Storm Ravaged (Storm Damages 2) (Storm Legacy) (22 page)

The reception is held in the castle’s dining hall. The food is sublime, prepared by the castle chef. After dinner, the small band he hired strikes up the song he’ chosen for our first dance—
The Way You Look Tonight
.

He and I have never danced so I don’t know what to expect. We never discussed this, much less practiced dancing to ‘our’ song. But as always, he surprises me. Even with his slight limp, he manages quite well.

“You’re really good,” I say.

“Amazing what a few dance lessons will do.” He winks at me.

I suspect he hasn’t taken a dance lesson in his life.

After we cut the cake, Gabriel takes my hand and kisses the back of it while glancing up at me. A photographer captures the pose and that’s the one that makes it into the papers. We appear totally besotted with each other. Maybe it was the wine in him, the cake in me.

In the emerald bedroom, he tosses his jacket on a chair and then he unlaces the back of my gown. The veil, my shift, the rest of my underwear all land on top of his jacket. Except for my silk stockings, I’m left standing nude, trembling, in front of him.

“You’re shivering.”

“Not from the cold.”

“I’ll warm you.” He gets down on his knees.

“Gabriel.” He’s put so much stress on his leg today.

“Shh.”

He unrolls one silk stocking and bends down to kiss my foot. “Mine.” Kissing the other, he whispers the same. A litany of “Mines” follow as he lavishes the same benediction along an upward trail of ankles, legs, thighs. No spot is left untouched by his lips, including my mons, against which he murmurs “Most definitely mine.”

His longest kiss of all is bestowed on my belly after which, eyes shining, he looks up at me. Leaning on a chair, he comes off his knees to continue his parade of kisses. Each breast gets its own tribute, the swell of my chest, my arms, hands, fingertips. He brushes his blessing on my throat, jaw, brow, cheeks. And finally, finally my lips.

“Mine. All mine.” I don’t think I’ve ever seen him happier.

What can I do but agree. “Yes, my darling Gabriel. I certainly am”—for a year and one month—”yours.”

Chapter 28

______________

British Virgin Islands

Gabriel

OUR HONEYMOON finds us at the Pirate’s Cove Villa in a private island close to Virgin Gorda, one of the British Virgin Islands. The remote location grants us the privacy we need with little, if any, interference from the outside world. Constructed on a small hill, the villa commands a 225-degree view of the islands surrounding us. The panoramic terrace perched fifty feet above the bay below is only a one-minute walk to a private beach. The only way in or out is by boat, the hill above considered too inhabitable for man.

Given my mother’s threat against Liz, we’re accompanied by a full security contingent, headed by Samuel. Operatives guard the beach and the pier at all times. The villa accommodates up to ten people so it’s large enough to house the entire team.

In and around the villa with the occasional fly-by helicopter. The private island can’t be approached without someone knowing about it.

The villa comes with its own staff who cater to our every whim.

I spend an hour checking in with the office and Jake who by necessity remained behind, not only to watch Bri but to make sure Royce stayed put while his health continues to improve. I don’t trust my brother not to get a hair up his ass and take off for parts unknown. But seemingly he’s satisfied to remain in England to eat, drink, and be merry, as he promised.

Having performed my familial and corporate duties, I head out to the deck to join Liz, who’s lying on a lounge chair soaking up the sun and sipping some drink. She’s wearing a black two-piece bathing suit which covers her pregnant belly although right now the top’s rolled up to catch some rays.

When I arrive by her side, I lean over to kiss her and a cornucopia of tropical scents greets me—orange from the juice, coconut from her tanning cream. Dropping into the lounge chair next to her, I take the tanning tube from her and lather it all over her skin. Not that she needs it. In three short days, she’s turned brown as a berry.

“This place suits you.” Her skin glows with health and her teeth appear white in her tanned face. She’s glowing with health.

“I love it here. The air smells different, lighter, and the sea breeze. Ummm. Wish I could stay here forever.”

“Sooner or later, you’d miss D.C.”

Her face scrunches. “Not now when it’s cold and dreary. Bu I would miss the cherry blossoms in the spring. You’ll have to come down from New York to see them.”

“We’ll see.” In the spring, she’ll be in London, not D.C., but of course I don’t say anything. I want her to enjoy our honeymoon before I tell her what she can expect in her future.

Leah, our pool girl, approaches. “Would you like another glass of orange juice?”

“No, but I’ll take a glass of iced water. It’s getting hot out here.”

Leah smiles. Having lived here all her life, she’s used to the heat.

“What is that scent you’re wearing?” Liz asks.

“It’s a special blend of frangipani, white ginger and jasmine. Island Fragrances sells it on Charlotte Amalie.”

Charlotte Amalie. The capital of the U.S. Virgin Islands.

“I’ll have to buy some when we go there tomorrow.”

I’ve scheduled a jaunt to St. Thomas to do some sightseeing and for Liz to buy some souvenirs of the trip. I’m surprised by Liz’s sudden affinity for our pool girl’s scent. “But you don’t wear perfume.”

She laughs. “You don’t remember it, but I did. I had to stop using it when I got pregnant. The scent was too strong for me. But I love Leah’s. It’s nice and light.”

After she guzzles the glass of water Leah brings back to her, I bend over and kiss Liz’s belly. She curls her hand around the back of my head and urges my mouth close to hers.

A heated kiss later, she smacks her lips. “Ummm, your lips taste like coconut.”

“Want to go inside and taste the rest of me?”

She laughs. “God, Storm, don’t you ever get enough?”

Keeping my hands off her has proved an impossibility even though she’s seven months pregnant. We make love every night, every morning. “No. So?”

She peeks up at me through her eyelashes in a coqquetish gesture. I don’t recall her doing much flirting with me. But since our wedding ceremony, she’s become more carefree, more joyous. I love her like this. “Not now. Maybe later. The baby’s enjoying the sun too much.”

I take her hand, drop a kiss on the palm, and drift off to sleep beneath the brilliant blue of the Caribbean sky.

The next morning dawns bright and sunny, like every day we’ve been here. She skips breakfast, preferring to eat after we arrive in Charlotte Amalie. We jump on the boat I chartered to Virgin Gorda where we catch the ferry to Charlotte Amalie. We’ll spend the night there, shopping and sightseeing, before returning to our private island the next day. At the capital of the U.S. Virgin Islands, a limo awaits. First stop is the main shopping street of Dronningens Gade where, starving now, we step into a cafe to grab some grub.

My leg’s decided it likes the sun, so by now I’m walking with only a slight hitch in my step. I no longer need the cane unless I overdo it. She purchases souvenirs for Casey and Gina, CeCe, even something for Bri and Royce. For herself, she buys a tropical skirt and a t-shirt. I run into a jewelry store and buy her a pearl necklace. Someone offers to braid her hair, but I nix that on the spot. I don’t want to see her beautiful hair anything but loose down her back.

She spots the Island Perfumes store Leah told her about, and squealing with excitement, drags me in there. Something squeezes my heart. I’ve never seen her so carefree and happy. She has every right to worry and curse me for the situation she finds herself in. And yet, since she’s stepped on the island, she’s been nothing but smiles and acts like she doesn’t have a care in the world.

While she explains what she wants to the sales clerk, I take a look around the store. I spot a bottle of gardenia-scented perfume, and something clicks inside of me. A shiver follows, as if a ghost walked over my grave. Drawn to the perfume by some unseen force, I open the bottle and take a whiff.

Just like that, all my memories of Liz come rushing back—the day we met, making love in her home, me pounding into her over a desk at her job, London, Winterleagh Castle. Her confessing to stealing those confidential documents from me.

Unaware of the cataclysmic change in me, she turns to me holding a bottle of fragrance. “What’s wrong?” She must have seen something in my eyes.

“Elizabeth,” the name I used to call her when we first met, when I made love to her. The name I yelled when she confessed he betrayal and walked out on me.

The bottle she’s holding crashes to the floor, spilling its essence over the well worn wooden floor, over her.

The sales clerk cries out, a couple more converge on Elizabeth, bringing a mop and broom, asking her not to move. But she’s frozen like a statue, gazing at me.

“Gabriel?” Her eyes fill with tears.

I order one of our guards to pay for the broken bottle, an additional one to take with us and to add something extra for the trouble of cleaning up. After which, I stride up to Elizabeth and pick her up. I don’t say anything but walk out with her in my arms, limping a bit, yes, but still holding on tight to the woman I love, the one who betrayed me, my wife.

Chapter 29

______________

Elizabeth

“PUT ME DOWN. I can walk.” By now I know better than to mention his leg, so I don’t.

He lowers me into a convenient bench by the side of the road where he proceeds to toss my flip flops in the nearest trash bin.

“Hey.”

“Hush.” His gaze silences me as much as his tone. He points to one of the street stands where sandals are brightly displayed and orders one of the guards to purchase a pair, size eight.

“Which ones? the guard asks.

“Doesn’t matter.”

What?
“The white ones on the end.” I point to a pair of criss cross flats.

When the guard comes back with the shoes, Gabriel slides them on, fastens them, before taking me by the hand and leading me down the road toward the spot where the limo waits for us.

“We’re done shopping?”

“Yes.”

As we pass the stores. I look longingly at them. I’m not much of a shopper but I love the ambiance of this place—the sun beating down on my skin, the music drifting from one of the kiosks, the variety of fragrances wafting in the air.

I slide into the limo ahead of Gabriel. “Are we going to Bluebeard’s Castle now?” He’d promised me a visit.

“No. We’re going to the hotel. I need to take care of those cuts.”

“It’s nothing, Gabriel. They’re minor at best.”

“You need to rest.”

Rather than protest the change in itinerary, I acquiesce. I know there’s more in his mind than my need to take a nap.

We’d pre-checked into the hotel, and our overnighs are all ready in the room, so it’s only a matter of riding the elevator to our suite. The four guards will bunk down on the one next to ours. On the walk down the hallway I notice his leg’s bothering him again. Having to carry me even for a short distance couldn’t have done it any good.

Having obtained a first aid kit from the concierge, Gabriel dabs my cuts with some antibiotic wipes, covers a couple of them with band-aids. “It shouldn’t leave a mark.”

I laugh. “Gabriel’s it’s nothing.”

He helps me to my feet. “Better go take a nap.”

“And will you join me?”

“No. I’m going to take a shower. I need to get this scent off me.” While I’d been holding a perfectly innocuous bottle of island scents, he’d held a bottle of gardenia, the perfume I wore when we first met.

“Gabriel?” He won’t meet my gaze. Could the scent have jogged his memory? Scent is the most powerful of all the senses.

“Gabriel? Do you remember?”

Before he answers he turns to the guards. “Leave us.” He waits until they’re gone before he answers, “Yes.”

“Oh, my God. That’s great.” I jump off the couch, throw my arms around him. But when I embrace him, he stiffens up. “What’s wrong?”

“I remember all of it. How we met in the elevator, having sex in your townhouse, your office. London. Winterleagh Castle. You stealing my documents from the Southwind deal and handing them to your boss.”

My breath hitches. How could I have forgotten what I’d told him? I’d been so happy since our wedding day, and now everything is ruined. “I didn’t. It wasn’t me.”

He goes for his crutch, the hotel’s drink car. “You admitted it that last night in London.”

“I lied to protect you. To lend credence to my breakup.”

“Let’s say for a moment I believe you. Who stole those papers then?”

“I don’t know, but I have my suspicions. I think it was Brian Sullivan.”

He barks out a joyless laugh. “The man never entered our suite, unless you let him in.” His eyes narrow.