Heart Raider (Heartthrob Series, Book 1) (11 page)

“That’s right. You couldn’t get me on a dance floor.”

“Aw, too bad. Not even slow dancing?” Nothing would please her more than to slow dance with Nick, pressed against his hard body as his strong arms held her close. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the tantalizing image.

“I’ll slow dance, but I don’t get into the other moves.”

Nick’s tone was so dry, Veronique chuckled. “Well, I love to dance. When I get old, I want to be like those oldie goldies who party hard. I’ll be dancing and having a good time and not thinking about arthritis or the other stuff they have to deal with.”

“I can just see you, white-haired and shaking your booty on the dance floor,” Nick said, his mouth twitching and his eyes alight with amusement.

“Exactly. I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It is,” he said, rewarding her with a rare smile.

“Thanks.” She smiled back, delighted by his unexpected compliment.

They segued into chatting about their college years and it became obvious how very different his had been from hers. He’d been focused on finishing his degree and making money right away while she’d been more intent on experiencing life and relishing her newfound freedom through traveling. His drive during his college years exceeded that of most frat boys, who partied more than they studied. He’d worked on campus and completed four years of undergrad in three on a scholarship. After that, he’d gotten his MBA. He hadn’t mentioned he’d graduated summa cum laude, but she knew it from Fred, his proud mentor.

Nick didn’t mention Elizabeth and she didn’t ask. It was a sore subject and too raw for him to discuss with her.

When he finished hammering the last nail, Nick said, “I’m done here. I’m going to pick up the fruit that fell after the storm.”

“I’ll help you,” Veronique said. “I love fruit. What’s your favorite?”

“Peaches.”

“Mine too! Although whenever I pass by a peach tree I get all prickly.”

“Allergies?”

“No, sore childhood memories,” she said with a short laugh.

Nick’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“When I was eight, Maman made me wear a prissy pink dress with ruffles so she could show me off to her book club friends. Small wonder I hate pink,” she muttered. “She was hosting a high tea and everything was perfect, right down to the white-gloved maids. Course I didn’t want anything to do with her tea party and her snooty friends, so I sneaked out and sat under my favorite peach tree reading a racy detective novel I’d stolen from Daddy’s bookshelf and gorging on peaches.”

Nick chuckled. “With your nose buried in the book.”

“Exactly. I’d already devoured three peaches, when I felt a large hand on the nape of my neck. My book went flying as Nanny Jenna hauled me up in front of her. She gave me a stern lecture on not ruining my dress with sticky peach juice and grass stains, and then she switched me with a peach tree switch. I still get a prickly feeling when I see a peach tree,” she said, twisting her mouth in a wry grimace.

“Ah, so that explains it,” Nick said, lips twitching.

“She didn’t get away with it either. I bit her leg so hard, she released me and I ran home yelling bloody murder. When I got home, Maman’s guests had already left,
thank God.
She was so horrified when I showed her the stripes on my poor bottom and thighs, she fired Nanny Jenna on the spot.”

“Good. That woman had no business switching you that way. It didn’t work anyway, did it?” he said with a lift of his brow.

“Nope,” she said, chuckling unrepentantly. “I went through a few more nannies after her.”

“I’ll bet. I can’t blame you for gorging on the peaches though. One time my mom brought home a bushel of fresh-picked peaches a farmer had given her. I’ve never eaten so many in one sitting.” Nick’s eyes took on a bemused look, and he shook his head as if to clear the memory. His open expression closed up and he said, “I’ll gather the avocados in the back yard while you work out front. Okay?”

“Sure,” she agreed, guessing he was done talking. He had spent the last six months alone. She didn’t want to crowd him with too much conversation.

They worked for another hour, he in the backyard and she in the front. Veronique was busy picking up key limes from the ground when two big hands grabbed her by the waist and lifted her up from behind. The fruit went flying as she was upended and suspended from the ground with her feet dangling.

Nick hefted her over his shoulder and wrapped a thick arm around her thighs, holding her in place as he strode toward the back of the house.

“Hey. What are you doing?” she squealed, wriggling on his shoulder.

“You’ve been working too hard in the hot sun. Time to cool off.”

“Yay, where are we going?” she asked, lifting her head to see through the curtain of her disheveled hair.

“I seem to recall you love to swim,” he said, heading toward the pool.

She grinned. “Why yes, I do. Are you going to join me?” she asked, bobbing on his shoulder.

“Nope.” He dropped her in the pool and dusted his hands while she flailed around in the water. “Not this time, Picasso,” he said, laughing as he sauntered away.

“Ahh, I take it you saw the resemblance,” she called out, giggling madly.

That evening they ate reheated
arroz con pollo,
one of the many meals left by Daisy. Save for some small talk, Nick didn’t say much. After dinner he told her she could have the bed to herself. He slept outside in a lounge chair beside the pool, claiming it was cooler there, and he was probably right. The air between them last night had been electrically charged and too hot to handle. Sleeping in bed with him again, without touching, seemed impossible now.

The following morning, after spending the night alone tossing and turning, she was antsy to get out and explore. Felipe had been by earlier to tell them that most of the roads leading to the bridge were cleared. Luckily, he’d come alone, without Daisy.

While Nick worked to restore the damage in the guest quarters, she made two cheddar cheese and mustard sandwiches—one for herself and one for him. She put her sandwich in a backpack along with her wallet and cell phone, a rolled up beach towel, a bottle of water, and a tube of sunscreen. She would go into town and find neighbors who’d stayed on and faced Hurricane Abby. On the way back, she promised herself a nice long swim in the ocean.

Wearing a straw hat, a pair of cut-off denim shorts, a halter top over her bikini, and toting the backpack, she headed to the guest quarters to tell Nick she was going into town. But she changed her mind in mid-stride. He might suggest it was time for her to leave for good. The thought of it made her heart hurt. She didn’t want to think of leaving yet.

She turned in the opposite direction and ran to the garage where she found a road bike she could use. Feeling carefree and happy to be outdoors, she pedaled on the long dirt road leading to Begonia Way. Once there she turned left and headed into town, paying close attention to maneuvering around fallen branches and debris.

When she’d first arrived on Starfish Island, she’d noticed a small bar called Shipwreck Fuel on Begonia Way in the downtown area. It was a standalone building, brightly painted in hot pink and lime green with drawings of ships, loot and comical looking pirates on the sides. The windows had been boarded up in preparation of the storm. If she was lucky, it would still be there and the locals would be gathered around swapping hurricane stories.

No such luck. When she got there, the front door was off the hinges, the Shipwreck Fuel sign on the floor, and the inside walls and floor looked like they’d sustained major flooding. But true to human nature, a group of five people sat on barstools under two huge beach umbrellas where a makeshift bar was set up. The bar consisted of a plank of wood hoisted on two columns of concrete blocks and covered with an assortment of liquor bottles and plastic cups. Beside the bar was a large cooler on wheels that looked promising.

She rummaged in her backpack for her camera and wanted to smack herself when she realized she left it at home. She was thankful Nick hadn’t confiscated it again after that night in the closet. He’d been too preoccupied with the hurricane since. She could only hope he wouldn’t remember.

Manning the bar was a deeply tanned, middle-aged woman in a bright floral muumuu. Her white blonde hair was pulled up in a tight topknot on the crown of her head with the fried ends sticking out.

“Welcome. You look like you could use a drink,” she boomed in a deep-throated voice suited to coaching sports. She eyed Veronique up and down with a friendly smile.

“Any chance I can get a cold drink?” Veronique said.

“Sure thing. I’ve got a generator at home. This cooler is full of ice and cold beer,” the woman said, flashing a white, gap-toothed grin. “What’ll you have?”

“I’d die for a cold beer.”

“You got it. That’ll be five dollars,” the woman said briskly as she handed her a chilled longneck.

Veronique pulled six dollars out of her pocket and set it on the counter. With a happy sigh, she took a long, satisfying swig of cold beer straight from the bottle. The icy bubbles refreshed her parched throat and before she knew it, she’d chugged it all down. The alcohol hit her empty stomach with a bang and she suddenly felt lightheaded. She should have eaten something more substantial than a cranberry nut granola bar before leaving. Now she craved a burger or even a hot dog to go along with the beer instead of the cheese sandwich in her bag. Given the noontime heat, it was probably a grilled cheese sandwich by now.

“What’s your name?” the woman asked Veronique as she handed her a paper napkin.

Veronique blotted her lips with the napkin. The woman was so friendly and direct, she couldn’t help liking her. “Veronique Whitcomb. What’s yours?”

“Sadie Green, owner of the heap behind you,” she said, jerking her thumb toward the now defunct bar.

“Glad to meet you, Sadie.”

Sadie nodded. “Likewise. This is Ron and that’s Linda,” she said, motioning toward a young couple across from Veronique. The couple nodded a greeting, but kept to themselves. She gestured to the remaining three at the bar. “That’s Rafael and Juanita. They work for Ron and Linda,” she said, pointing her chin toward a couple drinking what looked like
Cuba libres
, rum and cola.

“Hi,” Veronique said. They acknowledged her greeting with a smile and a raised hand.

“And that’s my husband, Jerry,” Sadie said, waving a freckled hand at the pot-bellied man who looked like a sea captain with his shock of white hair, leathery skin and white beard.

“Nice to meet all of you,” Veronique said, noting the curious looks they gave her.

“Where are you staying?” Jerry asked, leaning back to study her as he puffed on a stinky cigar.

“I came from Fort Myers. I was dropped off by a colleague who has a boat there.”

“And you brought a bike with you?” Sadie asked with a puzzled look.

“Yes, I figured it would be a good way to get around.”

Sadie nodded. “I could use a bike right about now. Fuel is precious and I don’t want to use it up. We need it for our boats and to run the generator.”

Veronique smiled. “I’m a reporter for Ace News. I’d love to talk to you about why you stayed behind even under mandatory evacuation orders.”

“Jer and I have lived here for the past fifty years. The last hurricane that came by was Hurricane Charley. It was a cat four and we weathered it just fine,” Sadie said emphatically.

“What about this time?” Veronique asked, pulling a notebook and pen out of her backpack. “How did you make out after the hurricane?”

“We survived just like we did the last one.” Sadie shook her head and clicked her teeth. “Lotsa hoopla for nothing. Why just this morning I was telling Jer that…”

Veronique let the woman talk as she scribbled notes for a story.

All morning, Nick worked on pulling up the wooden planks that had buckled from the flooding. When hunger pangs reminded him it was lunchtime, he went to the kitchen in search of Veronique. One large, wrapped sandwich on a paper plate sat on the table beside a thermos of coffee and a mug. She’d left a scribbled note on the sandwich anchored down with a toothpick. The note said, “Going to explore. I’ll be back in time for dinner,” nothing else.

He went straight to the guest room where she kept her things. The moment he entered it, her almond scent filled his nostrils. She had a maddening habit of slathering her skin with a scented body cream that knocked his socks off…and perfumed his sheets at night. Having her in his bed, all soft curves, creamy skin and smelling like honeyed almonds was like having a succulent dessert handed to you with a warning to look, but not taste. Ronnie was too soft and appealing to ignore and her body was slim, curvy and toned all over—just how he liked a woman’s body to be.

He could still feel her silky skin when he’d laid his hand on the slight curve of her belly. When she’d turned on her stomach, hugging her pillow with one slender leg bent at the knee, her sheer bikini panties had hiked up to reveal the sweet curve of her pert bottom. He’d broken out in a cold sweat as his body reacted swiftly and powerfully. It had taken every ounce of grit and willpower to get out of bed and ignore the throbbing ache that made him want to take her right here. Setting his jaw, he forced her delectable image from his mind.

She must have left right after breakfast. She hadn’t taken the rental car; it was where he’d left it before the hurricane. Her suitcase was still in the bedroom so she obviously meant to return. She wasn’t the neatest person, but he didn’t care. Her flip flops were haphazardly strewn on the floor—one beside the bed and the other next to the desk. Her tank top and panties were flung on the chair in front of the desk that faced the window. She must have changed in a hurry and left.

He headed outside and checked the double car garage. He found his Land Rover and Vespa there, but noticed his road bike was missing. He usually parked it beside the Vespa and the space was empty now.

A sharp twinge of disappointment made him realize he missed her. It annoyed him that she’d left like that without letting him know first. He was getting used to having her around. Well, not exactly used to it, more like looking forward to it. She had gotten to him all right. Her saucy smile and twinkling emerald eyes lightened his mood. Not once in the past year had he laughed like he had when he’d seen the caricature she left on his pillow. His laughter had awakened a part of him that had lain dormant for too long—the fun of kicking back and enjoying the lighter side of life.