Sea of Love: A Bayberry Island Novel (5 page)

“I know. What did I tell you? It’s totally worth a little inconvenience, right?”

Rowan added the coffee and turned on the machine. Almost instantly, the big kitchen began filling with the heavenly scent of rich, dark coffee. She turned around to find Imelda back to her chopping, her head bent, eyes down. The silence pouring off of her small body was plenty loud, however.

“Uh-oh.” Rowan returned to the butcher block and placed a hand on Imelda’s shoulder. “What?”

She shook her head but didn’t say anything.

“Mellie, what? Seriously. I can tell you’re upset.”

Imelda’s knife stilled and she gazed up at Rowan, her expression shadowed with worry. “I don’t know, honey. It just seems too good to be true that a man appears out of nowhere and gives you all that money. And he’s not even from Publisher’s Clearing House!”

Rowan giggled, then gave Imelda another kiss on the cheek. “Maybe it’s karma. Aren’t we overdue for some good luck?”

*   *   *

Ash nodded courteously to his fellow sunroom occupants and took a seat in a retro rattan chair set apart from the others. It was beginning to look quite ugly outside, and the oak, pine, and beech trees that lined the edges of the lawn were taking a beating. It was no wonder the trees here grew short and squat—anything tall and slender would be reduced to splinters in this kind of wind.

He appreciated that the other guests didn’t expect him to chitchat and angled his chair so that it faced directly toward the wall of windows. Truth be told, he needed a few minutes to settle his nerves. He felt off balance, and though he couldn’t put his finger on what his problem was, he knew it had to do with his bizarre reaction to Rowan Flynn.

She’d surprised the hell out of him. She was much prettier in person than in the photos or videos he’d been studying for the last month. Her eyes seemed to be a mysterious green-gray in the dim light. Her hair was fashionably cut to shoulder length, straight, and a shiny, soft brown color, details he hadn’t noticed in his research. Her mouth was adorable, too, all pink and full and kissable.

Plus she was sweeter than he’d anticipated. Ash hadn’t assumed Rowan Flynn would be a screaming harpy, but she’d sounded plenty bitter in interviews after the trial and at sentencing. For good reason, he supposed. Rowan had been screwed by Frederick Theissen. That put her in good company, since Theissen had screwed eighty-seven people out of millions of dollars. The difference was that he’d asked Rowan to marry him before he’d stolen from her and her family. The guy was a real prince. Yet only a year after his sentencing, here Rowan was—sweet, friendly, and trusting.

She was a whole lot sexier than he’d expected, too. Sure, it hadn’t escaped Ash that she was easy on the eyes and looked great in a pencil skirt standing on the courtroom steps, but on Bayberry Island her demeanor was different. She seemed looser than in Manhattan, more suited to her surroundings. When she’d marched into the foyer, her perfectly lovely body looked at ease in a pair of worn jeans, a simple V-necked T-shirt, and Teva sandals.

She happened to be funny, as well. And charming. Polite. And Ash hadn’t expected to find that she was any of those things, let alone all of them, and it bothered him. He hadn’t come to Bayberry to be smitten by the Flynns’ only daughter. He’d come there to seduce her, twist her mind, and get her to do what he needed her to do, which was convince her family to sell. And though an argument could be made that it was more enjoyable for a man to seduce a lovely and charming woman than a homely and annoying one, Ash wasn’t there to find a date. He was there to make Jessop-Riley, and himself, a boatload of money. This was just business.

Looking out at the choppy sea and menacing sky, he made a promise to himself that he wouldn’t lose sight of that this week—no matter how much Rowan Flynn appealed to him.

After a blessed ten minutes of silence, an older woman to Ash’s right cleared her throat, and he knew that was his signal to speak. He turned in his chair. “Good afternoon,” he said. “I hope I didn’t intrude.”

All six of the senior citizens answered him, assuring him that he had not, and then stared him down with quizzical expressions. He glanced at himself and laughed, deciding to angle the chair into the room again in order not to appear rude. “I had to run all the way here from town square. Unfortunately, I don’t have anything to change into at the moment.”

The eyebrows of all three older women rose in unison. Ash realized too late that he’d probably wandered into TMI territory.

Or perhaps not.

“Absolutely nothing?” The woman who asked this sat frozen in her chair, teacup stopped midway between her saucer and her mouth.

“Well, no. My belongings are locked away in my sailboat, which is at the marine yard getting repaired. I’ll need to get my things once the storm passes.”

“Did you kiss the mermaid’s hand and ask that she grant you true love?”

Ash laughed. “I wasn’t given much of a choice. I was kidnapped.” He watched the group exchange knowing glances.

“You’re this year’s Man Grab?”

He smiled at the woman who’d asked. “So I’ve been told.” There was another round of knowing glances.

“You’re a guest here?”

“I am,” he answered the man. The group seemed inordinately curious about him, and he was about to learn why.

“The six of us have been coming here for festival week since 1974, and we’ve stayed here at Safe Haven since it opened twenty-some years ago. We’ve never seen you before.”

“This is my first visit to the island.”

“What room are you staying in?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t been checked in yet.”

“Do you have dinner plans?”

“Uh, not at the moment.”

“Are you here alone?”

“Well . . .”

“We’re nudists.”

Ash had been looking forward to enjoying a hot cup of coffee since Miss Flynn had so kindly offered, but it was a good thing he hadn’t yet received it—because the coffee would have just been spewed across the sunroom.

“There’s a nude beach here, you know.”

He knew, but he seemed to have lost his ability to speak.

“The textiles aren’t the only ones who have fun around here during festival week, let me assure you.”

Ash felt his hands grip the rattan armrests. He must have looked lost, because the third woman laughed and waved her hand around languidly.

“Oh, that’s what we call people who wear clothes all the time,” she explained. “You know, textiles are fabrics, and clothes are made of fabric, so the people who wear clothes are textiles.”

Ash cracked his neck and tried to keep that polite smile in place because, really, this was some wicked funny shit. These people had to be in their sixties at the very least, still running around naked in their retirement years! It was times like these that he missed Brian the most. He would have loved this.

“You seem shocked,” one of the men said.

He shook his head.

The laughing woman waved her hand around again. “Then you should join us at the beach tomorrow. We’re having our own version of the parade, just without the costumes.”

Ash swallowed hard.

At that exact moment, Rowan Flynn arrived with a coffee tray and placed it on the small wicker side table next to Ash. He had never been so glad to see anyone in his life.

“Here you go, Mr. Wallace. Sorry it took so long. I made a fresh pot.”

The lights suddenly flickered, then went out completely, leaving them in the dark for several seconds. When the power came back on, Ash gazed up at Rowan as if mesmerized by her face. She was absolutely
adorable
. That’s the only word that came to mind.

“Sorry about that. The wiring in this place is pretty old.” She looked at him quizzically. “Everything all right?”

When she tipped her pretty head to the side and blinked, Ash felt something stir in him. It was a need, a longing he couldn’t name, and it spread from his chest up to his head and then down through his whole body, ending in the soaked leather of his Sperry Docksiders. Oddly enough, the sensation wasn’t as much about getting something from her as giving something to her. Where had
that
come from?

“Mr. Wallace?”

He snapped to. “Yes. Yes, everything is fine. Thank you so much for the coffee.” Ash gladly turned his attention to the tray, noting that she’d provided both cream and sugar for him. She’d remembered.

Rowan turned her attention to the others, asking if they wanted more tea, and Ash took advantage of the opportunity to really check her out, leaning just a bit forward in his seat. She was on the short side, maybe about five four, and her curves were on full display in those jeans. She had a perfectly beautiful booty and graceful arms that had been kissed by the sun. And she held herself with elegance. Her feet appeared delicate, even in sport sandals.

“We’ve got everything we need,” answered one of the women.

“All right then, if there’s nothing else?”

Rowan turned toward Ash again, and he nearly fell off his chair. When had he scooted so close to the edge like that? “While we’ve still got power, let me go prepare your room, Mr. Wallace. If you need anything, Imelda is in the kitchen.”

Ash purposefully stared at his shoes so that he didn’t stare at Rowan’s backside as she left the room. Then he poured himself a cup of coffee, added sugar and cream, and took his first sip. The taste was nothing less than blissful. He couldn’t help but let go with a sigh of satisfaction as he sat back in his chair.

His new friends shared yet another round of knowing glances between them. When they turned and smiled at him in unison, Ash felt uncomfortable. It was almost as if they knew something he didn’t.

*   *   *

“Have we heard anything from Wallace?”

Though Kathryn Hilsom was team lead on the Mermaid Island project, she decided to let someone else answer Jessop’s question. She didn’t want to appear to take pleasure in how Wallace had dropped the ball, even though she most certainly did.

“Nothing. But the day’s not over. Plus there’s a wicked storm headed that way.”

Kathryn gazed out the row of tall windows surrounding the luxurious Jessop-Riley conference room and tried not to smirk. Brenda Paulson was probably the most impressionable member of the J-R acquisitions team, and she’d had a crush on Wallace for years. So of course she’d cover for him. It was embarrassing, really. Every time they hired Wallace to slither in under the radar and close a property deal by whatever means necessary, Brenda fawned all over him. It was like she worshipped him. Her behavior was a sloppy, career-busting weakness.

“Also, it’s Friday afternoon.” Brenda smiled and shrugged. “Ash is probably preparing an update for us first thing Monday morning.”

Oh, dear God
. Kathryn looked down at her precise manicure, annoyed that there was already a tiny chip on the nail of her right pinkie finger. That was exactly why she always chose a barely tinted natural polish color instead of something loud and bright. One tiny chip or crack in a bright color and even the best-dressed woman suddenly looked messy, unkempt, and even a little sluttish. Kathryn couldn’t afford a misstep like that.

Jerrod Jessop took a loud sip from the straw of his customary extra-large 7-Eleven cherry Slurpee, then leaned back in his chair at the head of the conference table. “Yeah, well, he’ll come through for us. He’s bagged every deal he’s ever been hired to close.” In his usual ADD style, Jessop suddenly launched himself forward again and rested his elbows on the table. “I’d hoped to hear from him by now, but Wallace has his methods, and frankly, I don’t give a damn how he does it, as long as he does it.”

It was difficult, but Kathryn managed to hold her tongue. She knew she was just as capable of closing this deal as Wallace, but her boss couldn’t see that. So what did Jessop do instead of allowing her to close the deal in-house? He offered Wallace nearly a quarter million to wrap it up as a consultant. Jessop even approved Ash’s ridiculous scheme to mosey out there by sailboat. All of it was nothing but a colossal waste of time and money, in her opinion. Kathryn knew she could have been there in a matter of hours—a short trip on the company’s private plane to Martha’s Vineyard, a quick helicopter connection, a few choice words with the locals, and bam! Done. It wasn’t quantum physics, for God’s sake. She had the same killer instinct for negotiation as Ash Wallace. She had the same brains and the same cunning . . .

She began to seethe in silence. Damn Jerrod Jessop. Damn this company. Damn this job that was beneath her talents.

But most of all, damn Ash Wallace for not taking her on as a partner when she’d offered three months ago. Not only would working with Wallace have gotten her out from under Jessop’s twitchy thumb; it would have been the perfect fit for her skill set. There would have been no limit to what they could have accomplished together. So who did he think he was turning her down the way he had, with that arrogant look, that insipid response? “No. I work alone.”

God, she hated that man.

“Anything you’d like to add, Kathryn?”

She set her face in a pleasantly bland expression. “We are paralyzed without the thumbs-up from Mr. Wallace. Our legal team is on standby, and the bank is simply waiting for the numbers. But despite our detailed vision of what would arguably be New England’s premier seaside multiuse resort, we can’t make another move until we own the land. Bayberry Island is by far the best location, but unless Wallace succeeds, we will have to rethink the entire project.”