Private Paradise (13 page)

“
What's wrong?” she asked.

“
You can't eat any of these,” he said,
gesturing to the stack of energy bars. “They're all peanut butter
flavored.”

“
Crap,” Carla muttered as her stomach
rumbled forlornly. “They must have mixed up the order. I
specifically requested peanut free. She gave herself a mental kick
in the ass for not double checking. Too late now.

“
I don't suppose you have an epi-pen
with you?” she joked. Unless she wanted her throat to close up and
to die from anaphylactic shock, she wasn't eating any time
soon.

“
I'm sorry,” he said as he packed the
bars away along with the first aid equipment they thankfully hadn't
needed. “In the rush, I didn't think to check for any that had nut
free emergency rations.”

“
It's okay,” she said, telling herself
it didn't mean anything that he remembered she had a potentially
lethal peanut allergy. “Not like I can't stand to miss a few
meals.”

He cocked a dark eyebrow and reached for his
shorts which were draped over the back of a chair. “You're perfect,
and you need to eat,” he said as he dropped his robe and pulled on
his damp shorts. “I remember what you're like when you don't eat.”
He moved to the door.

“
What are you doing?” Her voice raised
in alarm as he reached for the doorknob. “You can't go out in
that.”

Sam looked at his watch. “Based on how fast
the storm is moving, the eye should be over us right about now.” He
opened the door, and sure enough, the rain had eased to a soft
sprinkle. “I should be able to raid the kitchen and get back here
before the other side hits us.”

“
Are you insane?” Carla asked as he
stepped out the door. “That's how people get hurt―they go out in
the eye thinking the storm is over and then get caught.”

Sam bent and gave her a quick hard kiss.
“It's sweet of you to worry about me, but I'll be back in ten
minutes, tops. You sit tight.” He flashed her a cocky grin,
reminiscent of the wild teenager he'd once been, flouting the rules
at every turn. Despite what he claimed, he hadn't changed, except
now he was facing down natural disasters instead of school
principals and the local cops.

He took off at a fast jog before she could
say another word. Though the air was hot and oppressive with
humidity, she kept her robe clutched tightly around her as she
waited anxiously on the villa's front steps for Sam to return. From
her position, she got her first glimpse of the havoc the hurricane
had wreaked. Everywhere, palm fronds that lined the resort's
perfectly landscaped grounds littered the pathways connecting the
guest rooms. Clay shards lay scattered across the grounds, remnants
of roof tiles that had been ripped off by the wind and hurled to
the ground.

She could only imagine how much worse it
would be on the side of the island that was more exposed to the
storm.

Where was Sam? He’d said ten minutes, tops,
but it felt like a lot longer.

Her stomach knotted as the wind started to
kick up again, a signal that the other side of the eye was fast
approaching, bringing with it the most violent winds they'd have to
endure.

What if he didn't make it back in time? What
if she had to wait out the storm alone?

Worse, what if he got hurt? Or killed? The
thought of him surviving being burned and shot at, only to die
because he'd gone off in a storm to get her a snack made the knot
of fear in her belly double in size.

A crunch of footsteps sent a wave of relieve
through her. Sam appeared around the bend, each arm laden with a
white plastic trash bag heavy enough to make the muscles in his
bulge under his skin.

Carla motioned him inside and he dropped the
bags on the floor. Without thinking, Carla flung herself against
him and buried her face in the bare, damp skin of his chest.

He gave a startled laugh and hugged her back,
and bent to plant a kiss on the top of her head. “Now that's a
greeting I could get used to.”

Embarrassed at how happy she was to see him,
Carla pushed free of his arms and stepped farther into the villa's
great room. “That was completely stupid of you to go out
there.”

Sam picked up the plastic bags and brought
them into the kitchenette. He opened one and started placing the
contents on the counters. “Based on how fast the storm was
traveling, I knew I had at least a twenty-five minute window before
the other side of the storm hit.” He looked down at the large
complicated-looking watch strapped to his wrist. “I could have
taken another ten minutes and been in the clear.”

Carla started to unpack the other bag. “The
last data we got was hours old,” she said as she thumped a jar onto
the table. “The storm could have easily picked up speed as the eye
passed over.” She grabbed blindly at a smaller bag tucked inside
and would have tossed it onto the table had Sam not stopped her
with his hand on her wrist.

“
Careful. You don't want to squash the
raspberries.” He set the bag carefully down.

Carla snatched her arm from his grasp. “You
had no way of knowing for sure how much time you had.” She
continued emptying the bags, unearthing what looked like a week's
supply of food.

Sam finished unpacking the other bag. “I kind
of like having you worry about me,” he said, and there was no
mistaking the smug undertone in his voice.

If only he'd known how many years, how many
sleepless nights she'd spent worrying about him, wondering every
time she heard about a soldier being killed somewhere if she would
get a call from Chris that Sam O'Connell had been killed in battle
or a training exercise. Not that she would ever in a million years
admit it to his face.

“
Don't take it personally. I'd worry
about anyone mentally deficient enough to go out into the eye of a
hurricane when he has no way of knowing how fast the storm is
moving.”

As if to prove her point, at that moment
there was violent snapping sound, followed by a crash which Carla
guessed was the sound of a palm tree being denuded of several giant
fronds.

Sam's eyes darted to the windows, though he
couldn't see anything through the sturdy wooden storm shutters.
When he looked back at her, the chagrin on his face was
unmistakable. “I'm sorry. You're right, it wasn't safe. I just
wanted to make sure you had something to eat.”

Carla felt the tension in her shoulders ease
as the fear-fueled anger evaporated at the contrite, almost sweet
expression in his electric blue eyes. “I'd rather miss a week of
meals than risk you getting hurt or killed,” she said before she
could consider the wisdom of such an admission.

He crossed to her and gave her a quick,
fierce hug. “Since that won't be necessary, why don't we go ahead
and dig in.”

“
How bad was it out there?” Carla asked
as she did a quick inventory of the supplies Sam had brought as he
rummaged through the cabinets for utensils and plates.

He found two plates, a couple of forks and
spoons, and a paring knife. “Flooding from the pool into the
fitness center, and the restaurant took a hit from the beach, but
other than some minor roof damage the main structures are holding
up.”

Carla let out the breath she hadn't even
realized she was holding. Sure, flooding, even seemingly minor,
could cause a lot of damage but for the moment―they wouldn't know
the extent of the damage until the storm had fully passed―it
sounded like repairs would be finished well in time for the holiday
high season.

As the knot in her stomach eased her hunger
once again came to the forefront. She moved next to Sam, squinting
a little in the flickering lantern light as she took inventory.
Piles of fruit and vegetables, loaves of bread, an assortment of
cheeses and cold cuts. Bags of chips, a six pack of beer, a bottle
each of red and white wine.

He'd certainly taken her hunger
seriously.

Sam grabbed a baguette and went to work on it
with the paring knife, slicing it in half and down the middle for
sandwiches. “There's turkey in there somewhere and a block of Swiss
over there.” He indicated the pile of cheeses on the far end of the
corner. “I grabbed some pickles too―I think you put them on the
table. I couldn't find that sweet mustard that you like, but
there's some mayo and Dijon next to the pickles.”

Carla's hand froze momentarily as she reached
for her baguette. She tried to ignore the squeezing sensation in
her chest, telling herself that like her stupid peanut allergy, Sam
remembering her favorite sandwich combo was of no significance
whatsoever. Especially since he'd heard her order it dozens of
times.

Yeah, but not in the past week...

She put the baguette on a plate, grabbed a
spoon and slathered some mustard on both sides. She considered
forgoing the pickles, just to send a signal that he didn't know her
as well as he liked to think he did. But he'd gone through all the
effort to bring her the food, she didn't have it in her to be
bitchy and passive aggressive about it.

Besides, how much would her turkey and Swiss
suck without pickles? Especially when she already had to forgo the
honey mustard. She finished making her sandwich and grabbed some
chips from the bag he'd opened to accompany it.

“
I brought dessert too,” he said, and
indicated with his chin a plastic tub perched next to the
sink.

“
Ice cream?” Carla asked, her mouth
already starting to water. For the most part, she tried to eat
pretty healthfully, but ice cream had always been her weakness.
Leave it to Sam to remember that.

“
There wasn't any strawberry,” Sam said
as he piled his own baguette with meat, cheese, and tomatoes, “so I
grabbed the mango kind. We should probably get it into the
fridge.”

Carla nodded and set down her plate. Even
with the electricity out, the fridge was still cold and the
insulation would help keep the ice cream from turning to soup in
the still, hot air. When she picked up the ice cream she noticed
there was something else behind the plastic tub.

She recognized the contents and nearly
dropped the ice cream. Condoms. An entire bulk size box of them.
“Wow, someone's optimistic,” Carla said, heat scorching her cheeks
as she bent to put the ice cream in the mini fridge.

As she stood she met Sam's gaze. “We only
have two left to get us through the storm. I didn't want us to run
out.”

Even in the lantern light there was no
mistaking the heat in his gaze. Carla felt it rush straight to her
core, the look in his eyes enough to make her clench with need. She
picked up her plate in two hands, marveling at her own ability to
make it to the couch and set it on the low coffee table without
dropping and breaking it.

She picked up half of her sandwich and sat
back as Sam placed a bottle of beer in front of her, then settled
into one of the padded teak armchairs positioned at either end of
the table. She couldn't decide if she was relieved or miffed that
he hadn't chosen to sit next to her. Then she took the first bite
of her sandwich and didn't care as the first bite of solid food in
over eightee hours made her mouth and stomach sing with joy.

She polished off the first half and sat back
and sipped at her beer, a little embarrassed at how she'd scarfed
down her food like a trucker in front of Sam.

Not that he was showing any more restraint.
He ate like a man who'd spent several months in a POW camp,
polishing off at least three times as much food as she did in the
same amount of time. Soon, he too sat back, beer in hand, resting
his big hand on his lean stomach.

She would have been a little bitter, she
thought as she contemplated the ripped―no shredded―ab muscles
rippling under his tight skin, had she not witnessed for herself
exactly how hard Sam worked out to look like that.

The memory of him, droplets of sweat beading
on his skin as though daring her to chase them with her tongue,
flooded her senses. Between her legs her sex throbbed almost
painfully and her nipples pulled tight under her thick robe.

“
Chris seems really happy.”

Carla jerked her eyes up to Sam's face,
embarrassed, yet again, to be caught blatantly ogling his buff
body. But instead of the sly, knowing look she expected to see,
Sam's expression was pensive as he stared sightlessly at the flame
of the hurricane lamp perched on his end of the table.

Carla couldn't help but give a wistful smile
at the mention of her cousin and Julie, his wife of four years.
“It's kind of disgusting how happy they are.”

“
I remember how he used to talk about
Julie when he'd come back to Vegas,” Sam said, his teeth white as
he flashed a wry grin. “It was so obvious he had a huge thing for
her, but whenever I asked him why he never made a move, he kept
saying she was too good for him. Deserved better than a player like
him,” he paused and took a sip of his beer. “I know how that
goes.”

“
He's not a player anymore,” Carla
said, instinctively defending the cousin who was as close to her as
her own brother. “And besides, it wasn't all a
cakewalk.”

“
I know,” Sam said, shaking his head.
“He told me all about it, how he very nearly fucked it all up.
Lucky for him she gave him another chance.”

Carla's throat closed around the sip of beer
she'd just taken, warning bells going off in her head at the
direction this conversation was going.

“
He's living the dream,” Sam said with
a little shake of his head. “He got his business going, got the
girl he always wanted, two kids...no man could ask for anything
more.”

She gave a harsh laugh. “Oh right, like
that's your dream.”