Blame It on Paradise (14 page)

She stopped his words by pressing him onto his back and climbing astride him. “Do you want me to stay here?”

“Absolutely.” His body was already responding to her new position as he gazed up at her slender, nubile form and the tumble of black silk draping her chest and shoulders.

“Then no business.” She rose over him, repositioning herself once more. “Not here,” she gasped, her eyes locking with his as she welcomed him in one easy, fluid motion that made his abdomen quicken. “Not ever.”

Jack grunted his agreement. It was the only way he could respond with her torturously slow movements stealing his ability to form rational thought.

* * *

With all business talk banned while they were in Nahant, Jack decided to pursue another topic later as they lay tangled, face to face, in the warmth of his enormous bed. “Do you actually own Darwin?”

“It’s a small island, Jack, probably no bigger than Nahant. The land has been in my family for almost three centuries. When my parents were killed, the island became mine. It was held in trust for me until I turned twenty-five.”

“I’m sorry.” He cupped her face and stroked a thumb over her cheek.

“Trust me, twenty-five wasn’t so bad, and it’s rather young to come into the responsibility of an island, its infrastructure and its population.”

“I don’t mean that. I’m sorry about your parents.”

“I am, too. I was five when they died. My father lost control of their car on a rain-slicked road, and that was that. Levora and Errol were my parents’ best friends, and they took me in.”

“Was it Levora’s idea that you attend Stanford?”

“No. I knew that I wanted to go to school in America and that I wanted to be an attorney. Stanford was the first school that offered me a scholarship.”

Jack blinked. “A scholarship? But you own an island.”

“I’m not rich, Jack, at least not by American standards.”

“I’ve seen Marchand Manor. It’s not exactly a hovel.”

“It’s just a house.”

“It’s a mansion.”

“A mansion is nothing more than a big house.” She raised herself on one elbow. “I don’t want a mansion, I never did. I’ve always wanted a home. Marchand Manor stopped being a home the night my parents died.”

He deliberately missed her point. “Is that why you live in the trees behind the mansion?”

“I love that treehouse. My father designed it. It was meant to be an office, but he never got the chance to use it.”

“I’ve known some lawyers who look like they should be swinging from trees, but you’re the only one I’ve ever met who practices from one.”

“It might seem unconventional, but it suits me and my clients. People on Darwin pay for my legal services with bushels of kiwi fruit, or by agreeing to provide meals to the guests in my homestays. My parents left me a bit of money that I’ve invested with good results, but I still have to work for a living, same as most other people, Jack. In fact, I’ll be in handling some business in Toronto next week, and soon after that, I have a scheduled visit to Madrid.”

“You wouldn’t have to work another day in your life if you accepted Coyle-Wexler’s offer for the tea.”

“That’s business,” she reminded him. “Forbidden subject. And just so you know, I enjoy working, and the work I do. I get along quite well with legal consulting overseas.”

“But you could be rich.”

“Money won’t make me rich, Jack,” she said before planting a chaste kiss on the end of his nose.

* * *

A few days after her shocking appearance in the Coyle-Wexler conference room, Lina was comfortably settled in a corner office with Kiri, the receptionist from Hades, installed at the door in prime watchdog position.

Having informed Reginald of the French firm’s past interest in the tea, Jack had been given a new assignment, that of acquiring the company’s research. Whether for sport or business, Lina refused to divulge any more information about the French company, particularly the firm’s name. The resultant arguments she and Jack had in her office led to chilly behavior between them in the halls at Coyle-Wexler, but the frost had a way of vaporizing once they were together at the end of the day in Nahant. By the end of her first week, their daily office rows had become an oddly amusing form of foreplay.

When Jack came into her office late Friday afternoon, one look at his face told Lina that he wasn’t there to stage another fight about a French pharmaceutical company.

“I was wondering what you were doing this weekend,” Jack asked, absently toying with the brass nameplate gleaming at the front of her desk.

Lina sat back in her leather chair and laced her fingers over her midsection. “I haven’t been in town long, Jack. I’m afraid I haven’t had time to fill my social calendar.”

“Oh.” Jack scrubbed his right hand over the back of his head as he backed toward the door. “Well, then…I guess I’ll just, uh, leave you to finish up whatever you were doing.”

“You’re being quite strange, Jack.” Lina pressed back a smile. “Is there something special you’d like to do this weekend?”

“No. Yes. Well, there’s a work-related function I’m supposed to attend,” he explained. “I don’t want to go, but Reginald will expect to see me there.”

“What sort of function is it?”

He dropped his eyes to his shoes. “It’s nothing, really. Just—”

“A wedding.”

He turned the brilliant dark blue of his eyes on her. “How’d you know?”

“Millicent Wexler stopped in earlier today.” Lina stood, and she exchanged her comfortable leather chair for the hard, narrow windowsill.

As she looked down on the gleaming gold dome of the State House and the sparse greenery of the Commons and Public Gardens, Lina could have been a benevolent goddess surveying her mortal realm. Jack wanted to go to the wedding even less now because it meant one fewer evening alone with Lina.

“Mrs. Wexler wanted to meet ‘the woman who’s keeping Reggie up nights,’ ” Lina continued. “That’s me, according to her. We chatted, she tried to get chummy about the tea, and then she went and invited me to her cousin’s wedding.”

“Nephew,” Jack corrected.

Lina shrugged. “Whichever. I got the impression that it’s going to be quite the to-do.”

“Yeah,” Jack sighed. “The Wexlers spare no expense when it comes to marrying off one of their own, especially when he’s getting hitched to one of Boston’s wealthiest Brahmin families. I’d rather have hot needles shoved under my eyelids than go to this thing. I probably attend more Wexler family functions than DeVoy family functions. But at least I can write my tuxes off as business expenses.” He groaned. “The last thing I want to do is spend my Saturday night at a wedding.”

Lina’s mouth pulled into an enigmatic smile. “Are you against marriage?”

Jack recognized his own words, and he prefaced his answer with a telling smirk. “I love marriage. It’s weddings I hate.”

“Weddings are wonderful,” Lina said. “I went to them all the time when I was an undergrad. My girlfriends and I would scan the society pages and pick the most promising looking ceremonies to attend.”

“You were a wedding crasher?”

“There’s a name for it?”

“There was a movie about it. It’s one of my brother Anderson’s favorites. He borrowed one of my tuxes and tried to crash some baseball player’s wedding at the Park Plaza Castle last year. He got tossed out on his can.”

“Interesting,” Lina chuckled. “And all this time, I assumed that my friends and I were so clever and original. We never got tossed, though, so I guess we were lucky if nothing else.”

Jack seated himself in one of the wing chairs facing Lina’s desk. Reginald had gone top-of-the-line in outfitting Lina’s office. The leather chair at her desk was the same model as his, so Jack knew that Reginald had shelled out a princely sum to assure Lina’s comfort. The twin wing chairs were taller, wider and more luxurious than the pieces Jack had, which sent a twinge of jealousy flickering through him.

Shaking it off, he asked, “What made you crash weddings?”

“Originally, for a kick, because we were bored.” Lina strolled over to a long, low cabinet along one wall.

She pressed a button on the Capresso coffee maker, and Jack immediately recognized the scent of the amber potion beginning to brew within it.

“We kept doing it for the food,” she finished, taking two porcelain mugs from a lower section of the cabinet.

“Sure you did,” Jack said.

“No, really,” Lina insisted. “Dorm food was awful compared to what I’d grown up with on Darwin. At wedding receptions, we’d get the best food in exchange for witty conversation and a dance or two with doddering Uncle William or weird Cousin Wingfield.”

Lina prepared their tea and Jack tried to picture her ten years younger, doing the Macarena at a stranger’s wedding. It was easier to envision her now, dancing barefoot in the sand in celebration of her own nuptials.

“What…” Lina wrinkled her brow at Jack’s intense study of her.

“Hmm?” he said, snapping out of his reverie.

“You looked so far away for a moment.”

“I suppose I was. So are you going to the wedding tomorrow?”

“Absolutely. It’ll be the first American wedding that I’ve actually been invited to. It was sort of fun searching through the couple’s seven bridal registries to find a gift.”

Jack accepted the steaming cup of tea Lina brought to him. “My secretary handles that sort of thing for me. I have no idea what I’m giving them.”

“Shame on you, Jack.” Lina leaned against her desk, facing him. “The least you could do is shop for them yourself. I did. I went online and got them the sinfully overpriced Riedel Vinum martini glasses they wanted.”

“I’m sure that my gift will be just as nice.” Jack lightly blew on his tea. “My secretary’s got great taste. She sent my parents to Cape Cod for a week for their wedding anniversary last year.”

“How generous of her,” Lina said facetiously. “I can only imagine what
you
gave them. They’re
your
parents, after all.”

“My money paid for the Cape trip, so that means it was from me. Janet just booked it for me.”

Lina stared at him and she couldn’t help wondering how he could be so relentlessly detached. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Thank you,” Jack grinned.

“That wasn’t a compliment.” She set her tea cup on her desk with a sharp tap. “You couldn’t be bothered to shop for your own parents? Was it even your idea to send them on a trip?”

“Janet suggested it, but—”

“It isn’t the same, Jack.” Lina displayed her own stubborn streak by tightly crossing her arms over her chest. “Anyone can open a wallet and shell out cash. It means much more when you open your heart and spend the currency you hoard there.”

Jack set his cup beside hers, grumbling under his breath. Her argument was airtight. He conceded defeat with, “I hate you.”

Lina rounded the desk. “No, you don’t,” she snickered, settling back in her leather chair.

“You’re right again. I don’t. Would you like to go to the wedding with me?”

“What I would like and what I should do are two different things.”

“I was invited. You were invited. We were going anyway, we might as well go together,” Jack reasoned.

She gently swirled her tea before she raised her eyes to him and said, “Are you sure that’s wise?”

Jack’s eyebrows lifted. “I don’t see why it wouldn’t be. I’m the primary attorney in the midst of an acquisition deal with a highly desirable vendor. It’s just good business to escort you to a wedding that Millicent Wexler expects both of us to attend.”

“People aren’t as oblivious as we might believe them to be,” she said. “I don’t want to compromise your standing here.” As she held his gaze, Lina knew that she didn’t have to say anything more, that Jack understood her meaning perfectly.

“No one’s going to have a problem with you and me being together at the wedding,” he assured her.

“What if they knew we were together all the time and not just for the sake of a business appearance?”

Jack stared past her and lost himself in the cloudless sky. He had no idea how his co-workers, or Reginald, would react if they knew he and Lina were much more than business associates. Office romances were frowned upon, but they existed. An interracial office romance would have lit up Coyle-Wexler’s gossip grapevine like the Esplanade on the Fourth of July, and the last thing Jack wanted was to have his private life discussed around the water cooler. Or worse, discussed by Reginald Wexler.

“I want to take you to the wedding,” Jack said earnestly. “As long as we keep it professional, there shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” Lina said with a sweet smile. “We’ll just keep it professional.”

CHAPTER 11

Jack realized that he shouldn’t have worried about Lina and the Macarena.

He was far more concerned with what she was doing with Shakira’s “Hips Don’t Lie” as she danced with three bridesmaids and the new Mrs. Dalton “Trip” Wexler III. The bride and groom were both twenty-four years old; far too young, in Jack’s opinion, to be getting married.

Or to have gotten married
, Jack reminded himself as he polished off the rum and Coke he’d been nursing. Both the wedding and the reception were held at the bride’s parents’ “winter” house, a sickeningly lovely display of real estate excess in Weston that gave them a place to escape the hustle and noise of their primary residence, a brownstone on Commonwealth Avenue in Boston.

The 30-room Weston mansion was off-limits, but the 12-room carriage house comfortably accommodated guests spilling over from the heated tents containing most of the two hundred invitees.

The two white tents, designed to look like actual buildings complete with floor-to-ceiling sectioned windows, ran together, with the bar and banquet area leading to the ballroom. A string ensemble from the Boston Symphony orchestra had played early on, during the “drink and drop” part of the reception, the time during which guests got loaded at the open bar and dropped twenty different kinds of hot and cold hors d’oeurves all over the white outdoor carpet while the bridal party posed for photos.

Dinner was a lavish buffet featuring six food stations—Thai, Italian, Mexican, sushi, Chinese and French. The food, exquisitely prepared by the much-in-demand Currier & Chives, was as good as the food Jack had enjoyed at the beach party on Darwin, and served to remind him of how much more he’d enjoyed that beach party than any wedding he’d been to.

Even though Lina was the only person of color in attendance who wasn’t there as a server or bus person, she seemed to be having a great time. The bride, Garrett “Corky” Burlingame-Wexler, had made a point to take Lina from Jack and introduce her to people she would likely never see again. To Lina’s credit, she remembered every name and chatted amiably about nothing with them so well she might have known them for years rather than minutes.

Just as easily as she’d discussed an article in a recent
American Society of International Law
journal with one of the founding partner’s of Trip’s firm, she’d next turned and conversed in Spanish with the man preparing and serving taquitos at the Mexican table. Lina congratulated him upon the birth of his new son with the same interest and enthusiasm she’d shown the lawyer who’d tried to get the best of her in an argument about the Japanese Supreme Court’s ruling on the commercial activity exception to sovereign immunity.

Jack noticed how none of the other guests, himself included, actually spoke to the servers, other than to order drinks or food. Few even bothered with thank yous, as though common courtesy was already included in the catering charges, like a pre-paid gratuity.

When Lina wanted to dance, Jack held himself back. He hadn’t expected her to remain glued to his side, but he certainly hadn’t counted on her complete self-assurance and ease. She was as comfortable with hundreds of blue-blooded strangers as she had been at the beach party on Darwin. Jack wished that he had a little of her confidence. He’d gone to the same law school as Trip Wexler, and he’d worked with many of the other people at the wedding, yet, as always at occasions like this, Jack still felt totally out of place. He had the same education, wardrobe, corporate ties and net worth, but he still viewed himself as less than an equal. And he figured that they had arrived at the same assessment, that he’d never be more than a son of Southie masquerading as a member of the social elite.

After setting his empty tumbler on a tray carried by a passing waiter, Jack shoved his hands in his pockets and meandered closer to the dance floor, to get a better view of Lina. The bridesmaids, most of whom were younger and prettier than the bride, had been charmed by Lina’s accent and origin, and were instantly drawn to her. They formed a circle around her, drunkenly dancing around her as though worshipping the greatest among them.

The DJ, a college friend of Corky’s younger brother, was quite skilled and kept the party moving by mixing jaunty old standards preferred by the older guests with clean versions of contemporary pop and hip-hop songs that the younger people wildly enjoyed. Dressed in a fiery shade of red that would look good on no other woman, Lina stood out even more as she danced. The obvious strength and grace of her body complemented her ability to interpret a song. Her subtle glances at Jack tempted him to join her, but he couldn’t. Or wouldn’t. He couldn’t make himself let go in front of his colleagues and co-workers, and he’d die before he let Reginald see him shaking his groove thing with Lina. Along with several other tuxedoed men too concerned with the opinions of others to let go of their inhibitions and have fun, Jack stood to one side and observed.

“This is my third wedding in four months,” said a stocky redhead whose bulldog shoulders severely challenged the handiwork of the tailor who’d constructed his tux. “I guess I’m at that age when all my pals itch to get hitched.” He reached into his jacket and withdrew a monogrammed silver flask. He took a swig and then offered it around. Jack held up a hand in polite refusal. “I give it two years, tops,” the redhead said. “Trip’s not the marrying kind. And lucky for him, Corky didn’t ask him to sign a prenup. Even if the marriage cracks up, he’s all set.”

“Spoken like a true divorce attorney,” said a man Jack recognized as one of Trip’s groomsmen.

“Spoken like a true best man,” the redhead said. “I know Trip. When it comes to women, he likes, shall I say, a little more variety than marriage typically allows.”

“There’s some variety right there,” another groomsman said, subtly pointing toward the dance floor where Lina was putting an island spin on the Cupid Shuffle. “I have it from a reliable source that she’s conducting some sort of supersecret business with Coyle-Wexler. Now would be a good time to invest in C-W, from what I hear. She’s a part of some new weight loss aid that—”

“Hell, I’ll buy a ton of it if it builds babes like her,” said the redhead. He stepped closer to the other groomsmen. “You should have come to Trip’s bachelor party.” He lowered his voice. “I hired three girls, a Korean, a Puerto Rican and this black girl with an ass like…” Unable to find the proper words, the redhead bit his lower lip, clenched his fists and grunted in delight. “Man, it was a seven-seater! It was big and round and soft…it was like being squeezed by a pair of giant marshmallows.”

Every man but Jack laughed along with the redhead, who continued his tale. “She was wild, too. Took on each of us and begged me for seconds. You hear a lot of things about black girls, but take it from me, if you ever get the chance, go for it. Now if you gentlemen will excuse me…” He cracked his knuckles and gave his neck an exaggerated stretch. “It’s time for me to make the acquaintance of Coyle-Wexler’s hired help. Jeez, I feel like I’m gonna explode, just looking at that sweet thing. Talk about brown sugar.” He slapped a high five with one of his pals. “You won’t even recognize her if you see her tomorrow. She’ll be walking like she’s got rickets.”

Jack didn’t realize how tightly he’d been clenching his jaw until he released it to address the redhead. “May I have a word with you, son?” he said, draping an arm over the shorter man’s shoulders. Before he could answer, Jack started walking him toward the back of the carriage house.

“You’re Jackson DeVoy, aren’t you?” the redhead asked, failing to recognize the warning inherent in Jack’s use of the word ‘son.’ “I’ve heard a lot about you. You’re kind of a legend among Boston barristers.”

“Is that so?” Jack patiently waited for a few well-heeled partygoers to exit the house before he guided the redhead into the rear foyer. “What have you heard?”

“You’re at C-W, so you have to know who that black chick is,” the redhead drooled. “She’s been giving me the eye, so I figure I’ll go for it. Chicks like to hook up at weddings, and I want to get my hooks into that one before some other fella wises up and gets her.” He shut up long enough to see that Jack was steering him into the spacious bathroom off the foyer. “What are we doing here?” he managed just before Jack clamped a hand to the back of his neck and forced his head into the toilet bowl.

Jack flushed the toilet with his free hand, literally drowning out the redhead’s horrified screams. The clumsy redhead’s flailing was no match for Jack’s superior strength and indignation, so he remained in place until Jack pulled him out. “You’re frickin’ crazy!” the bedraggled redhead sputtered, backing away from Jack, who used a hand towel to dab water from the front of his tux. “Is this some kind of damn joke? I’ll have you arrested for assault!”

“Do that,” Jack said calmly as the redhead fished his cell phone from an inner breast pocket. “And I’ll place a call to Shariq Hillen and give him the same play-by-play of Trip Wexler’s bachelor party that you gave me.”

The redhead’s thumb pressed a button, disconnecting his phone call. “Mr. Hillen’s a partner at my firm. Y-You know him?”

Jack gave a very lawyerly response. “We played high school football together.”

“Mr. DeVoy, I didn’t mean anything by what I said about that black chick,” the redhead smiled weakly. “I think maybe I had too much to drink tonight or something. I just ran off at the mouth a little back there. I’d appreciate it, truly, if we could just keep this thing between us.”

Jack took his time washing his hands and tidying his hair. He grabbed another towel from the neatly folded stack on a chrome warming table, and he draped it over the redhead’s saturated shoulder as he made his way to the door. “Dry off, kid,” he said. “And call it an evening.”

Jack returned to the ballroom tent, but instead of lurking on the fringes of the portable parquet dance floor, he went directly to Lina. A slow, sweet, evocative Corinne Bailey Rae tune was playing, and Lina was having her toes crushed by the vice president of new developments. Jack tapped him on the shoulder and cut in without securing permission.

“I’ll find you later,” Lina assured the displaced vice president. “I’ve got plenty of dances left in me.”

The rotund vice president reluctantly backed away, but he soon found comfort in the trays of miniature chocolate desserts making the rounds.

Jack danced close to Lina. “This isn’t exactly professional,” she told him. He held her even closer, tucking her hand to his heart as he gazed into her eyes. Lina’s smile wavered. All evening, Jack had been standoffish if not cool. Rather than feeling abandoned, Lina had thrilled in secretly teasing him. He was unquestionably the handsomest man in attendance, and every move she made had been designed to lure him to her. Now that he was where she wanted him to be, she was concerned rather than thrilled. She’d never seen him like this, his face tense and angry, his touch possessive to the point of defiance. “You look a bit off,” she said.

“I’m fine.” He forced a smile that had no real warmth behind it until Lina crossed her eyes to make him laugh.

Another Coyle-Wexler employee, a man from technical services, tapped Jack’s shoulder, hoping to cut in. A dark look from Jack sent him scurrying away to chose a partner from the pool of inebriated bridesmaids.

Lina whispered in Jack’s ear, “I’d be flattered if I actually believed you sent that man away because you wanted to keep me all to yourself.”

“Then you should be flattered,” Jack murmured. “Let’s say we get out of here. I’ll pick up a DVD and we can watch it in bed.”

“Jack, surely you know there are better things to do in bed than watch a film.”

“Really?” He feigned shock. “Do you think you could show me some of them?”

Lina laughed, and the sound was as arousing to Jack as her touch.

“I’ve put my time in here and I’m ready to spend the rest of my night with you,” he said. “I see enough of these yahoos at work. The last thing I want to do is spend a Saturday night watching the vice president of new product development bump bellies with his wife.”

Lina glanced around the dance floor until she spotted her former partner with his wife. The two looked like Mr. and Mrs. Pac-Man. “He came to me at C-W two days ago, asking about the tea,” Lina said. “He wants it for his wife.”

“Well, she needs something,” Jack said. “So does he. They’re both at risk for heart disease, diabetes, high blood pressure, apnea and joint problems if they don’t reduce their weight.”

Lina draped her arms over his shoulders. “I think that’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever said to me, Mr. DeVoy.”

“The risks of obesity? Oh yeah, that’s a real turn on.”

She again brought her mouth close to his ear. “Because your concern centers around health, not appearances. That, Mr. DeVoy, is terribly sexy. I think it’s time we said our goodbyes and go pretend to watch a movie.”

* * *

The next week, when Lina flew off to Toronto, was one of the longest in Jack’s life, and only partly because Lina left Kiri at Coyle-Wexler to “protect Darwin’s interests.” Kiri admirably performed the task. When a gaggle of young Coyle-Wexler administrative assistants descended upon her to see if she could sell them Darwin mint tea “under the table,” Kiri soundly berated each in turn for being slaves to the “homogeneous, unreasonable and ridiculous standard of beauty propagated by the American media.” After Kiri loudly pointed out their rhinoplasties, hair extensions, permanent waves, blonde dye jobs, perilously high heels and heavily applied cosmetics, they managed to escape, and had threatened to quit if they ever found themselves on the receiving end of another tirade.

Jack typically spent his weekends at work, but on the Saturday Lina was expected to return from Toronto, he cut his day at the office short. His concentration was shot anyway, since his mind was fixed on counting the minutes that would bring Lina closer to Nahant. He was at home, contemplating what to do to welcome her back when the phone rang. He would have let the machine get it if he hadn’t been expecting Lina to call from Logan Airport.

He got it by the third ring. “Hello?”