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“My parents do, too, in their own weird way, I’m sure,” Shelley said, even though sometimes she wondered if that was really true. “Anyway, I’ll let you know. Thanks for being there for me to bounce this off of.”
“You mean to brag to, don’t you? Shelley Walters has never needed permission for a darn thing in her entire life, and you and I both know having an island fling with a hot guy you met while skinny-dipping is no different.”
Shelley grinned. “I should be worried about how well you know me. Gloat, gloat, gloat.”
After they ended the call, Shelley showered and dressed, feeling a little lighter on her feet. The Motrin had finally kicked in, and her talk with Taryn had not only diminished any embarrassment that might have come, but helped make her feel excited about the possibility of being even naughtier during her vacation.
She didn’t need approval for an island fling, but she did need the extra bolster of confidence, given that the sexy man whom she had tried to seduce had already seen her naked. Not to mention that she’d never actually had a fling and she wasn’t sure she’d be capable of pulling off something so intimate that was meant to be, well, meaningless.
Still…she wasn’t against trying. Especially with Quinn.
An hour later, she was one hundred percent again as she strolled down the beach toward the main resort buildings to see about breakfast. The beach by her cottage was empty, save for a few gulls feeding on unlucky fish, but the closer she got to the resort, the more people milled about.
When she had first chosen the Rockwell Resort for her trip, she’d had a little niggling worry that she might not like staying in such a fancy resort. She had been raised to hobnob with the best of them, but she didn’t like the pretentious act that so many wealthy people wore like banners. The Rockwell Resort boasted an expansive private beach, and it was one of the few resorts that had a significant number of online reviews. It was the only resort where the reviews spoke of the intimate feeling of the resort and the friendliness and efficiency of the staff, in addition to the exquisite location and amenities. In the end, it was the reviews that had sold her on visiting the property.
The resort was very impressive, with a patio on the beach meeting a sweeping stairway that led to a terrace, where guests were enjoying breakfast at glass-topped tables. She stopped to admire the view of the two tiered pools farther up the property to the right and the surrounding gardens bursting with colorful blooms and verdant plants. The main building stood just beyond, with one wing running adjacent to the terrace, the other built at a ninety-degree angle behind the pools.
When she’d first seen the size of the resort, the pools, the beach cabanas, yachts, sailboats, and other amenities, she’d worried that maybe she’d made a mistake. The last thing she wanted was to take a vacation in a place that would feel more comfortable for her parents than for her. But from the moment she’d walked in the front doors, she was warmly welcomed with smiles and small talk from the friendly staff, and by the time she was done checking in and had been escorted to her cottage by a sweet concierge, she’d known she’d made the right choice.
She turned away from the resort to take in the view of the bay one more time before heading up for breakfast. It was a lovely morning, clear and crisp, without a cloud in the sky.
“Chugger!”
She turned at the sharp command and noticed the fluffy golden retriever she’d seen last night bounding toward her. The exotic honey-blonde was pushing the old man in the wheelchair in the same direction.
Shelley crouched to pet the puppy, who was full of wet kisses for her.
“I’m so sorry,” the woman said as she brought the wheelchair to a stop. “He usually doesn’t run off like that.”
“That’s okay. I love dogs.” Shelley smiled, admiring the woman’s lovely Mediterranean accent. Greek ancestry was her guess.
The older gentleman in the wheelchair patted his thighs, as he’d done the evening before, calling Chugger up for another kiss. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you?”
The man’s eyes were dark, reminding Shelley of the coffee beans she worked with on a daily basis at her café. The top of his head was balding, the hair on the sides silver, as was his beard, while his salt-and-pepper mustache and thick black eyebrows clung to younger years. His brows angled up at the edges, reminding Shelley of Sean Connery and giving him an even more serious look. Fine lines mapped his forehead and defined his eyes, while deep grooves ran from his nose to the corners of his mouth. Dressed in a crisp white dress shirt and dark trousers, he was remarkably handsome for a man of his age, which Shelley guessed to be somewhere in the neighborhood of his early eighties.
