Sex on Flamingo Beach (11 page)

“Coming up, baby.”

The alcohol was creeping up on her fast, too fast. What in the world had possessed her to say that?

Rowan was already signaling to the bartender for another drink. One drink led to another. She was starting to relax and enjoy herself, even getting tipsy. But Rowan wasn't keeping up with her.

“I have to drive,” he explained when she questioned him. “You can walk to your condo if you have to. All I need is Greg Santana and that overzealous partner of his, Lionel, pulling me over.”

“Greg's cool. Joya went to high school with him. Didn't she tell you?”

“I remember Derek mentioning something like that. What's happening with you buying Quen's place?”

Emilie groaned. “Nada. Financially I can't swing it right now. Quen decided to take the offer on the condominium. It's hard to turn down that kind of money.”

“How soon before you have to move?”

“A couple of months, maybe.”

Rowan wiggled his eyebrows at her. “You could reconsider my invitation and move into the town house.”

“On that note we probably should call it a night.” Emilie slid off her stool and squinted at the overhead lights moving back and forth.

Rowan clamped an arm around her elbow.

“You okay?”

“Just feeling the effects of too many flamingotinis.”

Rowan paid the bartender and, holding her arm, walked her toward the exit. Emilie was still sober enough to have her guard up. No way was he coming home with her.

Sheena Grace's raised voice floated over as they were leaving.

“That woman loves white men.”

“Ignore her,” Rowan said close to Emilie's ear. “She's an angry person and very unhappy about where she is in life.”

“I'm going to leave my car here and walk home,” Emilie said when they were in the parking lot.

“I'll drive you.”

“Thanks, but I need the fresh air.”

Rowan placed his arm around her waist. “In that case I'll walk you over.”

He could walk her to her building but he wasn't coming in. She trusted him as much as she trusted herself. But next to him she felt petite, and she liked his clean manly smell. No cologne for this big guy.

“When are you breaking ground on the casino?” she asked as they got closer to the condo.

“Probably after we get back from Harbour Island. By then more contract workers should have arrived and we'll have enough laborers to get started. I'm meeting with Lightfoot and Priddy right before we leave so I should know something then.”

“You think you'll make your six-month deadline?”

“No choice. A lot of money hinges on it.”

“It's all about money, isn't it?” She gave him a sideways glance.

Rowan's grip on her elbow tightened. He turned her slightly toward him.

“No, it's not all about money, although money can be a motivator, especially when you grow up without two red cents to rub together. For me it's about meeting an obligation and honoring my word. Once I've done what I came to do I'm moving on.”

He'd just given her another reason not to get involved with him. She was looking to put down roots here, while he was itching to go chasing after the next big deal.

They'd reached the entrance of 411 Flamingo Place.

“Good night,” Emilie said, offering up her cheek for his kiss. But Rowan would have none of it. He spun her around and gave her a proper kiss. It went on much longer than she expected and with every movement of his suave tongue she felt herself relenting. When Rowan released her, her legs were actually trembling.

“I just might change my mind about Flamingo Beach,” he said. “Give me a little more encouragement like that. Invite me in for a cup of coffee and we can talk about my staying.”

Emilie's fingers outlined lips that still tingled.

“Not a good idea, but the guard at the front desk can call you a taxi if you don't want to drive.”

He laughed. “You're a hard woman. Lucky for you I'm a patient man. I'll wait for Harbour Island for our second go round.”

“Don't get your hopes up,” Emilie called over her shoulder as she swung through the frosted double doors. “You promised me separate bedrooms and I expect you to honor your word.”

“P
lan on breaking ground late next week,” Keith Lightfoot announced. “By then the crew we need to get started should be here.”

“What about permits? Those could take some time,” Mack Allen, the engineer brought in from out of town, asked.

“We've got that covered.” Priddy seemed confident. His arms were folded across his chest. “Permits are the least of our problems.”

Rowan, who was part of the meeting at the resort, recalled Emilie's interest in Mack Allen. He didn't think anything had come of it, at least nothing he was aware of. Gossip being what it was in Flamingo Beach, he would have heard about it.

Mack Allen was no one's fool. In the brief time he'd been in town he seemed to already have figured out both the players and the politics. Rowan had seen the way he operated; the engineer was, if nothing else, politically astute.

“There are still some permits that haven't come through,” Rowan reminded the people who had gathered. None of their offices had been big enough to accommodate the participants, and a decision had been made to rent a meeting room.

“They'll come through,” a confident Stephen Priddy said, preening. “No need to lose sleep over any of this. The mayor's on our side. He knows the importance of bringing this project in on schedule.”

One of the top executives Landsdale International had flown in from their headquarters, and who had earlier voiced his concerns, seemed mollified by Stephen's assurances.

“It's good the mayor and city council are on our side,” he said. “It makes things so much easier when we have political backing.”

Yes, it did make things easier, but Rowan couldn't help having reservations about Solomon Rabinowitz. The mayor already had controversy surrounding him. Those rumors about him taking kickbacks were more than a little disconcerting. Rowan hoped the pompous fool didn't let his arrogance cloud his good judgment. More than one politician had taken a fall for being unethical. Flamingo Beach was too small a town to pull anything shady and it would only be a matter of time before he got caught.

According to the buzz, the mayor's last election had been rigged, though no one had concrete proof. But many were just sitting around waiting to find something else they could pin on him. Rowan tried again focusing on the conversation. His responsibility was to get the project in on time. He didn't have to like any of these people. Once he'd accomplished that he would be well on his way.

Yet his concentration was way off today. In his mind he was already on Harbour Island in the company of a woman he'd had erotic dreams about. Try as he might, Emilie kept popping into his fantasies at the most inconvenient moments. He'd planned a memorable weekend for them. First he'd meet Brian Lanterman as agreed, maybe even go fishing with him. While pretending to reel in a big one, they could discuss the plans to develop his land. The rest of the time would be spent with Emilie.

A man of his word, he'd made reservations for two rooms, but he hoped that the sleeping situation would change as the weekend progressed. He was counting on it.

“Did I hear you weren't available this weekend?” Keith Lightfoot asked, jolting Rowan back to the present. “I was about to suggest we all get together for a round of golf.”

“Normally I'd be jumping at that offer but I already have a commitment out of town,” Rowan answered.

“And we're catching early morning flights tomorrow,” the other Landsdale executive said. “You gentlemen have it well in hand and there's no real reason to stick around.”

Rowan glanced at his watch. He agreed. There was nothing more to be accomplished here. Things had gone much smoother than on many other projects he'd worked on. There were no citizens picketing the casino site or squawking loudly for the city council to intervene. Sure, the newspapers continued to have a field day, and Tre and Jen had enough material for several more lively broadcasts, but overall everything was a go.

“I'm going to have to leave,” Rowan said. “My plane's already here.”

“Keep your cell phone on in case we need to reach you,” Priddy instructed.

“I'll have my BlackBerry with me.” What Rowan didn't say was that he hoped his BlackBerry didn't work on Harbour Island.

“I can handle anything that comes up,” Derek assured them. “In fact, Mack, if you want to have coffee or a drink afterward I can bring you up to speed as to where we are.”

“I'm going to take off, then.” Mentally, Rowan had already left.

Keith Lightfoot ended the meeting and the men filed out.

Rowan had his garment bag stashed in the front seat of his truck. It was now just a case of picking up Emilie. Brian Lanterman's pilot was already at the airport waiting. An interesting long weekend lay ahead.

What a crappy day it had been so far. Emilie couldn't wait for it to end. An incentive sales group hadn't shown up and now everyone was finger-pointing. The corporate agent claimed the hotel's reservation agent had made a mistake, and that it was the following week she'd said. Obviously she hadn't looked at her written confirmation or the e-mails the Flamingo Beach Spa and Resort had sent as a follow-up. But she was the customer and that couldn't be pointed out.

Even worse, the hotel could not accommodate the two-hundred-plus people who were in the incentive group's Winners Circle. And there was no five-star hotel in the vicinity to walk them to.

Regardless of who was wrong, Emilie just couldn't afford to lose the business. She was driving the hotel's group sales manager crazy, pushing her hard to figure out a way to make this happen. She'd also gotten on the individual reservations manager asking her to double-check to make sure all guests that were currently booked for that time planned on showing up. She just knew they all wanted to kill her.

On top of all that, a guest had left the water in one of the sinks running causing one of the rooms to flood. When the ceiling in the bathroom below caved in, it created additional problems. Normally that would not be Emilie's area, but housekeeping already had their hands full with backed-up toilets and a few trashed rooms. Two housekeepers had called in sick so she'd had no choice but to pitch in.

Emilie had hoped to be able to run home and take a quick shower before heading off for Harbour Island. Now it didn't look like that would happen. She'd coaxed Joya into looking in on Big Red just to make sure the cat didn't eat all of the food she'd left out the first time around. Thankfully she'd brought her luggage with her.

When Emilie's cell phone rang she grimaced. In her business she had to be flexible, but she was so looking forward to her minivacation and anything could be coming at her over that phone.

Rowan's sexy drawl filled her ear. “Hey, babe, you ready to go?”

Was she ever. It didn't pay to sound too excited though. He might get the false impression that her excitement had something to do with him.

“I'll be in the lobby in ten minutes,” she said.

Those minutes would give her time to scramble out of her business suit, run a brush through her hair and touch up her makeup. She had no intention of arriving at Harbour Island looking as if she'd just left a boardroom. When she got back hopefully there would be good news about moving the jam session to the resort. Lord knew she needed good news.

Emilie used the bathroom to quickly change into shorts and a strapless top then shoved her feet into sandals. The humidity had turned her hair into an uncontrollable frizzy mess so on went a baseball cap. Grabbing her bag, she headed down to the lobby.

When she got off the elevator she spotted Rowan talking to Derek and Mack Allen. Mack she hadn't seen since the Passion Party and given their flirtatious conversation she actually felt guilty going away for the weekend with one of the men he was talking to.

Rowan waved her over. Hard to ignore them now. A huge grin made his face come alive as his eyes roamed over her appreciatively.

“You look nice and relaxed,” he said when she approached, for once keeping his hands to himself, and giving no indication that the two of them had plans for the weekend.

He must have come from a meeting because his usual faded jeans had been replaced by a pair of pressed Dockers and a polo shirt.

“Hi,” Derek said, greeting her. His expression gave nothing away. Emilie couldn't tell whether he knew of their plans or not. “Mack,” he said, turning to the other man, “you've met Emilie, right?”

“I sure have,” the engineer answered, giving her a great big smile. “In fact she promised to show me around when she has time.”

Emilie didn't quite remember the conversation going that way, but best to let it go. She smiled back. Rowan's initial animation dimmed a little. His blue eyes now seemed cold and his smile wintry.

“Emilie, you ready?”

He was staking claim to her.

In the parking lot he said, “Can we take your Saab? The truck has no trunk. I'd have to put the luggage in the bed and it could fall out.”

“No problem.”

Rowan helped her put their bags in the trunk and Emilie retracted the convertible roof before handing him her key.

“I'm driving?” he asked, clearly surprised.

“Yes, sir. I need a catnap just to get my energy going.”

As they roared out of the lot, Derek and Mack emerged. Emilie wasn't sure whether the two men saw them, but she could guarantee before the day was over word would be all over town that they were off on some sordid adventure.

Flamingo Beach's small executive airport was about a ten-minute ride and located in one of the more rural parts of town. It reminded Emilie more of a mowed farmer's field than an actual runway. There was no tower and no terminal to speak of. The hangar where the planes were sometimes kept overnight served multiple purposes.

After parking the Saab, Rowan helped Emilie out. He took his luggage with him and ducked into the men's bathroom, emerging shortly after more comfortably attired in baggy shorts and a linen shirt. A pair of aviator glasses now sat on top of his head. He looked very much the relaxed businessman on his way to a fun weekend. He took her hand.

“Shall we find our pilot?”

“Sure.”

Emilie walked through the huge hangar noting the planes being serviced and then onto an active runway.

A plane painted in vivid blue and yellow colors with B & L, the corporate insignia, on the tail was parked and waiting. A sandy-haired man dressed in shorts and a polo shirt in the same bright colors loped toward them.

“Mr. James?” When Rowan nodded he reached for their bags. “I'm Cory, your attendant. The pilot's waiting to go.”

After stowing their bags, he helped Emilie up the steps and into the plane. Rowan was right behind her. The interior was upholstered in the signature blue and yellow although slightly more muted. They were the only two passengers in the eight-seater interior.

“Welcome aboard,” the pilot said, poking his head out of the cockpit. “Take a seat and strap in, please. Cory will take good care of you. We'll be airborne in roughly ten minutes and in Harbour Island in a little over one hour.”

The attendant handed them plastic glasses of champagne.

“A little libation to start your weekend off on the right note. I'll be back to collect your glasses in a few minutes.”

“To a relaxing, fun-filled weekend,” Rowan said, clinking his glass against hers.

“I'll drink to that.”

Sipping on her drink, she closed her eyes and listened to the Cessna's engines. Soon the plane began rolling down the runway and Cory was back to get their glasses and check to see if their seat belts were secured. Rowan held her hand all during the ascent. She must have drifted off because her next memory was of being shaken awake.

“You're missing some very tasty lobster,” Rowan said, tempting her with the fork he held very close to her nose.

She rubbed her eyes and said groggily, “Did I snore?”

“Louder than a bear.”

“You're lying,” she said.

He laughed and held the fork of lobster in nibbling distance.

“Just taste. If you like it you can have your own plate.”

“Delish.” Emilie smacked her lips.

Rowan was right on top of it, calling Cory over, who then graciously brought her food.

An announcement soon came from the cockpit.

“Time to buckle up. We'll be landing at Eleuthera in approximately ten minutes.”

Below, the turquoise water held an assortment of small craft. On shore, pastel houses were graced with galvanized roofs. Emilie had read that Harbour Island had a three-mile beach with pink sand. She couldn't wait to participate in the water sports and try the delicious cracked conch the island was known for. She was excited by the prospect of visiting one of the smaller Bahamian islands because it would be a different experience. Everyone went to Nassau and Freeport, but seldom ventured from there.

At the North Eleuthera Airport they were met by one of Brian Lanterman's employees. He drove them to a dock, and as the sun dipped in the sky, the private motorboat pulled into Harbour Island. A few minutes later they'd checked into the Hibiscus Inn.