Will Work For Love (3 page)

All too quickly, Chris climbed down, picked up his
bag of food and a large to-go cup of coffee and started for the
door. He had to walk right by Whitney’s seat by the front window.
She looked up, heart speeding, when he stopped at her table.
Smiling at her, his large hands clutching his food and coffee.

The sun coming in the front window caught the blond
curls brushing the top of his ears and almost reaching the collar
of his T-shirt. Yesterday, she’d thought he was a guardian angel
when he rescued her from the door. Today, he did look a bit like an
angel, but with a devilish grin. A nice contrast. She should say
something.

“Working on a Sunday?” she asked. “I thought
tropical islands had a relaxed pace.”

He smiled. “Maybe I’ll work…slowly.”

And then he was gone. She watched him walk up the
street, imagining he had a car parked somewhere beyond her view.
The girl who worked behind the counter came over and watched him
walk up the street, too. She sighed.

“He would make a fantastic Christmas present,” she
said.

Whitney nodded in agreement as he disappeared from
view.

****

It would have been nice to avoid her problems and
hang out with a coffee in one hand and a pastry in the other as she
watched the sunshine downtown glance off the bronzed skin of hot
island men. That would, in fact, have been very nice. But Whitney
didn’t have a whole lot of choices. Driving back to East Pointe to
face the unmitigated hurricane damage was what she had to do. Her
loyalty to Taylor and high hopes for the wedding came before
tropical hotties and Virgin Island daydreams.

But first, there was something downtown she needed
to see. With an address and cell phone GPS, she only turned down
two streets before she found it. Tropical Property Managers. The
company trusted by people who needed someone to oversee their
gorgeous estates while they were away. The storefront in the
commercial district had a large colorful sign over dusty windows
advertising a business that was closed. Locked up for good. Out of
business. Out of luck.

No phone number, no forwarding address. Nothing she
could do but drive back to East Pointe and start picking up the
pieces. She drove to her temporary home, numbing shock settling
over her as she tried to imagine what to tell Taylor’s parents.
They were busy with their new grandchild, but if they had any idea
what awaited them here, she thought, they would have come
immediately themselves. When Whitney had called them earlier to
tell them nothing was repaired, their first reaction was shock.
Followed closely by pissed off. Their lawyer was already
investigating the seemingly absent property management company—even
on a Sunday. Now that Whitney had another piece of the puzzle, it
wouldn’t be long before answers were on the table, but the wedding
couldn’t wait.

And Taylor had thought she was maneuvering Whitney
into a nice two weeks in the sun under the guise of double-checking
the wedding plans.

“Ha,” Whitney muttered to herself as she looked at
the wreckage that was once an immaculate lawn. “So much for that
idea.”

Any ideas about a sunny, relaxing vacation had just
been flushed down a tropical toilet. She would be all over those
contractors as soon as they showed up tomorrow morning. And they
better show up after the message she left them after talking to
Taylor’s parents. Martin and Kitty East had asked her to do
whatever it took to make things right for Taylor’s wedding. They’d
try working with their lawyer, but Whitney was their person on the
front lines and they were counting on her. She had called Blue
Isle—trying to sound like Kitty East—threatening to bring the whole
FBI, CIA, Good Housekeeping or whoever she could find down on their
heads. After a team of lawyers removed those heads and bowled with
them.

After that message, somebody from Blue Isle would
show up tomorrow morning. Until then, her wheels would be spinning
as she made a detailed list of exactly what she wanted repaired and
in what order.

Whitney flopped down on a lounge chair on the small
private beach and propped herself up on her elbows. She looked out
at the clear blue water and envisioned sparkling blue eyes. Chris.
She wished she knew more than just his first name.

She thought of the way he hoisted her suitcase up on
his shoulder like it was a ragdoll. What if she had invited him
into her Jeep and asked for a personal tour of the island? She’d
probably be having more fun right now than she was.

She had to admit, there was nothing she could do
until tomorrow morning. Except one thing. She could unpack. The
overstuffed red suitcase had plenty to offer in island wear. She
could put on one of the cute sundresses she bought for this trip
and head downtown. She had to eat and there was no food in the
house. Enjoying a night on the town was better than sitting here
angrily writing the same list over and over.

And tonight might be her only night of fun, because
after her meeting tomorrow morning, she would have contractors here
night and day. Everything needed to be just right for her best
friend’s wedding.

****

Whitney strolled the walkway along the waterfront in
the fading light of the day. When she reached the harbor wall, she
leaned against the railing, watching the water. Her bottle-green
halter-style dress flicked against her knees in the light breeze
off the bay, and the air caressed her bare arms. No wonder Taylor
wanted to get married on this island. What could be more
romantic?

Holiday music wafted from one of the restaurants
lining the harbor front. Christmas was less than two weeks away,
and she would spend it with the East family—her only family
now.

Months ago, she thought this Christmas would be so
different. Thought there might be a future with Logan. Boy, were
things different. Her relationship with Logan fizzled, which was no
great loss for a lot of reasons. Their one-year relationship didn’t
even end with fireworks or fighting. It just wandered off.
Spectacular fireworks and something to fight about would almost
have been better. Whitney wanted more fire, more…everything in a
man.

Leaning on the railing, she wished she could reach
the water to trail her hand through the fading colors reflecting on
the surface. She sighed, glancing at a few boats taking down their
sails. A huge cruise ship anchored nearby, its lights twinkling in
the early evening light. Red and green Christmas lights joined the
rows of white lights strung from the upper decks. The night air
smelled like open water and boats. Musky, inviting. It was
romantic, beautiful. And lonely.

She didn’t hear the footsteps behind her. Too
absorbed in watching the harbor and letting the slight tropical
breeze wipe away the ripples of loneliness centered around her
heart.

“If I were your fiancé,” said a deep voice right
behind her, “I would be enjoying this beautiful view with you.”

Whitney froze. She knew that voice. It sent tremors
through her yesterday and this morning, and it had the same effect
now.

Chapter Three

Chris stopped cold, fighting desire to touch her.
He’d thought of her nonstop after the airport meeting last night.
Meeting her accidentally at Bistro Sol this morning only fueled his
furnace. Long brown hair fell over her bare shoulders. The green
dress she wore matched the eyes he remembered vividly. He wanted to
do more than just look.

But she was here to marry someone else. Was
practically another man’s wife. His glance strayed to her left hand
resting on the railing.

Loud thudding sounded in his ears.

Her left hand, long fingers curved over the rail. No
diamond engagement ring?

“Want company?” he asked, hardly recognizing his own
voice

She turned to face him, her eyes only inches from
his. Her delicate cheekbones rose in a smile that curved her full
lips. One slim brow lifted as if suggesting an unasked question.
Standing in the sunset’s last hurrah, he wanted to be the answer to
her question.

****

Whitney knew he’d said something, but she couldn’t
breathe. This was a fairly small island, but still, how lucky could
she be to run into the same man again? The evening just got a lot
more interesting.

“Sure.” It was the right thing to say, the sensible
and polite thing to answer his question about joining her. But what
she was thinking was not necessarily polite conversation and was
definitely not sensible.

Chris looked relieved. Did he think she’d say no? He
was probably under the impression that she was waiting for someone
else. In fact, he probably thought she was marrying some man named
Taylor because of the car rental gaffe. She pictured herself
marrying Taylor in matching white dresses. She smiled.

Chris smiled, too. “So you’re not disappointed that
it’s me? I thought you might be waiting for—”

“I’m not planning to meet anyone,” Whitney said. She
wanted to kick herself immediately because it came out all wrong.
The truth was, she would like to meet someone, someone exactly like
him.

“Then—”

“What I mean is, I had no
previous
plans,”
she corrected.

“Good. Because if you’re not too busy, I know a nice
place just down the street with a revolving door.” He grinned, a
warm light in his irresistible eyes. “I thought you could do your
door act again for the tourists. The airport crowd seemed to love
it.”

Whitney punched him playfully on the arm, surprising
herself. Why did she feel so flirtatious? In the split second her
small fist contacted his upper arm, she felt nothing but muscle.
Hard biceps muscle under smooth warm skin. She rubbed her hand over
the spot she’d just punched, as if to rub out an imaginary wrinkle.
Touching his arm was pure temptation.

“Sorry,” she said.

“S’alright,” he said. “I knew you had a killer
instinct. I let you struggle with the door for a while yesterday
because, at one point, I really thought you were going to win.”

Whitney leaned back against the rail and faced him,
wondering if he was thinking about her in the same way she was
thinking about him. So far, he hadn’t touched her. Not that she’d
mind.

“I
am
serious about knowing a nice place to
get some dinner. Unless,” his eyes dropped meaningfully to her left
hand, “you’ve got a wedding to get to or anything like that.”

“Not tonight,” she said. She didn’t need to explain
anything right now. It was enough for him to know that tonight she
was free to indulge in the island air. If only until tomorrow
morning when it was back to the serious business of kicking some
contractor’s ass.

“Then it’s a date,” he said.

“But I’ll buy,” she said. “To thank you for your
heroics at the airport yesterday.”

“That luggage did present a pretty serious
threat.”

“I’m a chronic over-packer. So, where are we
eating?”

“I know a place that makes chicken that would make
you forget you’re a vegetarian,” he said. He took her elbow gently
in his large hand and started to turn them both back toward town.
He stopped and looked her over seriously, a slight frown drawing
down one corner of his mouth. “You’re not a vegetarian are
you?”

Whitney laughed. This evening was definitely getting
more interesting.

****

A middle-aged woman with enough wrinkles on her
pretty face to prove she’d spent a lifetime of sun worshipping came
over to greet them when they entered the Shellfish Café.

“Mr. Maxwell, what a pleasure.” From the look in her
eyes, Whitney could see she really meant the greeting. It made her
wonder what kind of life Chris Maxwell led on this island. Maybe he
brought tourists here all the time. He was probably at the airport
surveying the new arrivals every day. Maybe she was fooling herself
if she thought he was fascinated by her.

She glanced at him as they were led to a table by
the front window. He waited while she sat down and then pulled up
the chair next to hers, not across the table. Their legs were so
close that she felt his thigh brush hers. Warm skin and blond hair,
plenty of it below his cargo shorts.

“Better view of the street this way,” he said.

Whitney couldn’t decide if that was an excuse to get
close to her or if he really was interested in the carnival
atmosphere out on the street. Either way, she liked it.

“Is there something special going on tonight? Or are
there always this many people around on a Sunday night?”

“Big kick-off to the Christmas season,” he said.

The waitress came over to take their drink order,
and Chris glanced at Whitney before ordering.

“Want my recommendation on the drinks here?” he
asked.

“Sure, you’re the local.”

“The house special. It’s been a long day, and I
think it might be just the thing.”

Whitney smiled at the young pretty waitress, “Two
house specials, I guess.”

The waitress sent a long glance over Chris’ face,
taking a mental drink of him. Whitney again wondered just how
popular Chris was in this town. She was on his turf and entirely at
his mercy, but sitting at a quiet table by the front window with
him only inches away, somehow didn’t feel dangerous.

“What have I just ordered?” she asked.

He smiled and leaned a little closer. She smelled
clean manly soap. Tiny wrinkles curved near the corners of his
eyes. He was probably only a few years older than she, but looked
like he spent most of his time outside.

“It’s a Virgin Islands special called the
Virgin-esia,” he whispered. “It has the power to make you
forget.”

“Forget what?”

“Everything,” he answered, his grin lighting up his
face and his eyes searching hers. “I think there’s enough island
rum in it to make you forget your problems. You might even forget
there’s a world outside of St. Thomas.”