скачать книгу бесплатно
* * *
Two hours later, when they were safely back at the McNeill family estate in Le François, Jager still couldn’t erase Delia Rickard from his mind. After pouring himself an aged whiskey from the cut crystal decanter on his desk and taking a sip, he stared out his office window through the slats of the open plantation shutters. His gaze kept returning to the guest cottage lit by white landscape lights. He was waiting for Delia to emerge. When he’d first asked her to manage the Martinique household for him, he’d offered her the cottage on the British Colonial style property for expediency’s sake.
Not only could she keep track of the staff better on-site, but at the time, she had also been trying to put some distance between herself and her past. Her former fiancé, Brandon Nelson, was a particular kind of son of a bitch Jager had run into often in business—always looking for a way to cheat the system. In this case, the guy had attempted to scam Delia out of her rightful inheritance—a plot of land belonging to her father that was in the way of a proposed landing strip for private aircrafts serving a luxury hotel development. The investors had offered Brandon a cash payment if he could convince her to sign over the rights. He’d decided to simply marry her and obtain the rights for himself.
Unethically.
Jager leaned a hip on the dark hardwood desk, remembering how Delia had discovered the truth on the morning of her wedding. She’d fled the seaside venue on a Jet Ski and run it aground on a small island where Jager had been fishing. It had been the start of a friendship that had benefitted them both.
He’d been in a relationship at the time, and Delia had been running from an awful one, so he’d tamped down the attraction for both of their sakes. Instead, he’d offered her a job. Very quickly, she’d proven an excellent assistant, invaluable in helping him repurpose a portion of the family estate for private parties and occasional corporate retreats as a way to support local businesses—in particular, his marina. After Delia trimmed the household budget the first year and made a local farm-to-table initiative on McNeill lands a success, Jager had asked her to expand her role to review the operations at the marina as well.
Leaving things in her capable hands, he’d moved to California with his brother to take Damon’s start-up to the next level. Just thinking about the hell that move had caused for all of them made his shoulders sag with grief for Damon and the loss of his vibrant and beautiful wife.
Now Damon had disappeared too. He’d left to travel two months ago and at the time, Jager had agreed it would be wise for him to get away. But days after his departure, Damon had shut off his phone and hadn’t been in contact since.
To make it worse, around that time Jager had been contacted by their father, who’d barely acknowledged him as a child and whom Jager hadn’t seen in fifteen years. Now, suddenly, he was offering the help of his wealthy family.
Too little. Too late.
As if Jager had any desire to spend time with the dirtbag who’d walked out on their mom. Apparently Jager’s paternal grandfather—whom he’d never met—was determined to reunite all his grandsons. Bastard offspring and otherwise. Jager had told them hell no.
He finished off the whiskey and set aside his glass.
His world was a giant mess. The one moment of clarity in it all?
When Delia had been in his arms in the water just two hours ago. The dark churn of thoughts that had plagued him for nearly a year suddenly quieted, burned away by an attraction grown more intense since that first day when she’d washed up on his island. Nothing prohibited them from being together now. He was so distant from the Martinique-based businesses that he could make a move without worrying about the impact on their working relationship. Or he’d simply transfer her to another part of the company where Gabe could monitor her job performance, eliminating the conflict of interest. Gabe could make the decision about that raise she wanted.
His conscience clear, Jager watched her step from the cottage, her fair hair glowing golden under the porch light as she locked the dead bolt with a key. Now he could allow himself to think about the possibilities of being alone with her. Of forgetting the hell of the past year for a night in her arms.
Backing away from the window, Jager watched as Delia strode toward the main house. She wore a rose-colored tank dress, with a thin white sweater thrown over her shoulders. A simple gold bangle wrapped around one wrist. She worried her lip with her teeth as she stared down at the dusky gold pavers that led to the stone steps up to the house.
If he could have a taste of that soft pink mouth, he would indulge as often as possible. Was she nervous about spending the evening with him? Or was she looking forward to it as much as he? She had to have known she was getting to him today in the water. Soaking wet and hard as hell for her, he’d been unable to hide his fast reaction to feeling her breasts pressed to his chest. He’d felt her reaction too though. The attraction wasn’t one-sided.
“Hello, Jager.” He couldn’t believe how long he’d allowed himself to ruminate over her body. She’d entered the house and his office while he was preoccupied.
Of course, she had domain over the whole place while he was gone. And he’d left the double doors to his office open. He was more than ready to let her in.
“I trust you’re feeling better after the impromptu swim?” He turned to greet her but did not approach, hoping to put her at ease. She’d pinned her golden-blond hair up, leaving only a few stray pieces around her face. The rest bounced in a loose knot as she walked.
He gestured toward the seating arrangement near the fireplace. A wrought iron candelabra with fat white pillar candles had been laid in the cold hearth at some point in his absence. A homey touch. Delia perched on the edge of a wide gray twill armchair near the rattan chest that served as a coffee table, her posture stiff even though she gave him a smile.
“I’m almost warm again, thank you.” She tugged the shawl sweater more tightly around her while he took a seat on the couch adjacent to her chair. “Tourists may swim in November, but I don’t usually go in the water this time of year.”
“Yet you didn’t even hesitate.” He’d been watching her from the deck of the skiff carrying him from the seaplane to the marina. “I saw how fast you jumped in after Emily fell.” He’d spoken to the girl’s family briefly after reaching the dock, to make sure she was going to be fine and that they would focus more on parenting and less on partying.
“You were in the water almost as quickly as me.” She shook her head and briefly closed her hazel eyes as a delicate shudder passed through her. “I don’t even want to think about what might have happened if you hadn’t arrived when you did. I was never so panicked as those few seconds when I couldn’t find her.”
“I only spotted her because you were just above her in the water.” He’d swum faster than he’d known he was capable of. “Although I would have searched the whole damn marina for her if I had to. I’ve had enough sleepless nights thinking about how different our lives might be if someone had been there to haul Caroline out of the water.”
He hadn’t meant to share that, but the loss of his sister-in-law had overshadowed everything else for their family. Delia’s hand on his forearm cut through some of the darkness though, providing an unexpected comfort.
“I’m sorry,” she said simply, her eyes filled with genuine empathy.
Empathy that didn’t even rightfully belong to him. It was Damon who’d been through hell. Suddenly Jager was reminded that he needed to focus on his family and not whatever he was feeling for his assistant right now. At least until they’d cleared up some business.
“Thank you.” He acknowledged her kindness before redirecting the conversation. “Which reminds me that I won’t be staying in town long, so I’d like to come up with a plan to review any new business over the next week.”
“You’re leaving again? Why?” Delia’s touch fell away from his arm. Her lips parted in surprise.
“I need to find Damon.” He’d never imagined his brother as the kind of man who might do himself harm, but Damon had been through more than any man should have to bear.
“I understand.” Delia nodded, but her expression remained troubled. She spun the gold bangle around her wrist.
“I won’t leave until we address any concerns you may have about the business.” Or Gabe did. But there was enough time to share his plan with her. He still hoped to put her at ease first.
“Of course.” She quit spinning the bracelet and glanced up at him. “I know how committed you are to this place. You’re always quick to respond to any of my questions about the business.”
Leaving him to wonder if she’d ever had questions of a more personal nature that he’d overlooked? He studied her features, trying to read the woman who’d become so adept at managing his affairs. A woman who had become a professional force to be reckoned with despite a lack of formal training.
She deftly changed the subject.
“Have you eaten?” she asked, straightening in her seat. “Dinner is ready. Chef texted me half an hour ago to say he’d prepared something—”
“Will you join me?” he asked, wanting her with him.
“I don’t want to monopolize your time on your first day home.” She scooted to the edge of her seat as if looking for the closest exit. Cautious. Professional. “I can bring you up to speed on the house and marina in the morning so you can enjoy your meal.”
“My brother Gabe is in Los Altos Hills for another week,” he reminded her. “There’s no one else in Le François waiting to spend time with me, I’m afraid.”
Still, she hesitated. No doubt about it, those chilly moments wrapped around one another in the Atlantic today had shifted the dynamic between them. She’d never been uneasy around him before.
“We can make it a working dinner, if you wish.” He reached for his phone and began to type out a text. “I’m requesting that the meal be served in here.”
“That’s not necessary,” she protested.
“I insist.” He needed them to clear away an important piece of business. To remove any barrier there was to being together. “Besides, I’ve been meaning to discuss something you brought up in the water today.”
“I...” Her eyes went wide. She swallowed visibly. If she were any other woman, he wouldn’t hesitate to end the suspense and kiss her.
But he wouldn’t rush this.
“You mentioned needing a raise?” he reminded her, clearing a place for their plates on the rattan chest by moving aside a fresh flower arrangement of spiky red blooms he recognized as native to the island.
Already, a uniformed server hesitated at the office door, a tray in hand. He waved the young woman in.
“Sir?” The woman’s starched gray uniform was cinched tight by apron strings. She carefully set the tray down where he indicated. “Chef said to tell you there is a visitor at the gate.”
“There is?” Delia tugged her phone out of a long brown leather wallet that she’d deposited on the chair beside her. The call button at the gate on the main road was hooked up to an app Delia and Jager could access. “I’m sorry I didn’t hear the bell. I turned off notifications for our meeting.”
Curious, Jager spun his own phone toward him and clicked on the icon for the security system while the server went to retrieve another tray from a rolling cart in the hallway.
Before Jager pulled up the video feed from the front gate, Delia gasped.
“What is it?” Jager asked.
She lost color in her face, her fingers hovering above her lips as if to hold in the rest of her reaction.
“It’s not your ex, is it?” Jager shot to his feet, moving behind her chair to view her screen.
“No.” Delia lifted the phone to show him. “It’s your brother. Damon.”
Two (#uf095e410-46c2-5087-a55c-818ac898b0f8)
Steel-blue eyes stared up into the security camera. McNeill eyes. Delia had seen the three brothers together often enough to appreciate the family resemblance. The striking blue eyes and dark hair. The strong jaw and athletic build. Damon was the tallest of the three. He looked a bit thinner than she recalled, which was no surprise given the year he’d had.
“That’s not Damon.” The cold harshness of Jager’s voice stunned her as he tugged her phone from her grip, his strong hands brushing over her fingers. “Let me speak to him.”
Confused, she let go of the device while Jager pressed the talk button. Her skin was still humming from his touch as he straightened.
“I’ve made it clear I don’t want to see anyone from your family,” he barked into the speaker while he gently closed the office doors to keep their conversation private from the staff. “If you need accommodations in town, I can send someone out to the gate with a list of recommendations.”
“Jager!” Appalled, Delia leaped from her seat and reached to take her phone back. “What are you doing?”
The voice of the man at the gate rumbled through the speaker. “You’re not getting rid of us, dude. Now that my grandfather knows about you, the old man is insistent that you and your brothers join the fold.”
Delia froze as she absorbed the words. After hearing him speak, she questioned her own eyes. The man didn’t have Damon’s voice. Or his reserved, deliberate manner. The voice was bolder, more casual, even a bit brash.
Her gaze found Jager’s, searching for answers. The air sparked between them, making her realize how close she was standing to her boss. She was painfully aware of how handsome he was in a pair of khakis and a long-sleeved dark tee that showed off his toned body. She caught a hint of his aftershave: pine and musk. Her heartbeat quickened before she stepped back fast.
“Not going to happen, Cam.” Jager spoke softly, but there was an edge to his voice she couldn’t recall hearing before. Clearly, he knew the man. “You can tell your grandfather that your father made the best possible decision when he walked out on my mother. We’re better off without him.”
Delia backed up another step, processing. The men looked so much alike. The man at the gate wanted Jager and his brothers to join the fold and said his grandfather knew about them now.
The man was Jager’s brother. Just not the brother that Delia had assumed he was. This was a relation she’d never known about—a half brother.
“We have a lead on Damon,” the visitor countered in a more guarded tone. “My brother Ian knows an excellent private investigator—”
“Damon is not your concern,” Jager told him shortly, still studying Delia with that watchful gaze. “Goodbye.”
He lowered the phone and pressed the button to end the connection and shut down the security app. Sudden silence echoed in Jager’s office.
“You have more family than just Damon and Gabriel,” she observed, feeling shaken from the encounter. From the whole day that had left her exposed in more ways than one.
It seemed as if Jager had whole facets of his life that she knew nothing about. If he didn’t trust her with that information, how well did she even know him? Her former fiancé had left her more than a little wary of men who kept secrets.
“My father was a sporadic part of my childhood at best, and I haven’t seen him once since my thirteenth birthday.” Jager set her phone on the sofa table next to a platter of food covered with a silver dome.
She’d forgotten about the dinner, but the spices of island cooking—French Creole dishes that were Jager’s favorite—scented the air.
“He had other children?” She felt she was owed an answer because of their friendship but she also needed to know about this to do her job. “This can have an impact on all your businesses. You’ll want to protect yourself from outside legal claims.”
“And so we will.” His lips twisted in a wry expression. “But the Manhattan branch of the McNeill family is far wealthier than we can imagine thanks to their global resort empire, so they certainly don’t need to alienate their own relatives by forcing their way into our businesses.” He gestured to the sofa. “Please sit. We should eat before the meal is cold.”
“McNeill Resorts? Oh, wow.” The name was as familiar as Hilton. Ritz-Carlton. It was too much to process. She sank down onto the soft twill chair cushion.
Jager took the opportunity to lift the domes from the serving platters and pass her a plate and silverware. The scent of accras, the delectable fritters the McNeills’ chef made so well, tempted her, rousing an appetite after all.
“Yes. Wow.” His tone was biting. “I believe my half brothers expected Gabe and me to swoon when they informed us we were now welcome into the family.” He dished out a sampling of the gourmet offerings onto her plate—spiced chatrou, the small octopus that was a local delicacy, plus some grilled chicken in an aromatic coconut sauce.
His arm brushed hers. The intimacy of this private meal reminded her she needed to be careful around him. She needed this job desperately. Her father relied on her and good opportunities were difficult to come by locally for a woman with no college degree. She couldn’t afford to leave the island to find more options. Balancing her plate carefully, she shifted deeper against the seat cushion to try to insert some space between her and her tempting dining companion.
“Damon doesn’t know about them?” she asked, trying to focus her scattered thoughts on his last comment.
“Only in a peripheral way. We were aware of their existence for years, but they didn’t contact us until recently.” Jager filled his plate as well. “Cameron McNeill and his brother Ian flew out to Los Altos Hills last month to introduce themselves and make it clear their grandfather wants to unite the whole family. Including the bastard Martinique branch.”
Delia took her time responding, biting into the tender chicken and taking a sip from the water glass Jager passed her. She knew that he had no love for his father after the man disappeared from their lives—refusing to leave his wife for Jager’s mother—when Gabe, the youngest son, was just ten years old. Their father had only visited the boys a few times a year before that, making it impossible to build a relationship. They’d lived in California back then. But after the father quit coming to visit, their mother sold the house and used the proceeds to buy an old plantation home in Martinique, purposely making it difficult for the boys’ father to find them even if he’d wanted to. As far as Jager was concerned, however, his father had abandoned their family long before that time.
Jager had shared all that with Delia in the past, but the latest developments were news to her.
“It’s the right thing for your grandfather to do,” she said finally. “You, Damon and Gabe have as much claim to the McNeill empire as your father’s legitimate sons.”
“Not in the eyes of the law.” Jager scowled down at his plate.
“The business belongs to your grandfather.” She knew the rudimentary facts about the hotel giant. They owned enough properties throughout the Caribbean to warrant regular coverage in regional news publications. “Malcolm McNeill gets to choose how he wants to divide his legacy.” She waited a moment, and when he didn’t argue, she continued, “Have you met him?”
“Absolutely not. That’s what they want—for me to get on a plane and go to New York to meet the old man.” He speared a piece of white fish with his fork. “They claim Malcolm McNeill is in declining health, but if it’s true, they’re keeping a tight lock on the news since I haven’t seen a whisper of it in the business pages.”
Her jaw dropped. How could he be so stubborn?
“Jager, what if something happened to him and you never got to meet him?” She only had her father for family, so she couldn’t imagine what it might be like to have more siblings and family who wanted to be a part of her life. “They’re family.”
“By blood, maybe. But not by any definition that matters in my book.” Reaching for a bottle of chilled Viognier the server had left for them, Jager poured two glasses, passing her one before taking a sip of his own.
“And does Gabe feel the same way?” She had a hard time imagining the youngest McNeill digging his heels in so completely. Whereas Jager resolutely watched over his siblings like a de facto father, Gabe went his own way more often than not. He’d only invested in Transparent—Damon’s tech company—after considerable urging from his siblings. Gabe preferred to stick close to the hotel he owned on Martinique and was renovating the place by hand.
His older brothers had scoffed at the manual labor, but Delia noticed that Gabe was having a hard time finishing the hotel work because his craftsmanship skills had developed a following, making him in demand for other restoration projects around the Caribbean, all the way to Miami.
“Gabe is outvoted by Damon and me.” He took two more bites before he noticed she hadn’t responded. When he turned toward her, she glared at him.
“Meaning he disagrees?” she asked.
“Meaning Damon would feel the same way I do, so if Gabe chooses to disagree, he’s still outnumbered.”
Delia set her plate aside on the rattan chest, then put her wineglass beside it.
“Damon might have a very different opinion about family after losing someone,” she observed quietly.
Jager went still.
