Connor
I think Isla is staying at the Pelican Blue. I’ll tell Hadley to relax. Good luck!
I smirk to myself, because my buddy casually mentioning the intel on Isla was exactly what I needed to perk up my current state that landed me in this hotel a few hours later. He may have been thinking about the maid of honor’s safety, but in reality, he unknowingly handed me the information I needed to get me here, sitting with a bottle of beer in hand, waiting for the prize that I wanted to claim already weeks ago.
Normally, I don't really drink much during the season, but a beer is perfectly fine right now. I focus on my drink, yet I feel her sit down at the bar, unaware of my presence.
The gripe that escapes her lips is my undoing, I swear.
“Dry white, please. Of course, this is my life. The one time I decide to mix work with a few vacation days in the sun, a hurricane decides to trap me in a hotel,” she grumbles to the barman.
I bite my lip, as I’m entertained while I listen to her complain. I wasn’t lying to Connor, this hotel is hurricane-proof, has a great generator, and a hurricane doesn’t seem to faze the staff either. We’re safe.
Is Isla safe from me? Not so much.
Rotating on my barstool, I face her, and she’s sporting hot-as-hell yoga pants and a cute sweatshirt.
“It could be worse. You could be trapped in a hotel with me, because we just didn’t get enough time during our last stint.”
Her eyes whip to me and shock hits her that I’m sitting in front of her, before her lips curl into a smirk that spells trouble for the both of us.
2
ISLA
Why is Vaughn Madden sitting next to me in a hotel bar during a hurricane? And why do my instincts feel as though being trapped suddenly doesn't seem so bad?
I stare at him, intrigued or impressed by this twist of fate. However, his devilish grin and the glint in his blue eyes inform me that there is no fate involved. In fact, he hinted with persistence back at the wedding that it wouldn't be the last time we saw one another. Damn, his dirty blond hair is a length that is short, but I could still comb my fingers through that wave on top.
“Isn’t this a coincidence,” I state as my head lolls to the side gently, with zero conviction in my voice.
“Hardly,” he says bluntly. “Your concerned friends let it slip that you were staying here, they don’t know that I’m seeing you, though. And lucky for you, the league has postponed our upcoming home game. Mother Nature just conspired with me, clearly angry that you never gave me your number, Isla,” he chides before he takes a sip of his drink.
“Hurricane-sized angry?” Doubt casts over my face before I quickly nod a thanks to the barman for my wine that he sets in front of me.
Vaughn leans against the bar, very confident with whatever he has up his sleeve. “You know, a late-season hurricane in November is extremely rare. Only a handful have hit Florida. But it might pass us and hit south or could stall, which would prolong our presence with one another.”
I scoff a sound. “Tell that to the airport that closed, and now I’m stuck here because of Hurricane Nora.”
“With me,” he points out.
I play with the stem of my wine glass. “How convenient.” I try to suppress the smile itching to escape my lips, but I can’t.
The tips of his fingers touch near my elbow, catching me by surprise, and my eyes dart to see the proof that our skin is touching, yet I already feel a flutter in my belly.
It’s not that I was playing hard to get or not very interested back during the wedding weekend. My gut was just telling me that it wouldn’t really go anywhere, not to mention I was so busy with everything. But in truth, I’m attracted to him, far too much.
“It isveryconvenient. Wasn’t planning on this occurrence at all.” Vaughn’s voice sounds playful, yet there seems to be an underlying truth.
“Neither was I. However, now would be the time to highlight what plan you conspired and is floating in your head.”
“Dirty things.” He’s direct.
I have to chortle because he won’t even try to hide it. “I figured.” A silence overtakes us, and we both glance to the television mounted on the wall, with a weather report on display. “I’ve never been in a hurricane before,” I mention.
“You know, they used to only give hurricanes female names, but then they stopped. However, it’s a historical fact that female hurricanes are by far more dangerous.”
I snicker. “Maybe I should be scared then.”
