He couldn’t keep his hands off her and the feeling appeared mutual. Maybe they needed to get this out of their systems once and for all. And if they managed that very far away from South Carolina while his people in the office did a little unofficial investigation of her parents, then all the better.
He had a line on a nurse to watch over his mother. Nothing held him here. Talking Claire into letting Starr take a couple of days off would be the easiest part of the plan. Mamma Bear Claire would want Starr away from the Cimino Caravan as much as he did.
So, now all he had left to do was figure out what place would best entice Starr to fly away from all her worries and persuade her to go for it. But surely someone with his skills wouldn’t have a problem with one five-foot-tall artist.
A petite bombshell artist who’d evaded him for a decade.
Five
N o worries, Starr reassured herself. It was a new day.
Kneeling behind the cash-register counter, she pulled out a stack of hand-painted T-shirts to restock the shelves and resolved to be more optimistic. She’d stood her ground with David. No more falling back into old habits of falling into bed. She would put him in the past once and for all so she could move forward.
Much like she needed to put the Ciminos in her past?
Starr thunked down on her butt with the stack of shirts in her lap, her hand sketching over the inventory for extra gift-shop goodies. She might appear busy to the casual observer, but man, she was way gone in daydream land.
She had to stop short at placing David in the same category as her unfeeling, thieving relatives because, truth be told, she shared good memories with David. Amazing memories.
He deserved a slot in the sentimental file, even if placing him there gave him sway over her emotions now. She refused to deny the happiness they’d shared. To do so would be unfair, especially after he’d made her feel special when she’d spent so much of her life feeling like not just a second-class citizen, but somewhere around seventy-second class.
She also had to give him credit for helping her possess the confidence to pull off this business venture when she’d first had the inkling to present the notion to her sisters after Aunt Libby’s will had been read and they’d realized the old house was theirs. And wow, who would have thought three girls with barely a penny between them could have turned a crumbling old Southern beachside mansion into a booming restaurant?
Business grew stronger by the day. The traffic now buzzed past, shepherded in for brunch by the extra help she and her sisters had been able to hire in the past months. Their success had been a real coup for a restaurant and bar that had only been in business for a couple of years. They’d even had enough cashflow this year to renovate the third floor for boarders or vacationing guests.
Their lunch and bar crowd came mostly from the military base and college community. Their supper clientele and parties catered to the wealthy interested in having their event in a historic Charleston beach home.
Having the large marina next door helped, as well, although there were some who wanted to turn that marina into a more sleek venture. Beachcombers had survived a number of buyout attempts from people who’d wanted to turn the stretch of land into condominiums. She and her sisters could have made a mint. But this business was about more than just staying together. It was about holding on to the only home, the only real sense of family the three of them had ever known.
Being a part of a growing legacy totally rocked and she never intended to take that for granted. No matter that David had tried to lure her into roaming the world with him during some of his less classified gigs as an OSI special agent. The enticing offer warred mightily with her desire for roots. Why couldn’t he compromise?
Starr tossed a couple of the painted seashell ornaments on top of the shirt stack and rose.
And froze.
She sniffed once, twice. And yes. Her senses were right on. She would recognize her mother’s over-applied cologne anywhere.
Starr peered around the side of the hostess station and sure enough Gita was checking things out with an attention to detail that went beyond curiosity. She wasn’t stuffing her pockets, so Starr kept her peace and just watched rather than instigate a conversation. She would find out more this way anyhow.
Gita picked up the debit card machine, played around with the numbers for a moment, not that it would make a difference since she hadn’t swiped a card, then shifted her attention to swishing her hand along a dangling line of necklaces as if playing an instrument.
Apparently bored, she made her way back to the door to—omigod—the rest of the family
So much for positive thinking. What were the odds that her family and David’s mother would all decide they wanted brunch at the same time? And did they all have to wedge themselves through the double doors at once while the waitresses were occupied? The towering lobby seemed to shrink, oxygen definitely in short supply.
She’d never had a panic attack before, but she suspected her first might be well on its way.
Then it hit her. They had different dining rooms downstairs. She would simply place David’s mother in her regular area—yes, for some bizarre reason the woman frequented Beachcombers for meals—and pray she didn’t hit the buffet at the same time as Aunt Essie and company.
Of course that meant Starr would have to talk to David’s cranky, judgmental mom, while keeping her eyes on the line to stage the right moments to set her free to fill her plate without running into the Ciminos. This would be pretty much like the mini-circus act her uncle Hugo had tried to offer schools. She’d broken her wrist trying to learn to ride a unicycle.
But she wasn’t a defenseless child now.
Starr dumped the shirts and ornaments on a shelf and sprinted for Ashley over by the kitchen door. “Please, please, please take care of my relatives. Seat them at table thirteen. And tell them that’s the number. They’ll love it. They’re into spurning superstitions.” Starr monitored the incoming guests’ progress. “I’ll take care of Alice Hamilton-Reis.”
The older woman had a way of leveling those censuring sniffs and glares at Ashley that made the younger girl draw into herself. But not on Starr’s watch.
Ashley swept her long red hair back into a scrunchie as if preparing for a sweaty ordeal. “Are you sure you don’t want to swap? I’ll be glad to take on the old bat for you.”
Starr’s heart swelled at even the offer and what it no doubt cost shy Ashley to make. Sister love was a special thing.
“No, really. I’m going to manage her so she’s out of the flow of traffic.” She felt a pinch of scruples, too—which really bugged her. “Besides, David’s worried about her health and the last thing I want on my conscience is to have her stroke out in the middle of her hash-brown casserole because the Ciminos tried to snitch her wallet.”
“I really can handle her,” Ashley insisted with a thread of steel in her voice Starr had never heard before. Maybe she needed to take a second glance at her baby sister who’d just graduated from college, not so much of a baby anymore.
Later though and she wouldn’t make a test run on the theory with Mrs. Hamilton-Reis. Old Alice had more steamroller impact than all the Ciminos combined when she wanted, and Ashley…well…she’d been fragile for a long time. “I appreciate the gesture, but this is one ghost I’ll take on by myself. Okay?”
Ashley reached to hug her sister in a fast embrace. “Good luck.”
“Thanks, sweetie.” Hey, it wasn’t as if she were going to the gallows. Was she?
Starr glanced over her shoulder and saw Mrs. Hamilton-Reis making her way to the hostess station, her gaze cutting ever so slightly toward the Ciminos straggling behind her. Time to make an end run.
Starr patted Ashley on the back and they charged ahead. She listened to how her younger sister’s quiet voice somehow cut through the babbling mayhem of the mass of chatter as she guided them to the left, leaving Starr alone with her charge.
“Good morning, Mrs. Hamilton-Reis.
Would you like your regular seat by the window?”
She didn’t understand why the woman came over so often when she obviously disapproved of the place and constantly complained about the food—after she ate. It was an odd dance they did, the aging lady griping, Starr always giving her a complimentary twenty percent off in recompense.
“Of course.” She hitched her purse into the crook of her elbow, the same designer black leather bag Starr had seen the woman carry for as long as she could remember.
As Starr wove her way around tables of diners, she wondered what had happened to make the woman so sour. Surely something like that didn’t happen in a vacuum. People had reasons for their attitudes.
And her parents? Aunts and uncles? That was a tougher nut to crack because of the way they skirted the law. At least Mrs. Hamilton-Reis wasn’t a crook, and she had brought up a strong son.
“Here’s your regular table. The flowers are fresh since the warm snap brought an early bloom to our azalea bushes,” Starr offered up in an honest attempt to connect, since David’s mother lived and breathed for her garden.
Now probably wasn’t a good time to remember how she and Claire had sneaked out one night and trimmed—okay, mutilated—tea rosebushes into the shape of hooks and arrows because the woman had made little Ashley cry for snapping a bloom off her magnolia tree. The darn thing had been right on the property-line border after all.
“They’re a lovely shade of pink,” Mrs. Hamilton-Reis acceded, while straightening the silverware in subtle censorship, which totally negated the compliment. Not surprising. That was her way after all.
What had it been like for David to grow up in that kind of negative atmosphere? How odd she’d never considered that before, instead simply thinking of him as the pampered, beloved heir.
Mrs. Hamilton-Reis settled in her seat, arranged her napkin in her lap with exaggerated care, taking her time even to glance over the menu, though she always chose the buffet, and finally she set down the plastic-covered specials of the day. “So I see those people are still here in spite of my advice.”
Reaching into the back pocket of her jeans, Starr gripped the tiny pad of paper and pencil for taking orders. Pencil poised, she tried not to snap it in two. “Yes, ma’am, they are.”
She wouldn’t give the woman the satisfaction of saying she wanted the people gone, as well.
“Have they said how long they intend to stay?”
How was this her business? But that answer would start sparks. “Don’t worry. They never stay long. You’ll have your view of the ocean back before you know it.” Diversion needed now. “We have some new items on the brunch menu you’ll want to try. Claire added a heart-healthy sausage and egg strata made with an egg substitute. You’ll find it on the buffet.”
The woman sniffed. “Are you insinuating I’m at death’s door? Don’t bury me yet, young lady.”
She couldn’t win with this woman, no matter what was said. “David mentioned you have some health concerns that brought him home early from an assignment. I only wanted to be helpful.”
There. Talk your way out of that one. If she denied the health issues, she would have to admit she’d tricked her son into rushing to her aid for nothing. Starr waited for a three count that certainly felt like a guilty silence to her before the conversational thread picked up again.
“I imagine I’ll try your sister’s new concoction over on the buffet. It never hurts to be careful with our diet.” She passed the menu back up to Starr. “Of course I’ll take my regular pot of mint tea.”
Hmmm…A crafty dodge if ever she’d heard one. Not that it mattered because she was staying clear of David now.
She turned toward the buffet ready to escort her cranky customer over to load her plate and, ah, no. Starr flinched. Apparently Ashley had been overwhelmed by the task of containing the Ciminos. Aunt Essie was busy making her way from one table to the next passing out flyers for heaven only knew what. She usually tried to hock cooking herbs. Weeds she grew in the back of the mini-hothouse window of her van.
Starr only wished she could split herself in half and keep Essie Cimino and Alice Hamilton-Reis apart.
Why had she made such an effort to keep the woman away from the Cimino crowd? It shouldn’t matter anymore if David’s mother parked herself on the RV steps every single day griping. It shouldn’t matter at all what the woman thought…unless Starr cared about David’s world.
Ah, rats. The pencil snapped between her fingers.
She was no more over him now than she’d been when she’d risked shimmying down the trellis to meet up with him ten years ago.
David carried a glass of sweet tea out onto the veranda and wished for something stronger, but he couldn’t afford to water down his guard right now. Not until he had a few less Ciminos in residence.
At least he had his mother settled in with a nurse/ companion. His mother had nearly argued herself into a heart attack, but he’d stood his ground. If she had health problems, then he wanted someone on hand to watch out for her. He had a job—and he wasn’t a qualified health-care professional.
She hadn’t been happy, but once she’d realized he didn’t intend to head off to another continent right away, she’d calmed down. He settled in a lounger, tipping back his drink. Beach music from the bar next door tempted him to seek out Starr, say hello, tuck her against his chest and dance with her nice and slow, their bodies fitting against each other.
His gaze scanned the yard, over to the caravan to ensure they were all locked down tight for the night. Only to find instead they were in the midst of a late evening barbecue. They’d rolled out the cabana and a mini charcoal grill with…He caught the scent of hot dogs on the ocean breeze.
Lawn chairs littered the beachy scene. And in the middle stood Starr, silhouetted by a bug candle and a tiki torch.
From her stiff stance and hands on her hips, she didn’t appear at all cheerful. Which meant David was far from happy himself. Protectiveness roiled through him. Staying put was not an option.
Setting his glass of tea aside, he surged to his feet. He took the side stairs two at a time and made his way across the lawn not at a run, but at a determined walk that left deep footsteps in the sandy lawn.
Just as he made it to the first RV, a man stepped from through the door and stopped his progress.
“Whoops. ’Scuse me.” Frederick Cimino, Starr’s father, swung shut the door, holding a bag of marshmallows. “Hey, you’re that neighbor cop kid, aren’t you?”
David normally didn’t trot out his credentials and he certainly didn’t brag, but he absolutely wanted to intimidate the crap out of this man who’d made Starr’s childhood a living hell. “Special agent.”
“Ah, an agent.” Frederick rocked back on his heels, his sandals digging into the sand. “All that money and still you decide to work. Gotta admit, I don’t understand that.”
“Gives me a reason to wake up in the morning.” David kept Starr in his peripheral vision while taking this opportunity to find out more about her father. Knowing the opponent always offered an edge.
Starr’s father grinned. “Who says a man needs to wake up early?”
“I imagine it’s all about perspective.” Exerting some pressure on the man could only benefit and it certainly couldn’t do any harm. “From my perspective, you have a great deal of cargo stored in these RVs. I’m sure you have documentation for its purchase, and none of it just fell off the back of some truck.”
“Why, Special Agent Man, you’re lucky I’m easygoing or I could take offense at that.” His eyes might be the same shade of brown as Starr’s, but they held none of her giving honesty.
Bad karma for Frederick. David had stood nose to nose with some of the world’s worst terrorists. This man would leave, sooner or later.
David lounged against the side of the RV, blinked slowly. Mostly to tamp down how much the man pissed him off simply by existing. “I imagine you won’t take offense, because I’m not a man you want to anger.”<
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Frederick was smart enough to nod an agreement. “Starr’s enough of a Cimino to know a sweet deal when she sees it. So I kind of figured we’d end up family one day. Why would I want to piss you off? We’re all about making the most of a good thing.”
It was all he could do not to throw the man off the property then and there for talking about Starr, much less occupying the same piece of land. Good God, as if she should sell herself to the highest bidder. David vowed right there, these people would be gone before they had another week to so much as bother Starr.
But for some reason Starr couldn’t bring herself to evict these freeloaders, which further emphasized his notion to take her away from here now. With her out of Charleston, he could work with his contacts at the local police department to keep the area safe—and make it clear to the Ciminos that all the security labeled this a no-scam zone.
For tonight, he would have to back off. But the Ciminos’ days here were definitely numbered and he would keep Starr out of their path so they could wreak as little havoc as possible over her psyche in the interim.
He now had a plan, all he had to do was get her to go along with it.
Starr stuffed her head under her pillow, longing to recapture the tingling sensation of her dream.
She and David. Together. Far away from here with no concerns but totally immersing the other in pleasure until they both couldn’t contain the building cries of completion.
Instead the only sound she heard was that blasted ringing of the telephone. On and on it went with annoying persistence. She punched either side of the pillow, sealing it around her head until she needed to peek her nose out for air.
The phone rang again. Persistent person, whoever it was.
She flopped over onto her back and reached for the receiver. “It’s not even eight o’clock yet, so if you’re a telemarketer, I’m going to stick pins in a voodoo doll bearing your image.”
“I hear it’s your day off.”
David’s voice rumbled in her ear, rekindling the searing need through her veins coming so close to the explicit coupling in her dreams. She swallowed to clear her throat, and yes, steady her heart rate and breathing before she answered.
Under the Millionaire's Influence Page 5