Bachelor Unclaimed (11 page)

Ainsley didn’t say anything and then wiped at her eyes. “That was an incredible and beautiful story, Winston. And your family has been living here since?”

“Yes, but there were challenges. Hurricanes, floods and developers determined to get this island at any and all costs.”

“But your family survived and held on.”

It was a statement and not a question so he responded as such. “Yes, they survived and held on. Six generations of Coltranes have lived on Barrett Shores...including R. J. Chambers.”

She lifted a brow. “Are you saying that you and Dr. Chambers are related?”

“Actually, Ainsley, it’s closer than that.”

She frowned in confusion. “Is he your grandfather?”

At the shake of his head, she then asked, “Your father? Uncle?”

When he didn’t claim any of those, she threw her hands up in frustration. “What then?”

Winston didn’t say anything. Instead for one long tense moment he sat there and stared at her and she stared back. Waiting. Then he got up and slowly walked across the room to stand in front of her. He could see the anxious expression on her face.

He knew the best thing to do was to come out with it, so he did. “Dr. R. J. Chambers is a pseudonym.”

Surprise lit her eyes. “For whom?”

Leaning in and bracing his arms on either sides of her, Winston bent down until they were nearly nose to nose. “For me.”

Chapter 13

A
insley’s jaw dropped and she stared at him as her anger began rising. His words were like a blow delivered not only to her senses but to every part of her body. And she simply stared at him while the truth of his words filtered through her mind, her sight and her good old common sense. Had she taken the time to use them, she would have figured this out herself. Wouldn’t she? She rubbed the back of her neck, not so sure.

“Why? Why didn’t you tell me the truth from the beginning?” she asked, feeling as if steam was about to come out of her ears.

He leaned back in a cocky stance and crossed his arms over his chest. “And why should I have?”

Now that did it. She eased up from her chair and, poking his chest as if to punctuate her words, she said loud enough to wake the dead, “Because you were trying to swap sex for the interview!”

“No, if you recall, I’d already had you. What I proposed, as a way of a swap, was for you to do what you’d said you’d do anyway so that I could get some more of you. But I tossed that idea out the window when I decided to give you the interview regardless of whether we made love again or not.”

His words only served as a sharp reminder of how she was taken in by him. “You led me to believe Dr. Chambers existed.”

“And he does exist to anyone who doesn’t know me, Ainsley,” he said, dropping his hands from across his chest to put them into his pockets. “On the beach you asked me why someone so accomplished would want to be a recluse and not toot their own horn. I’ll tell you the reason I’ve worked under an alias for the last seven years. So I wouldn’t be hounded by reporters. So why would I drop my guise for you? A reporter who only wanted an interview? I didn’t know you and I damn sure didn’t trust you.”

“But you had slept with me!” she snapped.

He cocked his head to the side. “And?”

At that moment she couldn’t answer because he was reminding her that whatever they had shared had been nothing more than sex. “And nothing, I guess. I’m not a fool. You had condoms ready under your pillow that night, which meant you had planned to sleep with a woman. Do you deny it?”

“No.”

His honesty wasn’t supposed to bother her but it did. “So, it was all about sex.”

“Of course it was all about sex...at least that night it was. And because it was all about sex, I didn’t need to know your occupation. It wouldn’t have mattered to me if you’d been a teacher, reporter, pilot or whatever.”

He paused a moment and then added, “It didn’t matter because I wanted you. And when you showed up again as a reporter, it should have mattered but in a way it didn’t because I still wanted you. And I discovered, although your defiance was wearing on my last nerve, that’s the one thing I admire most about you. You don’t know the meaning of giving up.”

She placed her hands on her hips. “If that’s supposed to be a compliment, I don’t want it.”

He shrugged. “But you’re going to take it whether you want it or not, Ainsley St. James. Because you and I both know you’re not a quitter, no matter what. Even when Luis Higgins tried to shame you into dropping out of that mayoral race, you wouldn’t.”

Shock contorted her face. “Y-y-you knew about that...even before I—I told you?” she stammered in anger.

“Yes. I had Charley do a background check on you after your first visit.”

She’d heard enough. “I’m leaving!” she said, moving around him.

“No, you’re not. Like I said, you’re not a quitter. Besides, you’ve told me what this interview means to you,” he said to her retreating back.

She turned around. “You can take the interview and shove it up your—”

“I wouldn’t make that suggestion if I were you,” he said, standing with his feet braced apart and his hands deep in his pockets. “Think about it, Ainsley. No matter how mad you are with me right now, when you see things logically, you’ll realize you’re the winner in this, not me. I’m breaking one of my strictest rules for you. I am granting you and only you an exclusive interview. Because I like you and you have spunk. And I believe in your integrity. I believe you will do the right thing with the interview, so I’m willing to take a chance and open myself up to you.”

She stared at him a long moment and then asked, “Why?”

He held her gaze. “When someone believes in you, there’s no need for further doubt. And I believe in you.”

His words gave her pause and she drew in a deep breath and tried to think rationally.
He believed in her
. At that moment she realized just what a risk he was taking in doing that because she
was
a reporter. And she knew more than anyone that some reporters would do or say just about anything for a story. There was a reason he used an alias in lieu of receiving credit for his work as Winston Coltrane. Why was he hiding behind the illusion of Dr. R. J. Chambers, an old recluse? He was willing to let her invade his private world to find those answers.

“Okay. I’m going to do the interview but we need to get a few things straight right now,” she said, stiffening her spine and narrowing her gaze on him. In spite of herself she felt her heart fluttering at the way he was standing there, in that sexy position, with his eyes boring into hers in an unnerving way.

She released an agitated sigh when she came to a stop in front of him. “From here on out things are strictly professional between us. And if you think for one minute I’ll have sex with you again...ever...then you have another thought coming.”

He smiled and she tried to ignore the way her breath caught in her throat. When he didn’t say anything, just stood there with that damn gorgeous smile on his face, she decided she needed space from him. “I’m getting my things out of the dryer and going to the guest room for a while,” she said backing up.

“Okay.”

To her way of thinking, he sounded too agreeable. She quickly headed toward the laundry room.

“Ainsley...” he murmured in that oh-too-throaty voice.

Something told her to keep walking and ignore him but for some reason she couldn’t. She turned back to him. “What?” she all but snapped.

He gave her that damn smile again. “A few moments ago, you said if I think for one minute that we’ll have sex again...ever...then I have another thought coming.”

She lifted her chin. “And?”

“Figured I’d let you know, it’s coming.”

She frowned and lifted her brow. “What’s coming?”

“Another thought.”

* * *

Winston was very much aware the woman was pretty pissed with him, but he couldn’t help it. It was either goad her or cross the room and kiss her, and heaven help him, he wanted to kiss her but doubted he could stop with just a kiss. He would want to strip her naked and—

“This is all a joke to you, isn’t it?”

“No. There’s nothing comical about what I want to do to you, Ainsley,” he said smoothly. “Want to hear them?”

“I suggest you keep your thoughts to yourself.” She then turned and walked out of the room.

Winston watched her leave thinking the woman was simply incredible, and she was getting under his skin the way he knew he was getting under hers. Like he told her, the interview would be interesting. Mainly because he had no intentions of keeping his hands to himself. She would learn that when you played with fire you were liable to get burned.

Works both ways, bro
.

Winston went completely still, not liking that particular thought. He had gotten burned once and would never let it happen again. Some men could get over hurt and betrayal; unfortunately he wasn’t one of them. He was a bachelor not taken, not spoken for. Free. Available.

A bachelor unclaimed.

And come hell or high water, he intended to stay that way.

The sound of his cell phone cut through his thoughts and he pulled the phone out of his back pocket upon recognizing the ring tone. It was Virgil. Perfect timing. If there was any person that could remind him of the importance of staying free of the female population—except when it became physically necessary—it was Virgil. Like Winston, Virgil had fallen in love young and had learned a hard lesson.

Virgil’s woman hadn’t betrayed him but she’d done something almost as bad. She had accused him of betraying her, a lie fed by her sister. Virgil hadn’t taken the false accusations lightly.

“V? What’s up?” Winston asked.

“Nothing much. Just checking on the mad scientist. Heard you’d come off the island for a spell.”

He didn’t have to wonder where Virgil had heard that. News always got around among the godbrothers. “Yes, but I’m back at work now. Have you talked to the others lately?” he asked, knowing he’d been lax in touching base with them. He hadn’t talked to them in a week or so.

“Yes, everyone is alive and breathing. Looking forward to all of us getting together at York’s anniversary party in New York. Z plans to attend, as well.”

Winston was glad to hear that. Zion, a world renowned jewelry maker, was living in Rome.

They conversed a little while longer and just talking to his godbrother helped put things in prospective. Virgil, with all his bitterness, animosity and don’t-give-a-damn attitude, had a way of doing that.

A few moments later their conversation ended and Winston knew he had to leave for a while and do something he enjoyed, something that could ease his mind of all these crazy thoughts where Ainsley was concerned.

He headed up the stairs to his bedroom to grab his jacket.

* * *

Ainsley repacked her duffel bag. Earlier that day they had located the bag, but not where it had been left. The heavy rains had floated it twenty feet away. All the items inside had gotten soiled and had needed to be washed. She’d just folded the last piece of clothing when she heard the door slam shut. Evidently Winston had left. Good riddance. But then of course he would be back at some point since he lived here.

She figured the interview couldn’t be done in a single afternoon, not even a single day. She wanted to know everything there was about Winston Coltrane, aka Dr. R. J. Chambers.

She suddenly recalled what he’d said about how he’d researched information about her, and deciding not to be outdone, she quickly made her way to the kitchen where the huge panel board was lit up.

“Charley,” she said with authority. “I want information on Winston Coltrane.”

“Affirmative. Information destination?”

Information destination? Making a wild guess at what he was asking, she gave him her email address and her smile widened when he said,
“Information sent. Delivery time one minute.”

She didn’t have her laptop with her, but she did have her iPhone and could read the information from there. Winston would find out in good time that not only was she not a quitter, she was a woman who didn’t take being made a fool of very well, either.

Glancing out the window at the sound of a boat’s motor, she watched as Winston steered a nice-looking vessel from the dock. She couldn’t wait to interview him and if he thought she would make things easy for him, then he was dead wrong.

She continued to watch until his boat looked like a speck out there in the middle of the ocean. Had he gone to cool off? Heck, what was he mad about? She was the one who’d been the joke of the day. But she intended to do what her grandmother always told her.

When someone gives you lemons, make lemonade.

* * *

Winston paused when his foot touched the top plank of the deck to his house. Was that music?

He frowned. It wasn’t just any music, it was that loud hip-hop stuff that he’d never gotten into. Probably because whenever he went to visit Evan out in L.A., he had to be subjected to it. His brother ate, breathed and practically slept with rap and was so entrenched in the hip-hop culture it was downright sickening. So why was it being played in his house?

He opened the door that led into the space between the kitchen and laundry room and stopped short. Ainsley was on the floor exercising. At least that’s what he thought she was doing, lying flat on her back with her legs kicking up in the air. And she was wearing the same outfit she had used to climb the flagpole.

He silently closed the door behind him and continued to watch her and it soon became obvious she wasn’t exercising but was doing part of a dance routine. He then remembered what he’d read in the report about her having been a dancer.

She had danced up a sweat and her skin was practically glistening. Wouldn’t take much to tempt him to cross the room and begin licking it off. He then shook his head thinking what he was really tempted to do was to knock himself in the head. Already he had forgotten about the reason he had stayed away on his boat all afternoon.

He had needed the time to screw his head back on right where this particular woman was concerned. And now all it took was seeing her working her legs and ass to hip-hop music to cause his insides to turn to mush.

Breaking his stare, he moved away from the door and walked over to the boom box—
his
boom box—and turned it off. That got her attention and she turned in his direction. A part of him wished she hadn’t done that when he couldn’t help but clearly see her hard nipples through the leotard. Immediately his stomach began clenching.

“Hey,” she called out to him, placing her hands on her hips. “What do you think you’re doing?”

His eyes narrowed. “What do you think you’re doing?” he countered.

“What does it look like? I’m dancing.”

“Why?”

“Why what?” she asked.

“Why are you dancing?”

She shrugged. “Because I like to. No, I take that back, I
love
to dance. I like dancing better than anything.”

He wondered if that included sex.

“It relaxes me,” she added.

Like boating relaxed him, he mused. But nothing was better to him than sex, and sex with her was off the charts. “Well, I don’t like the music.”

“You don’t like the music?” she repeated like she was certain she’d heard him wrong.

“Yes. I never married that hip-hop culture.”

She grabbed a towel off one of the small tables and began wiping her face, her arms, different parts of her body. “So what kind of music do you listen to?” she asked and he drew his gaze away from her body and up to her face when she used the towel to wipe off sweat there.