by Donna Hill
“Thanks, and I am.” She beamed, then a frown tightened her brow. She glanced around the space where Layla stood. “Where are your bags?”
“In the car.”
“Oh,” she breathed in relief, pressing her hand to her chest. “For a minute I thought you weren’t planning to stay.” She hooked her arm through Layla’s. “Let’s get your bags and I’ll show you where you’ll be staying.”
“I’m not sure for how long, but I have enough clothes and accessories to last me a minute.”
Desiree laughed. “Now that’s what I’m talking about.”
They walked arm in arm out of the main building and across the landscaped front. Desiree had one of the staff gather Layla’s bags from her car and bring them to her room.
“I’m so glad that you decided to come,” Desiree said while she turned the key in the cottage door lock. “You’re going to love it and my guests are going to love you.” She swung the door open and they stepped inside.
As Layla expected, the space was beautiful. Pale walls and whitewashed floors gave the rooms an expansive, open-air feeling, and the rattan furnishings, glass accessories and bay windows topped it off. Although The Port had a full-service restaurant and bar as well as room service, each cabin came with its own fully functional kitchen.
Layla’s cabin looked out onto the beach and down the pathway that branched right and left with a cabin on each side of comparable size to hers.
She dropped her purse on the kitchen counter and turned toward Desiree with a broad smile on her face. “Beautiful.”
Desiree took a mock bow. “And you’re going to have a ball. I’ll leave you to get settled. When you’re ready come on over to the main building. Lincoln can’t wait to see you.”
“Okay. Give me about an hour.”
“See you then.”
Desiree let herself out and Layla took her bags to the bedroom and began to unpack. She laid out an outfit, then went into the bathroom for a quick shower.
Wrapped in a thick pale peach towel, Layla padded around her new digs and she had to admit, from the moment that she’d stepped onto the property and inhaled the ocean-washed air and spectacular views, she felt lighter inside. All of the worry and stress of everything related to home evaporated. She went into the seating area and turned on the stereo, and then two-stepped to the beat back into her bedroom.
Totally refreshed, and dressed for the sultry spring afternoon, Layla followed the path back to the main building and took in the sights along the way.
* * *
Maurice Lawson lounged beneath the shade of the blue-and-white-striped canopy that hung above his back deck. His injured leg was elevated on a pillow. Absently, he rubbed his upper thigh while he watched the waves gently move in and out from the shore. The temperature was perfect, and the light breeze blowing off the water combined for a near-hypnotic effect. Although he’d been reluctant to take his therapist’s advice, he was glad that he’d come. The past few nights were the first in months that he wasn’t awakened by the nightmares. Simply being able to rest through the night was beginning to have a positive effect on his spirit.
It was hooking up with Ross that finally changed his mind.
There’d been several moments of panic when he’d pulled up in front of Ross’s Long Island home. He’d sat in his car debating on whether to get out and go inside. But then the front door to the house opened and Ross stepped out and all the time apart slipped away. It didn’t matter to Ross and Janet that he’d been hurt or that he’d cut them off for so long or that he was seeing a shrink to try to get his head right. All that mattered was that their friend was alive and he was back.
He and Ross talked long after the last guest went home. They talked until the sun rose, and when he returned to his apartment in Brooklyn he felt almost human. Human enough to take Ross and Janet and Dr. Morrison’s advice and go to Sag Harbor. Do some thinking and some soul searching. And whatever he decided, they would be there for him when he returned.
He rested his head against the back of the chair and was just about to close his eyes and let the pain medication settle in when movement to his right drew his attention. At first he thought that perhaps it was an apparition, a vision like the ones he would see at the end of the tunnel of light—beckoning him through those painful nights of recovery. That light and the ethereal image at the end of it were the only things that gave him hope and the will to go on. He hadn’t seen the vision since he’d left the military hospital in Afghanistan, until now.
But it wasn’t his imagination and the image wasn’t a result of hallucinations from the pain. She was real and she moved as if walking on air. The lightweight white clothing that she wore gently floated around her, lifted by the gentle breeze.
Maurice sat up a bit to see where she was going, and to convince himself that she was real. She turned a corner and disappeared behind one of the houses. He stared at the space where she’d been until his vision blurred. He shook his head and blinked his eyes several times to clear them. A strange, unsettling sensation rippled in the center of his stomach.
“Crazy,” he muttered to himself and tried to push the moment aside. He closed his eyes, leaned back and let the medication do its work. He dozed lightly and the one thing that he remembered when he awoke and found the sun setting down beyond the horizon was that he’d dreamed of the illuminated image again.
Chapter 4
“Are all the cabins full?” Layla asked, sipping on her mojito.
Desiree, her husband, Lincoln, and Layla were seated at the on-site bar, relaxing and catching up while listening to the backdrop of soft jazz and calypso floating in from some unseen source.
“We have three vacancies, for now. But they’re already booked. Of course, everyone isn’t staying for the entire season. The majority are here for about two weeks,” Desiree said, then popped some peanuts into her mouth.
“Surprisingly, business has remained pretty good, even in the off-season,” Lincoln said.
“During hard times people need some kind of escape, even if it’s only temporary,” Layla added.
“True, that’s why we work really hard to keep the prices down and the service up,” Desiree said. “And at least once every quarter, we have a half-price weekend special with all amenities included.”
“That must really help to draw in the business and make people want to come back.”
“It does. And, of course, Melanie recommends all of her clients to come and visit. When she has functions up at her place and clients want to stay over, some of her guests will stay here.”
“Can’t wait to see Mel. I haven’t seen her since the wedding,” Layla said.
“She’s out of town, but she should be back early next week. She insisted on hosting our anniversary party, so I know she will have plenty to do when she gets back. And she has a long list of very eligible men she wants you to meet.”
“Meeting men is not on my list of things to do. I came here to get away from the city, help you out and get some sun in. That’s it.”
Desiree and Lincoln shared a quick “sure, you’re right” look between them.
Layla pushed out a breath and slowly gazed around at the tranquil setting. Singles and couples walked along the beach, gathered beneath umbrella-covered tables or swam in the pool. Several guests were entering the restaurant and the sound of happy voices filled the air. She could easily get used to living like this. The whole notion of not having to think about where she was going to park her car every day was more than worth the price of admission.
“Did you show Layla her place?” Lincoln asked.
“Yes.”
“Love it,” Layla said. “I get the feeling that the two of you have intentions of me being around for a while.” She looked from one guilty face to the other.
“We just want you to
be happy and comfortable,” Desiree offered, putting on her sweet as syrup voice. Lincoln draped his arm around his wife’s shoulder. “And if you decided to stay,” he hedged, “you’d be all set up already. As a businessman I have to always think ahead.”
Layla deadpanned the two of them and then laughed. “You two are a mess.”
“We try,” they said in unison.
“Listen.” Lincoln pushed back from his seat. “I’m going to leave you ladies to do whatever it is that you do and I’m going to check on some inventory.” He leaned over and gave his wife a slow, sweet kiss and whispered something against her lips that Layla couldn’t make out, but whatever it was, it had Desiree’s face flushed with heat.
Desiree’s gaze followed Lincoln until he was out of sight. She sighed deeply. A light smile softened her lips.
“You two are still as hot for each other as boiling oil.”
“Is it that obvious?” Desiree teased. She reached for her glass of white wine.
“Uh, yeah.”
The friends laughed.
“So when did you want me to start? Did you let your guests know about the new massage therapy services yet?”
“I’ve been working on a small flyer to hand out, but I wanted your input first to make sure I had all the details right, and I wanted you to have a couple of days to unwind and relax.”
“Girl, around here, I could get too relaxed and you wouldn’t get any work out of me!”
“I know the feeling. But that’s the kind of atmosphere Lincoln and I want at The Port. A real getaway, you know what I mean. If you look around, you don’t see anyone hunched over laptops and checking BlackBerrys and iPhones every five minutes. They’re actually here to enjoy themselves. At least, that’s what I see when they come out of their rooms,” she added as a caveat.
Layla nodded in agreement. “In that case—” she raised her hand to get the attention of the bartender “—another mojito please.”
* * *
Layla couldn’t stay in bed a minute longer. And as much as she wanted to simply loll around on the sandy shores like a careless beach bum, the urge to be busy grabbed hold of her. She was actually anxious to get her massage room ready and her fingers moving. All night she’d dreamed of how she was going to set up her space and the atmosphere she would create. This would actually be the first time that a work space would truly be all hers and not the vision of whomever she was working for. A twinge of memory tried to pull her back to those times with Brent, with him teaching her the techniques that had made her successful, that they practiced on each other late at night. She shook off the vision. That was the past, she reminded herself once again.
It was barely 7:00 a.m. and she was bathed and dressed. She tucked her iPad into her tote bag and headed out.
The morning was simply exquisite. The sun was at a perfect pitch. The sky was clear enough to see for miles and the gentle warmth that blew in from the ocean was invigorating. She spotted several guests jogging along the shoreline and there were already a few out for an early morning swim in the pale blue ocean.
Layla drew in a long breath and smiled. Whatever reservations she may have had about packing up and leaving the city were fading fast.
Desiree had given Layla the key to the massage suite the previous evening after their cursory tour. It was during the night that her wheels had started spinning and she’d woken up knowing exactly what she wanted.
She let herself in and stood in the center of the room and looked around. She took out her iPad and opened it to the Notepad icon and began jotting down a list of the things that she would need, from thick towels to oils, literature on massage therapy, robes, slippers, lighting and music. She would also need cases of water and a place to keep them cold.
Lincoln and Desiree hadn’t cut corners on design layout or expense. Connected to the therapy room were shower stalls and a sauna room.
Layla guessed that what Desiree had said was true—that if she didn’t take this spot someone else would. And she would be right. It was perfect and she couldn’t wait to get started.
She could already envision the space as a full-time operation with a staff. She grinned, knowing that she was getting way ahead of herself. The first thing she needed to do was make a list and then go shopping for supplies before she started reviewing résumés.
Layla switched off the lights and locked up, her mind on the task ahead as she came around the short corner and came face-to-face with Maurice Lawson.
She came up short and started to apologize for nearly causing a collision, but the words hung somewhere in the back of her throat, stuck there with all the air that refused to move out of her lungs and fuel her brain.
Her center ignited and she could feel the fine hairs on her arms and along the back of her neck begin to rise. Good Lord, the man was...was...
It was her. The woman that he’d spotted yesterday. She was real. “Sorry,” he said.
The two-syllable word sounded like a love song in her ears.
“No, you’re fine... It’s fine. Really.” Did she just say that? “I’m always in a hurry,” she babbled. She couldn’t think straight, not with those haunting dark eyes staring at her and that chiseled upper body encased in a sleeveless white T-shirt that outlined every muscle that begged to be touched.
Maurice shifted his walking cane from his right hand to his left and shook hers. “Maurice.”
Her hand was enveloped in the warmth of his. “Nice...to meet you, I mean. You’re a guest?”
“Yes. You?”
“Yes and no. I’m a working guest. I’m the new massage therapist. Layla Brooks.”
“Hmm.” He nodded his head.
They stood there momentarily frozen in that “what now” moment that was mercifully broken by another guest needing to squeeze by in the narrow corridor.
“Nice meeting you,” Maurice said.
“You, too.”
He moved past her and tried to ignore the pain in his leg and limped away with as much dignity as he could summon. He wanted to vanish and not have her watch him as he tried to pretend that he was as whole as any other man.
Layla didn’t realize that she’d stopped breathing until a burst of air rushed from her chest. Her heart was beating triple time, and although she was much too young for hot flashes, her entire body was flushed with heat.
“Humph, humph, humph. That is one specimen of a man, cane and all,” she whispered. She definitely wanted him to sign up to be on her client list so that she could see for herself just how hard those muscles really were. She gave a short shake of her head to clear it.
It was still a little too early to drive into town. She took a slow stroll around the property, reacquainting herself with the layout, and then around to the back of the main building to the outdoor lounge, drawn by the aroma of breakfast. Her stomach responded.
A few of the white circular tables were occupied and the waitresses were busy filling juice glasses and coffee cups. She found a table that was near the buffet, put down her bag and walked over to check out the breakfast offerings. She started down the length of the table and filled her plate with fresh fruit, eggs and wheat toast. She walked back to her table and was thinking about her close encounter with tall, dark and handsome Maurice when the plate in her hand rattled. He was on the other side of the buffet table.
Maurice was settling down in his seat. Alone. He braced his cane against the table and she could see from where she stood the relief wash over his expression as he took the weight off his leg.
She wondered what had happened to him. Was it an accident? Surgery? She watched the expression on his face tighten. For a moment he closed his eyes while he massaged his thigh. What would that thigh feel like under her expert fingers? She knew she could take the pain away.
“Umm, excuse me.”
Layla blinked. A smile flickered across her mouth. “Oh, sorry. I’m daydreaming,” she said to the couple standing behind her who were waiting for her to move along. She walked with her plate back to her table, taking furtive glances in Maurice’s direction.
He was reading the paper and sipping on a cup of coffee. Maybe she should go and join him. No sense in the both of them eating alone, she thought. A dozen different scenarios played in her head on how she should approach him and what she should say and what he would say to her in return. The minutes ticked away.
Maurice put down his coffee cup and turned slightly in her direction, then away before doing a short double take and looking back again. He lifted his chin in salute. Layla waved. Her heart pounded. Maybe he would come over. Maybe he would ask her to join him. Should she go over and sit down? What if he was waiting for someone and she looked silly?
Maurice folded the paper, finished off his coffee and reached for his cane.
He was going to come over. She could hardly breathe. She swallowed over the tightness in her throat.
Maurice stood slowly, offered her a brief smile and walked out.
Layla felt as if she’d been pumped full of air and then suddenly stabbed with an ice pick. As the air in her balloon dissipated, so did her appetite. She pushed her food around on her plate until it was sufficiently cold, then gathered up her things and went out to get her car for the drive into town.
* * *
Maurice returned to his room. He’d wanted to say something more to Layla. But what was the point? He tossed his cane into a corner and plopped down on the couch. Even if he was attracted to her, what would she want with him? She probably felt pity for him just like everyone else.
He stretched out his injured leg and absently massaged the never-ending ache.
It had been longer than he would have liked since he’d been with a woman, through choice as well as circumstance. After his injury and then rehab, he continued to struggle with what had happened that night. The guilt was almost as painful if not more so than the injury that ended his career. The therapy sessions helped, but only so much. He still could not get beyond the feeling that had he done something differently, lives would have been saved and he would be 100 percent man. Without his career as a navy SEAL, the job he’d worked so hard for, trained for, lived for—all of that was gone. Being a SEAL had defined who he was. The loss of that combined with his debilitating injury was almost more than he could stand. He didn’t feel like a man anymore. And if he didn’t feel it, what woman would feel it? He leaned his head back against the cushion of the couch and closed his eyes against his inescapable realities.