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  Her insides stopped flipping as her blood ran icy. “What exactly is the St. Joseph’s project?”

  “The redevelopment of this island. After the hurricane, Dan Jorgensen put together a strategic plan to buy up every inch he could.” He frowned at her, as though he didn’t understand why that would upset her. “Almost every condo on the beach is Jorgensen’s.”

  Peanut butter and beer coagulated in her stomach. Slowly, she pushed her chair back and stood, willing her temper to quiet down. She picked up her plate, took it to the sink, then turned around to face him.

  “You know, Mac, eating with the enemy can be as bad as sleeping with him. I want you to leave now.”

  In a flash, he got out of his chair and took two steps in front of her. “It’s just business, Nicole. It’s simple economics. It’s progress. It’s real estate, not war.”

  She crossed her arms, a useless barrier against his proximity. “You don’t see it from my side. You’ve turned this little corner of paradise into a mountain range of pink and yellow atrocities. The locals are dwindling. The 7-Elevens are multiplying. There’s no one left to fight it, because you and your buddy Dan with his strategic redevelopment have erased the history and culture of the world I grew up in.”

  He didn’t say a word, but ran a hand across his chin thoughtfully, quiet for a long minute.

  “What are you going to do, Nicole?” he finally asked, taking her hand. “You’re going to lose this property one way or another. At least I can get you a really good offer—”

  She jerked out of his grip. “I don’t want an offer. I want my resort. I want it back to the way it was—beautiful and inviting and polished.” She hated the break in her voice, but really, truly didn’t care. “I don’t want to see it leveled and turned into some ugly, boxy, stucco tower that blocks the view and encroaches on that beach.” She stepped away from him. “I don’t want to leave it or lose it. It means a lot to me.” She squeezed her eyes in a useless effort to fight the tears. “It means everything to me.”

  Suddenly, he stuck his hands in the pockets of his khaki pants and ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek. “I’m in a really tough position,” he admitted. “I don’t want to hurt you or ruin your life.”

  “But you have a job to do,” she added for him. “A partnership to gain.”

  Wordlessly, he picked up his plate and empty glass. He put them in the sink and turned to her. “I’m here for a week. Maybe I can figure something out.”

  She waited for an explanation, aware that she held her breath.

  “Maybe I can help you with some stuff,” he said, still too vague for her to exhale.

  “What kind of stuff?”

  “You said you have roof tiles. I can do the temporary fix you need and maybe work on some of the broken soffits and windows. I don’t know much about the air-conditioning system, but,” he smiled slyly, “I might be able to do something about that elevator.”

  Her whole body turned to water. Not the heated pool of lusty liquid he’d reduced her to an hour ago. This was something entirely different. This was gratitude and appreciation and hope and…dear God, something perilously close to a feeling she’d never known and never wanted to know.

  “I can’t pay you.”

  He grinned and glanced at the table. “I’ll work for peanut butter.”

  Yes, indeed. Perilously close.

  “Okay, fine,” she said, surprising herself. “You’re welcome to do whatever you can. Is that really how you want to spend your vacation?”

  “That kind of work is fun for me,” he insisted as he walked toward the door. “As long as you don’t climb up on the roof in the lingerie du jour and send me plummeting to an untimely death.”

  A rush of warmth toward him washed over her. She made an impulsive decision. “Then I’ll do something about that ad.”

  He winked at her. “Thanks. You’re a real lady.”

  She gave him a shaky smile in response.

  “And since I am a real gentleman, I’m going to say good-night without so much as a hug.” He touched two fingers to his lips and sent the tiniest kiss in her direction.

  She finally exhaled, unable to fathom the squeeze he’d just put on her heart. It felt unfamiliar and terrifying, that most human of all emotions. One that Nicole Whitaker never wanted to experience because of her utter conviction that it came with loss.

  But still, there it was. The first sneaky tendrils wrapped around her heart. Love. Or something perilously close to it.

  Eight

  Nicole could smell the spicy aroma of Red Door perfume long before Fredericka Whitaker appeared in her office. Aunt Freddie would stop to chat with Sally, of course, and tease stray employees into a friendly conversation. But the scent of Red Door meant the impending arrival of her wonderful and outrageous aunt, undoubtedly wearing a dress of her own inimitable design and commenting insightfully about the state of Mar Brisas.

  Since only one change was worth noting, Nicole had a feeling she knew what would capture Freddie’s attention.

  “Who, or shall I say, what, is on the roof, sweet pea?”

  Right on cue. Nicole clicked the accounting program closed and spun her chair around from her computer.

  “Aunt Freddie! What a great color for you.”

  Flipping off a wide-brimmed fuchsia hat and fanning her jet-black hair with it, Freddie dropped with a drama-queen sigh into Nicole’s guest chair. She fluffed the yards of tie-died pink-and-white cotton that swirled around her legs. “You like? I just sold fifteen of these to Lilly’s in Naples. Top dahlar, dahling, for the ladies-who-lunch.”

  “It’s positively…you.”

  Freddie narrowed her cornflower-blue eyes in direct demand. “Who is climbing all over your roof? I would have been here earlier, but I had to stand in the parking lot and…watch.”

  Oh, yes. Nicole understood. For the past two days, she’d found every imaginable excuse to leave her office, roam the property and keep her eyes trained roof-ward. She’d practically walked into a palm tree gazing at the sight of a shirtless Quinn McGrath, his sculpted muscles glistening with sweat, ripped with each straining movement as he heaved barrel tiles and hammered them into place.

  Then he would pause, surveying his work as he wiped his brow with a bandana, and take a long, lusty swig of water. That alone would have been enough to bring a woman to her knees, but then he had another jaw-dropping habit.

  He’d pour a generous amount of water over his head and let the droplets sluice down his face and dance over his shoulders, forming rivulets that sparkled in the sun. Nicole just…watched. And perspired. And fantasized. Oh, she understood Freddie’s tardiness completely.

  “Who is it?” she insisted again.

  “That’s Quinn McGrath. He’s repairing the roof.”

  Freddie’s mouth opened to a perfect pink circle and her hat fell still on her lap. “The real estate mogul from New York?”

  Nicole’s stomach muscles tensed, but she kept her face expressionless. “Yes. He’s kindly offered to help.”

  “Well, well, well.” Freddie leaned forward and practically inhaled all remaining oxygen. The truth, according to Freddie Whitaker, could actually be smelled by the nosiest of nostrils. Hers. “I see you took my advice to get him on your good side.”

  Nicole shrugged and turned back to stare at her blank computer screen. Anywhere but Freddie’s probing gaze. “It’s in his best interest that the place is in good shape and evidently he likes to do that kind of work and he offered on Monday night since I had the tiles and it seemed like…” She was so rambling.

  “Monday night?” With Freddie, of course, no detail was too small not to be plucked out for further examination. “That was a long meeting. It went clear into the night?”

  “Not really. I ran into him later that evening and he suggested it.” Nicole pushed her chair back and stood. “God, I wish he did know how to fix air-conditioning. I can’t remember an August this humid.”

  Freddie didn
’t move, but Nicole felt her aunt’s gaze drop over her. Taking in, no doubt, the formfitting lycra T-shirt and white jeans Nicole wore. “Where did you run into him?” Freddie asked.

  Oh, hell’s fire, she was good. “On the beach.”

  It was on the beach. Her patio was on the beach.

  Nicole twisted her hair into a knot and grabbed a sharp pencil to stab it into place. She stepped in front of the open window and studied the view of the blue-green water and white sand that she could see between her villa and 1701.

  “Oh, look,” she said and turned back to Freddie with a smile. “The guests in villa seventeen arrived. There’s their car.”

  Freddie crossed her legs and started fanning with the hat again. “Sally mentioned that bookings are great.”

  “Better than they’ve been in a while, Aunt Freddie.” Nicole sat in her chair, comfortable that the conversation would move away from Quinn. “We’ve actually reserved villa eighteen. I’m going to move into the main building for a week.”

  Freddie raised an eyebrow. “Must be that clever ad you placed on Route One.”

  Oh, boy. Danger ahead. “Must be.” Nicole folded her arms and leaned forward with another unnaturally bright smile. “Want to go to lunch? I’m starved.”

  Red Door wafted toward Nicole with the steady movement of the hat. “Such a brilliant inspiration. You really have a hidden flair for…advertising.”

  “Desperate times require desperate measures.” Nicole reached down and opened her bottom desk drawer to get her purse. “How about we try that new gourmet-sandwich shop up on Gulfview?”

  “How about you introduce me to your roofer?”

  Nicole’s hand closed around the purse strap. “No need, Aunt Freddie. He’s only going to be here until next week.”

  Freddie stood and slapped the hat on at a jaunty angle, tilting her head up and looking far younger than her fifty-six years. No gray hair, few wrinkles and a lush, feminine body swathed in the signature brilliant colors of FreddieWear. The success of her line of ladies’ beach clothes was due to her ability to be the best model for every style.

  “I brought enough homemade pink lemonade, sandwiches and salad to feed the whole staff and dropped it off in the kitchen. I thought we’d have a picnic. Let’s ask your Quinn to join us.”

  Nicole knew there was no avoiding it when Aunt Freddie wanted to sniff something out. “He’s not my Quinn,” she said weakly.

  “With that body, he ought to be somebody’s.”

  Nicole pushed the drawer closed. She wouldn’t need a purse for a picnic with Aunt Freddie and Quinn McGrath. She’d need a place to hide.

  The flash of bright pink caught Quinn’s attention, but his focus immediately moved and remained on the sight next to it. Nicole Whitaker in a body-hugging navy blue T-shirt and white pants, standing three stories below him next to a poolside table, pulling something out of a cooler. But it was the woman in pink—and a lot of it—who cupped her hands in his direction.

  “Lunch is served on the veranda!”

  Did she mean him?

  She opened her arms and waved both hands at him, then took off a ridiculous sun hat and signaled wildly for him to join them. With a sweaty grin, Quinn grabbed his bandana and started in the direction of the “storage suite” balcony. By the time he’d washed his face and hands, found a dry T-shirt and made his way to the pool, Nicole and Pinkie had set up quite a little feast.

  He’d only talked to Nicole briefly the day before when she’d shown him the tiles and tools he’d needed. Then she left him to do his work. But he’d seen plenty of her, as she carefully monitored his progress. He’d classify it as loitering, in fact, the amount of time she’d spent walking around the pool and parking lot with her gaze locked on him. For free manual labor, he sure was under a lot of scrutiny by the boss.

  He grinned at the thought, and at the sight of her. She had her hair in the pencil hairdo, exposing her narrow neck and giving him a clear shot of the way the material clung to her gorgeous breasts. He would have taken more time to study the overall effect, but Pinkie shot him a probing look.

  “Quinn,” Nicole said, avoiding his gaze while folding a paper napkin. “This is Fredericka Whitaker.”

  Aunt Freddie. He held out a hand to her. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  The older woman greeted him with an open, admiring gaze. “The pleasure’s mine, Mr. McGrath.”

  “Please, it’s Quinn.” He glanced at Nicole, who was pouring something as pink as her aunt’s dress into plastic glasses. “But some people call me Mac.”

  “Everyone calls me Freddie.” Although she had to be near sixty, Quinn noticed the healthy glow of unlined skin and a figure that had probably looked a lot like her niece’s a decade or two ago. She swept a proud hand over her table like Martha Stewart on Thanksgiving. “Won’t you join us?”

  “I’d be honored,” he said with a smile, pulling out a chair for Freddie.

  “Thank you.” She beamed and looked at Nicole.

  He made the same gesture for Nicole, who took her seat with a wary look in his direction.

  “Well, Nicole, it’s not quite as bad as it looks up there,” he said as he sat and scooted his chair into the table. “The western side of the building is pretty torn up. No doubt that’s where you got the highest winds in that storm. The front isn’t a complete loss, though.”

  Aunt Freddie started spooning potato salad on his plate, but he focused on Nicole’s hopeful look.

  “Really? Do you think I could go a few seasons without a full roof replacement?”

  An army of Jorgensen bulldozers flashed in Quinn’s mind. A full building replacement was already on order. “Maybe if I had about a couple more men.”

  Freddie cleared her throat and held up her glass of pink goo. “I’m not sure the women of St. Joseph’s could handle that, but I’ll drink to it.”

  He flashed a bright smile at his unexpected ally.

  “How are the temporary patches holding up?” Nicole asked, either not interested in his impact on the women of St. Joseph’s or terrified to talk about it.

  “You’ve done a pretty good job,” he admitted, then took a swig of the pink stuff and smiled appreciatively at Freddie.

  “Of course Nicole did a good job,” Freddie insisted, glowing a bit at the nonverbal compliment on her Pepto-Bismol-colored concoction. “She is the most hard-working, independent and determined girl you’ll ever meet.”

  “I inherited all those fabulous traits from my aunt,” Nicole said smoothly.

  Quinn looked at Freddie. “I’m sure you had to be that kind of intelligent, hard-working woman yourself to raise a child on your own.”

  Both her eyebrows lifted in surprise. “That’s true. Not that I would have it any differently,” she added. “We had a wonderful time, Nic and me.” She looked out toward the water. “Right here, as a matter of fact. The prettiest spot on St. Joe’s. We had big ol’ picnics with all the locals and so many Fourth of July parties and Memorial Day barbecues, they all blur together into one happy memory.”

  Quinn watched the two women share a warm smile.

  “I bet I spent every weekend and summer afternoon here for ten years,” Nicole said.

  Freddie leaned forward and looked at Quinn. “It’s no wonder she spent every dime of her inheritance on the down payment.”

  A sharp stab twisted at Quinn’s belly and it wasn’t the lemonade. Every dime of her inheritance. And he’d come to hasten the foreclosure. And then tried to seduce her in the process.

  What a cad.

  Freddie leaned closer, sending waves of cinnamon-flavored perfume in his direction. “Maybe you’ll reconsider.”

  He frowned at her. “Reconsider?”

  “The purchase of the property,” Freddie insisted.

  “Aunt Freddie.” Nicole put her hand on her aunt’s arm. “You don’t have to fight this battle. It’s mine.”

  Quinn looked from one to the other. Oh, if only he could reconsider. If
only he could find a way not to hurt this hard-working, independent and beautiful woman.

  What if she was the one? What if he ruined the life of the one woman meant for him, just to pursue a title and a raise? The thought made him sick. “It’s a little early for me to say. Maybe after I see the paperwork from the bank, I might be able to—”

  “Keep Nicole.”

  “Excuse me?” He stared at Freddie. She couldn’t have any idea how badly he wanted to do precisely that. In fact, until that very moment, he didn’t know how badly, either.

  “She means keep me to run the property,” Nicole said with a self-conscious smile. “If you’d consent not to level and rebuild something else, I could stay on…after it changes ownership.”

  The last few words pained her, he could tell. He ran a hand through his wet hair and avoided her gaze. And her aunt’s. What a mess. What a big, fat mess of his own making. He finished his sandwich and gulped the last of his drink.

  “This was an unexpected treat. Thank you.” He stood and glanced toward the building. “But I better get back up to that roof.”

  “Good gracious, you’re working hard,” Freddie said as she shielded her eyes from the sun and took a long, lazy inspection of him. “Nicole, how are you paying this man?”

  Nicole and Quinn looked at each other, silent.

  “In peanut butter,” he said with a smile, watching the spark in Nicole’s surprised blue eyes.

  Then Quinn reached down and impulsively kissed Freddie’s cheek. “Great to meet you, Aunt Freddie. Your pink drink rocks.”

  He winked and started to walk away. Unable to resist, he glanced over his shoulder and saw Nicole’s gaze still locked on him.

  He touched his fingers to his lips and blew her a little kiss, loving the response that lit her pretty face.

  “Interesting choice of currency, peanut butter.” Aunt Freddie toyed with the fringe that lined the edge of her skirt. “Lots of protein.”