Taken by Storm (28 page)

“We have to help her,” Rachael said, taking the newspaper out of Maddie’s hand. “We have to take her back.”

“How? I mean, it’s only a legend.” Maddie didn’t want to discourage Rachael. She knew how tightly Rachael’s heart was wrapped up in Turtle Tear’s history.

“I don’t know,” Rachael said. “But the answer is here somewhere.” She lifted both hands, palms to the air. “Ingrid’s here somewhere. Maybe she can tell us.”

“Maybe so,” Maddie’s dad said, limping away. She couldn’t tell if he was serious, or if he thought Rachael was nuts.

Maddie wasn’t so sure herself, even if she was a self-proclaimed ghost hunter show addict. MJ had told her the ghost in the west wing of the Rocha Estate had been Nadia. Somehow, she thought she’d known all along that the girl
was real, and faced with the possibility of a ghost in real life wasn’t something she was prepared to deal with.

“Find anything good?” MJ called, watching her from across the room.

“We found some interesting things.” She smiled, wishing everyone would disappear and she could be alone with him.

Since he’d been working on the Weston Plantation, she’d seen a side of him she never knew existed. She saw the man she always knew he’d be emerging.

She was changing too. Trusting him to be strong for both of them. Trusting her instincts. Letting go and opening herself, becoming vulnerable to him.

Their love had grown because of everything they’d been through. They understood it was worth fighting for and wouldn’t always come easy, but they knew it was a love that very few people ever found. The once-in-a-lifetime kind.

The Rachael and Merrick kind.

The Archibald and Ingrid kind.

“I’ll be right back,” MJ told his dad. He took his hardhat off, rounded the drafting table and strode toward Maddie.

Merrick glanced over his shoulder and winked at her. Rachael tried and failed to hide a wide smile, diving into the trunk with both hands. Maddie’s dad seemed to be the only one who wasn’t in on whatever the others knew.

Grinning, she stepped back as MJ reached her. “What is this? What’s going on?”

He grabbed her hands and pulled her to him, taking her hardhat off and kissing her. “Come with me for a minute.”

MJ held her hand and they walked out the grand, double front doors onto the wide covered porch with huge white columns running up to the roof. She walked down the brick front steps beside him into the bright afternoon sunlight.

The grass was emerald green, the sky a bright autumn blue. It was her favorite season. They walked down the front path. The breeze blew her hair. “Where are you taking me?” she asked.

He looked back over his shoulder at the house and stopped. “Right here. Turn around.”

She spun and took in the tall, sprawling white house. “It’s amazing. I can’t believe it’s yours.”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” He took her hands and faced her. “When I look at this house, standing right in this spot, do you know what I see?”

“What?”

“I see you in a big, white dress. You’re standing right here with your dad. I’m at the bottom of the stairs waiting for you.”

Her eyes prickled with tears. He smiled and brushed her hair back over her shoulder.

“Music starts to play—not Beck unless he gets a lot better by then—and your dad escorts you down the front walkway. When the two of you reach where I’m standing, he places your hand in mine.”

Maddie couldn’t hold her tears back. They flowed freely down over her cheeks.

“Mads, I want this to be our home. Not a business. I want to bring our five kids home from the hospital here. I want to have holidays here. I want to get old with you here.”

He knelt down and took her hand. “This is not a proposal. Not yet. The next time I go down on one knee it will be.” He took a silver ring out of his pocket and held it up to show her. A tiny, antique heart shaped lock and key were mounted on the filigree ring. It took Maddie’s breath away.

“I’m asking for your heart,” he said, “before I ask for your hand.”

Maddie fell to her knees in front of him. “My heart could only be more yours if I took it out of my chest and handed it to you. I would love to make this a home with you MJ. You’ve always been my home.”

He held her hand and slid the ring in place on her finger. Then he kissed her, the promise between them strong and solid.

USA Today
bestselling author of
Taken
and its sequel,
No Takebacks
, Kelli Maine watches entirely too much reality TV, which led to her compulsion to write dramatic romance novels. Blessed with a unique ability to bond with difficult people, she’s convinced she could win
Big Brother
. Her deathly fear of heights would keep her from completing half of the detours on
The Amazing Race
, and she’s shocked nobody has ever penned
The Survivor Diet Plan
:
Eat One Cup of Rice for Thirty-Nine Days and Lose Fifty Pounds
!

Kelli lives in northeast Ohio with her family and a crazy cat that broke into their attic and refused to leave. Kelli loves hearing from fans and giving away
Taken
swag on her blog,
www.kellimaine.blogspot.com
.

You can learn more at: Twitter @KelliMaine

Facebook.com

Three months later
…

The club is packed. Bodies grind together on the dance floor. There’s barely room to move. You catch my eye.

You’re alone.

Bass pounds through my body, rushes from my head to my toes, takes the same path your eyes follow. Your dark-eyed stare is flutter-soft on my skin. It raises goose bumps. Makes me flush. My vodka and cranberry-soaked blood runs hot with need.

You smile. Dimples pierce your cheeks. Your eyes flash. I can’t resist.

“Rach!” Shannon grabs my arm. She’s sweaty from dancing and pulls her blond hair up off her shoulders. “I’m going.” She tilts her head toward Shawn or Shane or Seth—I’m not sure—the guy she met two hours ago.

“How am I supposed to get home?” She drove.

Shannon shoves her car keys in my hand. “See you in the morning.” She winks and pushes back through the crowd toward the guy whose name starts with an
S
.

When I turn from watching Shannon go, you’re standing right in front of me. “Hi,” you say. Familiarity strikes, but I don’t think I’d ever forget meeting you.

“Hi.” I fall into your dark eyes and can’t get out. They’re serious and focused on mine. Looking away would be a crime.

You run a hand through your wavy black-brown hair. Are you nervous? I can’t tell. “What were you drinking?” You tap my glass, empty except for melting ice.

“Vodka and cranberry.” I take in a thick, damp breath. Dancing bodies fog up the air, make it heavy to breathe.

You shake your beer bottle, indicating its emptiness. “I’m headed to the bar. Would you like another?”

I have to drive Shannon’s car home, but I don’t want to stop talking to you. I nod. “Please.” I’ll drink slowly. I’ll drive even slower.

I follow behind you, taking in the view of your incredible backside in jeans. A black long-sleeved shirt shifts with your strong, wide shoulders and hugs your narrow waist. You work out.
A lot.
The body I’m staring at didn’t come from luck and a good gene pool.

You glance back to make sure I’m following. When a group of people push between us, you reach out and take my hand. My fingers curl around yours like they’re possessed.

We reach the bar. You squeeze between two men. I stand back to wait while you order. I watch you reach into your pocket. A second later, you turn to me and hand me a glass.

“Thanks.” I take a deep drink, ignoring my self-promise to sip and make it last. Looking at you, I need all the courage this vodka is offering.

You sip your beer, watching me. An intense magnetism pulls between us. I’m sweating. I wipe my forehead with the back of my hand. The vodka is kicking in fast. I stumble sideways. You grip my arm.

“Feeling okay?” you ask.

The room spins and tilts. Black spots swim through my vision. “No. I need to sit.” My drink slips through my fingers and splatters on my bare leg.

“I’ve got you.” You put an arm around me and lead me toward the door. “You need some air.”

I’m blacking out and coming to, over and over again. This has never happened from three and a half vodka and cranberries before. “I need to get home.”

“I’ll take you,” you say.

“No. I…” The words won’t come. They buzz around in the darkness inside my mind searching for the light. I watch them break apart and fade.

You usher me through the parking lot. Open the door of a black car. Put me inside. “We’ll be home soon,” you say, buckling a seatbelt around my waist.

I try to grip the door handle to get out. My arm won’t move. My head lulls on my shoulder. The blackness narrows, leaving a small tunnel focused on the dashboard. Then it closes completely.

No more words.

No more light.

No more sound.

Just like that—I’m taken.

T
he sun beats down on us. It’s hot. Sauna hot. The kind that makes the air heavy and saturates your skin with a sheen of moisture.

I let my eyes roam over your tan, sculpted chest down to where your fingers thread together resting on your abs.

“Like what you see?” you ask. Smiling, you reach out and trace your finger along my cheek. I wish I could see your eyes behind your black sunglasses.

“You know I do.”

You chuckle and link your hands again, relaxing on your lounge chair.

The pool water ripples in the breeze, sunlight glinting off its surface. Pinkish-purple bougainvillea twines up to the palm frond roof of the pool-side bar. How did we get here? Us together? There were so many obstacles between us.

Over the past few months, Turtle Tear has been transformed from ancient ruins to a luxury resort on a private island in the Everglades. In the distance, the work crew bangs and saws, finishing the last few rooms in the hotel.

“Let’s cancel tomorrow,” you say. “I don’t want to share you.”

“We’ve waited too long for this.” Even though it’s only been about six months for me, you’ve waited years for this
day to come. Tomorrow is the grand opening of Turtle Tear Resort to our friends and family. After that… well, I haven’t decided if I want to open it to the public, or keep it private. I guess I’m not ready to share this place or you with anyone else either. “After they’re all gone, you can become a hermit.”

You take my hand and kiss it. “At least you promised me we could stay in the tree house and not crowd in the hotel with everyone else.”

I roll to my side and run a finger down your arm. “I love our little hideaway.”

Footsteps sound from the covered walkway. I sit up and turn to see Riley, your new assistant, step out from the shade and into the pool courtyard. “Why are you wearing dress pants and a tie?” I ask him. “Are you insane? It’s sweltering out here.”

You sit up, and your knees bump against mine. “Riley likes to look professional.” You grasp the left side of my red bikini top and tug it closed. “And you’re a little too casual. More like falling out.”

“No interest in sharing me with this assistant then?” I whisper.

You clench your jaw, but don’t reply. I was teasing, but struck a nerve bringing up the reason I left you last time.

“Ms. DeSalvo,” Riley interjects, spots of pink on his cheeks from either the heat or from overhearing my comment, “your mother and aunt are scheduled to arrive at ten a.m. tomorrow morning. Do you have a preference of which rooms are reserved for them?”

I shade my eyes and glance up at him, wishing I hadn’t forgotten my sunglasses back in the hotel. “No. I’m sure you’ll pick very nice rooms for them. I trust your judgment. But can you do me a favor?”

He nods, eager to please. “Of course.”

“Call me Rachael.”

A sheepish grin spreads across his face. He’s young, twenty-two at most, not that I’m much older. But his reserved manner and uncontrollable blushing make him seem a lot younger. “Can I get you another drink from the bar, Rachael?”

I pick up my empty mimosa glass from the small table beside my chair and hold it out to him. “That would be amazing of you. Thanks.”

“Mr. Rocha?” he asks, taking my glass.

You pick up your half-full bottle of water and shake it in Riley’s direction. “I’m good, thanks. But that reminds me, when’s the domestic staff getting in?”

“Three this afternoon.”

Riley trots off toward the bar on the opposite side of the pool and courtyard. “Someone has a crush,” you say, squeezing my knees between yours.

The stubble on your face has grown to a soft beard that covers your chin, not quite as full as it was when we first met, but soft to the touch and sexy. I can’t resist running my fingers over it. “You’re right,” I say. “But look at him. Those pressed oxford shirts he wears, the flop of dusty blond hair over his forehead and the way he always blushes when he looks at me. How can I not be crushing hard?”

You lower your sunglasses to the end of your nose and arch one brow over your blazing, dark eyes. “You’re full of jabs today, aren’t you? You know what I meant.”

I stand between your legs and take your face between my hands skimming my fingers through your dark, wavy hair. “You know I’m kidding. Look at you.” I let my hands run down your neck, across your broad shoulders, down over the bulging muscles of each arm. “Why would I ever want anyone else?”

Your hands find my hips and pull me closer, close enough to rest your cheek against my stomach. “I’ve already done everything you’re just getting to do. I’ve reached my goals. You could have someone like him—like you. Someone driven, making his way up the ladder. I kicked my ladder down, Rachael.”