Greed in Paradise (Paradise Series) (8 page)

“When and where is the memorial service?” I asked Violet, trying to hide my loathing.

Her hands clenched. “You’re certainly not invited; in fact, none of you are.” She covered her face and burst into tears.

Tolbert gasped at Violet’s words in shock. “But, Violet. I’d like to have a memorial service.”

“I said no,” she sobbed. “You’re not invited, either.”

The sadness that rolled across Tolbert’s face squeezed my heart. I just wanted to console him…after dragging Violet from her chair by her hair and slapping her senseless.

Fab jumped up and every man watched her wiggle her way out of the office in her tight black skirt, five-inch heels, and chest-hugging pullover top. “Hey, Annie, where’s our water?” she yelled in the hallway.

Strong hands caressed my body. Nimble fingers trailed along my sides, tracing patterns along my arms before sliding up my cheek and softly around my lips. I stirred, and stretched like a lazy cat, smiling, not wanting to leave the warmth of the dream. My eyes opened slowly, taking several seconds to adjust to the predawn light filtering in through my windows. I see the figure lying next to my body and jump, but before I could scream, a hand clamped over my mouth.

“Shh, it’s me,” Creole whispered in my ear, nibbling on the lobe. A sliver of light from the full moon shined across his face through the window.

I hissed, “You’ve got a lot of damned nerve! This is my bedroom, get out.”

“No, I’m being a gentleman.” He kissed the corner of my mouth. “Besides, I came by to check on you.” He wrapped his hands in my shirt and lifted me off the pillow, giving me a slight shake. “I heard about Key West. Where was your Glock?”

“We were back on the Overseas Highway before the bullets flew.” I was extremely grateful Fab and I didn’t end up in the middle of a drug war. Creole’s lips were now a tight hard line. “I had it holstered to the small of my back. And if it gives you peace of mind, I’m not leaving it at home anymore.”

He pushed me back against the pillows, pulling the sheet down a little. “Whose is this?” He fingered the white men’s dress shirt I slept in these days. He threw one of his long legs across my lower body in case I thought about taking flight.

“Mine.” I had donated all old shirts once worn by the ex-boyfriend.

“When are you starting range practice again?” He pulled me hard against his side so that my head rested on his shoulder.

“I booked time with my instructor for next week.”

He wrapped his fingers in my hair, pulling my face up to look at him. He pressed his mouth over mine. “I just worry about you,” he said against my lips.

It felt so good to be trapped like this, powerlessly and breathlessly waiting for his next move. I didn’t have to wait long. His mouth slammed against mine, and his tongue slid into my mouth. He tasted so good. I surrendered willingly.

When he broke the kiss, I moaned. His head tipped, and then moved down again. “I want you,” he growled in my ear. He pulled me back across him and I turned to face him, my head in the middle of his chest. “But not like this. Our first time is not going to be ambush sex.”

I looked up at him. “You’ve given this forgone conclusion some thought, have you?” One more kiss and I could be naked in a hot second.

He held my face in his hand. “I want a real date. During-dinner foreplay,” he said, and bit my lip. “Something intimate, for two, and then I’ll fuck you breathless.” He kissed me again. “It’s going to take hours, not some stupid quickie, although I wouldn’t be adverse to that in the future.”

I struggled to breathe.

He rolled me over and on to my side, wrapping his arms around me and drawing me into the protective curve of his shoulder. I ran all the what-ifs through my mind and how it might affect our family if we got together only to break up.

“Shh.” He patted my head. “You’re thinking too much.” He hooked his leg across my hip, pulling me closer, if that was possible.

After a while I snuggled against him and fell back asleep.

* * *

“I have to leave,” Creole whispered and pulled me to the end of bed. He buried his hand in the hair at the back of my neck, rolling me over, kissing me. Softly at first, his tongue skimmed my lips, forcing them open for a ruthless kiss.

One more, this time gently, he put his lips to mine before leaving the bedroom, my mouth still tingling from his previous kiss. I looked at myself reflected in the mirror, lips reddened and swollen, face flushed, and my hair a wild mess.

I whispered at the top of the stairs, “What are we going to say?”

He looked amused. “About what?” He half dragged me into the kitchen, enjoying my discomfort.

Both Fab and Didier stared as we entered the room; they didn’t hide their shocked looks. We exchanged good mornings and lapsed into an awkward silence. Why was I the only one to look as if I had enjoyed a night of mind-numbing sex? They’d never believe that we had only slept together—I almost didn’t.

Didier recovered first. “If you like it strong, coffee is ready,” he said to Creole, pointing to the fresh pot.

I grabbed mugs from the cupboard. “Don’t forget, barbeque here later.” I looked at Fab. “Are you weaseling out?”

“We’ll be there,” Didier answered for her.

Fab glared at me and had me wondering who she was madder at Creole, for sneaking in past her radar, or me, since she didn’t have the details of last night yet. I liked Creole a lot, now all I needed to do was swallow my fear and agree to a “first date.”

Creole put his arm across my chest, holding me close while he laughed with Didier. One might wonder what a male model and drug enforcement agent had in common, and as it turns out, they both bike to stay in shape. Creole told him about a private beach he’d take him to where they could ride on the sand.

“I have to leave.” Creole wiggled his finger. He took my mug and his and put them in the sink.

I blushed deep red, afraid to close the few steps between us, but my feet had a mind of their own. Please don’t make a scene, I pleaded with my eyes. When I got close enough, his hand snaked out and jerked me into his arms. “Don’t forget your Glock.” He seared my lips with a thorough kiss and squeezed both butt cheeks so hard I squeaked.

To my credit, my knees didn’t cave. I stood at the kitchen window watching him leave. Before getting in his truck, he waved.

“What the hell just happened?” Fab yelled.

Didier smiled his approval at me.

I covered my face. “It’s not what you think.” I laughed, sounding a little unhinged, and ran past them upstairs to my bedroom to relive every moment.

My brother, Brad Westin, had docked his boat; he’s one of the hardest working commercial fishermen, which meant fresh catch for the barbeque today. I whined his ear off on the phone about Mother fixing me up and my yelling and having a public episode.

“Damn, I miss all the good stuff,” he said. “She’d stop if you’d get a boyfriend.”

“I should go rent a guy who’s a total skeeve and scare the heck out of her. Tell her I’m pregnant and expecting a little skeeve.”

“How about we dish up some payback?” Brad’s voice was full of excitement. “I’m going to tell her to leave Spoon with the babysitter, that it’s just the three of us.” Spoon was twelve years younger than Mother, but her genes had been kind so they looked similar in age. Brad and I expressed relief that he wasn’t younger than us. He outlined his idea to ambush Mother with a fix-up.

“Who are you going to get at the last minute?” I asked.

“I’ve been planning this for a while. I played poker with our CPA and some of his cronies, thinking I could fleece them, and barely walked away with money for a soda. I ran the scheme past the boys and Doc Rivers jumped to be bait, saying it sounded like fun. I’ll call him.”

Brad’s plans surprised me. Mother hadn’t meddled in his life since he hooked up with Julie, but she drove him crazy before, like she’s doing to me now. I liked Doc Rivers, a retired doctor who made house calls and was friend to both my late Aunt Elizabeth and Zach. “Doc is perfect as long as he knows it’s a fake setup. What about when Spoon finds out?”

“What’s he going to do?” Brad’s laugh was evil. “I called the cook at Jake’s and gave him a list of what we’d need for dinner, all you need to do is pick it up. Julie is bringing the dessert after Liam decides which one.”

* * *

I loved long showers. Forcing myself to get out, I managed to pull myself together for the family barbeque. My eyes sparkled; one would have to be crazy not to enjoy Creole’s all-consuming kisses. I threw my new bathing suit and black and white sheer wrap skirt that hung mid-calf onto the bed. I would change when I got back from Jake’s. Until then, I pulled on a short black full skirt and a short-sleeve top. A skirt was always my first choice in clothing; I wore pants only when I went somewhere cold, which I tried to avoid.

I snuck out the front door without running into Fab. At some point I’d have to answer to her intense questioning. She’d interrogate me like a cop, although I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t point a gun. She needed to learn patience since our chat would have to wait until later when there was no chance of anyone eavesdropping. By then, I’d think of something to say.

* * *

The driveway to Jake’s had been blocked by sheriff’s cars with blinking lights. I groaned. “Who died now?” I had to circle the block and park on the street.

Officer Johnson jerked a young woman with dirty blonde hair across the driveway by a pair of metal cuffs. I wondered if he was responsible for the dried blood under her nose and scratches on her cheek. Head down, she yelled something incoherent. He looked annoyed at her attempt to twist away, and, opening the back of his car, he shoved her none-too-gently onto the back seat.

Kevin barely had control of a brunette who kicked at him every chance she got. “You bitch,” she screeched at the top of her lungs. Apparently, this was directed at the other woman under arrest. The brunette tried to wrench free from Kevin and managed to fall onto the ground, skinning her knees. She unleashed an F-word-laced tirade on him that would make a sailor blush.

I hustled into the bar, not wanting to catch the attention of the busy sheriffs. Somehow this would all end up being my fault. The television over the bar blasted a golf game that not one person had their eyes on, and music blared from the juke box. I played golf in high school, but my best friend and I sent more chunks of grass flying than balls.

“What the hell happened?” I asked Phil, who handed me a bottle of water.

She had an ear-to-ear smile and swung her long blonde hair. “Once word gets around we had a bar fight, we’ll be packed again. We need to make a ‘this happened here’ sign and auction the seats.” A couple of her middle-aged male groupies who took up residence at the bar during her shifts laughed.

She went on. “Group of girls showed up, celebrating a birthday. After a couple of rounds, it comes out two of them are sleeping with the same guy. I passed by the juke box when the blonde blurted, ‘It’s bad enough I have to share him with his wife.’” Phil could multi-task, washing glasses and talking at the same time.

“The brunette finally realized her boyfriend was the man in question and said, ‘He’s divorced.’ She lost it when the blonde mentioned he added a new hoochie to the group. That’s when she jumped across the table, threw a glass of beer in her face, called her a whore, and dragged her to the floor.” Phil refreshed drinks, holding court at the bar.

I shook my head. “Did you try and stop the fight?”

Phil arched her brows. “Hell no, and get a chunk of hair pulled out like the one girl? I stayed out of it. Why ruin everyone’s fun? They tipped the table over, chick fight on, kicking, screaming, hair pulling, and slapping—no real punches. One of the customers called 911.”

I groaned when Johnson slithered through the front door, headed in my direction. “You’re a trouble magnet. If it’s not The Cottages filled with felons, then it’s your bar. A couple of more incidents here and I’m sure we can get this place shut down.”

“Is there anything specific that you want, because I’m on my way out?” I reminded myself that I promised to try to be nicer, and failed.

“If I think of something, I’ll call you.”

I walked in the direction of the kitchen, turned, and yelled, “Why don’t you go arrest the husband who started all of this?”

“Help me,” I yelled, kicking open the front door, two grocery bags in my hands. Liam came running from the kitchen. “There’s more food in the SUV.”

Brad reached for the bags and I followed him into the kitchen. My brother was six foot tall, muscled, and tan from hard work on the open water, not a speck of red hair, his brownish hair washed out from the sun. Family lore has it my hair color came from my grandmother, whom I’d never met.

Didier leaned against the counter, giving me an assessing stare which made me blush.

“Where’s Mother?” I asked, turning to hug Julie who had come to help. Mother and I liked her. Based on his past, we started to think the only women Brad could attract were ones with mental health issues.

“On her way over. She’s not happy to leave Spoon home alone,” Brad said, grabbing a beer from the refrigerator.

“You better hope Spoon has a sense of humor,” I said. “He might get really mad.”

“What’s he going to do, kill me?” Brad snickered. He had taken over the kitchen, which suited all the non-cookers.

“That would probably end their sweaty sex,” I said with a straight face.

“Aaah! Out of my kitchen,” he said, and pointed.

Didier cornered me in the living room and slipped his arm around my shoulder. “Your new boyfriend coming today?” he whispered.

“He’s not…Creole was invited.” I blushed and tried to step away, but he held on to my arm.

“You look lovely as always, but you need to change into that new bathing suit of yours.” He smiled.