Ruined by the SEAL (ASSIGNMENT: Caribbean Nights Book 2) (12 page)

“Oh, does it?” Shit. It did. She tried to laugh but he was pounding into her now, nearly lifting her off the ground, and all she could
do was wrap her arm back around his neck and close her eyes as the fireworks started low in her belly.

“Cara,” he growled. “Come for me.”

And she did, spectacularly, as he pistoned himself two, three, four more times into her, then froze. His grip tightened as they were both wracked by tremors, their orgasms continuing as they found their breath again.

She blinked her eyes open.

It really
was an incredible view. “Wow,” she said.

“So gorgeous.”

“I know.”

He kissed her shoulder, and she turned, slowly, as he slipped out of her body.

She’d been looking out at the ocean.

But Mick only had eyes for her.

Oh. “Wow,” she repeated, barely a whisper.

TWELVE

T
HE
NEXT
DAY
, C
ARA
WAS
TAKING
PICTURES
OF
THE
MESS
OF
FLOWERS
AND
WEEDS
IN
THE
FRONT
GARDEN
, trying to document everything so she could upload the photos to her heirloom plant expert and find out what could safely go, when a limo pulled up to the gate, then slowly crawled toward the house.

There weren’t many limos on the island. Like everything that fancy people brought in with them,
she had the knee-jerk,
not the island way
reaction to the shiny black car. But the license plate was Miralandian, so that was just her bias showing.

Go away, fancy people.

But it wasn’t a Parry that stepped out of the limo, at least not one she recognized from her internet snooping. The man approaching her was older, with a full head of silver hair. There were only two men left in the Parry
family of this age, and neither looked like a bulldog who ate caviar for breakfast.

She straightened up and marched straight toward the visitor. A good offense, and all that. “Hello,” she called out. “I’m the temporary caretaker of the estate. Can I help you?”

“Ms. Cara Levasseur?”

“Yes.” She smiled with a polite welcome that she didn’t feel beneath the surface.

“Frank Dewiller.” The name
rang a bell, and she placed it at the same moment he smiled broadly and blinded her with his brilliant white teeth. “I’m a senior partner in the law firm handling the estate of Mrs. Gwendolyn Parry.”

The firm who handed Mrs. Parry’s will. Oh, shit.

Her first instinct, crazy as it was, was to turn and call for Mick.

But whatever this was about…one of them would be happy, and the other would
not.

That’s what they’d been circling around for days now. Down-right fighting about at times. Ignoring when they were making love, but that didn’t mean that it had stopped existing as a problem that would need to be dealt with.

And now the help they’d both sent furious emails and placed international phone calls to demand, seemingly to no avail, was standing in front of her.

Help had shown
up, and in the form of a senior partner no less…and Cara just wanted him to go away.
Don’t tell me
, she thought, ridiculously.
Go away and let me stay here, locked in endless combat with the blockhead. I like his secret handyman skills and his curiously laid-back way. I love the way he looks at me and how he brings me endless pleasure. Go away and leave us to our fantasy.

But there wouldn’t be
any relief. Dewiller turned on the charm and moved them toward the building like he owned the place.

Maybe he did.

Maybe that’s why he’d shown up. Joke was on both of them, and there was yet another will, breaking both their hearts.

She’d almost rather that, really.

They could rebuild their lives together.

She shook her head. This was ridiculous. She cleared her throat, too, because talking
was proving a challenge. “Right. Yes. I’m sorry. Of course. Would you like something to drink?”

“Water would be great.” He nodded toward the building.

“Yes. This way, please.”

She set her camera down on the kitchen table, then fetched him a bottle of water from the fridge.

She glanced out the back window. Mick was nowhere in sight. “Would you like to see Mr. Parry’s agent as well?”

“Is he
here? I expected to find him in town.”

She tried not to blush. “He’s staying in the out building. There are beds and a bathroom there…”

“And the tent in the ballroom we passed…is anyone staying there?”

“Ummm…” She busied herself finding another bottle of water. “Not at the moment, no.”

The last two nights she’d slept on top of Mick.

Beneath him, at least once in the middle of the night. Although
that wasn’t strictly speaking
sleeping
.

“Perhaps we should wait for Mr…” The lawyer trailed off.

“Mr. Frasier,” she offered.

“I apologize for the confusion, Ms. Levasseur.” He kept going, ever so formal, and she nodded, pretending to listen. But he was saying nothing, really. Just niceties and empty almost-excuses. “But it hasn’t been too difficult with the…dispute. Between the two of you?”

Difficult. No, it hadn’t been difficult. Not really. Not even at first.

Frustrating, fiery, and more than a little distracting. But not difficult.

“It’s been fine. He speaks highly of Mrs. Parry’s grandson. And I’ve had an opportunity to impress on him the historical value of the property,” she added, because there was being kind and there was committing professional suicide, and she wouldn’t
do the latter.

One way or another, she’d have to stand in front of her board of directors and explain how this conversation went down, and she would be able to honestly say she defended their position.

If it even mattered.

“Hmmm,” the lawyer said.

Go away,
screamed her primal self.

“What’s going on here?” Mick asked from the doorway, and she practically sagged with relief. He glanced warily
between her and the lawyer, who introduced himself, and Mick’s gaze swung immediately back to her. “You okay?” he asked, more quietly, as he moved to her side.

She nodded. “Mr. Dewiller has just arrived. He hasn’t said anything about the estate yet.”

Mick rocked back on his heels and crossed his arms. He’d gotten a lot of sun while he was here, she noticed inanely, like that was the most important
thing going on at the moment. He looked like he belonged, though, and maybe that was an important realization for her to be making.

It all depended on what the lawyer said.

“Right, about that,” Dewiller said, opening his briefcase. He pulled out two sheets of paper.

A letter, it looked like, the same one printed twice.

He hesitated. “A situation has arisen, and once again, we really are quite
sorry for any inconvenience that either of you have faced because of this.”

“What situation?”

Cara glanced sideways at Mick. He’d asked the question that was on the tip of her tongue.

Dewiller gave them a pained look. “It seems Gwendolyn Parry may have signed two wills on the exact same day. Unfortunately, none of the witnesses are available.”

None of them? Cara could feel her eyebrows hitting
the roof.

“It’s quite unusual. More to the point, we believe that…well, we cannot proceed in good faith under such conditions. It is our belief neither will would stand up to a legal challenge.”

“What?”

“Excuse me?”

They were talking over each other now, both firing questions at Dewiller, but he raised his hand, and like errant school children they sullenly quieted.
 

“As the executors of
Mrs. Parry’s estate, it is our legal obligation to assess her intent, and provide a well-documented probate plan to the court in New York City.”

That didn’t sound good. It sounded messy. It sounded like it would take a long time.

“And in the mean time?” Cara’s heart pounded in her chest.

He shrugged. “That’s up to you. The plantation property isn’t such a significant part of the entire Parry
estate, and we won’t be assigning a property manager to it. On the other hand, I must unfortunately make it clear that neither Will Parry nor the Miralinda Historical Society rightfully owns this property. I’d advise both of you to cease any and all renovation plans until this matter is resolved.”

THIRTEEN

M
ICK KNEW THAT
C
ARA WAS REELING.
He was, too.

This changed everything.

But it also bought them some time.

He wasn’t a mind reader, and she didn’t react much at all while the lawyer continued to speak to them. She listened, took his card and the letter that explained the executor’s formal notice of something or other, nodded a lot, frowned a few times, and watched silently as the
limo pulled away.

The whole time, Mick just watched her.

He’d been handed a letter, too, because apparently Will couldn’t be found again.

And then they were alone, and she still didn’t say anything.

Finally he went for it—in completely the wrong way. “This is good, don’t you think?”

“No.” She pressed her lips together, and blinked at him. “This is awful.”

Damn. “But no decision is better
than—”

“Maybe for you!” She burst out, flailing her arms wildly. “You just want to be a beach bum and wait a few months, so this is actually perfect for you. Meanwhile I’ve sunk thousands of dollars into this project on behalf of the Historical Society and now that’s in limbo!”

“Maybe you could recoup some of that from the executors. Move on to another project.”

She gasped, then laughed, and
neither was a good sound. Fuck. “How many historical sites do you think there are around here?”

He didn’t want to point out that the entire island seemed to be covered in three hundred year old buildings, a good number of them empty and in need of her special brand of “get it done” vigour. Surely there were other options for her to focus her attention on. But she didn’t seem to think that was
the case and he wasn’t stupid enough to suggest otherwise. “Okay. Crap. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to be sorry. You didn’t do this.” She sighed and rubbed her forehead. “I have to go call the chairman of the board.”

“Do you want—” He cut himself off as she glared at him. No. She didn’t want help with something that he knew nothing about. Right. He gave her a helpless
I wish I could help
look.
“Good luck.”

She stomped her foot and stared at the ground, then let out a strangled curse. Then she was gone, the front door bouncing in her wake. He watched as her station wagon bumped down the lane and out the gates. Fuck.

~

B
Y
THE
END
OF
THE
AFTERNOON
, Cara had talked to three members of the board of directors—two in person at the Society’s cramped offices just off Boulevard Honore.

“This is a disaster, Ms. Levasseur,” Bill Chouhan, the chairman said as he sank into the chair opposite her desk.

She nodded. She knew it.

“We’ll have a board meeting tomorrow. You’ll be expected to explain yourself.”

Again
, she thought more bitterly than she realized at first. She’d already explained herself three times over. What was another round for the entire committee? “Of course. I’ll
be prepared.”

“See that you are.”

She worked late into the night, and when she finally folded her tired, aching body into her car, she thought about going back out to the plantation. But she’d need a hot shower and work clothes first thing in the morning, and she didn’t know what she’d say to Mick.

One of those things was more serious, bigger and more dangerous than the other.

But she pretended
both reasons were equally weighted and climbed into her bed in her small apartment in town.

Sleep took a long time to fall over her, and when she drifted off, her dreams were unsettled. Monsters and shouting mobs. Storms and taking chase.

In the morning, she quietly got herself ready.

Pencil skirt past the knees. A blouse with cap sleeves and buttons nearly to her neck. Sensible yet professional
heels.

A folder full of documents that highlighted that she’d acted in good faith, and with the board’s full support.

Would they remember that? Did it matter?

At the office, she turned on the overhead fans in the board room. With a quiet whirr, they started moving the stale air around the room. She pushed up the far windows, then sighed.

She’d been planning to put a copy of the report she’d
assembled at each seat. The breeze would likely just blow them away.

Instead, she set them in front of her own seat and weighted them down with the digital voice recorder she’d use to type up the minutes after the fact.

Ice water was next. Then another slide around the table, ensuring all the chairs were neatly pushed in.

Tick. Tock. She flicked her eyes to the clock on the wall.

Five minutes
to the hour.

She stepped into the foyer of the office just as the door opened and the first board member ambled in. “Good morning, sir,” she murmured, taking his umbrella.

One by one, they filed in, none of them talkative.

Even those who hadn’t come by or called yesterday had clearly heard the news.

As they were all formal society types, they didn’t launch right into grilling her. They waited
until the big hand ticked past the top of the hour, then they took attendance and approved the previous minutes, added a few items to the day’s agenda.

Niceties. Protocol.

Empty, meaningless shit. Cara’s palms were sweating. She pressed them to her skirt, grateful she’d worn a dark colour.

“And now to the unfortunate matter that arose yesterday,” Bill said when it was finally her turn. “Cara,
you can explain.”

She stood and handed around her report, with the letter from the lawyer, Dewiller, on top. After running down the highlighted points, she looked around the table, trying to make as much eye contact as possible with each board member. “This is, as Bill said, unfortunate. We will need to pause our plans for renovation and campaign in a reasonable fashion for our claim against
the estate.”