The Wedding Fling. Meg Maguire

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      “Thank you,” Leigh said.

      Will didn’t leave, and she bit her lip. His proximity made her feel funny. Naked. “Sorry. Am I supposed to tip you?”

      He smiled. “I’m driving you to your villa, once you’ve checked in.”

      “You do that, too?”

      “I do for that unit. It’s not far from my place.”

      “Okay.”

      “And you may tip me for that, incidentally.”

      Leigh’s retort was cut off as a harried young Caribbean woman appeared.

      “So sorry to keep you waitin’. Mrs. Cosenza?” Ah, another dagger in the breast.

      “Miss Bailey,” Will corrected, tucking his hands in his pockets.

      The woman looked to Leigh. “Oh?”

      “Yes, just me. It’s under Cosenza, but I… Well, anyhow. Change of plans.” She ought to have that printed on a T-shirt.

      The woman got busy typing. “So only one key, then. No problem at all. You’re in the Shearwater Villa.” She procured a plastic card and swiped it across a device before handing it to Leigh. “Let me jus’ get a driver ‘round for you.”

      “I’m on it,” Will said.

      The woman frowned first at him, then Leigh. “You really want this bum escortin’ you?”

      Leigh looked from one to the other.

      The woman laughed. “Just kiddin’—you’re in good hands. Terrible vehicle, but very good hands. Now anything you need, you’ll find the phone numbers in the binder waitin’ on your coffee table. You have a lovely visit, miss.”

      Leigh followed Will outside to a small parking lot.

      He held up her suitcase. “Anything delicate in here?”

      “Nope.”

      “Good.”

      They walked past several shiny white SUVs to a rusty old pickup. Will put her bag in the bed. He opened the passenger side and once again Leigh buckled herself in as copilot.

      Will slid behind the wheel. Just to test him, she tapped the dashboard provocatively.

      “Go nuts. It’s only the plane I’m a fascist about.” The truck started with a mournful noise. He drove them onto a smooth gravel road, heading inland. Leigh unrolled her window to hear the birds and welcome the sun on her arm.

      “Final leg of your great escape,” Will said.

      She nodded.

      “How long do you get to play fugitive, before you turn yourself in?”

      “Two weeks.”

      “Very nice.”

      Already this place had her pain fading to a dull throb. Reality could shove it, as long as she was in paradise. She smiled at the decadence of the idea and shut her eyes, angling her face to catch the sunshine.

      “Two weeks of surf and sand and rum,” Will said, giving voice to her thoughts.

      “And silence.”

      “My mistake.”

      “We have plenty of surf and sand and rum in Los Angeles, anyway. I picked this place for the seclusion.” She turned to smirk at him. “How did you end up down here, anyhow?”

      He made a face as though he’d never considered it before. “Got my pilot’s license when I was nineteen, moved to Cancún. Moved to Nassau. San Juan. Woke up here seven years ago.”

      Sounded a bit like Leigh’s life, waking up somewhere unexpected… only this man had flown himself to his destination, whereas she’d merely let herself be shuttled. She was done being swept. She might not know where she ultimately wanted to end up, but she’d brought herself this far, and against everyone’s wishes. Felt awfully good. She eyed Will’s hands on the wheel, wishing she was driving.

      The truck trundled out of a small palm forest and past a tiny settlement of colorful houses on stilts, all of the milling residents unmistakably island people. Will raised his hand at everyone who greeted him, and engaged in a playful fake argument with one of the men, laughing as he turned his attention back to the road. How weird it must be to live someplace where friends were the vast majority of the people one encountered, strangers the oddities. Weird and comforting.

      “What is that… area?”

      “The shanty town? That’s where all us commoners hang out when we’re not fluffing your pillows or spit-shining your bidets.”

      “A whole town, just to make the visitors at four measly villas happy…”

      “Easier said than done.”

      She got stuck staring at his arm for a moment, tanned skin and trim muscle beside cream-colored linen. “Which came first, the town or the resort?”

      “Resort. This place was human-free until it got developed fifteen years ago.”

      “What’s there to do in town?”

      Will laughed. “For you? Nothing. Just a bunch of rowdy resort rats drinking and dancing and saying all the stuff we’re not allowed to when guests are within earshot.”

      “Dancing?”

      “Stick with the spa treatments. Your villa’s got everything you’ll need, a speed-dial for your every whim.”

      “Maybe my whims don’t come on silver platters,” Leigh said, and the skeptical, bawdy glance Will shot her made heat bloom unbidden in her middle. She took her shades off to glare at him properly. “Not like that, Captain Pervert. Just, I don’t know. Maybe I’d like to get out and explore. Meet the locals.”

      “If you wanted that, you wouldn’t have come to this place. But if you need a lift to Bridgetown I leave here at ten and two, seven days a week. Plus special trips for a steep fee. Can’t fly after dark, so book a place to stay on the mainland if you’re looking to party.”

      She nodded, committing the times to memory.

      “Here we are,” Will announced, driving them up to a stately yet modern stucco building with vast windows—so vast Leigh could see the ocean clear through the other side. “Wow.”

      “Wow…” Will echoed, pulling around the circular drive. They exited and he carried her suitcase up a set of wide stone steps.

      “Thank you.” Leigh checked that her key card worked, setting her bag inside before rooting through her purse.

      Will shook his head. “Don’t.”

      “No СКАЧАТЬ