She looked like she was not buying what he was selling.
“Look,” he said. “I’ve had some shit happen.”
She pointed to the jar.
Damn it. He stood and opened his wallet, stuffing a five in, which was more than shit cost on the Poppy Price List. “I got credit now. Listen to me.” He came around the desk to lean on it and tower over her to make his point. But she looked directly up at him, a woman who didn’t fear a towering man. And he loved that about her.
“What do you want to say?” she demanded.
“That I appreciate your concern for my well-being.” He did, too, and the realization made him reach out and take her hand. “A lot. But not long ago I found out that someone I cared about…”
Died.
“Passed,” he said.
“Lucky girl.”
He frowned at her. “How is she lucky? And how did you know it was a she, anyway?”
Poppy beamed. “She because of the look of love on your face. Lucky because she’s with the Lord, assuming she was saved. Was she saved?”
Not by him. And that was at the bottom of what hurt the most. “She collected rosaries,” he offered.
“Then she’s with the angels, including the one you’re named after.” She grinned. “He is a mighty angel.”
Not mighty enough, he thought glumly. “Okay, but I want you to know there’s nothing wrong with me except a little garden-variety…mourning.” Even that sounded a little weak to his ears. But what else could he call this torture he felt over losing Isa forever?
Poppy grabbed his hand in both of hers, her palms rough from housework, her grasp strong with conviction. “Mr. Gabriel, you know what you need, right?”
He braced for a conversion speech and an invitation to her church. Or maybe the name of a shrink who she knew happened to be staying at the resort.
“Young man, you need a little hair of the dog.”
“A drink? I thought you were counting my empties in the trash.”
“No, a little something of what your body is missing. A woman.”
“What?” He barked a laugh. “Is this St. Popsicle of the Blessed Virginity suggesting I drown my sorrows in sex?”
“Not that, Mr. Gabriel!” She looked horrified. “Just, you know, the nice company of a pretty lady.”
The only nice company he’d be interested in would have to be flat on her back. He wasn’t in the mood to chat up a woman for fun.
“Mr. Gabriel, you need love.”
And he really wasn’t in the mood for that.
He stared at her for a minute, wondering just how open he should be, something he rarely was. But this once, he didn’t feel like hiding the truth from this large, loving woman who always had his best interests at heart.
“I had love,” he finally said. “And it sucked.”
She twisted her head from side to side, tsking like a metronome.
“What?” he asked. “Is ‘suck’ on your list of bad words?”
“Child, you know what sucks?” She stood, practically pulling him closer. “The fact that you are holed up here on this island in this office with your ornery old grandfather and a nosy, fat black lady for companionship.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You’re not fat.”
She hooted. “Just like you’re not handsome, which you know you are.”
“Popcorn, if I could fall in love again, it would be with you.”
She gave him a gentle push away. “Shut your lying mouth, child. You ain’t looking hard enough. You should scour this resort and find yourself a sweet woman.”
He had a sweet woman, he wanted to scream. “I’m not here to find company,” he said instead.
“I know, I know. You’re here to hide folks who need hiding, change names, and create new lives. Why can’t you do that for yourself?”
Good fucking question. “I don’t need to hide, change my name, or make a new life, Pops. I just need to help other people do that.” He put his hands on her shoulders, forcing himself to stop oversharing. “And you are a great assistance in that regard. Do you need a raise?”
She pfft out a breath. “I need you to be joyful, is what. So spread your gorgeous self around the hungry female population of this place.”
“Think I could do every bridesmaid on the resort?”
“I don’t mean do, I mean date.”
Gabe shook his head. “I just told you why I’m not interested.”
“God doesn’t want you to be alone, Mr. Gabriel. And all I’m talking about is a harmless dinner date. How about that pretty lady staying in Rockrose this week? She’s all alone.”
Rockrose? The northernmost villa? Gabe thought back to the blonde he’d seen on the beach, checking him out. She wasn’t exactly hot, more of an ice queen, but something about her…no. Every woman was going to remind him of Isadora just so he could discover how grossly they fell short. “Sorry, she’s not my type.”
“Well, she’d like to be.” Poppy gave a smug little smile as she picked up some papers on his desk and made a show of straightening them. “That is, if I’m any good at reading human nature, and I do believe my ability to do just that is why you pay me so handsomely to find out everything that’s being said by guests and staff here at Casa Blanca.”
That was true; Poppy was the original busybody, but her style worked and worked well.
“So how do you know about this woman?” he asked.
“Jus’ doing my job. Getting people to talk, which, in this lady’s case, was quite easy. She must have seen you on the beach and wanted to know if you worked here or were staying here.”
“And you told her…”
“Nothing!” Her eyes popped wide. “Mr. Gabriel, I know better than that.”
“But my name came up?”
“No, no. She described you, all casual and chatty, you know, but I could see through that. And then she asked if I knew you. Showed me some pictures of the beach she took that you just happened to be in.”
What? A four alarm fire rang in his head. She had pictures of him?
“Of course, I said I wasn’t sure who she meant,” Poppy continued. “But the words she used were not from a woman who was casually noticing a man. Words like…handsome. And fine.”
“Really.” He had to know more about this woman, and not because she thought he was fine. “Rockrose, you say.”
“That little one-bedroom villa all the way at the end of the beach.”
“I know which one it is. Good work, Pop-Tart.” He stood and gave her a peck on the cheek before heading to the door.
Outside, he stole a golf cart from housekeeping and cut through the garden and down the resort path, making it to the edge of the Casa Blanca property in under ten minutes. Like many of the expensive villas, Rockrose was surrounded by thick foliage, set back to allow it to have privacy and a water view.
He approached the villa slowly, not completely sure what he’d say to the woman, but experience told him he’d figure it out when he had to. She was hunting him, and he wanted to know why.
At the villa, all was quiet, with no sign of life, no beach towels hanging over the deck, no sounds of activity.
He walked up to the front door and did the obvious, simple thing: He knocked. And as he did, he realized the door wasn’t latched. It pushed open at his tap, leading into the living area.
“Hello,” he called out. “Resort security.”
Nothing. The living room looked untouched, as if the maids had been there and the guest had long gone. He stepped into the kitchen area, finding it the same.
“Resort security. Is anyone here?”
Silence. The bedroom looked just as cleaned out as the rest, with no clothes in the closet, no personal items around. He pulled out his cell and dialed the front desk as he continued his inspection.
“Hey, it’s Gabe Rossi with McBain Security here,” he said. “I need to know the name of the guest currently staying in Rockrose.”
The Casa Blanca employee didn’t
hesitate. “Ms. Wickham,” she said. “But she checked out about an hour ago.”
“First name?”
“I’m sorry, she just went by her last name. Veddy proper British,” she added with a fake accent.
“British? Okay, thanks.” He walked into the bathroom and stopped cold, closing his eyes as the scent almost knocked him over.
Damn it! God damn it, why did he come over here?
He dropped down on the closed toilet and let his head fall in his hands as the Chanel No. 5 slayed him. Son of a bitch, why did this woman have to wear that perfume? Why did he have to follow a dead end for no reason and get bombarded with memories of hot, long, sweet kisses and tropical nights on the beaches of Cuba? Why did he have to drown in this heartache and choke on his pain?
He didn’t know why. But he sat there for a good two hours and let the memories, and the lingering perfume, crush him.
Chapter Nineteen
Chessie followed Mal into the hostel bedroom, hoping the dark basement room and lower temperature would cool her down and assuage her bitter disappointment.
“How can a municipal office just close in the middle of the day and week?” she asked.
“You can’t really be surprised by now.”
“I’m not,” she replied. “Just so damn frustrated. Should I try Gabe again? It’s not like him not to answer the phone.”
“Don’t. You need to go outside to get a signal.” He put his hand on her shoulder and guided her into the room, his touch so warm and secure and comforting. “There’s nothing to tell him yet, Chessie. Get some rest. We haven’t slept for well over a day.”
She couldn’t argue with that. Exhaustion pressed on her heart, along with the events of the day. She sat on the bed for exactly three seconds, then fell back on a flat pillow and closed her eyes, asleep before she took her next breath.
When she woke, the room was still and shadowed, that dusky kind of dark when the world was slipping from evening to night. Through her lashes she spied Mal sitting on the edge of the bed, bare-chested again, wearing jeans with the top button undone.
It wasn’t too dark to notice that, she thought wryly. Not too dark to appreciate the cuts and dips of his muscular body, the way a lock of hair fell over his forehead, or how the shadows formed in the hollows of his unshaven jaw. Not too dark to admire the strength in shoulders that rose and fell in one of those sighs that sounded like it came from his soul, not his lungs.
Something clicked between his fingers.
The rosary. She inched up, and instantly he turned to her, sensing she was awake.
“I wish I could remember…” His voice was raspy, as if he hadn’t spoken in hours or…something was choking him.
She sat up very slowly. “Ten Hail Marys and a few Glory Bes, I think.”
“I mean, what was so special about this rosary? There was something that Isadora said. She collected them, I think.”
Chessie filed that totally surprising fact about Gabe’s lover in her head and reached for Mal. “Did you sleep?”
“Not like you. I admit I checked for breathing a few times.”
She smiled. “I was really tired.”
He let the rosary fall into her bag on the floor and turned his full attention to her. “I tried to call Gabe but couldn’t get through. I showered and got you some food.” He angled his head to the dresser and a brown paper bag. “Medianoches, like the lady requested.”
“You’re the best.” Without thinking, she reached out and stroked the side of his head, her fingers sliding through his hair, the dim light catching one of the few silver threads. She half expected him to move out of her touch, but he did just the opposite, leaning into her hand.
“How’d you get gray hair?” she asked. “You’re not even forty.”
“Prison,” he answered simply.
“So you were all dark-haired before you did time?”
He didn’t answer.
“Will you tell me why you went to prison?” She stroked his hair again, feeling intimate and calm and very close at that moment.
“A crime.”
She leaned back on the pillow, staying close to him. “I just refuse to believe you’re a common thief.”
“Nothing common about half a million dollars,” he said wryly.
“Mal. Tell me the truth.”
He stayed silent for a long time, but finally turned to her, taking her hand in his. “Someone needed help for her family.”
She wasn’t at all surprised to hear that, but maybe a bit taken aback by the sharp sense of relief it sent through her. She hadn’t realized how much she didn’t want him to be anything less than…noble.
“So it was some Robin Hood action? Stole from the government to help the poor?” Noble, but still wrong.
“Something like that.” He rolled down on the bed, turning flat on his back. “I hate what you think of me.”
The admission twisted something deep inside of her. He cared what she thought of him?
“You hate that I think you went to prison for stealing something to help out a family? Yeah, you’re horrible.”
He smiled, his eyes closed, his expression serene. She reclined next to him, on her side so she could keep looking at him. And touching him, stroking his hard muscles and the soft black hair on his bare chest with her fingertips.
“Tell me something, Mal,” she whispered. “Tell me a secret.”
“Define secret.”
“Oh no you don’t.” She tapped his pec. “Talk to me.”
He turned just enough to regard her through half-shuttered eyes. “I’ve never had a family.” His confession, whispered in the dark and coming up from that same place in his soul that had him sighing, made a little rip in her heart. “And you were right about me being jealous of yours. I can’t get that question out of my head.”
“Oh, I’m sorry I hit a sore spot. I didn’t mean to, really.”
He ran a knuckle over her cheek. “I know. You just care. You’re a caring woman. It’s really…attractive.”
“And here I just thought you liked my smart mouth and busy fingers.” She realized what she’d said and laughed. “I mean, my sass and computer talents.”
“I like them all,” he said, leaning closer to her. “I like the hell out of you and your sweet mouth and soft spot for kids you just met.”
She smiled. “I would take Gabrielita and raise her and love her in a”—she patted his chest—“heartbeat.”
He turned a little, stroking her hair, the intimacy so natural and organic, she didn’t question any of it. “They can’t all be that lucky.”
“You weren’t, were you? Did you go to foster homes, or what?”
“I was in a few, but my mother always pulled her act together enough to get me back.”
“So she did love you,” Chessie said.
“Love isn’t enough.” He twirled a strand of her hair through his fingers. “You have to sacrifice for kids. You have to be willing to put them first. You have to recognize the responsibility that they are.”
Chessie felt her jaw loosen. That was exactly how she felt, but her strong beliefs stemmed from living in a family that did just that, and wanting to replicate that. His background might be different, but the end result—the way he thought—was the same.
“You look so surprised,” he said.
“You constantly surprise me.”
He didn’t answer, but pulled her all the way into him, guiding her head to rest on his chest. While he stroked her hair, she listened to the sound of his steady, strong heartbeat and each slow intake of breath. She could feel his muscles under her cheek and had a perfect view of his chest and abs and the dusting of hair running right into the unbuttoned jeans.
Slowly, lightly, she rubbed a circle over his heart, more tender this time. “There’s some good stuff in here, Mal Harris.”
“I’m not that good, Francesca.” He shifted his body, lining them up more, closer to her mouth, close enough to feel his breath. “Nothin
g I’m thinking about is good right now.” He pressed his lips to hers. “In fact, it’s…hopeless.”
She smiled into the kiss. “It’s like we have our own secret password.”
“Yeah. Except it’s no secret…” He slid farther on top of her, an enormous erection pressing against her stomach.
But it was hopeless. Trying to remember that and not think of this as anything except the casual, meaningless, impossible-to-resist fling in the field that it was, Chessie tunneled her fingers into his hair and tightened her grip on his head.
She kissed with all she had, opening her mouth and arching her back and sliding one leg over his to offer herself.
His hand worked under her T-shirt, burning her skin at the first touch, making her whimper with need as he cupped her breast and circled her nipple.
It was a lie, she realized with a start. She’d never be able to have sex with him and not hope for…something. Even if it was just that they would have more time together.
But she kissed him anyway and decided that just made them even. He didn’t tell her everything last time they had sex, like the fact that he suspected she was a spy.
And she wasn’t telling him everything now, like the fact that she suspected she really cared for him and what was about to happen was exactly the polar opposite of hopeless sex.
* * *
Mal rolled over to get more of her. More of her mouth and tongue against his and more of her sweet body in his hands. Except more wouldn’t be enough. He wanted it all.
Chessie moaned with invitation and affection, easing him on top of her, letting their bodies mold in the most natural way. He kissed her again and again. Each time she tasted a little different. Sometimes sweet, sometimes peppery, sometimes a flavor he’d never experienced.
And still he wanted more.
Against her, his erection grew even harder, straining his zipper, already throbbing for release. That’s all this was, right? A release for both of them. A way to shake off the day’s work and the challenges of this trip and this country and this life. A way to be…partners.
So he took it. Took all of it and all of her.
He had her top off in seconds, and then her bra. He groaned at the sight and feel of her breasts, nipples budded and dark with color. He suckled, pulling her into his mouth and earning a gasp of pleasure as she rocked her hips.