“Where are you?” Angela’s voice echoed with concern. Or guilt.
Rachel walked over to the window and looked down at the pool again. Most of the workers had finished their dance and left, but one remained. She gave a start of surprise. Logan. Damn, he was everywhere. Her heart beat faster as she watched him.
He perched on one of the empty deck chairs, alone. He held a smoking white cylinder in one hand, but he didn’t raise it to his lips. Rachel noticed his white shirt was unbuttoned, revealing excellent pectorals and a washboard stomach. What would it be like to touch that stomach?
“Please tell me where you are,” Angela pleaded again, interrupting Rachel’s musings.
“Heaven,” she breathed, smiling for a moment at the lustful thoughts in her head. As she watched, Logan tossed the unsmoked cigarette on the ground and stepped on it as he stood. He didn’t bother picking it up. He turned and she caught a glimpse of his eyes, dark and smoldering, and she sighed. “Or hell.”
She hung up.
****
Logan held the burning cigarette between his thumb and forefinger, even though he wasn’t a smoker. He could go days without smoking and never even think about it. Smoking, like most everything else in his life, was an affectation.
Except this place. This is real. Isla Foriscura, his little haven in the middle of the Caribbean, was the only thing real about him anymore. The rest was illusion. The lustful looks of the women, the nights he spent drinking a little too much trying to forget, the mornings when he could very easily have stayed in bed. None of that was real.
She was real. Rachel. She was really here, but it wasn’t really her. He frowned at the cigarette, aware that the others had finished the job he’d started with them, but not ready to move yet. He turned the problem of Rachel over and over in his mind. I stopped believing in magic a long time ago.
That wasn’t the Rachel he remembered, not that he knew her except for Nora’s description: beautiful, carefree, loving and loveable. She’d sent him an invitation to her wedding a few years ago, but he hadn’t gone. He’d sent her a lovely crystal vase instead with a card wishing her well. Who was the guy? Keith? Ken? It didn’t matter. Obviously he was out of the picture and he’d taken most of the woman Nora had loved with him.
What happened to you, Rachel?
And then there was this day. His birthday. Nora always made a big deal out of birthdays. Probably why Logan hadn’t celebrated his since her death. He looked down at the cigarette in his fingers and wound it through them, watching it with interest as it moved, seemingly of its own accord, although he knew it was little flexes of the muscles he’d developed over his years performing sleight of hand magic tricks.
Tricks. The word gave him a sour taste in his mouth. It was all tricks. He tossed the cigarette on the tiles and stepped on it as he stood. He could sit there all day brooding or he could get up and live. He’d always known those were his choices, and he’d chosen life a long time before.
Besides, he had a lot to live for. After retiring from the public world at the height of his success and the lowest point of his life, he’d discovered this place. His retreat. He bought the little oasis on the edge of the calm blue Caribbean and built a retreat for people like him, who, tired of the world, could leave it for a while.
Of course, not everyone who came was broken. Logan had seen his fair share of those like him who needed to heal and he’d seen those who just wanted to escape, but for the most part his visitors were well-to-do and just looking to have a good time. Some were even content with their lot in life. And it didn’t hurt that many of the women were very beautiful and usually quite willing to indulge in a brief vacation romance with an ex-magician turned hotel entrepreneur.
It wasn’t just the hotel anymore, either. Logan’s paradise now encompassed a spa, three five-star restaurants, several fine boutiques, a golf course and a swimming pool that could probably be considered a water park. Everything you could need to have the fabulous vacation of your dreams, all in one resort. In the five years he’d been there, Logan had made more money than he imagined his career as a grand illusionist in New York, Las Vegas and Hollywood would have netted him in twice the time.
Maybe it’s because magic possessions tend to disappear. He couldn’t help a painful little smile at the thought. It was true, after all. He’d owned a lovely home and even had a wife and daughter during those days, but because he was never home, his wife was gone and his happy home had vanished. He was lucky to get to see his daughter a couple of times a year now.
Logan shook off the negative thoughts and stretched, preparing for the day and making his usual resolution. Today wouldn’t slip by without leaving a distinguishing mark on his soul. Today would be special.
“You missed a spot.”
He paused in the midst of his stretch and dropped his arms to his sides, turning at the familiar voice. Rachel stood there, long, blue-black hair and dark glasses against smooth tanned skin. Yes. She could leave a mark. He could see her better in the bright sunlight, but he still couldn’t read her. She looked like a Hollywood starlet, not like the girl next door who’d been best friends with his wife. “Pardon?”
She lowered the glasses a little on her nose, her dark eyes sweeping his body with frank admiration. He raised his eyebrows a little in surprise at the lusty gaze. Not that a woman’s appreciation of his body was an anomaly, but he’d never experienced it so openly before. He found it both arousing and a little unsettling receiving it from this particular source.
Her lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile, as if she knew what he was thinking. She raised her eyes to meet his briefly and shoved the glasses back up her nose. Then she waved a hand at the unsmoked cigarette that still smoldered on the pool deck. “Over there.”
Bemused, he glanced in the indicated direction, pretending not to understand. “I don’t see anything.”
She considered him for a moment, her arms folded over her chest. Then she shrugged as if it didn’t really matter. “Whatever. Just didn’t want you to get any complaints.”
“Right.” He grinned. “Well, if it will make you feel better.” He bent, palmed the cigarette and showed her his empty hands. “See? All gone.”
“Very good.” She pretended to applaud. “Between that trick last night and this one, you’ve got a whole routine going, Logan. Do you do birthday parties now?”
“Only for very special people.”
Silence stretched between them for a moment. She broke it first, a smile a lot more like what he remembered touching her lips. “It’s good to see you again.”
“I’d like to say the same thing.” He reached for her hand, giving it a friendly squeeze, but still uncertain about her transformation.
She put her hand on top of his, drawing attention to both the perfectly manicured red fingernails and the diamond tennis bracelet adorning her wrist. Logan touched the bracelet with a finger. She glanced down and shrugged. “Spoils of war, I guess you’d say.”
“Oh?” He raised his eyebrows.
“Got it in the divorce.” She laughed out loud, pulling her hands away. “Actually, I got pretty much everything in the divorce. Except my sister. The cheating bastard got her, but he’s welcome to her.”
He frowned. “I’m sorry. I hadn’t heard. I’ve been pretty out of the loop.”
She waved his comment away, tossing her head. “Ancient history. But that’s why I’m here. You always talked about this island as a healing place. Well, I’m here to be healed. And spend my alimony.”
“I see.” He stepped behind the towel counter, surreptitiously dropping the cigarette butt he’d palmed in the trashcan. He started piling towels on the countertop. Neat stacks of five. Enough to supply the need for the first rush of patrons, but not enough to be overwhelming or encourage waste. He’d perfected the system and passed it along to countless other pool boys over the years, but it was sometimes soothing to participate in the process himself.
Her presence
wasn’t exactly soothing, however. Or maybe it was his reaction to her presence. He glanced up at her. “Can I offer you a towel? Of course, technically the pool doesn’t open for another forty-five minutes.”
“But you practically run the place.” Her tone mocked him in a flirtatious way. She leaned on the counter across from him, giving him an excellent view of her cleavage. He raised an eyebrow, pointedly lifting his gaze to meet hers.
“That is true.” He paused in his quest to stack the towels neatly and perfectly on the counter. “I suppose I could give you a VIP pass.”
“Ooh. That sounds nice. What, exactly, does it entitle me to?” As she spoke, she discarded the thin boy-friend style pullover she wore, revealing a red string bikini and an absolutely perfect body. Dear God, had she always looked like this? He’d never seen her in less than jeans and t-shirt and he wished like crazy she’d put the goddamn pullover back on, maybe with a pair of shapeless sweatpants to match.
Damn it if she wasn’t breaking all the rules. He’d played this game enough to know the truly attractive and intelligent women were the ones you had to work the hardest to get anywhere with. And Rachel was not one he should want to get anywhere with anyway. But if she was going to break the rules, why the hell shouldn’t he?
“Hello?” She laughed, leaning even further over the counter and tapping him on the forehead with finger. “You still there, Logan? What does my VIP pass entitle me to? Maybe a little help with the sun block?”
He considered for a moment longer, forcing his heart rate and respiration to slow with all the concentration he’d used during his escape acts. If she could break the rules, he’d just have to re-write them. He snagged her hand before she could retreat. “Is that all you want?”
Her eyes sparkled with interest. “Do you have something else to offer?”
In spite of himself, he’d warmed to her game. He lifted her hand to his lips, kissing the knuckles, then, his eyes on hers, brushing his lips over the sensitive skin of her inner wrist. Her eyes widened a little, her lips parting, and she sounded breathless when she replied. “Oh my. You just might.”
He straightened, dropping her hand as if he hadn’t just crossed yet another line with her. “Let’s have dinner and you catch me up on what I’ve missed out on. I’ll pick you up at seven.”
She hesitated, then shrugged. “Why not? I’ll try to stay out of trouble until then.” She walked away, waving over her shoulder. In spite of himself, he couldn’t help admiring her lovely legs, firm buttocks, the dimple at the small of her back and the way her long hair swung past her shoulder blades.
She spread the towel over a chair and sat, stretching long legs in front of her and pointedly not looking at him. Something niggled at the back of his consciousness, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to relax until he’d addressed it. She was Rachel, but she wasn’t. Rachel didn’t move that way, as if she knew every male eye within a mile was focused on her. Rachel was real, not the façade he saw before him.
And Rachel believed in magic.
What happened to her? Divorce couldn’t have turned her into this. Nora’s death had been hard on her. He’d seen it then, even through his own grief. But she’d survived it. She’d moved on. He’d believed then that eventually she would be happy. She wasn’t happy now. Beautiful, independent, obviously at least somewhat wealthy—but he couldn’t help but think that she was on a self-destructive track of her own making.
He turned away, determination tightening his jaw. He’d find out what had changed her so much even if what he found was worse than anything he could imagine.
****
Rachel stretched, trying her best to enjoy the warmth of the tropical sun on her skin, but she couldn’t stop thinking about Logan. Jesus, Nora, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be flirting with him like I did, but damn… She remembered the night before when he’d placed her hand over the glass with the glowing blue-white light in it and her frustration intensified.
A star. How the hell did he do that? She felt uncomfortably hot at the memory of his touch. Maybe she’d been right to walk away last night after all. What the hell? When she’d come here, he’d been nothing but the husband of her dead best friend. Even if she had remembered the way he’d spoken of the island as a place of healing. Even if she had thought at the time that maybe he was her salvation. I still can’t want him. Not like that. Not this bad.
So bad, in fact, she wasn’t certain she’d be able to relax in the warm sun for thinking about the feel of his hands on her skin. And the fact that she didn’t actually know how his hands would feel only frustrated her more.
She sat up, looking around her. Time lost meaning in the tropics, she’d found, and right now what might have been hours must only have been minutes. No other guests peopled the pool deck. Logan had disappeared, too, although a few white-clothed, very beautiful people who were obviously staffers bustled around the little poolside bar. None of them acknowledged her at all, making her wonder if Logan had warned them off. Not a single quirked eyebrow or smirk was cast her way.
Logan. She flopped back onto her deck chair, thinking of him. It was as if the light touch of his lips on the interior of her wrist had started a heart-deep yearning she hadn’t thought she was still capable of…
Do you believe in magic? His lips brushing her ear…
No, but maybe you could help me with that.
She sat up, looking at the bar with irritation. Was it really only ten-thirty in the morning? Another half an hour before the bar opened. She longed for the sweet poison of alcohol in her system. Something to dull the persistent pounding in her veins, the memory of his eyes when he looked at her. The sense that she was betraying the memory of a woman who’d been more than a friend. A woman who’d been almost a sister to her. Better than a sister, as it turned out. She gritted her teeth. Get it…under…control…girl.
“Miss Rachel?” The girl’s voice was tentative.
Rachel’s head snapped around, her first impulse one of irritation. Until she noted the mimosa on the girl’s tray. She frowned, partly in an attempt not to snatch the drink immediately. “Yes.” She raised her eyebrows. “Can I help you?”
“Mr. Logan’s compliments, ma’am.” The young girl executed a surprisingly graceful curtsy as she set the drink on the table beside Rachel.
“Oh.” Rachel blinked. “Thank you.”
The waitress nodded and turned away. Rachel waited a moment, then reached to her side and picked up the glass. Dear God. It smells so good. She no longer even cared if she had a problem with the alcohol that was her only defense against what had become reality. Well, not her only defense, if she were honest. Any moment that left her breathless could eclipse the destitute landscape that was left when her world fell apart.
The Spanish kid had definitely done that last night, but even his unexpected skill combined with his youthful energy couldn’t compare with the touch of Logan’s lips against the inside of her wrist. How had he done that? It was like magic, seeping from the warmth of his lips into her veins. Like the impossible glow of a blue-white star in a glass.
Trying to erase the memory, she took a sip of the mimosa, savoring its sweet flavor on her tongue before swallowing. She closed her eyes. Logan wasn’t a possibility in her life, even if she hadn’t known him before. Sex was just a distraction. An exercise to avoid the darkness in her soul—not an all-consuming flame that might linger longer than the night.
Throbbing music began on the stereo. Rachel scanned the faces of the guests beginning to arrive. She spotted the Spanish kid. He was with a group of other young men, all splendidly godlike in their beauty. She didn’t spare any of his companions a thought. Passion and beauty combined in the perfect combination only rarely. The Spanish kid was the exception that proved the rule. As if he felt her eyes on him, he glanced over.
She let her smile beckon him to her side.
Chapter 2
“Good morning, Logan.” Tammy raised her eyebrows. “Good to see you. Here.”
<
br /> Logan looked up at the slight emphasis on the last word. Tammy stood beside the water cooler with a tall man he recognized vaguely from Accounts Payable. Glenn something. Both of them appeared bemused at his appearance, and he couldn’t actually blame them, although no one but Tammy, who’d been his secretary since his days as a magician and his friend before he could afford to pay a secretary, would ever have mentioned it.
Logan preferred to take care of business anywhere but his office. Tammy, now his administrative assistant and second in command of his growing empire, had grown used to messengering files for his signature to whatever nook or cranny of the resort he’d adopted for the day. Sometimes it was the little coffee shop in the lobby of the hotel, but he’d been known to sit in one of the restaurants or lounges and take business calls from a back table. Once he’d driven a golf cart to a part of the course that was closed for maintenance and handled business calls there for a few hours.
Still, he had an office, and he needed to do some research on Rachel. She’d mentioned a divorce, but the changes in her seemed to indicate some hurt much deeper than a cheating husband. Whatever the answers were, the best place for this sort of inquiry was undoubtedly his office.
He waved her a half apologetic dismissal. “Just need a quiet spot for a while. You guys relax.”
“Okay.” Tammy and Glenn stepped aside as Logan entered his office. He switched on the laptop before he sat behind the desk and looked around. When was the last time he’d spent more than a few minutes in here? It could be seen as a waste of space. The office was large enough to house a conference table as well as his antique oak desk. Silvery vertical blinds masked the most glaring sunlight and real green plants flourished in the corners. It looked like the office of a successful businessman.
Island Magic Page 2