So Sensitive (34 page)

“Whenever that might be,” Joe grumbled, although he didn’t look put out and rocked back on his heels again. Work was hard to find. Joe wouldn’t complain about too many hours. “Let me know when you’re ready to reroof that old house. I can’t believe you’re living out there the way it is now.”

“I manage, and wil do. Hopeful y soon.” He’d heard enough comments about his choice to live in the dilapidated plantation house. He was saving money by not paying a second mortgage or rent. Not to mention by living there he had discovered other things that needed fixing that he might not have noticed until after he’d opened his doors for business.

Ric waved at Joe over his shoulder as he strol ed into the lobby. He had only been in the hotel a couple times, the last time to help lay carpet with a job he got with Joe several months ago. Just as the last time, Ric entered a different world as he walked across the lobby. He didn’t want to be impressed, but breathtaking was the best way to describe the hotel. Although most of Lanai was breathtaking. After living in the inner city of Los Angeles al his life, he’d seen enough ugliness. Beauty, whether it be skin deep or to the bone, surrounding him every day sure made life seem a lot easier. It was a good thing Ric understood that anything that appeared easy was usual y a hel of a lot harder than something that appeared complicated.

Melinda Sadey worked the front desk and had her eyes on Ric the moment he had arrived on the island. Although he’d flirted with her on a few occasions when he’d been to the bars, she wasn’t his type. Melinda was somewhere between forty-five and fifty-five years old and preferred her men a bit on the younger side. Ric had no intention of ever touching the woman but didn’t mind casual y flirting until she gave him the room numbers of the three rooms booked under Samantha Winston.

Room 201 was a large suite and reserved with very specific instructions. The other two rooms, 211 and 213, were smal er suites alongside each other down the hal from Samantha’s room. Ric didn’t care to speak with her entourage. He got out of the elevator on the second floor and walked to the end of the hal way to the large suite, then rapped firmly on the door.

After knocking a second time, Ric reluctantly approached the two other doors. He didn’t want to speak to hired help, but possibly Samantha was in one of the rooms. He stepped to the nearest of the two and again knocked.

A thin, short-haired man, who was probably in his forties, answered the door at room 213. He didn’t say anything but simply stared at Ric, as if it wasn’t his job to speak and therefore he had no intention of doing so.

“Are you Marc Waters?” Ric asked, and knew by the wary look the man gave him that he was. “I’m here to see Samantha Winston,” he added before Marc could say anything.

“That’s not possible.” Marc cocked his head and made it look like he was trying to look down at Ric. His tone was rather nasal y, stuck-up sounding. “Who are you and what do you want?”

“I just told you what I want,” Ric said, keeping his own tone civil in spite of the urge to push past the man and see if Samantha was in the room. “And I’m Ricardo Karaka, her grandson.”

Marc made a snorting noise and began shutting the door. “Nice try, but Ms. Winston doesn’t have a grandson. If she did, I would know.”

“I am her grandson.” Ric didn’t like doors being shut in his face. He held his hand out, stopping the door. “Her daughter was my mother.”

“Ms. Winston’s daughter is dead.”

“I know. I kil ed her.”

Marc Waters stared at Ric, apparently not having a snooty comeback for that comment. Ric cringed inwardly, aware of the possibility that Ms.

Winston might very wel be in the room, listening to the conversation. It wouldn’t surprise Ric, from what he’d learned of the lady’s personality through her letters, that she would screen cal ers, taking advantage of her presence not being known and gathering what she could about them before agreeing to meet them. She had mentioned once in her letters to him that a woman in business had to be ten times more shrewd than a man, and as she’d put it, especial y in her time, when women weren’t involved in business.

Ric pushed the door open so he could see into the hotel room. Marc Waters instinctively took a step backward. It sounded as if he yelped under his breath. His eyes grew large as he sucked in a breath. If the man thought Ric would get rough with him, that wasn’t Ric’s fault.

“I’ve exchanged quite a few letters with Ms. Winston this past year.” He kept his voice low, almost whispering. “She didn’t know I existed before that, and I wasn’t aware I had family. She told me the dates she would be on the island, and I agreed to come meet her.” He had no intention of getting rough with anyone. It wasn’t his fault he stood six foot two and the man before him was possibly a bit over five and a half feet and one hundred fifty pounds dripping wet.

“Sir, I’ve already told you,” Marc said, stepping back farther, then turning and almost running to a phone on a round table in the middle of the room. “Don’t make me cal security.”

Ric stared at the imbecile facing him, waving the phone at him like a weapon. “Would you like the number?” Ric wasn’t sure if the man was going to start crying or piss his pants.

Marc Waters humphed, straightened, and looked to his side, through open glass doors that led to the bedroom half of the suite. “Al I need for you to do is leave, Mr. Karaka.” The man pul ed his attention from whoever was in the bedroom and boldly stepped toward Ric. “Ms. Winston isn’t here. I can’t change that for you.”

“When wil she return?”

“She isn’t going to return because she never came here in the first place.”

“Marc? What’s wrong?” a woman asked, peering around the opened doors. Her question was unnecessary, since if she’d been in that room the entire time, there was no way she’d missed Ric and Marc’s conversation.

The woman had incredibly captivating hair. Golden highlights wrapped around darker auburn strands. It flowed past her shoulders in thick, heavy curls. She had it pul ed back at her nape, but the hair tie constricting those locks wasn’t strong enough to confine al of it. Loose strands contoured her face. Ric had never seen such beautiful hair on a woman.

She looked at him and her blue eyes brightened. Her lips were natural y red and moist. She pursed them, looking as if she would blow a kiss.

His insides tightened. She was beyond ravishing. Her high cheekbones and cute, slender nose helped show off her intoxicating beauty. There was something about her, beyond the obvious sexual appeal, that made Ric’s dick stir to life. If he stared a moment longer, desires way too dark for someone who was probably related to him would surface and fog his focused thinking. He needed to remember why he was here.

“Is something wrong, Marc?” she asked, rephrasing the question as she gave Ric an appraising once-over.

“Nothing!” Marc waved an impatient hand at her. “Go into the room and close the doors.”

The woman tilted her head, looking amused when she shifted her attention to Marc.

Ric immediately wanted her attention back on him.

“I said now.” Marc apparently needed reassurance he was the man to listen to in someone’s eyes. His chest puffed out when the young lady disappeared behind the connecting doors and closed them behind her.

“We were supposed to get together today.” It wasn’t completely a lie. He’d told Samantha in his last letter to her, which he’d mailed just a couple weeks ago, that he would contact her once she arrived on the island. “There wasn’t an exact time set for our meeting, though,” he added. “Now what do you mean she never came in the first place?”

“Samantha Winston isn’t on the island.” Marc had retrieved his bal s and stalked around Ric to the door, then opened it, making a gesture with his hand. “Leave a card with me and when we discuss matters with her next, I’l let her know you were here.”

Ric turned slowly, the smal man’s words not sinking in. “She isn’t coming to the island?”

“Samantha Winston decided not to travel at this time. Apparently meeting you didn’t seem that important to her.”

Marc’s words cut deeper than if he’d stabbed Ric with a knife. It took more than a moment to master the rage that took over the rush of desire from a moment ago. Samantha Winston wasn’t coming. She’d changed her mind and decided not to visit the island. The truth hit him in the face but was damn hard to accept. Samantha had said they would meet and hadn’t struck him as a woman to go back on her word.

“It’s time for you to leave, Mr. Karaka,” Marc said sternly. “We’l make sure to tel Ms. Winston you stopped by.”

It had been the letters. They were such an odd way of communicating. It had tricked Ric and he’d fal en into the trap. No one wrote letters.

They e-mailed, texted, talked on the phone. The only letters that existed were junk mail. No one read them, just threw them away without a second look.

Samantha Winston’s letters had given him the power to dream. She’d been inquisitive about his past, present, and future. Her perfect penmanship and the quality writing paper she’d used had added to the personality of her he’d created in his mind. Although he hadn’t penmanship and the quality writing paper she’d used had added to the personality of her he’d created in his mind. Although he hadn’t mentioned converting the old banana plantation into a bed-and-breakfast—he’d wanted to discuss that with her in person—the many other ventures he’d told her he’d undertaken over the years had impressed her. Samantha Winston had expressed her opinion of Ric. She’d thought him intel igent, levelheaded, and driven.

Without Samantha Winston’s backing, the hotel would take a lot longer to do. If the place didn’t start making money within the next year—if not sooner—Ric would be forced to find a ful -time job to make the mortgage. He wouldn’t have time, or energy, to restore the house. He’d be stuck in a dead-end job.

He’d been one hel of a goddamn idiot.

His movements were stiff when he turned from Marc, left the hotel suite, and took the stairs instead of the elevator to the lobby. It wasn’t enough to ease the rage growing inside him.

Ric wanted to hit something, pound it until it didn’t exist anymore. He was a fool. The humiliation rose like bile in the back of his throat.

Nothing had ever pissed him off more. Ric had banked on sealing the deal based on letters with Samantha. His grandfather was right: Ric didn’t get family.

He ignored Melinda’s singsong voice when she cal ed out his name. The bright midmorning sunshine annoyed the hel out of him for the first time since he’d moved here. The only thing worse than dealing with an idiot was behaving like one.

“Ricardo! Wait!”

Ric spun around before reaching his truck, the anger on his face apparent enough that the young lady he’d damn near drooled over in the hotel suite slid to a stop. She looked at him, her face flushed, while her unique hair color captured the rays of the sun and added to her radiance.

The smal est amount of sanity crawled back into his brain. “It’s Ric, and what?” he demanded.

“Samantha told me you would be one of the appointments.”

“I’m flattered I’m not the only appointment she blew off.”

She wasn’t very tal . He could see her crooked part and how strands that were different shades were pul ed back, crossing over each other and confined in her hair clasp. Her skin was creamy white, not tanned like most women he knew. Her sleeveless blouse was silk, her skirt probably also pricey. It was a bit odd that she was chasing him down instead of sending the skinny, obnoxious man to do it for her. He wondered how she was related to Samantha Winston.

Or maybe they weren’t related. Possibly this pretty young thing was Samantha’s employee. She just indicated she knew the old lady’s schedule. Her bright, beautiful eyes looked up at him with interest and curiosity. But how much curiosity? She had the edge on him. She would know if they were related since she’d overheard him tel Marc Waters he was Samantha Winston’s grandson. Ric stared into her blue eyes, accentuated with a golden brown shade of eye makeup. Eyeliner drew attention to her eyes, making them look larger. She wore a lot of makeup for an employee, but didn’t behave like a rich girl raised with servants at her beck and cal .

“My name is Jenny, Jenny Rogers.” She stuck her hand out, her arm straight, and waited for him to take it. “You’re Ricardo Karaka, or Ric. I overheard you when you first came into the room and spoke with Marc.”

“And how are you related to Samantha?” he asked, wrapping his long fingers around her smal , warm hand.

“I’m not.” Her mouth was open to say more, but she didn’t.

Ric held her hand in his and brushed his thumb over her wrist. Her heartbeat trembled under his touch, beating rapidly when he held her hand a moment longer than he normal y would when shaking a stranger’s hand. She wasn’t nervous, at least not to the point where her palm would be damp. He made her cautious, though.

“Why did you come after me?” he asked, keeping his voice low. He didn’t see Joe at the moment, but if Ric was spotted carrying on a conversation with a hot lady no one knew, it would take moments to hit the island grapevine.

When he released her hand, Jenny clasped her fingers together. Maybe she was nervous. He was usual y dead-on when deciphering the mood of another person. Something about this sexy lady, with her many different shades of auburn hair, was harder to reach. It was as if she were one person on the surface and an entirely different person deep down inside.

“Can we speak inside? Possibly in the lobby?” Jenny gestured with her hand.

He cocked his head, imagining what she might want to discuss with him. “What’s wrong with right here?”

Jenny glanced at the ground, then shot furtive looks at the surrounding parked cars. His truck was just a couple cars away. Colby must have been content with her bone because she hadn’t spotted him and started howling. Ric kept his gaze focused on Jenny’s when she finished her scan of their surroundings and returned her attention to him.