Another question chewing at him was why he hadn’t alsocanceled the flights. Too busy eloping to finish the job? Why pull out the entire rug from beneath his feet when he could leave it a bunched-up tripping hazard instead?
Heath kicked at a patch of loose gravel with a grunt. The resulting sting in his toes was a sure sign of impending blisters. And wouldn’t the old ball and chain be just delighted by that news?
Another kick sent a mid-sized rock rolling to the edge of the path. Another grunt followed as his toes protested louder. Stupid Westin, Evan, whatever. Oh, how it pained him to consider he’d been wrong there too. That there might be a person underneath the prettiness and privilege.
He’d been left at the altar, for heaven’s sake. If Heath understood any sort of pain, it was being treated like yesterday’s fish. Assuming that was really the story. He wasn’t about to ask Westin for indisputable proof anytime soon.
What if it was his own bias? It wasn’t like he’d grown up wanting for much. His family had been solidly middle class, but his wants had also been simple. Books, primarily. Occasionally a sweater, provided his aunt hadn’t picked it out. The woman’s taste was appalling.
What had Westin gotten for Christmas? Bars of gold? A Ferrari? A small estate in Dover?
“It’s Patek Philippe,” he mocked, coming to his senses. No. The way he’d treated Hannah was a clear measure of the man. He’d cast her aside without an ounce of remorse, and it was despicable. How long would she wait for a call that wasn’t coming?
His renewed outrage served as motivation to move forward, and after he’d trudged an interminable distance, he spotted a structure set back amid a flush of flowering shrubs. Elevated on thick pillars and wrapped in porches and patios, it nestled cozily into the cliff’s side. A quaint whitewashed sign marked it as Starlight Villa.
Heath could hear crashing waves and seabird calls echoing across the patio stones as he approached with caution. Did he wish to be perceived? Westin might have cooled off, but he also might have hidden in the shadows, waiting to pelt him with rotten fruit. Given the events of the day, neither scenario struck him as particularly outlandish.
A wood and stone staircase led up from the short drive to a patio that extended from the house out to a stone seawall and rectangular plunge pool. Next to it, partially hidden by a partition of white lattice, Heath spotted the cart.
Evan hadn’t left the keys in it, because of course he hadn’t, but he also hadn’t left Heath high and dry, which was a potential positive.
Another short staircase rose to the villa’s wraparound porch. He crept up to the first of several louvered doors and cursed when he discovered it locked. Door number two was locked as well. Three, however, was slightly ajar, and it opened with a quietcreakwhen Heath nudged it aside.
The main room was stunning enough to take his breath away. Crisp white walls and linens, warmed by the dark cane furniture and other rich wood accents. Heath paused at the island counter of the sleek, minimalist kitchen and gaped at an endless stretch of ocean. Perhaps being here with Westin was less of a burden than he’d first thought.
The man in question was showering. Heath could hear water running from somewhere at the back of the house. The cart’s keys lay carelessly on the counter, which presented him with a prime opportunity to exact some revenge. Perhaps hubby would enjoy a taste of his own medicine.
A devious thrill shot through him. He suppressed a maniacal cackle and grabbed the keys, only to pause at the realization he would need to skip a shower of his own in order to abscond with the cart.
Travel did horrible enough things to a person’s state ofcleanliness, but the added insult of being pelted with rocks and dust, then forced on a long, humid walk certainly hadn’t helped matters. Was he willing to offend the island’s owners in the name of vengeance?
Yes. Absolutely.
As silently as possible, he shuffled out of the house and back to the cart. There was a moment of concern that he’d never driven one of the things before, but the usual controls were all present—brake, gas, wheel. How hard could it be?
He plopped behind the wheel with a giddy titter and turned the key. He’d expected the grunt and chug he’d heard from it before, but got only dead silence. In the dim light, it was hard to make out the details on the dash, so he illuminated his phone’s flashlight and tried the toggle for the lights. Nothing happened.
“What the hell?”
A shrill whistle made him jump, and the creak of movement pulled his eyes upward to the shadow just visible through the porch above.
“Going somewhere?”
With a huff of frustration, Heath exited the cart and marched out from under the overhang to give his bastard fake husband a piece of his mind.
“What did you do?”
Water droplets pinged his face and forehead as Westin leaned over the porch railing with an expression of palpable smugness.
“Didn’t learn your lesson from the first time you asked me that?”
Sweet merciful Michaelangelo.
Westin and the towel about his waist were a study in artistry. Taut, contoured, and masterfully defined, muscles Heath had only ever heard rumor of stretched and flexed with the smallest motion. Legs that would be the envy of Atlas widened as Westin shifted, and the towel gaped the slightest bit.
Heath’s fingers went slack. His phone, the traitorous device, landed at his feet, casting a searing path of light to the edge of that tempting darkness. That demon snare masquerading as terrycloth. Captivating and extinguishing all traces of thought and breath.
He averted his eyes and scrambled to douse the flashlight. He refused to be waylaid, dammit.
