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Shorts, he’d told her, and T-shirts. Oh, and a swimsuit. And how about a couple of those long filmy skirts? Those little cotton tops? Those silk things, with the lace?
“Camisoles,” the clerk had said with a quick smile.
“Camisoles, right. And sandals. And that dress, the one with the little flowers.” He’d paused at a counter, picked up a little vial, opened it, sniffed it, smelled lilacs. “This, too,” he’d said, “and that. And this—”
In the end, he’d ordered too much to carry, so he’d arranged for it to be delivered.
“Your lady is a lucky woman,” the clerk had said, and Liam had replied that he was the lucky one….
It wasn’t true.
His smile fled. He bent down, plucked a small white stone from the sand and threw it far out into the surf. He wasn’t lucky, because this couldn’t last. Jessie had made love with him, but she still belonged to another man. Not just any other man, either. She belonged to William.
Liam stared blindly over the water. Hell, no. Falling in love was not supposed to be like this.
He sighed and began walking again. Not that he was any kind of expert. Until now he’d figured love was a concept dreamed up by salesmen trying to sell soap. One man, one woman, bells ringing, fireworks going off—how could any of that be real?
But it was. You saw a woman, a special woman, and all that stuff happened. And if you were lucky, it was that way for her, too, so that both of you knew it could be like this for the rest of your lives. He knew, anyway, and even if Jessie hadn’t said so, she knew it, too. It was there, in her eyes, in the way she kissed him, in everything she said and did.
She loved him, he loved her, and what could possibly come of it? Nothing but grief, all around.
“Dammit,” Liam said. What else was there to say without putting back his head and howling his anguish to the gods who had to be looking down and laughing until their sides split? Fate sure had a hell of a sense of humor. Liam Malone, who’d figured love was about parts of the body that hadn’t a damn thing to do with the heart, who’d thought that even talking about settling down marked a man as a sucker extraordinaire—that very same Liam Malone was in love.
“Find my Jessica,” Bill had said, “and do the right thing.”
Liam mouthed an oath, kicked at the sand and watched the shiny particles rise into the air. Maybe the day wasn’t as beautiful as he’d thought. Little whitecaps danced on the restless sea and that dark smudge in the distance was growing. The woman at the gift shop had mentioned that a storm might be blowing in.
“It won’t last,” she’d promised. “Trouble in paradise never does.”
She had it wrong. What never lasted was paradise. How come he hadn’t remembered that? Life had a way of holding out happiness, waiting until you reached for it and then snatching it back. He should have told that to the clerk—although it was probably just as well he hadn’t. She’d only have looked at him as if he was nuts. Not a good thing, he thought with a little smile, for the staff to label the owner. Not that it seemed so great that he owned Flamingo Island or that he’d turned his life around.
It would only mean something if he could share it with Jessie.
He’d kept it a secret from Bill because he’d wanted to tell him in person, how he’d awakened one morning with a fortune in his wallet and a French movie star in his bed. He’d been on a hot streak that month, winning hand after hand at high-stakes poker tables, dazzling the oil barons and investment bankers he’d outplayed, and he’d opened his eyes that particular day, looked at the famous face on the pillow beside his, then at the opulent gold-leaf ceiling in his posh hotel suite, and said, “Malone, just what the hell are you doing?”
So he’d kissed the movie star goodbye, dumped his money into the startup stock of an Internet company he’d heard about over a hand of poker. Two weeks later, he cashed out, rich. Rich beyond his wildest dreams. But it became boring, reading the financial news and watching his money make more money. He took a chunk of it, looked around for opportunities, bought this place for no better reason than that he found it peaceful and beautiful. The next thing he knew, he’d turned himself into a man he’d thought he’d never want to be. To his amazement, he liked the transformation—but he’d never planned on falling in love. Love hadn’t worked for his parents, who’d probably died screaming at each other as their car hit the overpass abutment, or for the rich and famous he’d known over the last decade.
Except it had happened. With Jessie, the only woman he’d ever love. He’d tell her that, slowly. Work up to it, because as much as he loved her, it scared him.
The villa door swung open. Jessie smiled at him. She had on one of the outfits he’d bought, a little white top with a long, filmy skirt, and she’d left her hair loose, the way he liked it.
“Jessie,” he blurted. “Sweetheart, I’m crazy in love with you.”
She didn’t say anything. Then, just when he thought he’d made the worst mistake a man could ever make, she threw herself into his arms.
“Liam,” she said. “Oh, Liam, I was so afraid it was only me.”
He swept her up, kicked the door shut and, for a little while, nothing mattered but showing each other exactly what being in love meant.
* * *
THEY LAY IN EACH OTHER’S ARMS in the center of the bed, safe and secure in the aftermath of their lovemaking.
Lia
m inhaled the fragrance of Jessie’s hair. “You smell delicious. Is that the perfume I gave you?”
“Mmm-hmm. It’s lovely.”
