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Four hours and twenty minutes after they left Teterboro, the jet began its final descent.
It would not be a smooth landing, either, Ava thought, as the jet bounced and jumped, buffeted by the turbulence that kept most aircraft out of St. Barts’ tiny airport. Apparently, the small island had an even smaller runway and private jets had to have a special license to land on St. Barts. Colm’s pilot had been given the clearance when Colm bought the estate overlooking Lorient Bay.
All this, Ava knew, because Colm talked to her throughout the wild landing, talking to her to keep her from focusing on the crazy jolts and bumps.
She let him talk, too, welcoming the distraction. Not just from the rough air, but from him.
He was too attractive for his own good. The near kiss had woken something in her and she couldn’t make the heat go away. She felt electric on the inside and painfully aware of Colm and how appealing she still found him. But how could she not? He was tall and muscular and beautifully shaped…the angle of his jaw, the distance between his shoulders, the length of his leg, the width of his hand.
She wanted to be back in his arms. She wanted to feel his hands. She wanted—
The jet het another pocket of rough air and did a dramatic shuddering bounce.
Her gaze went to Malcolm’s. He smiled at her, reassuring, and she exhaled.
“Almost there,” he said.
“You were right. It is bumpy.”
“Almost always is.”
She glanced from him, to the window. Yellow and red lights lined the island runway. She saw where the lights stopped. It was all darkness and then beyond white rolled against the dark. Waves, she thought. That must be the ocean beyond.
“Why did you buy the villa here?” she asked, glancing back at Colm, not wanting to think about what would happen if the jet overshot the runway.
“Seemed like a good investment at the time, but I didn’t use it very often. There wasn’t any point, and then a year ago Christmas, Jack and I came out and had a lot of fun, and we’ve been back several times. We spent Christmas here this year, too.”
The jet touched down, the landing surprisingly smooth after the bumpy descent.
“We made it,” she said, looking out the window as the jet taxied towards the small terminal building. Yellow lights lined the narrow tarmac. The moon shone high and full, outlining distant palm trees.
“Did you doubt it?” he asked, with a smile.
“I was just glad you looked calm. I wou
ld have been a wreck if you’d been nervous.” She suddenly yawned and she lifted a hand to cover her mouth. “I am tired, though. What time is it?”
He glanced at his watch. “Almost midnight back home, so nearly one in the morning here.
No wonder she was sleepy. She was usually in bed by nine. Ava smothered another yawn. “Sorry. I don’t know what’s hit me.”
“It’s late. But don’t worry. We’ll have you in bed soon.” He saw her sharp look and laughed. “Your bed. Relax. You’re safe tonight.”
Chapter Six
‡
She woke up with a start. The room was dark. Pitch black. Her room at home was never this dark. Where was she?
Ava leaned across the bed, reaching for a bedside lamp. She stretched as far as she could and touched the edge of a table before knocking a glass cylinder, nearly sending it crashing to the floor. She caught the glass pitcher and then bumped a smaller drinking glass, but no lamp.
Where was she?
What was happening?
She left the bed too quickly, and it was a longer way down and she landed heavily, awkwardly, and nearly cried out at the lash of pain shooting through her legs into her hip.
Her eyes burned and she swallowed hard.
Where, where, where….if she wasn’t home, where was she?
She struggled to remember, to piece the last several days together. She’d remember the details if she calmed down. She’d remember if she didn’t panic. And yet it was hard not to panic when everything was blank, her mind was blank, all memory blank.
But it wasn’t entirely blank. She knew she had an apartment, and she knew she was a dancer with the ballet company—
No. No. Not right. She was no longer a dancer. She’d been hurt. She couldn’t dance anymore. But she worked for the ballet, teaching.
So, if she wasn’t in New York…where was she?
She groped the wall, above the table, and finally she came upon a set of buttons. She pushed one, and then the other. The bedside lamp turned on. The overhead lights flooded the room with light.
She took it all in, trying to think, trying to remember.
It was all so strange.
Huge, cream wooden shutters lined one wall. The high coved ceiling was marked by an elegant ivory ceiling fan. Her bed was a giant four poster affair with shimmering rose and coral silk hangings. A pile of silk pillows in every shade of rose was stacked on the chest at the foot of her bed.
But none of it looked familiar. She didn’t know why she was here. She didn’t understand any of this.
Her bedroom door opened. Colm entered, wearing nothing but thin cotton pajama pants. “You okay, Ava?” he asked, his deep voice a sleepy rumble.
She shook her head. She knew him, of course she knew him, she dreamed about him every night, dreamed of love won and lost, and lost, and lost…
“Where am I?” she whispered.
