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[MtnVet] And that picture of you in the Washington Post? You did say it was a recent one, yes?
[DCWatcher] Yep. If you weren’t sickened by that, we should be okay in person.
[MtnVet] Well…
[DCWatcher] Come on, woman. Take a risk. What’s the worst that could happen?
[DCWatcher] Meg?
[MtnVet] Wait, I’m imagining the worst. It’s pretty horrible.
[DCWatcher] Tropical island. Warm breezes. Pure white sand on a private beach. Drinks with tiny umbrellas in them.
[MtnVet] Stop. I can’t stand it. Okay. Yes. I’ll go.
[DCWatcher] It was the umbrellas, wasn’t it?
[MtnVet] You do know me too well.
[DCWatcher] So for real? Yes?
[MtnVet] Yes. Wow.
[DCWatcher] Wow, indeed.
1
IT WAS NOON ON THE dot when the plane, a little propeller job that had flown so close to the ocean Meg could have jumped without a parachute, landed on the island. The view, of rocky cliffs, crystal clear blue waters, and vegetation so green it almost hurt, had stolen her breath, and she wondered if she’d ever get it back.
It didn’t help that she was scared spitless. Not about the plane; she loved puddle jumpers. He was, theoretically, already here. Since her birthday, she’d hardly been able to think of anything else. She was going to meet Alex Rosten in the flesh. After an entire year of talking to him online in private chats, they were going to be face-to-face in, like, thirty seconds.
Meg waited until everyone else had cleared the aisle, and then she got her travel bag from the overhead compartment. Her body fairly quivered with tension. Although she was trying to be very Zen about the whole experience, she was failing miserably. She wanted to like him. She wanted to be attracted to him. She wanted him to sweep her off her feet.
Problem was, she also wanted not to like him so much, to find him more a friend than a lover, and she needed to keep her feet firmly on the ground.
For a woman whose biggest single risk up to this point was going to UC Davis instead of UCLA, this little vacation was monumental.
Her whole life had been swallowed by her work. Since her father had died and left her his veterinary clinic in Diamond Canyon, she’d been working six days a week. But because she was always on call, time off was more a concept than a reality. Her only personal time was when she was online with Alex.
If they blew this, if the chemistry wasn’t there, then what? What would she do on those nights when by some mysterious grace he was there when she was there, and they talked until they both got stupid with tiredness? Until they laughed at the most ridiculous things ever?
She needed Alex. Needed to find him on the other end of the computer, needed the possibility that she’d find him. She’d been so fiercely protective of their relationship that they’d never even spoken on the phone. He’d asked, she’d debated, but in the end it seemed safer just to keep the status quo. Which this little trip shattered all to hell.
“May I help you, Miss?”
She turned to the steward, sharp in his khakis, thick eyebrows raised. “No, thanks. I’ve got it.”
She pulled up the handle on her case and rolled it toward the door. Would Alex be on the tarmac or inside? Would she know him immediately, and he know her? And, oh, God, was she supposed to kiss him? Hug? Shake hands?
Pushing her hair back behind her shoulders, she straightened, took a deep breath and stepped onto the portable steps.
Blinking in the tropical sunlight, she scanned the small group of people standing in front of the terminal. The heat hit her hard, not because it was so different from the cold Los Angeles winter but because her fear and anticipation had chilled her deeply. When she thought of the things she’d told him in the late hours, the fantasies she’d revealed in lurid detail…It was hard to breathe as her gaze went from one face to another.
He wasn’t there. The impatient noises behind her sent her forward. It was only eleven steps down, and not that far to enter the terminal, but she had to consciously make her legs move.
Maybe he’d chickened out. It was possible, right? She’d hear her name over the loudspeaker, a message at the desk.
Not likely. He’d sent her an e-mail yesterday with his flight information from Dulles. He’d sounded so excited. Which wasn’t fair. Shouldn’t he be sweating this, too? He probably figured in five days and four nights, he was bound to get lucky, so why worry? What she didn’t understand was why she couldn’t see things in exactly the same way.
Going by his picture—well, pictures—he was a nice-looking guy. Although the photo of him from the Washington Post was too grainy to see him fully, when she’d Googled him, she’d found others. Him with politicians, him getting awards, him being important. He rarely smiled, but there’d been this one…He was alone, leaning against a brick wall, and he looked happy. She remembered finding that picture and thinking about his smile. Such a good smile. Not to mention his expressive eyes and his dark, thick hair. She already knew the most important things about him—that he had a great sense of humor, and that he was really smart, and kind. She should be filled with anticipation—good anticipation, not this sick dread.
If only she hadn’t been quite so open. If only she hadn’t told him all of her secrets…
HE SHOULD HAVE GONE outside. Alex ran a hand through his hair as he paced underneath the huge circular clock above the terminal doors. The plane had landed, and he knew she was out there, so what was he doing in here?
He was behaving like an idiot, like a teenager. At thirty-three, he’d had his share of blind dates, and he’d never given them a second thought. They’d clicked or they hadn’t. No sweat. Of course, he’d never been in a situation like this one.
He liked Meg more than anyone he’d met in a hell of a long time, but it was all online, and that wasn’t the truest test. Not by a long shot.
His buddy Craig had met a woman online. Through Match.com. They’d talked for three months. She’d lived in Brussels, and Craig had liked her so much he’d paid for her to move to D.C. It was a disaster.
She’d used him, lied, made up just about everything about herself, except for her name.
If Meg had done the same thing, Alex was screwed in more ways than one. Not just because they’d be in such close proximity for five days, but because, despite his best intentions, he had expectations. Which was always, always a mistake.
Don’t hope, you can’t get hurt, right? Everyone’s got their own agenda, and the smiles and the handshakes don’t mean shit. He’d been in Washington a long time, and he’d learned not to underestimate the depth of deception in the human heart.
No, he wasn’t going to think about D.C. He’d spent all day wondering how the press was reacting to his latest column. It was either going to be a scandal worthy of congressional investigation, or a blip on the radar, buried somewhere in the back pages. It was out of his hands.
“This is ridiculous,” he said, startling the woman next to him. He gave her a smile, then stepped out to meet Meg. And stopped.
Oh, Christ. She was perfect.
MEG BLINKED. It was him. She gripped the handle of her bag as she stared. He was so much more than she’d pictured. Taller. Darker hair. Brighter smile. And his eyes were filled with a pleasure she could hardly comprehend.
“Wow.”
“I’ll say.”
He laughed, and it did things to her insides. Then he took the few steps needed to be close. Close enough to touch. “Nice to meet you, Meg Becker.”
She grinned. “Nice to meet you, too.”
He looked at her. Really looked. First at her face, his eyes crinkling in the bright sunlight, then slowly down her body. He didn’t pause, but he didn’t rush.
She’d worn a pale green, sleeveless button-down blouse and beige capris. Comfort was her goal, as the trip from L.A. to Florida had been a long one, and then the hop to the island, of course. She’d left her hair down, and it occurred to her that she should have brushed it. Put on fresh lip gloss. At least checked to make sure her makeup hadn’t smeared.
When Alex’s gaze rose again, he didn’t seem displeased. Not if that incredible smile was any indication.
He had to be at least six feet tall. He was wearing a pair of well-worn jeans and the softest looking shirt. The sleeves were rolled up a couple of turns, showing the dark hair, not too thick, on his arms. It wasn’t buttoned all the way up, either, so she could see the suggestion of hair on his chest. It made her want to touch him. Feel if his hair was as soft as the sleek cream shirt. If his chest was as hard as she hoped. Altogether, he was kinda built and surprisingly sexy.
She laughed. She wasn’t even sure why, except, oh, God, here she was on a tropical island with a man she was seeing for the very first time and they’d been together two seconds and already she wanted to plaster herself to his chest.
Alex laughed, too. It was a great sound. Deep, rich. Quite yummy. Lord, he had dimples. Not little teeny ones, but long commas next to the smile lines bracketing his mouth.
“There’s not a flight out until tomorrow,” he said, “so it’s too late to turn back now.”
“I don’t want to turn back.”
“Thank God. How about I take you to see the island?”
“Sounds great.” She stepped closer to him, expecting him to back up and lead her to her baggage, but he didn’t move. His eyes had softened, lost their humor but not their spark, and the smile that had been there since he’d opened the door drifted, leaving him with parted lips and a look that told her that no one was going to be using that loft, after all.
2
CHARLIE HANOVER LOWERED THE POST to his lap as he swung his leather chair around. He had a great view of the Washington Monument from his office and when it snowed like this he’d often sit and stare for long stretches, just letting his thoughts go where they may.
So Alex Rosten had officially gone ’round the bend. Charlie smiled, letting the moment have its due. That bastard Rosten had been a thorn in his side since college. Charlie didn’t care how many times Rosten denied it, he had been the one to start those rumors of plagiarism when they’d both been up for the Balakian Award. It was no coincidence that Alex had won.
Charlie figured he’d be done with Rosten after that, but no. They’d both been up for jobs at the Post at the same time, and, again, no coincidence, Alex had triumphed. But now that Charlie was covering Washington for the New York Times, Alex could kiss his ass. Although he didn’t have to now. With this column, Alex wouldn’t have a source left in Washington, or anywhere else for that matter, who’d give him the time of day.
Picking up the paper, he read the article again. He’d give Alex credit—he focused on his own errors of omission. He’d spilled the beans about Senator Allen’s birthday bash in Hawaii two years ago. The celebration had been an obscene display of wealth, with everything from barely dressed dancing girls to troughs of the most expensive champagne and caviar in the world. The total price tag had been in excess of two million, most of it taxpayer money. That little detail hadn’t hit the papers, even though there had been a large contingent of journalists sipping the bubbly and enjoying the view.
Charlie had been there. Had a great time. He’d gotten a dozen good columns out of that junket, and he had no regrets. You gave a little to get a little. That’s the way it worked in Washington. The way it would always work. But Alex, in a fit of ethical remorse, was now sorry he hadn’t reported about the misappropriation of funds. He admitted that while he’d suspected the money was tainted, he hadn’t dug further. Because, like Charlie, he’d gotten a lot of other juicy tidbits at that shindig. More than just the material for a number of political columns, he’d gotten the biggest single commodity on the Hill—information. The one currency that never loses its value.
According to Alex, he was no longer willing to trade information without full and immediate disclosure to the American people. Noble sentiment. But it would never work. It wasn’t how the game was played. Power was everything in Washington, and no bleeding heart would ever change that.
Charlie put the article away as his secretary stepped inside his office. “Talk to me.”
“Alex Rosten is gone,” Stephanie said. “On vacation.”
“Not surprising. Where?”
She frowned. “This is gonna cost you. I had to promise I’d go to dinner with that slimy creep at the Post.”
“Two three-day weekends?”
“Deal.”
“So?”
“He’s gone to an island in the Caribbean. To a resort called Escapades. And before you ask, I called around. There are no rooms at the inn.”
“Escapades, huh? Don’t worry about it. I know a guy. Get me everything we have on Rosten. I want to be out of here in two hours.”
“Yes, sir.”
Charlie turned to his computer, to his database. He didn’t know the owner of Escapades, but he had a buddy who did. And that buddy owed him, big time. Which is how the game was played. Only this time, Charlie was going to make sure Alex Rosten went down in flames.
ALEX HAD ONLY BEEN on the island a few hours, but that didn’t stop him from giving Meg a detailed tour. They were in a glorified golf cart, her luggage safely stowed in the back. The island was actually a pretty big place. On one side, the side with the airport, was a full-out luxury resort. They passed a large white hotel, curved and glittering and elegant. Near the hotel were several restaurants, a couple of pools, a spa, tennis courts and more. Everything a person could want, if a person wanted to be around people.
On the other side of the island, where he was taking her, were bungalows. Only twelve, all of them perched either in the seaside palm trees or right over the water. The one he’d booked was over the water. No restaurants, no pools. Just the bluest ocean on earth meeting the bluest skies in the heavens.
They had the use of the cart for the duration of their stay, which meant they could go wherever they chose easily, but he had high hopes that they wouldn’t be spending a lot of time at group activities.
“This is breathtaking,” Meg said, as they drove by one of the huge swimming pools.
“It’s got a swim-up bar. And I think that waterfall is actually a slide.”
“No kids.”
“One of the advantages of an adult resort. And it’s all-inclusive. You want a drink, they bring it to you. You can eat anywhere. The only thing they charge extra for is deep-sea fishing. Basically, you want it, you got it.”
She looked at him. “I want a whole lot.”
“Then we’re in the right place.”
Her smile lingered in his mind’s eye as she turned back to the scenery. He, on the other hand, had to figure out a way to stay calm. Cool. As if he didn’t want to jump her the moment they were in the bungalow. Hell, as if he didn’t want to do it right this second.
What the hell had she been thinking when she’d e-mailed him that picture? It didn’t come close to what she really looked like. Jeez, she’d caught him completely off guard. Dammit.
The woman was beautiful. She had long, really thick, almost black hair. It framed her face, and oh man, what a face. Dark brows, dark lashes and dark eyes. Pale, delicate skin. The contrast alone was worthy of epic poems.
She was taller than he’d expected, and he could see that all that yoga she talked about had paid off. Again, a mixture. Lean lines with fascinating curves just where they should be.
He couldn’t blow this. He hadn’t invited her to sex-apalooza. In fact, he’d gone to a lot of trouble and expense to make sure she felt completely at ease. But it was clear that if she didn’t want to sleep with him, he’d have to kill himself.
“Oh, God,” she said.
He followed her gaze to the first clear view of the beach. “This is nothing,” he said. “Wait till we get to the other side of the island. There’s a huge lagoon. And we have a lot more privacy where we’re staying.”
“Oh, really?”
He nodded, wanting this part to be over already. It was awkward, the first steps of a new dance. He wanted it to be like when they were online. He could speed things up, take her right to the bungalow, but he’d promised her a tour, and she should have it. There was so much to do here, and even though he’d like to keep her to himself, this was her vacation.
Meg turned to him. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Anything.”
“What made you look for the island in the first place?”
“Aside from our fabulous New Year’s Eve conversation?”
“Yeah. Aside from that.”
He eased the cart around a few trees and toward the spa. The jungle was thicker here, and he thanked the timing gods that they’d made the trip in February, when the air was perfectly warm, but not too humid to breathe without a snorkel. “You weren’t home,” he said.
“Ah. Well, that clears everything up. Thanks.”
