Feel the Heat: A Contemporary Romance Anthology (18 page)

R
hian Cahill is
the alter ego of a stay-at-home mother of four. With motherly duties rapidly dwindling Rhian is able to make use of the fertile imagination she used to keep herself sane for all those years of slavery. Having spent some years living overseas and visiting tropical climates has helped inspire some steamy stories. Multi-published in erotic romance and contemporary romance, Rhian, with the help of Mr. Muse, spends her days and nights writing. When not glued to the keyboard you’ll find her book in hand avoiding any and all housework.

For more on Rhian visit her website
http://www.rhiancahill.com
or you can contact her at [email protected] or connect on Twitter -
https://twitter.com/RhianCahill
or Facebook -
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“
W
hat do
you mean you don’t have my rental car anymore? I called weeks ago to reserve it.” Meg Williams’ flight to Eden Isle had taken three times longer than it was supposed to, due to an oncoming storm and an unexpected layover in Houston because of some faulty gauge on her first connecting flight.

“Yes, ma’am, I’m sure you did, but as I said before, when you didn’t arrive by five o’clock we rented it to someone else. This policy was stated in the rental agreement you signed.” The clerk’s smug smile and condescending tone had Meg—the most nonviolent person on the planet—balling her hand up into a fist. The idea of throat punching someone right now was damn appealing.

The airport was packed even though it was midnight on Thursday. Every first weekend in June, the small tropical island hosted its own romance fest called Summer Fling. Meg had watched a program about it on the Travel Channel over Thanksgiving break. At the time, she’d thought the romantic escape was the salve she and her fiancé needed to spice up their waning relationship. She’d immediately begun saving her money and booked the nonrefundable escape to Eden Isle as a surprise. The nonrefundable part didn’t bother her until she’d caught her two-timing boyfriend unwrapping another woman under the tree on Christmas Eve. Unwilling to lose a tremendous amount of money, she’d decided to forge ahead with her long, romantic weekend, sans the romantic part. If nothing else, the trip to the island was a great way to kick start her summer vacation. Mercifully, school was out. It had been a long, exhausting lonely spring. Meg figured she could use this long weekend to determine where in the hell she had gone so wrong with her life.

Unfortunately, her real-life experience wasn’t turning out to be the sun, fun, and fiesta the program promised. She’d already missed her first whole day of vacation, spending it on overcrowded planes and waiting in interminable airport lines, rather than lounging by the pool at her resort hotel. To add insult to injury, she’d spent the last two hours waiting for her luggage, which apparently was, at this very moment, on a slow boat to China. An extremely annoying airline agent was now in possession of her name and hotel information with plans to send her luggage on “just as soon as we find it.”

Yeah right.

“Do you have any cars left?” Meg had specifically rented a convertible sports car, looking forward to four days of cruising around the island with the top down.

“I do have one vehicle.” The clerk was clearly relieved Meg wasn’t going to kick up more of a fuss. Quite frankly, she was too tired to complain. “It’s a very roomy mini-van.”

“Terrific, just what I need, seating for seven when there’s only little old me and no luggage.”

Signing all the appropriate forms, Meg waited inside the door of the airport while an employee of the rental agency fetched her mini-van. She killed the time trying to recall exactly what she’d put in her carry-on bag as she waited. No more clothes, she thought, glancing down at the comfortable travel outfit she’d worn. Having spent the last twenty-two hours in it, she quite frankly would have preferred to burn it rather than have to wear it again tomorrow. She had all her money—thank goodness—her camera, passport and hotel information, aspirin—hallelujah—and her now useless cell phone. She’d dropped and broken it while waiting for her connecting flight in Florida.

Yep. I’m officially in Hell.

Finally, the employee pulled up with what the rental agent had referred to as a fine car. Clearly, Meg’s definition of
fine
varied somewhat from the agent’s. If she had any strength left in her body, she would go back and beat the guy over the head with her busted cell phone. Looking at the directions to her hotel, she silently said a prayer that the heap of junk in front of her would make it the ten miles she needed to drive.

“Here you go, miss.” The young valet offered her a smile she felt the incredible urge to run her fist through. More violence. She needed a drink. Like yesterday. “Welcome to Eden Isle.”

As if on cue, the sky opened up and rain came down in a deluge that had her soaked in less than ten seconds. Dripping wet and cold, she climbed into the monstrous van, prayed the windshield wipers worked, and made her way out of the airport parking lot with her head pounding and her teeth chattering.

After thirty minutes of poor visibility and two missed turns, she finally found the right road. According to her directions, she was only a mile from her destination. A quick glance at the clock told her it was nearly one a.m. Thunder and lightning now accompanied the pounding rain, the deafening sound of it only adding to the pressure building behind her eyes. She should have taken a couple of those aspirin back at the airport.

Bright lights in her rear view mirror blinded her for a moment as a car came up from behind, too quickly for her comfort. She knew she was driving slowly, but the visibility was practically zero and she had no idea where she was going.

“You’ll just have to hold your horses, hot shot,” she murmured to the car now riding her rear bumper. “Back off, asshole.” The car continued to drive too close. She tapped on her brake lights twice hoping the driver would get the message, but the guy continued to crowd her.

Tired of tailgating, the car crossed the double yellow line and began to pass her. She was even more annoyed when she realized it was an enormous limousine.

“Oh perfect,” she mumbled. “Rich boy too important to wait.”

Suddenly a pair of headlights approached from the opposite lane. Meg’s heart stopped as she watched the limo speed up to pass her before careening head-on with the other car. All she could see before slamming on the brakes was the limo’s license plate—MAD 1—taunting her. She swerved off the road and into a ditch as the limo began coming back into her lane before fully completing his pass. The van came to a relatively easy stop despite the fact Meg was screaming her head off and not really focusing on her driving. Looking up, she saw the limo continue down the road, the taillights of the other vehicle disappearing behind her.

“What kind of place is this?” She’d literally been run off the road in the middle of the night and left alone. If she ever got her hands on that limo driver, she’d kill him.

Taking a deep breath and trying to still her shaking hands, she hit the gas in an attempt to pull back onto the road. Spinning tires greeted her and no amount of gear-switching would budge the vehicle.

“Shit!” Grabbing her carry-on bag and throwing it over her shoulder, she climbed out, kicking the tire as she passed to stalk down the road toward her hotel. If she’d been thinking clearly, she never would have left the safety of the van, but adrenalin and anger had kicked in. She was more furious than she’d ever been in her life.

After ten minutes of trudging through the mud and the rain, the gods smiled on her as she saw the sign for her hotel. Picking up her pace, she sprinted across the dark parking lot. As she approached the front door of the hotel, she spotted MAD-1 sitting under the covered entryway. The stress of the day broke free as she watched the young chauffeur get out of the driver’s seat to open the back door. Meg saw red as she headed for the man who made her wreck her lousy rental car. Out of the corner of her eye she watched a man and woman emerge from the car, but her entire focus concentrated on the cocky blond driver. Walking up to him, she put a finger to his chest and let loose.

“You stupid, ignorant, son of a bitch,” she screamed at the startled man. “You could have killed me. You aren’t fit to drive a bicycle, let alone a limo. As if that’s not bad enough, you left me stuck in a damn ditch by the side of the road in a storm in the middle of the night. I should call the police and have you arrested for reckless driving. I should call—”

“Excuse me, miss,” a calm voice said behind her. Turning, Meg looked up into the face of the most handsome men she’d ever seen in her life. Standing behind him with her mouth agape was his perfect female counterpart, an equally beautiful—actually stunning—brunette. Unfortunately, the man’s pleasing looks only deepened her fury as she took in the dry, immaculate, not-a-hair-out-of-place appearances of him and his lovely companion.

“And you!” Meg could hear the hateful words spew from her mouth, yet she was unable to stop them. “You sit in that goddamned car like some kind of king and don’t even tell him to stop. Clearly you must have more money than brains considering you would hire him to drive your fancy car like Jeff Gordon, taking out anyone else who gets in the way.”

“I’m afraid I’m not sure what you are talking about,” the man answered smoothly despite her insults.

Further angered by his calm demeanor, she continued berating him. “Sure you don’t. That man runs me off the road not ten minutes ago and you don’t have a clue what I’m talking about.”

The man glanced sharply at his driver. “George, is this true?”

Looking at his feet, the young chauffer appeared chagrined by his actions. “I didn’t know she ran off the road.”

“You didn’t know? Did you pull over to check?”

“We were on a tight schedule,” George mumbled. “Already late.”

“Rob.” The attractive woman was clearly uncomfortable with the coming confrontation. “I’m going to go in if you don’t need me anymore tonight.”

“Of course, Lana,” Rob replied. “It’s late. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Good night,” Lana purred softly before making her elegant departure. Meg had to restrain herself from rolling her eyes at the woman’s red carpet worthy performance and the two men gawking at her pert little behind as she strolled away.

“And the Oscar goes to…” Meg mumbled.

“I beg your pardon?” Mr. Gorgeous asked.

“Christ,” she muttered as all the fight left her. “Forget it. I’m wet, cold, hungry, tired, and quite frankly, I don’t give a shit about any of this anymore.” She was well aware that her departure, unlike Lana’s, was less than stellar with water streaming off her now see-through pink blouse and linen pants, mud squishing between the toes of the sandals, and her mass of curly blond hair dripping and hanging in her face.

“Miss,” the man called out, but Meg kept walking. The end of her hellish day was in sight and nothing was going to stop her from soaking in a nice, hot bubble bath, crawling between the soft cotton sheets of her king-sized bed, and sleeping until noon.

The night clerk at the front desk took in her dirty, wet appearance with disdain. “May I help you, ma’am?”

“Yes.” Meg rummaged through her damp bag. “I have a reservation. My name is Meg Williams. I have the confirmation number here somewhere. Oh yes, here it is.” She pulled out the crumpled computer printout page with her reservation information.

Glancing at his computer, then at her paper and then back at the computer, the man’s earlier haughtiness disappeared before he tugged at his collar and sighed heavily. Meg closed her eyes and waited for the words she’d heard so many times today.

“I’m very sorry, Ms. Williams. There seems to be a problem with your reservation.”

“Of course there is,” she answered. “Let me guess, my name isn’t in your computer and you don’t have any more rooms.”

The man flushed. “Well, actually, yes, that’s true. You have to understand Summer Fling is our busiest weekend.”

“Save it.” Meg cut him off with her hand. “Are there any other hotels nearby?”

“There are,” the man began, stumbling before adding, “however—”

“They’re all booked too.”

“There isn’t a single vacancy on the island.”

Looking around, Meg spotted the hotel bar.

“How late is the bar open?”

“Until three.” The clerk was clearly surprised by the fact she wasn’t arguing more.

Numb and exhausted beyond belief, Meg merely nodded before walking away. All the fight had been beaten out of her. Eden Island had officially kicked her ass.

Dragging her shoulder bag on the ground behind her, she trudged toward the bar, unable to think beyond the drink she was going to order.

R
ob Madison watched
the petite blonde who had attacked his driver limp toward the hotel bar. After she left him in the parking lot, Rob questioned George about the incident, only to discover that his foolish chauffer had indeed run the poor woman off the road. George, a last minute replacement for his regular chauffer, had apparently thought to impress Rob by getting him to the hotel from the airport in record time. The only problem was Rob had been too tired to notice the man’s reckless attempt. He didn’t want to confess to the angry woman that he had nodded off and had actually been asleep during her terrible ordeal.

“Ah, Mr. Madison,” Pierre greeted him from behind the desk with a genuine smile. “Welcome back.”

“Thank you, Pierre. It was quite a trip. Everything okay here?” Rob couldn’t help, but look back at the bar.

Noticing his glance, Pierre appeared uneasy.

“I’m afraid the infamous Timothy has struck again.”

Rob had to fight to restrain a growl from emerging. Timothy had served as the reservation clerk for one month, until it came to the attention of Pierre, the hotel manager, that he was inputting all the information into the computer wrong. As a result, none of the reservations taken during the idiotic man’s four weeks of employment had been recorded.

“I thought we’d taken precautions against this.”

“Yes, sir. We hold back four rooms every night just in case. This weekend I kept eight rooms open, however, with it being so busy—”

“You’ve already given away all of those rooms.”

“And then some,” Pierre confessed. “I just sent a couple to the Wakefield Resort. I’ve called all over the island and there truly isn’t another room to be had. I was just thinking to myself that perhaps we were safe when she walked in.”

“Terrific.” Rob rubbed his hands over his face. He’d been in negotiations to purchase property in New York all week. Delay after delay kept him from leaving until this afternoon. With the ink still drying on the contract, he’d headed for his private jet, ready for some serious rest and relaxation. The last thirty-six months had been nonstop business meetings, conferences, and charity events and he was taking some well-earned vacation time. Glancing at his watch, he considered leaving the woman to her own devices for a split second before turning and making his way toward the hotel bar.

The bar was quiet. Rob could only assume most folks were resting up for the festivities set to begin tomorrow. He found her in a quiet corner, nursing a drink and shivering. Stopping by the bar, he asked Todd, the bartender, for his usual.

“And another one of whatever that young lady is having.”

Todd smiled at his request. “Yes, sir. A martini and another Scarlett O’Hara.”

Picking up the drinks, Rob studied her as he approached her table. She was truly lovely, with a wholesome, girl-next-door look he found surprisingly appealing. Spending so much of his time with women who paid a small fortune for cosmetic surgery, personal trainers, and makeup, he thought her natural appearance was refreshing. Her long, blonde hair was still damp from her run in the rain, but as it dried, natural ringlets appeared and he imagined it was quite thick and soft. She had a healthy red glow on her cheeks, no doubt from the running or perhaps the cold. Rob felt an instant attraction to her, something he couldn’t recall feeling in a very long time. The older he got, the more jaded he was. She shivered again and Rob shook himself out of his reverie.

“Excuse me.” He graced her with the most charming, least threatening smile he could muster. No doubt, he had some making up to do.

“Hello, again.” Her voice was soft, her tone distinctly friendlier than he expected.

“I was hoping I could join you for a few minutes.” He gestured to the two drinks in his hands.

Nodding, she pointed to the seat across from her. “Sure.”

“Peace offering.” He placed the red drink he’d bought in front of her, hoping his joke might work.

Moving her empty glass out of the way, she smiled. “That wasn’t necessary.”

“I’m afraid it was,” Rob answered. “My driver’s actions were reprehensible.”

“No, please, you don’t have to apologize. I’m terribly embarrassed by my behavior. I’m sure you won’t believe this, but I’m typically not such a hateful bitch.”

“I didn’t think you were anything of the sort.” Her apology surprised him. If anyone was in the wrong, it was clearly him, or at least George.

“Thank you for the drink.” She grinned before picking it up, silently toasting him and sipping it.

“Scarlett O’Hara?”

“It’s my favorite. Cranberry juice and Southern Comfort. I was planning on drinking only fruity, island concoctions, but after the day’s events, I needed something stiffer.”

Rob shifted slightly in his chair as his dick woke up, deciding to make itself stiff for her. He was clearly tired. He never had difficulty controlling his baser instincts. He cleared his throat. “Do I detect a bit of a southern accent?”

“Just a bit. I’m from Northern Virginia. Most folks there can’t decide if they’re northerners or southerners. I like to refer to myself as a middler. How about you? Where do you hang up your hat?”

“Everywhere,” he answered honestly. “My work keeps me traveling pretty much non-stop.”

“And during your childhood?”

“Army brat.” It wasn’t difficult to acknowledge that he truly didn’t have roots anywhere in the world. He owned homes on both coasts as well as in three different countries, but he never spent more than a month at a time in any of them. His home was the road.

Watching her try to hide her shivering, he stood and took off his suit jacket. “Here.” He draped it around her shoulders. “You’re about to shake yourself off that chair.” She started to protest, but he cut her off. “I insist.”

“Thank you. So what’s this business of yours that doesn’t allow you to settle down?”

Rob was taken aback by the question. Surely she knew who he was. Looking closely at her, he determined she truly didn’t know him. Used to being recognized instantly, Rob silently savored this anonymity.

“Uh,” he stumbled. “Just a businessman. Real estate and that kind of thing.” His answer was vague at best.

“You must do well, given your mode of transportation.”

“Company car.” He wasn’t sure why he was so intent on keeping up pretenses. For some strange reason, he liked the way this tired woman looked at him. She was talking to him as an equal, treating him as she would a new friend. Her eyes weren’t filled with dollar signs, trying to figure out how much he was really worth. Silently he laughed at himself. He had spent nearly a decade amassing more wealth than he could ever spend, earning and demanding the respect of his peers, yet here he was downplaying his successes so he could continue this simple, friendly conversation.

“How about you? What job keeps you tied to the middle of the country?”

She laughed. “Oh, I have a terribly exciting job. I’m a special education teacher.”

“It may not be what you consider exciting, but I can’t imagine anything more worthwhile.”

At his compliment, she gave him the most genuine smile he’d ever received. “I happen to agree with you. I love my kids and my job.”

“Are you with a private facility?”

“Oh, heck no,” she said with a grin. “Public education all the way. I teach at a high school.”

“I see now how you can afford such a fancy vacation,” he teased. “Making the big bucks as a public servant. School out for the summer?”

“Yep. And I had intended to party up in style. Truth be told, I’ll be paying this ill-fated adventure off my credit card for many years to come.”

“Ill-fated?” He then recalled that, for all intents and purposes, she was homeless for the night.

“You wouldn’t believe my last twenty-four hours.”

“Try me.”

“Where to begin? Due to mechanical problems, my first flight was re-routed to Houston and delayed long enough that I missed my original connecting flight in Florida. My scheduled seven hours of travel time turned into twenty-one.” She paused to take a sip of her drink.

“Ouch.”

“I broke my cell phone, my luggage is somewhere in Timbuktu, and the sporty little convertible I reserved weeks ago was downgraded to an ancient mini-van that your chauffeur left in a ditch a half a mile down the road. My sunny paradise has turned into hurricane hell and I have nowhere to stay tonight as this so-called luxury resort lost my reservation. Please bear in mind that’s just today’s run of bad luck and doesn’t include the fact that I’m alone in this damned lover’s paradise because I caught my fiancé cheating on me on Christmas Eve and my plane fare was nonrefundable.” She spoke with a lightheartedness he couldn’t understand given her horrible experiences.

“Wow.” He wasn’t sure how to respond and was shocked further when she simply laughed at his reply.

“My sentiments exactly.”

“So,” he looked at her calmly sitting in the hotel bar and wondered at her poise, “what’s your plan?”

“That’s actually what I was trying to work out when you came in. I thought I’d drink a little courage.” She lifted her drink to her lips again.

“Courage?”

“Well, I figure the liquor will serve two purposes. One, it will warm me up on the inside before I have to go back out into the freezing cold rain again. And two, hopefully it will get me drunk enough that it won’t bother me to sleep in my lousy rental car by the side of the road.”

“That’s your brilliant plan?”

“I don’t remember calling it brilliant. Simply a plan.” Her humor in the face of such a dreary and potentially dangerous night grated on his nerves. “I only have to make it through the next few hours and then I’ll call the car rental place to see about them towing me out of the ditch. After that, I’ll catch the next flight out of here. Guess that will teach me for trying to live like the rich and famous for a few days.”

Rob sat silently for several minutes brooding over the fact he was one of the rich and famous she was referring to and feeling incredibly guilty as he pictured the luxurious penthouse suite awaiting him. One of the perks of owning the hotel.

“You can’t sleep in your car.”

“I don’t think that guy out there,” she pointed toward Pierre at the front desk, “would like it if I sacked out on the couch in the foyer. This place doesn’t exactly strike me as the type that would cater to vagrancy.”

“You’ll stay with me.” The words came without thought, but Rob found himself immediately warming up to the idea of spending more time with this refreshingly pleasant woman.

She threw her hands up. “Oh, now hang on a minute. I appreciate the drink, but there’s no way—”

He didn’t let her finish her protests. “Hear me out. My company owns the penthouse of this hotel. It’s a two-bedroom suite. You can have the other room for tonight. It even has its own bathroom. You can lock the door and pretend like it’s your own hotel room. There is simply no way I’m going to let you sleep on the side of a busy road in the middle of a storm.”

“There isn’t much traffic out there now with all the rain.”

“I’m serious. You’ve had a hell of a day and an unbelievably long string of bad luck. Why not give yourself a break?”

She looked like she was seriously debating turning him down. He’d never had to beg a woman to share a room with him. Hell, most nights he was the one having hotel keys thrust at him. After all, he was Rob Madison, owner of this and a string of other luxury hotels all over the world. He had topped Fortune’s list of most eligible billionaires the last three years running.

He watched as she chewed on her lower lip, clearly nervous about his proposition. He supposed from her perspective he was a stranger and she would be consenting to share a hotel suite with him.

“The bedroom door locks?”

“It locks.” He offered her what he hoped looked like a friendly grin. “If it makes you feel any better, you can ask Pierre to call every hour to make sure I haven’t ravished you.”

Rising slowly, she nodded her agreement. “Well, okay, but just for tonight.”

Incredibly pleased with her response, he reached for her hand and she let him pull her forward. “I don’t even know your name.”

“Meg Williams”

“Short for Megan?”

She crinkled her nose. “No, actually it’s short for Margaret, but don’t you dare call me that.”

“Family name, Margaret?”

“My mother’s favorite book was
Gone with the Wind
and for some unknown reason she selected my name in honor of the author.”

“And I’m assuming from your tone that wouldn’t have been your choice?”

“For Pete’s sake! Of all the names associated with that book, she lands on Margaret? What’s wrong with Melanie or Katie Scarlett, even?” Meg asked with a laugh. “Of course, it could have been worse, I suppose.”

“Oh, how so?”

“If I had been a boy, she was going to name me Mitchell.”

Laughing, Rob took her hand again, leading her to the elevator until she pulled him up short.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Looking around, Rob shrugged, wondering what he could have forgotten.

“Your name?”

“Ah. It’s Rob.” He paused for only a moment before adding a little white lie. “Mason. Rob Mason.”

From the corner of his eye, he caught Pierre’s startled glance, but he ignored him and the guilt associated with his look.

Meg offered her hand in introduction. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Rob Mason.”