Like a Hurricane Page 3

  Sally shrugged. “’Sokay. I’m glad we found it. We’re going to need it soon.”

  “Hah!” Nicole’s laugh was purposely wry as she fell into her seat. “Got a couple hundred grand in your back pocket, Sal?”

  Sally dropped into one of the guest chairs and crossed her arms. “Got the next best thing, Nic.”

  Nicole paused in the act of turning on her computer and looked hard at her friend. “Hit me.”

  “Free advertising, that’s what.”

  “Nothing’s free in life, sweetie.” She clicked the mouse, then settled into her chair, tucking her legs under her. “But don’t let that stop you. What gives?”

  “My dad has reserved a billboard on Route One to advertise his mattress outlet store, but he doesn’t want to put up an ad for a month, when he kicks off his big sale on kings and queens. It was worth it to him to get the special rate. It’s going to sit blank for a whole month.”

  “And…?”

  “We can have the space.” She looked positively victorious. “To advertise Mar Brisas.”

  Nicole shook her head slowly, not wanting to douse Sally’s wonderful enthusiasm, but her young office manager didn’t know all aspects of advertising. “Sally, there are hidden costs to design and produce an ad. Artwork, graphics, copy writing.”

  “I talked to my dad about that,” Sally said, bouncing her red, cropped curls as she nodded. “If you write the copy, his in-house ad guy will arrange for the production. If it’s just words, no pictures. In one color.”

  “That ought to be an award-winning ad.”

  “It doesn’t have to win awards,” Sally insisted. “It has to win guests. Just hit ’em over the head with your message.”

  Nicole’s lips curled into a smile. “And that would be?”

  “All the great things about Mar Brisas.” Sally’s green eyes sparkled. “Authentic Spanish tile, genuine rosewood trim—”

  “A fifty-year-old electrical system and an elevator that predates World War II.” Nicole hated to be the voice of reality, but she was tired of fighting this. “Come on, Sal, it’s awful, ancient and dilapidated.”

  Isn’t that what he had said?

  Sally frowned and leaned forward. “What the heck is the matter with you today?”

  “I’m sorry,” she sighed. “I had another sleepless night.”

  Sally reached across the desk and took Nicole’s hand. “I know how hard this has been on you, Nic. Don’t give up now. We have this one chance. It’s practically free.”

  Nicole raised an eyebrow. “Just call Tom Northcott at the bank. Admit that I chickened out yesterday and ask him to reschedule a meeting with that McGrath guy.”

  “Okay,” Sally said, barely hiding the defeat in her voice. “But let’s see if he’ll hold off for a week.”

  Hopelessness pinched her heart. “What good is another week going to do us?”

  “Just a couple of bookings and we’d be able to cover this month’s payment. You told me that last week, Nic.”

  A whisper of hope blew against her heart. Maybe Sally was right. “We haven’t spent a dime on advertising,” she said, more to convince herself than Sally. “It couldn’t hurt, I guess.”

  Sally grabbed a yellow notepad and stuck a pencil in Nicole’s hand. “Come on. You’re creative. Let’s come up with an ad campaign.”

  “I don’t know anything about advertising, Sal.”

  “Sure you do.” Sally pushed the pencil as though she could force it to create. “Everybody knows what sells. Sex sells.”

  Nicole’s eyes popped open. Could Sally read what was on her mind? To cover, she snapped her fingers and pointed. “Yeah. I could hang naked from the billboard.”

  Without a smile, Sally raised a dubious eyebrow. “As if you’d let the world see what you’re hiding under all those loose flowing tops.”

  Nicole remembered the look on Mac’s face when he’d first dropped his gaze. Why had she taken her damn jacket off? She always hid her generous bosom behind something like it. She hadn’t expected some gorgeous stranger to walk in the elevator, to lure her with deep brown eyes, to kiss her until she couldn’t think—

  “Hey, earth to Whitaker.” Standing, Sally waved a hand in front of Nicole. “See? You’re already in a fog of creativity.”

  Nicole laughed. A fog—but not of creativity. What had Sally said? Sex sells. “Sex sells beer and perfume,” she murmured. “Can it sell a resort?”

  “Why not?”

  Why not, indeed? If she could promise a few minutes of the experience she had in the elevator and hall last night, she could fill the place to capacity.

  “Maybe you’re right, Sal.” An unfamiliar tingle started in her stomach. She leaned back and twisted her hair up and closed her eyes. “What if we got people to believe there was something…in the air at Mar Brisas? Romance. Attraction. Heat.”

  “Yeah, yeah!” Sally tapped the desk excitedly. “Our resort is intimate, it’s personal—”

  “That’s it!” Nicole pointed the pencil at Sally. “A personal ad! No, no. Not just one…” She stood up, snapping her fingers as fast as her thoughts. “A series of them.”

  “A series?”

  “Yes,” Nicole insisted, looking at Sally, but seeing the ad in her mind’s eye. “They’d look like personal ads from one lover to another, but really they’d be subtle messages about the romance and pleasures of Mar Brisas. We could change them once a week and tell a little story. All—” She held up her hands and grinned. “—in text and one color.”

  Sally perched on the corner of the desk, her eyes bright. “Oh, I get it, Nic. I really do. All that commuter traffic on Route One—people would actually be looking for the next installment of the Mar Brisas love affair.”

  Nicole turned the yellow pad sideways, to simulate a billboard, sketching the outline of a rectangle from end to end. “We can play up the surf, the evening air, always reinforcing the message that it was the historic, authentic resort at the root of the relationship.”

  Sally’s phone rang and she backed toward the door. “Write. I’ll be right back.”

  When she left, Nicole studied the blank pad and waited for inspiration. None arrived. She turned to the window and cranked the jalousies open, taking a deep breath of pungent salt air, enjoying the familiar mix of coconut and hibiscus.

  God she loved this place. St. Joseph’s Island, her Aunt Freddie and a host of real, wonderful people had saved her as a child. Now she had to save Mar Brisas.

  She needed inspiration. She tapped the pencil on the pad and stared at it. What inspired her?

  Soul kisses and anxious caresses.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. She needed to write, not remember the night before. What really inspired her?

  That astounding flicky thing he did with his tongue.

  “Come on, Nic,” she chided herself. “Get creative.”

  But didn’t writers get their inspiration from real life? Okay, this was a fictional personal ad. She wasn’t looking for the man of her dreams because she didn’t believe in fairy tales, never had.

  But if she did, it would be Mac. She just knew it.

  And that, she heard a little voice whisper in her head, was exactly why she’d run away from him like a scared rabbit.

  She nibbled on the rubber eraser. Forget Mac.

  But this was advertising and Sally was right: sex sells. So Mac had to be her inspiration. Plus, he was long gone from St. Joseph’s Island. He’d never see the ad.

  She started to write.

  Looking for the mystery man at Mar Brisas Resort for another trip to heaven. Let’s meet on the endless white sand for more pleasure in paradise. You can find it at Mar Brisas…

  Her pencil froze. How should she sign her little message? With a smile and a quick flourish, she scratched the closing words. Of course. She knew all along how she’d sign it.

  The Lady in Blue.

  Three

  It was nearly midnight on Sunday when Quinn zipped his rented Must
ang convertible down Route One. He’d expected to be there much earlier, but the flight had been delayed. About a mile before the causeway, he hit eighty and tightened his grip on the wheel. He had to get to St. Joseph’s Island.

  How would she respond to him?

  He’d asked himself that question for a solid week while he waited none too patiently for Nick Whitaker to confirm another meeting date.

  He didn’t know the answer to the question, but he knew one thing. She was the one.

  Quinn McGrath, a confirmed bachelor, an admitted womanizer, a confessed workaholic and the quintessential guy’s guy, had a dark secret that he might have revealed if he’d been alone for another hour with that woman. He was a hopeless romantic. He firmly believed that somewhere out there, his soul mate existed. His one and only.

  His feisty Irish grandmother promised him that “there’s someone for everyone.” And Quinn believed her. He had no problem sampling the others…but he was waiting for her.

  And he’d found her. Hanging out of a ceiling of an elevator. If only he knew her name.

  He smiled at his brilliant plan to tack a week’s vacation on to his trip. It would really help him get to know the place, he’d told Dan. Of course, Dan Jorgensen had balked at the idea of time off. Who would want vacation when you could work?

  But Dan finally bought the rationale and Quinn immediately booked one of the beachfront villas under the name of MacDougall. He didn’t want the owner to know he was staying there until after he played hardball in the meeting with him. But he wanted to be sure any staff checking for a “Mac” would be alerted to his presence. He’d optimistically called and confirmed the one-bedroom villa had a king-size bed.

  If only he knew her—

  Quinn slammed to a stop and the Mustang swerved in traffic. Behind him, brakes screamed and someone laid angrily on a horn. But all he could see were the giant blue letters on a billboard awash with uplighting.

  He stared at the words, a breath trapped in his lungs like an animal in a steel cage. He ignored the melee of horns and hollers that responded to his unscheduled stop, reading the message out loud and lingering over the last four words. The Lady in Blue.

  Someone in the car behind him opened his window and yelled at Quinn. “You okay, buddy? You need help?”

  Quinn waved out his hand in the air. “Thanks. I’m fine.”

  Fine. Oh, man. He was more than fine. With a long last look, he jammed the gas pedal and he let out a whoop. As he swung the convertible onto the causeway, he banged the steering wheel and called out to the stars above. “Yes!”

  The Lady in Blue was looking for him. For more pleasure in paradise. He’d waited thirty-three years to find his soul mate, kissing a lot of willing candidates in the process. But now he’d found her and she wanted him. He broke every speed limit in St. Joseph’s getting to Mar Brisas.

  Of course, the apathetic Whitaker hadn’t staffed the front desk at midnight. He picked up the house phone, but before he dialed, he noticed an envelope next to it marked Mr. and Mrs. MacDougall. In it, the key to 1601, which he dropped in his pocket. He crushed the envelope and tossed it in the trash, smiling at the assumption that the MacDougalls came in pairs.

  Well, he certainly hoped they would.

  He crossed the lobby and sent a sneaky glance at the elevator. Just waiting for another trip to heaven with a stop in lingerie. He visualized those dangling gorgeous legs, that magical smile, that musical laugh. Oh, it was going to be a good vacation.

  With a quiet chuckle, he climbed the stairs to the villa, noticing the first of many nice touches. Someone had left a few lights on, and a basket of snacks, fruit and wine sat perched on the counter. There were fresh flowers in the bedroom and little candies on each of the pillows of the oversize bed. It was clean, but small signs of neglect were still evident. The windows had been repaired, sort of, and one of the sliders to the patio didn’t work.

  He was too tired to do a thorough exam. The next day, he’d take a run on the beach before his meeting with Nick Whitaker and then he’d tear Mar Brisas apart until he found what he came to claim.

  The bottom of Nicole’s long, gauzy beach cover dipped into the surf, darkening the hem to navy blue. As the sun rose on Monday morning, she walked her usual mile up the beach, turning at the pink monstrosity called Jade Towers and wondering, as always, why the heck didn’t they paint it green if they were going to call it Jade Towers. It used to be Jimmy Miller’s produce stand, she’d thought sadly, and it used to be a nice, unassuming shade of tan that blended into the beachy environment. Just like Mar Brisas.

  She tried to let the cool water and soft sand lull her into a state of hopefulness.

  She’d spent all of Sunday with Aunt Freddie and that always put her in a good mood. Except that her aunt had insisted on taking a drive to see the billboard that had gone up that week. Nicole had, for the first time since she landed on Freddie Whitaker’s doorstep as an orphan, deceived her beloved aunt.

  “How on earth did you come up with such an idea?” Freddie had asked.

  “Oh, it just came to me while I was fixing the elevator,” she’d answered innocently, hoping the ever-intuitive woman didn’t simply smell out the lie.

  She didn’t want Aunt Freddie to know she was obsessing over a stranger she’d met a week ago. One she’d spent about twenty out of twenty-four hours thinking about. Freddie would know instantly that Nicole didn’t run from the man because he lied or made a disparaging remark about Mar Brisas. She ran because the sheer force of her reaction to him scared the life out of her.

  To change the subject, Nicole had told her aunt about the meeting that was finally scheduled for Monday morning and that’s when Freddie had planted the seed of a new idea in Nicole’s head.

  Maybe this Quinn McGrath fellow would be amenable to letting her stay and run Mar Brisas. It wasn’t ideal, but at least she could try to maintain the authentic old Florida atmosphere, and keep what had become her home. Although she doubted they’d let her continue to live in 1801, the crown jewel of the property, she might not lose her job. Maybe they’d even consider restoring Mar Brisas to its original glory.

  She would give Quinn McGrath a chance today, she decided. He’d be in her office at nine that morning, and she’d do everything possible to make him see the benefits of her plan.

  Ready to swim, she stopped in front of her villa to strip off her cover-up when a movement on the wraparound porch of 1601 caught her eye. Good. The MacDougalls made it in after all. She silently congratulated herself. The ad was only up a few days and already they had more bookings. One of her employees told her Mr. MacDougall had called about the size of the bed. She smiled wistfully and stretched. Romance was in the air at Mar Brisas.

  Wading out past the sandbar to where the water deepened to about six feet, she dove in and let the gentle swells take her for an easy float. Then she attacked the waves and swam along the beach for a solid twenty minutes.

  Panting, but energized, she squeezed the water out of her hair as she emerged back at her villa. From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a man standing at the surf, watching her. She rubbed the saltwater from her eyes and looked again, zeroing in on the bare chest and running shorts. He was tall, dark and…way too familiar.

  She took a few steps closer and blinked again. Her legs almost buckled as she stumbled on a sharp shell.

  He reached down and picked up her blue cover-up from the sand. “Hey, lady.” He sounded as smooth as melted chocolate as he held the dress in the air. “This looks your color.”

  Nicole froze, her jaw open, her mind blank. He let the fabric fall back on the sand and took a few steps closer. The early rays of sunshine backlit him, giving him the unreal quality of an oil painting. A few strands of black hair fell on his forehead and a shadow of morning whiskers darkened the hollows of his face. The planes of his chest moved with each breath, a dusting of dark hair covering the muscles and angles of hard flesh.

  He was even more gorgeous than
she remembered.

  “I got your message,” he said softly as he approached her.

  Her message?

  A vision of blue on black flashed in her brain, and a shock wave rolled over her heart. The billboard. This couldn’t be happening.

  This couldn’t be real.

  She still hadn’t moved, but he stood in front of her. The water lapped around their legs, and the rising sun behind him warmed her face. He reached out and touched her cheek, then tunneled his fingers into the wet hair at the nape of her neck.

  She parted her lips to speak, but no sound came out.

  He took one more step and closed the space between them. Without a word, he guided her face toward his and kissed her. His lips were as warm and tender as she’d remembered, his mouth still hungry for her. Breaking the kiss, he flicked her lower lip with the tip of his tongue and Nicole thought she might drown in the next wave.

  “I’ve been thinking about you, lady in blue,” he whispered.

  “Mac?”

  He glanced over his shoulder at his villa. “I saw you go in the water and I came straight to the endless white sand, exactly as instructed.”

  Oh, God. He was MacDougall. She tried to swallow, but her throat closed in shock. “You’re the couple in 1601?”

  “I’m the Mac.” He grinned and slid his hands down her bare, wet arms, leaving a trail of goose bumps in his wake. He laced his fingers through hers. “I was hoping we could be the couple.”

  It was too much to fathom. He was in 1601. He’d come back. A distinct joy collided in her heart with another, peculiar feeling. Shame. He’d seen the ad and thought she’d placed it to find him.

  He studied her expression and frowned. “I really checked in this time, so you can’t be mad at me.”

  How could she tell him that anger didn’t propel her away from him? She couldn’t admit how much he’d affected her. “I’m not mad.” It was lame, but so was she at the moment.

  “Of course not,” he said with a teasing glint in his eye. “You wouldn’t have bought that ad.”