The Bad Boys of Eden (45 page)

Chapter Eight

Leila blinked once, then her eyes flew open. The room was dim, the light subdued, and for a moment she was disoriented. She turned to the bedside table, picked up her watch, and squinted. It was past breakfast. Then a flash of lightning lit the room, a boom of thunder following a moment later. She sat up as the heavy raindrops hit the window.

Her heart sank; she’d probably missed her critique with Cheryl. The last thing she wanted—needed—was to disappoint the woman who’d given her this amazing opportunity.

Throwing back the sheet, she grabbed the robe from the foot of her bed and ran to the door, flinging it open. On the silver tray was an envelope, thicker than yesterday’s. Leila let out a sigh of relief. It was a written critique. She snatched up the envelope, turning back to her room.

Her eyes fell on the door and her heart sank for a moment, her dream coming back to her. She glared at the figure of the man, the image of Sebastian’s face impressed in her mind. It was just a dream, but it felt so very real.

The critique from Cheryl lifted Leila’s spirits. She read the pages eagerly, rereading certain pages and passages. Cheryl thought the conflict scene was particularly well written, the emotions between the couple deep and authentic.

Cheryl then gave Leila her last assignment, bringing her characters back together and giving them a happily-ever-after ending. She encouraged Leila to keep the pace of the story moving, to make the reunion realistic and believable and then leave the reader with a well-planned final scene showing her characters together.

The last page wasn’t part of the critique. It was a note from Cheryl explaining that the next day would be Leila’s last. Cheryl asked to meet Leila at breakfast for one final critique of the final scenes of the book, the scenes bringing her hero and heroine back together. Then the seaplane would take Leila to Miami, the charter flight returning her to New York.

Leila finally set the pages on the bed, leaning back against the headboard. She was excited to reunite her characters and finish her manuscript.

But she was sad to think she only had the rest of the day and the next morning on the island. Her time with Cheryl had flown by and even though she’d felt she’d learned so much, she wished she could stay longer.

But what broke Leila’s heart was the realization she would never know for sure who—or what—Sebastian was.

With a sigh, she went to the desk to retrieve the writer’s box and a supply of paper. Curling up in the bed, she stacked the pillows behind her back, setting a fresh piece of paper on the top of the box.

Leila was going to bring her characters back together, come hell or high water. She paused, listening to the rain, chewing on the end of her pen. Then it came to her and she began writing.

Everything came together, the idea for the reconciliation, the way it happened. Leila outlined every scene carefully, wanting to save the best until last. She went back, adding details, filling in the dialog, layering emotions and feelings.

She finally came to the last scene, anticipation rising. For the first time, Leila was completely confident in what she was writing, how the scene would go, the exact words that would convey exactly what she wanted to say.

And then she was done. She sat back, drew a deep breath, and exhaled. It was finished. Her hero and heroine were reunited, the conflict resolved, their future secure. She had the happily ever after ending she wanted, the ending her characters deserved. Her story—their story—was finished.

Leila stretched, working the kinks out of her neck and shoulders. She felt exhilarated and exhausted at the same time. But it was a hard won exhaustion and a deep satisfaction, knowing she’d written something pretty amazing.

The storm was still raging outside, rain pelting the windows. She folded the pages, opened the door, and set them on the silver salver. Sitting beside the tray was a pot of coffee, a pitcher of juice, and a tray of pastries.

It was long past breakfast, but Leila found she was ravenous. She took the tray back to bed and devoured the pastries, bypassing the cold coffee for a glass of juice.

Finally, she sat back, licking the last of the pastry filling from her fingers. There was nothing more to write. It felt strange to have nothing to do, no more story to tell.

The rain had stopped, the pale yellow sun filling her room. A walk would do her good, maybe lift the funk she was in. She took a shower, lingering beneath the fall of hot water.

The wardrobe yielded a long dress, flowing and floating and utterly romantic. She pulled it over her head, letting the billowy fabric fall to the floor. The image of Sebastian came to her unbidden, his hands on her, tearing the dress from her body, exposing her breasts, leaning down to kiss them.

His face was etched in her mind. She’d memorized every feature: the green eyes, the startling ring of blue around the iris. The way his mouth turned up just at one corner.

She shook herself. Fantasies like that weren’t going to do her any good. If the day were to play out like the previous one had, Sebastian wasn’t going to appear. She’d written the scenes and, for the most part, he’d followed them. Now she’d written the conflict, the scenes that tore her hero and heroine apart. They were no more. She and Sebastian were no more.

Leila walked down the stairs and out the castle’s front door. The grass was wet, the world alive with the sounds of water dripping from the leaves. For a moment, she stood on the wide area of grass at the base of the first set of steps.

The lush garden, where Sebastian had last come to her—last made love to her—lay just ahead. But as much as she wanted to go there, she knew he wouldn’t appear. She’d done too good of a job on her novel, written the scenes too well.

She knew in her heart—whether he was real or imaginary—there would be no more visits from Sebastian.

Chapter Nine

Leila’s alarm went off early, jarring her out of a dreamless sleep. She stretched, looking up for the last time at the underside of the canopy. Reluctantly, she climbed out of bed, heading to the bathroom for her shower.

She realized she’d need to wear the clothes she had arrived in. Somewhere in the time she’d been on the island, her clothes had been laundered and hung in the wardrobe. As she slipped into her slacks and blouse, it was like slipping back into her old life. She really was going home to New York.

Cheryl was waiting in the dining room. She rose, kissing Leila’s cheeks.

“Leila, dear. Our last breakfast together, and your last critique. It’s been quite a week for you, hasn’t it?”

Leila set her bag on the floor then sat at the table. Dominick appeared at her elbow, pouring her coffee. As she stirred in sugar and cream, Cheryl watched her over the rim of her cup.

“I must say, Leila, I’ve been very impressed with your work. You’ve created a fresh story, with vibrant characters and a compelling relationship between them. The conflict was believable and heart wrenching, and your ending is satisfying. Even your secondary characters have life and depth. That’s not always easy to do.”

“Thank you, Cheryl. It means a great deal to hear you say that. Now what? What’s the next step?”

“You have a manuscript to be proud of. I suggest you set it aside for a few weeks, let it rest in your mind. Then give it a very good read through, looking for any typos or missing words, plot holes, inconsistencies.”

Cheryl smiled. “I must admit, I’m notorious for leaving out words in my first draft. My brain goes much faster than my fingers can. And then, well…you’ll submit your manuscript.”

Cheryl reached for a small card, sliding it toward Leila. “This is the contact number for my agent. I’ve let her know about you.”

Leila was stunned. She accepted the card from Cheryl, a broad smile on her face. “Oh, Cheryl, thank you! I can’t tell you how grateful I am for this.”

Cheryl held up her hand. “Please, Leila. It’s my pleasure. But your manuscript will have to stand on its own merits. My agent isn’t taking a look just because I’ve been working with you.”

“I understand. And I appreciate that. I really do.”

“It’s what writers do for each other. Someday, you can help someone else.”

“So this is it, then?” Leila sat back. “I’m headed home.”

“You are. And you’re ready. Believe me, it’ll be work, but you can do it, Leila. Here.” She slid a thick envelope across the table toward Leila. “Your manuscript. The original.”

Cheryl rose. “Come. Dominick will walk you down to the dock.”

Leila followed Cheryl down the hall to the front door. Dominick was waiting, holding her overnight bag. Leila turned back.

“Cheryl, it’s been an honor. Thank you again.” Leila extended her hand, but Cheryl ignored it, drawing her into a hug.

She patted Leila’s back briefly before holding her at arm’s length. “Dear, you’ll be just fine. Work hard, don’t hold back…and be authentic, write the truth. That’s all I ask.”

Leila held the envelope and the card in her hands. Dominick opened the door, holding it for Leila. She walked out into the bright morning sunlight.

They walked to the dock in silence. At some point, Leila became aware of the drone of the seaplane. She looked up, shaded her eyes, and watched as it circled the island, dropping below the trees.

“She’s right on time. You’ll have no trouble in Miami meeting your charter.” Dominick turned, smiling. “Your return trip should be trouble free.”

They reached the small beach. Leila watched as the plane came slowly toward them. Dominick repeated his earlier performance of grabbing the strut and guiding the plane against the dock. Joely cut the engine and Dominick opened the door to the plane. He called to Leila.

“Ms. Connors? If you’re ready?”

She wasn’t, but it was time to leave.

* * *

She watched the castle through the plane window as they circled the island. Then Joely turned the plane across the ocean, and the island slid out of sight.

Leila was silent as they flew toward Miami. She had no questions to ask Joely on the return trip, at least none she could possibly answer.

They landed smoothly. Leila thanked her and quickly climbed out of the plane. She was met by Mr. Hayward, just as impeccably dressed as he had been when she first met him. He escorted her into the terminal. Instead of the calm, ordered space she’d seen last time, there was a noisy group occupying the waiting area.

“Welcome, Ms. Connors. I trust you had a pleasant visit.” Mr. Hayward raised his voice over the noise of the group, in particular a blonde girl with a loud voice, currently with a cell phone held to her ear.

“I did, thank you, Mr. Hayward.”

“Excellent. Your charter is waiting.” He hesitated, his cheerful façade fading for an instant. “There is, however, a small, shall we say, alteration in the plans.”

Leila frowned. “Alteration?” She glanced at the group milling around.

“Just a slight change. There will be a few other passengers on your flight to New York. It seems there was a bit of confusion with their return flight and, well…” He spread his hands.

“They’d be stranded otherwise?”

“So you see the dilemma. I do apologize. But I have no control over who flies on which plane. I only check passports.”

“I see.”

Leila’s mood deteriorated quickly. Mr. Hayward did what was necessary with her passport and she was led to a much larger plane than she’d ridden in from New York. The group she was with were noisy, the voluptuous blonde’s attitude almost larger than life. She made it clear she was unhappy with the alterations to their travel plans, although the rest of the group seemed to be taking the change of plans in stride.

The group had boarded the plane first, leaving Leila to take the last available seat near the front of the plane next to a tall dark-haired guy who glanced up briefly as she sat, then gave her a long lingering look and a smile that told her he was going to be nothing but trouble on the flight home.

“I’m Jeremy.” He held out his hand. Leila looked at it a moment, then shook it.

“I’m Leila.”

“Leila. Pretty name. Little old-fashioned, but pretty.” He leaned on the armrest between them. “Like you.”

“Jeremy, for God’s sake. We’re not even off the ground yet.”

Leila glanced at the man who spoke, a dark-haired, wildly gorgeous man sitting across the aisle from her. He frowned at Jeremy before turning away.

Jeremy chuckled and turned back to Leila, leaning on the armrest between them. “Ignore my band mate. He’s just a little uptight from being away from his girl Kate for too long.” He tapped his temple. “Thinks too much.”

Leila nodded absently. “I see.” She avoided eye contact, hoping he’d give up the chase. She watched the flight attendant make her way down the aisle, offering drinks.

“You know who we are, right? This here is Gage Stevens, international Rock God.”

Jeremy sat back as if it was a foregone conclusion Leila would know what that meant. She shook her head.

“Sorry. I’m not much on current music.”

“Well, then tonight’s your lucky night.” Jeremy grinned. “You can come to the show, be my guest. Backstage passes, after party. The works.” He leaned closer, his hand on her arm. “I can make it an evening you’ll never forget.”

Before Leila could answer, the engines of the plane revved and the plane started its taxi down the runway. Excited murmurs rose from the other passengers, drowning out her thoughts.

The flight home seemed even longer, and far more tedious, than her trip to the island. Her mind kept going back to the last time she’d been with Sebastian in the garden. Her skin still tingled at the memory, a deep warmth lingering deep in her center.

But then images from her dream crowded in: the man taking her so ruthlessly in her bed and how much she wanted him. And then Sebastian’s face, filled with pain, filled with betrayal. Her betrayal.

Jeremy kept up a steady chatter in her ear, leaning closer, first resting his hand on her arm, and then, to her astonishment, sliding his fingers down to her knee.

That was more than Leila could stand. Her hand shot out, covering his. At first, Jeremy’s eyes lit up, but then he frowned as she pried his fingers away from her leg.

“Stop, Jeremy. Please. I don’t want to be rude, but…I’m not interested.” Despite trying to keep her voice down, it rose above the other voices in the plane. There was a beat of silence and then she heard scattered laughter from the back.

“Shot down again, Jeremy? Your streak’s unbroken.”

Leila looked up. A full-figured brunette stood in the aisle next to their seats, her long brown hair tied back, a mischievous grin on her face.

“Dana Marshall. So cruel. I’m not shot down…Leila just needs to spend a little more time with me to understand my charms.”

“Leave the poor girl alone.” Dana shook her head, walking back to her seat.

Jeremy turned back to Leila, his next pick up line already on his lips, but he was interrupted by the flight attendance’s appearance at the front of the plane. “Ladies and gentlemen, we’re ready to start our descent into New York City. If you’ll take your seats, please, and fasten your seat belts, we’ll have you on the ground shortly.”

Leila busied herself with her seat belt, relieved they were finally close to landing. Her nerves were frayed, not only from sitting next to Jeremy, fending off his advances, but with thoughts of Sebastian and the disturbingly arousing images from the dream. She was ready for her apartment.

The plane made a smooth landing at the airfield. Much to her relief, Jeremy became engrossed in a conversation with a man with piercing blue eyes and what looked like another rock star…Logan MacKenzie, she thought someone called him. When he turned away to answer, she hurried down the steps, out of the plane, and onto the tarmac.

She stopped short. This was a different airstrip than where the helicopter taken her on Sunday and where the smaller Learjet had left, bound for Miami. She was momentarily confused, trying to get her bearings. Behind her, she heard Jeremy’s voice calling to her. All she wanted now was someone to take her to the next plane, or helicopter, that would get her closer to her apartment.

“Ms. Connors?”

Leila turned toward the voice. A man dressed in a crisp limo driver’s uniform and hat stood, hands folded in front of him, smiling.

“If you’ll come with me, I’ll take you home.”

* * *

The ride was surprisingly brief. Leila sat in the backseat of the long black limo, in air-conditioned silence, watching New York flash past her windows. The limo turned down her street, and then it pulled up in front of her building.

The driver stepped out, walked around the limo, and opened the door for Leila. She hesitated in the open door, looking up at her apartment building, then stepped out onto the sidewalk. New York came rushing up to her, all the sounds and smells, traffic noises, the diesel fumes surrounding her. Finally, she was home.