Baddest Bad Boys (31 page)

That meant making every moment count. She picked up the phone and paged Gerard. “I’d like to leave early. I have a little shopping to do on the way to the airport.”

6

A computer glitch at Logan International had flights backed up. As it turned out, it was after five when Max’s private jet finally taxied up to the hangar—without Max.

From Gerard, Ellie learned that their destination—Charleston, South Carolina—was temporary. “From Charleston you’ll be taken by boat to San Regale,” he had told her. “Mr. DeLuca will meet you there.”

A riff of excitement played up her spine. San Regale was a private island off the coast of South Carolina; it had been in the DeLuca family for years. Nicknamed “Sensual Isle” by the tabloids, San Regale had its own rumor factory. Several stories purported that exotic orgies were hosted regularly there, with yachts coming and going in the dark of night to preserve the anonymity of the rich and famous.

The island had a public mystique as well since it was the only DeLuca holding that had never been extensively photographed. And while the DeLucas had homes and villas tucked all over the world, mostly for philandering, Stefan had always made it clear that San Regale was off limits.

Ellie’s imagination worked overtime during the flight. Was she ready for this? Her original proposal had been for one night, which she felt confident enough to handle. But seven nights alone on an island with Max? Was she insane?

In Charleston there was another delay, this one weather-related. Ultimately, she was ferried to the island by a helicopter. Gerard bid her farewell at the airport. “Mr. DeLuca will be waiting at the island.”

They touched down on a wide stretch of beach just as dusk was setting. Her breath caught at the sight of Max. He was dressed casually in worn jeans, a polo shirt, and shabby deck shoes. His dark hair was loose and a five o’clock shadow darkened his jaw. In short, he looked…dangerous.

He helped her disembark, pulling her close and bringing her hand to his mouth. He kissed her fingertips, then held her hand, his thumb stroking lightly over her knuckles. She felt electricity zing clear down to her toes.

“How are you?”

“I’m fine,” she lied. Actually, I’m about to jump out of my skin, thanks.

“I apologize for not meeting you earlier. My flight was already under way by the time I learned you’d been held up.”

In a flurry of windblown sand, the helicopter took off, leaving them alone. Max had already loaded her luggage onto a golf cart. Before she could protest, he picked her up and set her on the seat.

“Thank you.” Sue her if it was passé, but she liked it when Max held her.

“My pleasure. Didn’t Gerard say you should take it easy with the foot for a day or two?”

“It’s been a day.”

“Humor me.”

The vehicle’s oversized, knobby tires had no problem in the sand as they zipped along the south side of the island. In the fading light, it was hard to see much. The number of trees surprised her. From what she could tell, the dense pines seemed to shelter much of the grounds.

“The main house is just ahead,” Max said. “Straight up from the dock.”

The dock had a large powerboat berthed on one side, a sailboat on the other.

“How many houses are on the island?”

“Four. The big one and three smaller ones. Two of those are guest quarters, on the far side. They’re empty. We have the place completely to ourselves except for Tyler, our groundskeeper, and his wife, Maria. They live in the third home. Maria keeps house and cooks. You’ll rarely see them, though. Our family has employed them for years—I trust them one hundred percent.” Max looked at her. “I want you to know you’re safe here.”

His words and sincerity touched her. Just don’t read anything into it, she reminded herself.

The main house was a two-story Cape Cod with porches and decks adjoining the ground floor. At Max’s insistence, Ellie explored the downstairs while he took care of her luggage. What she saw shocked her. She had expected a tasteless, brothel-type macho-pit, complete with nude sculptures and mirrored walls. Instead the house was, well…cozy.

Ferns and fragrant orchids were everywhere. A set of double doors led into a library. That room, a long rectangle, had French doors and a patio on one side. She took in the professional touches—the showpiece rug, the original watercolors.

The view beyond the doors was spectacular. Open water. A large mahogany desk dominated one end of the room. A briefcase and laptop rested on the desk’s polished surface. Max’s? Just beyond the desk were more glass doors that led to a swimming pool. The work space layout offered simultaneous views of ocean and pool.

The room’s interior wall boasted floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. She scanned the titles, a collection of expensive leather-bound classics. Again, not what she anticipated. The gilt spines of the books were pristine. For show, she thought. What a pity.

She moved toward a sloppy-looking shelf closer to the desk. The books here were worn, well used. Well loved. One had dog-eared sheets of paper stuck inside. She read the titles. These were Max’s books. Yacht Design. Outboard Engine Specifications. Powerboats For Racing.

She smiled, remembered boating with him during that long-ago summer. While their friends sunbathed and partied, Max had pointed out different vessels, talking about hull shapes as if he were describing a lover’s body. He’d talked about designing boats—yachts, really—and had showed her some sketches. He’d teased her about decorating what he’d build. “We’d make a great team.”

He’d been so wrong.

Hearing footsteps in the hall, she turned just as Max joined her.

“You found my favorite room,” he said. “So what do you think of the place?”

Ellie turned and nodded. “Um…It’s lovely.”

“You sound surprised.”

She tried to cover her gaffe. “I’ve heard stories.”

“About the orgies?” He chuckled. “My mom’s sister started them.”

“Why did she do that?”

“To piss off one of my dad’s subsequent wives. San Regale was originally my father’s fishing retreat. Until my mother came along. My father said she visited the island once and next thing he knew, she was having a house built here. Each successive wife added on, until eventually Dad simply banned females.”

“I bet that went over well, given the orgy rumors.”

“Exactly.” He moved toward a bar tucked in the corner. “I know you had dinner in Charleston, but I thought we’d have a few hors d’oeuvres later. Wine?”

Before she could respond, Max’s cell phone started ringing. He tugged it out and glanced at the display. “Sorry. I need to take this.”

She nodded. “Actually, I’d like to shower and change. It’s been a long day.”

He answered his phone with a quick, “I’ll call you right back.” Snapping it shut, he escorted Ellie to the foyer. “Your things are in the guest suite at the top of the staircase. It’s got a private terrace and bath.” Once again, he brought her fingers to his lips, but this time he pressed a kiss to her palm, then folded her fingers over it. “Let’s meet on the patio in an hour.”

 

When Ellie reached her suite, she shut the door and leaned back against it. They weren’t sharing a room. Was she relieved or disappointed?

Her eyes fell on the bed, the physical equivalent of the million-dollar question. Where would they do it? His room? Hers? This bed was queen-sized. Adequate. Until she recalled Max’s suite in the penthouse; it had an oversized king. Something suited for sexual Olympics. Pros. Not amateurs.

For the umpteenth time, she wished she were more experienced. More sexually sophisticated. She had this nagging suspicion that seen one, seen ’em all, was based on a larger segment of the population.

The dismal truth was, she’d acquired very little hands-on skill during her marriage. Stefan had expressed disappointment the first night of their honeymoon and left her in tears while he went searching for a little more “action.” He’d blamed her for not being exciting enough to interest him. Then he’d browbeaten her for kissing Max before their wedding ceremony. Max had been drunk and stumbled into her room while looking for Stefan. He’d taken one look at her and swept her up in his arms. If Stefan hadn’t walked in…

Where would that kiss have gone?

Nowhere. When Max sobered up, he’d never mentioned it. Probably forgotten it. Stefan, however, had never let her forget, and had practically accused her of infidelity. He’d been a fine one to talk!

She pushed those thoughts away. Her marriage had been a mistake. She’d stayed in it way too long, nursing a tattered pride that in the end amounted to nothing. Pride did go before a fall.

Restless, she explored the room. The soft green walls and natural rattan furnishings suited the island motif. More French doors opened onto a small balcony that overlooked the same view as the library below. The adjoining bathroom repeated the rattan theme. Her case with her toiletries sat on the counter.

Ellie caught a glimpse of herself and grimaced. Her hair looked flat, her clothes travel-wrinkled. Suddenly an hour didn’t feel like nearly enough time. She turned on the shower.

As she blow-dried her hair afterwards, she mentally inventoried her luggage and decided what to wear. In her whirlwind trip to Nordstrom’s, she’d found a chic, black sundress with off-the-shoulder sleeves and a low-cut bodice. A strapless, pushup bra would guarantee that Max’s attention would be on her, not the dress. If she played her cards right, she wouldn’t be wearing either very long.

Back in the bedroom, she paused. A wrapped box sat on the dresser, a note propped beside it. A single red rosebud completed the trio. Max must have slipped in while she was in the shower.

His thoughtfulness made her smile. She brought the rose to her face, delighted in its fragrance. Her heart thumped at the flower’s meaning. A red rose.

She picked up the note. Max’s handwriting was as bold as his words.

Ellie,

In my dreams, you’re not wearing anything more than this.

Max

She eyed the box. It was small. Whatever outfit it held had to be skimpy. Sexy underwear, perhaps? The idea of Max selecting lingerie for her was titillating. And nerve-wracking.

Her palms grew moist. She picked up the box, found it heavier than she’d have guessed. The wrapping paper and ribbon hit the floor in shreds. Inside the package was a flat leather case emblazoned with an exclusive French jeweler’s crest.

Her eyes widened as she opened it. Nestled against white satin was a thick, gold-and-emerald necklace. The heavy piece fit like a choker. Matching drop earrings and two bracelets completed the set, which had no doubt cost a small fortune.

Her smile wavered as she reread the note. In my dreams… The meaning was clear. He’d thrown down the gauntlet. An emerald-studded gauntlet.

She took the case and crossed to the oval mirror standing in the corner. Then she dropped the towel and looked critically at her body, trying to imagine herself in nothing but emeralds.

Holy God! Could she do it?

7

Max cut across the south lawn. He climbed the steps at the side of the house, two at a time, and then strode across the patio, his mind still picking apart his latest problem. One of his major suppliers had suddenly demanded cash on delivery, citing rumors about DSI having cash flow problems.

This wasn’t the first time, and Max stepping in to personally handle the matter had enabled them to resolve it discreetly. But it was only a matter of time until it happened again. Rumors like this were insidious, difficult to trace and stop. Max had faced a similar situation after his father died. This particular pattern of industrial sabotage was especially difficult to prove, too. When he found the person responsible—

He stopped short when he saw the table. Maria, bless her, had taken care of everything. Wine, canapés, candles. Roses. He checked his watch, found he had ten minutes, maybe less. Not enough time to shower and shave.

He stroked the stubble on his chin. If he kissed Ellie he’d have to be careful. And he damn sure planned to kiss her.

He refilled the glass of wine he’d poured earlier, then paced across the lanai to stare out into the darkness. Tree frogs and cicadas chirped, their music carried on the sea breeze. Typically the night sounds relaxed him.

But not tonight. He was wound up, and with each passing second the tension increased. He prowled along the railing, eyes flitting from shadow to shadow.

His thoughts were chaotic, which was almost humorous, considering Max prided himself on clear thinking. His strategic skills had been honed to a reliable perfection that served him well. In business, he was coldly rational.

The problem was…Ellie wasn’t business. Not anymore. That line had been crossed and there would be no going back. In the past, he’d managed to keep his distance with Ellie by compartmentalizing, thinking of her in terms of corporate structure.

He’d even told himself the trip to Boston was about maintaining control of her stock shares. A business proposition. Until he’d found her note at the penthouse. ONE NIGHT. Then after the incident at the beach house, he’d told himself it was about her safety. Until he’d held her naked. Then every memory, every fantasy, every regret he’d buried over the years came home to roost.