s gaze wandered across the sharp ridges of his cheekbones and refined slope of his nose, both of which drew her attention down toward his wide, generous mouth, his lips parted, soft puffs of air brushing the strong, supple lines on every exhale.

  Determined to ignore her sudden impulse to taste those lips, Grace shifted her eyes away. But she only got as far as the tanned skin of his neck, Mark’s pulse kicking with a regular rhythm at the base, just above the wide stretch of his collarbone. Refusing to stare, Grace tried to focus on something innocuous. Like her cuticles, or the weave the carpet. Or the inviting water of the pool outside. But a particularly deep inhale dragged her back, this time her attention landing on the long planes of his broad chest, light wisps of blond hair dusting the hard curves that came to an abrupt halt against the repetitive ridges of his abdomen.

  Grace, you need to stop staring. Seriously. Stop staring!

  But Grace’s eyes had a mind of their own. She could hardly blame them. As Mark breathed, the play of the muscles across his stomach and sides was hypotonic, the slopes and dips elegantly formed, exquisitely defined. Grace’s mouth formed an ‘O’ as she tracked his torso to where it tapered into sharp angles before stretching beneath the waistband of his shorts. Of its own volition, Grace’s tongue slipped across her lower lip as she caught the hint of dark ink dancing across the shadow of one hipbone.