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“I’m just being stupid.”
“Okay...” Alythia’s drawling reply noted that she wasn’t about to argue her friend’s insight.
Myrna’s smile was more genuine despite the slight strain she couldn’t quite shadow. She tossed a blouse at Alythia’s face.
“Aly?”
“Yeah?”
Myrna moved the clothes to be packed, clearing a spot to sit on the armchair. “What do you think about Orchid’s engagement?” she queried in a tiny voice, as though someone might overhear them even though they were completely alone in the monster penthouse apartment Myrna kept in downtown Charlotte.
“Why?” Again, Aly pushed herself up a smidge higher on the bed. When Myrna just watched her, she shrugged. “I mean, I’m happy....” She shook her head, certain that there was more to the question.
“I’m happy, too.” Myrna scooted to the edge of the chair. “But don’t you think it’s all a little too-too soon?”
“You’re asking this?” Alythia’s words were half matter-of-fact and half playful.
Myrna Fisher was one of the most sought-after lingerie models in the country. The fact that she was black made the accomplishment even more noteworthy. Still, for all Myrna’s savvy allure, her weakness was for relationships. It was well known that the lovely model didn’t go long without a man on her arm. The woman so adored relationships that she had a tendency to become suffocating—a thing most men didn’t handle well, regardless of the woman’s beauty.
Moreover, it did Myrna’s reputation no favors to end things with one adoring suitor only to have another one before the close of the following week.
Appearing somewhat offended by Alythia’s response, Myrna pushed off the chair and returned to holding outfit possibilities before herself in the mirror. “Unlike our friend, at least I don’t pick up random guys to take home.”
Alythia kept her eyes downcast, allowing wavy jaw-length tresses to shield her expression from Myrna’s sight. Myrna’s usual defense was one of many. To her, partners were significant others. No one seemed to have the heart to tell Myrna those “others” were significant only in her mind.
“People can change, Mur.”
“Sure they can, but do people change that much in the span of two weeks?”
“What do you know?” Alythia tilted her head in an attempt to spy Myrna’s actual face rather than its reflection in the mirror.
Myrna was cagey, pretending to be involved in her outfits. “There’s nothing that I can prove.” She suddenly whirled around to point a finger in Alythia’s direction. “And I’m not jealous.”
Aly didn’t think it was wise just then to challenge the vehement declaration as a lie in spite of what she saw lurking in Myrna’s brown eyes.
Alythia Duffy and her close circle of acquaintances had been friends since middle school. They’d been through tense times but always stuck up for each other and defended each other whether or not that defense was warranted.
Though with age came a certain clarity, Alythia thought to herself. There were times when one had to see another for what he or she really was. By all accounts, Orchid Benjamin’s reputation had been tarnished by one sexual disgrace after another since high school.
“I just don’t know if getting married is the best idea for her, that’s all,” Myrna continued.
Alythia, who was now seated in the middle of the bed with her legs folded beneath her, tuned back into Myrna’s diatribe. “Are you suggesting that we say something to change her mind about going through with the wedding?”
The question tugged Myrna’s rapt attention off the mirror and the gossamer lounge dress she was debating over. Again she looked to Alythia and gave a smug gaze. “I’ll reserve judgment till I get a bead on the happy couple during our fun-filled getaway.”
* * *
Gage Vincent was well respected; his reputation was well earned from his fellow industrial entrepreneurs. That respect turned into merited admiration with a hint of envy when the discussion fixed on his stunning success with the opposite sex. It was regarded with an abundance of love when his close circle of friends was in the vicinity.
Gage had known his riotous crew since the days of their rough-and-tumble boyhoods. College and grad school had split the foursome for several years but the bonds hadn’t been broken. The four often traded war stories over drinks, dinner, games of cards or games of a more athletic variety.
While not linked by business, Jayson Muns, Zeke Shepard and Dane Spears were quite appreciative of the fact that Gage’s business saved them the expense of having to purchase their own modes of air travel.
* * *
Orchid Benjamin wasn’t overly impressed. The private aircraft had bold silver streaks trekking both sides of the fuselage to meet at the fin to form the letters VID. Not that the plane wasn’t dumbfoundingly impressive and then some, Orchid thought. What gnawed at her was that her fiancé hadn’t had the good taste and judgment to purchase one of his own.
“I mean, what are we gonna do on future trips?” Orchid asked the woman who had exited the limo behind her. “I know he doesn’t expect me to fly commercial.” She shivered as though the idea were too awful to dwell upon.
“He probably didn’t see the need, Ork.” Myrna pulled sunglasses from her head and perched them across the bridge of her nose. “What for? When his best friend has three of them?”
The rationale apparently pacified Orchid enough. She ran across the tarmac to greet her intended with a throaty—and, in Myrna’s opinion, theatrical—kiss.
Two men stood a few feet away from the affectionate couple. Myrna immediately cast them as friends of the groom. As the other men in her line of sight were in some variation of uniforms, it was a logical guess. From the way they stood back on long legs, hand over mouths, heads inclined toward each other, it also wasn’t hard to guess the topic of their private chatter.
Myrna had been part of enough staged photo settings to have a fairly passable grasp on reading body language. Yep, she thought, Ork’s rep had surely preceded her on the trip. The surge of an approaching engine caught her ear and Myrna let go of a bit more of her apprehension. She released a purely girlish shriek and hurried over to greet the fourth member of their circle.
“How’d you guys manage to swing leaving town without the entire local media descending?” Jeena Stewart placed a hand across her brow while observing the jet in the distance.
“They say Gage Vincent can swing anything.” Myrna dropped a kiss on Jeena’s cheek when they pulled out of their embrace. “Guess that includes leaving town without the whole world knowing about it.”
Jeena nodded, sudden weariness drawing her face into a tight honey-toned mask. “I wish returning my phone calls were one of those things that he could swing.”
Myrna masked her smile, knowing Jeena would take it as an insult. Word was—and speculation ran high toward that word being fact—that Jeena Stewart owed her fortune to the world’s oldest profession. There was nothing anyone could prove, however. Part of the reason for unsubstantiation lay in the fact that Jeena could claim clients for her so-called dating service at local and national government levels, or so it was rumored. Additionally, the woman ran her business like a...well...like a business, with salary and benefits for employees—female and male.
Myrna thought it was all absurd, hence her suppressed, knowing smile. “Guess we’re about ready to take off.” She noted the limo driver passing off her luggage to a member of the baggage staff. “Of course, we’re still one short.” She spared another glance across the tarmac.
Jeena rolled her eyes. “Why am I not surprised?”
* * *
“Ah...dammit,” Alythia said in disgust.
She had hoped taking her car, as opposed to hiring a driver, might play into her excuse of bad traffic, which would have resulted in her missing out on the luxurious flight.
But to her dismay, she arrived at the airstrip to find the plane still waiting. A chorus of birds were chirping somewhere amid the late-morning air as if they meant to welcome her to fun and excitement. Alythia appreciated the welcome but all the while considered circling back to the interstate in hopes of getting caught up in a traffic jam—a tad unlikely at that time of day, but who knew? It all could work in her favor and she might get—
“Can I help you with those?”
Alythia turned, her jaw dropping while her eyes zoned out in a show of surprise.
“Lucky.” She breathed the completion of her thought aloud.
She wasn’t sure if the man who stood within touching distance had sparked such a reaction because of his height. She stood just shy of five-ten in her bare feet, but this guy had to be six-two at least. Sure, it could’ve been the height or the muscular build—more lean than massive. Alythia was more inclined to wager on the man’s remaining attributes.
Whoever he was, he had the most remarkable shade of skin, an unblemished tone of black coffee. The richness was offset by a long, steady brown gaze enhanced by overt gold flecks. His hair was straight textured and close-cropped. Thanks to the morning’s powerful sunrays, Alythia could tell that his hair was of the same deep brown as his eyes.
He was smiling and the curve of a beckoning sculpted mouth was made more attractive by the singular dimple accompanying it. Still, that stare of his was impossible to ignore and difficult to perceive as anything other than intensely observant. His gaze also lent a well-blended mixture of heat and cool to his smile.
“Are you okay?”
She heard him speaking to her, his smile carrying more heat when he leaned close to ask how she was. He extended a hand as if he meant to cup her elbow but barely let his thumb graze the bend of her arm.
Alythia ordered—no, begged—the sudden and completely uncharacteristic desire to moan to cease and desist with the pressure it applied to her larynx.
“I, um— I’m good,” she managed, and then followed up the lie with a laugh. “I was good before I got here and saw that my ride was kind enough not to leave without me.”
He roared into laughter, the sound causing Alythia to jump at the full honesty of it. Despite the contagious effect of the reaction, she winced when he looked her way.
“Sorry, I know I sound ungrateful,” she said.
Curiosity intermingled with his amusement. “Why do you think you’re ungrateful?”
“Most people dream of visiting the Caribbean.” She looked toward the jet once more. “Of those who have actually had those dreams come true, few get there on a private plane.”
“Um, could I take that stuff for you?” he inquired of her bags again before the dumbfounded amusement on his face started to make her feel uneasy.
“Sorry. Um...” Aly began to relinquish her bags. “Thanks for your help— Oh, wait.”
Easing the strap of a tan duffel over his shoulder, he watched her fumble through a plump midsize purse.
“Dammit...I knew I had a five or ten in here....”
“Hey.” He cupped her elbow that time. “There’s no need to tip me.”
Alythia blinked toward the plane. “I’m pretty sure you guys are way behind schedule because of me.”
“We’ll get there.” He voiced the soft reassurance while applying a light massage to the elbow he cupped. “They aren’t gonna leave without you.” He winced a little against the sun in his eyes when he glanced at the plane. “This is a vacation. No clocks. Say it. ‘No clocks.’”
“No clocks.” Alythia nodded in a hypnotic manner while repeating the phrase that sounded like heaven. “No clocks.” She gave in to a smile that demanded to be seen.
Clarity surged in the liquid chocolate of Gage Vincent’s stare and he realized that the woman standing before him had no idea that the plane was his or who he was for that matter.
He dipped his head to peer into Alythia’s eyes and observed her that way for several seconds. He nodded, evidently satisfied that her outlook was improving and more than a little captivated by the stunning shade of her gaze. He then took four of her five bags, effortlessly hoisting the straps across his shoulders and angling one at his neck.
Alythia held on to an overnight case—the smallest of the five. Her smile brightened in approval of the button-down shirt he wore. The short sleeves revealed the flex and ripple of well-toned muscle accentuated by the flawless café noir of his skin.
“Shall we?” He motioned her ahead with the hand secured about the handle of a boxy brown-and-beige case.
“Do you think your boss will be a jerk about me holding up the party?” Alythia asked once they were crossing the tarmac toward the waiting plane.
“You’re good.” He paused. “The man’s a sucker for women. Especially women who look like you.”
“Thank you.” Her words were delivered coolly enough even though his remark had threatened to halt her stride. “Um...will you be on the flight or...?”
“You’ll see me around.” He halted at the foot of the mobile stairway.
“Thank you.” Aly made no secret of the fact that she was attempting to memorize his face before she headed on up the steps leading into the plane.
Gage’s smile went from friendly to smoldering within seconds of Alythia’s exit. He thought her legs seemed to go on forever beneath the airy white skirt that flared above her knees. She wore an emerald racer-back tank that matched strappy sandals that added emphasis on trim ankles and shapely calves. Not until one of the actual baggage handlers interrupted his survey to ask for the cases did Gage look away.
Chapter 2
Gage inclined his head a fraction as though he were attempting to obtain a better view of what he was observing. Absently, he moved the back of one hand across the sleek whiskers that had just started to shadow the strong curve of his jawline. He’d probably have a full beard by the end of the trip, he mused, still staring fixedly at the screen of his MacBook Air.
The golden flecks lurking in the liquid brown of his gaze seemed to sparkle more vividly. He was putting forth a more diligent effort to view the small square footage of space in the same light as the man he videoconferenced with did.
“Sorry, Clive...it’s just not working for me,” he said, at last accepting defeat.
“That’s because you’re not seeing it through a tourist’s eyes.” Clive’s voice rippled out through the laptop’s speakers.
“I resent that.” Gage put up an obviously phony show of being insulted. “I’m as much of a tourist as the next man.”
“Woman,” Clive corrected. “You also need to see this place through the eyes of a woman.”
Clive’s robust and genuine laughter rumbling then, Gage raised his hands defensively. He reclined in the swivel chair behind an efficient but more than adequate desk in the office aboard the aircraft.
“You’ve finally lost me...completely. I’m afraid this requires an expertise that I’m not in any way sorry to say I don’t have.”
“Are you for real?” Clive was incredulous when the screen split and he appeared on the monitor. Soon, though, he relented with a decisive shake of his head. “Look, G, I don’t need you to actually see my plans here.” He referred to the space along the quaint side street within the resort he owned. “I only need you to tell me that you believe the venture has moneymaking potential.”
Gage replayed the clip that had provided a 360-degree tour of the space in question. The area was practically shielded from view due to the overgrown foliage. The camera turned away from the space to offer a brief presentation of the cobblestone street that boasted a twenty-four-hour breakfast bar, nail, wax and massage spa, as well as a bookshop, among its other sole proprietorships.
“Definitely has diversity going for it,” Gage murmured, while more avidly assessing the locale.
Via split screen, Clive could be seen rubbing his hands palm to palm. He even seemed to be performing a little excited dance in his chair, the back of which could be seen moving to and fro through the screen.
“Well?” Clive’s baby-blue eyes were wide with expectancy.
Smirking with evident devilry driving the gesture, Gage let his old friend sweat out the wait for a few more seconds. “I want to take a look at the site when we land, but based on what’s before me now...I can see it.”
Clive bowed his head and Gage’s smirk turned into a grin when he heard the man’s delighted grunt drift through the laptop’s speaker. While Gage hadn’t truly been able to visualize Clive’s business plan for the space at his resort property, Gage saw money. And when Gage Vincent saw money, money was made.
A chuckle accompanied Gage’s grin as Clive’s excitement infected him to an extent. “When’d you get so interested in fashion?”
“Well, hell, Gage, we can’t all be GQ superstars, now, can we?” From the screen, Clive waved a hand toward Gage, who looked worthy of a spread in the famed magazine even in the simple button-down shirt, its cream color accentuating the flawless pitch of his skin.
“I still know what I like, though,” Clive finished indignantly.
Gage’s chuckling rounded out on a quick laugh. He traded stroking his jaw for massaging it and more closely regarded his friend. “Is it the fashion you like or the woman who gave you this idea?”
It was Clive’s turn to raise his hands in defense. “I swear it’s the money the fashion can make me.” The quirky smile that always betrayed his attempts to be at his most serious betrayed Clive then. “The woman only helped me to see it through her eyes.”
Gage’s infectious, hearty laughter erupted. “Is she a blonde or brunette?” he queried through his laughter.
Clive buffed his nails against the crimson polo shirt he wore. “Neither,” he replied.
“Mmm...redhead, then.” Gage was confident with his guess until Clive sent him a look of mock smugness through the screen.
