PROLOGUE
CHARLIE“C.J.” MILLERcast a sidelong glance toward his dozing passenger. The poor girl had been awake for over thirty-six hours, thanks to thunderstorms in Texas and cancelled flights. Though she’d made polite small talk before they took off, she’d finally curled up against the pillow he’d offered, clutching a spiral notebook in her lap.
Despite being new to the job, C.J. had already transported a dozen or so people from the Miami dock to one of the four lush island resorts that made up Fantasies, Inc.—Wild Fantasy, Seductive Fantasy, Secret Fantasy, and today’s destination, Intimate Fantasy. His current passenger, Kyra Cartwright, was girl-next-door pretty, about the age of his oldest daughter, with sandy brown hair that fell in soft waves over her cheeks. Her lips were parted in sleep, as if she didn’t have a care in the world.
C.J. knew better, of course. Fantasies, Inc. existed for one purpose only—to make people’s dreams, wishes and longings come true. And a young woman with a yearning strong enough to send her to one of the islands definitely had a care or two.
As the resort’s only pilot, C.J. was privy to enough information about each guest’s fantasy to ensure that he didn’t accidentally say the wrong thing or make the guest uncomfortable. The portion of Ms. Cartwright’s application that he’d seen had put a smile on his face. She’d typed a thesis sentence—Why would a successful career girl from one of radio’s first families want to spend a week chasing adventure on a sun-splashed island?—and then carefully outlined her reasons. Below that, in descending order from most to least appealing, she’d laid out the types of adventures she had in mind.
Although the outline resembled a business plan, as a whole, the application was anything but dry and corporate. In her neatly typed list, Kyra Cartwright had bared her soul, explaining how she intended to save her family’s business by accepting her boyfriend’s marriage proposal. But instead of feeling excited or nervous or any of a dozen other bride-like emotions, she simply felt lost.
That conclusion had been followed by a list of possible reasons, along with adventurous—even sensual—solutions. C.J. knew exactly where she was coming from. She wanted to rid herself of that antsy feeling in her gut, needed to silence the little voice in her head that kept asking:Hey, kid, this is the rest of your life we’re talking about. Are you sure you know what you’re doing? Shouldn’t you maybe step out a bit and take a look around?
During his own youth that voice had taunted C.J., too. But unlike his passenger, he’d had no choice. TheVietnam War had called, and he’d had to go. After that…well, his path had been pretty much set.
Ms. Cartwright, at least, had Fantasies, Inc.
The owner, Merrilee Schaefer-Weston, handpicked each guest from detailed applications describing the desired fantasy. In Ms. Cartwright’s case, C.J. couldn’t help but wonder how much of a role Merrilee’s own comfortable but passionless marriage had played in her decision to offer the young woman a tantalizing week on Intimate Fantasy.
As always, when he thought about Merrilee and their years apart, a wave of melancholy washed over him, bittersweet memories laced with fresh, new desire. Frustrated, he rubbed his aching neck and concentrated only on flying. With a light touch, he banked the resort’s sturdy Cessna 206 seaplane, correcting its course. He glanced at the fuel gauge and the altimeter, drawing reassurance from the familiar controls and the easy way the plane responded.
Life never responded that well. Certainly his—and Merrilee’s—had taken an unexpected turn. As much as he’d loved his wife, and as much as he’d mourned her death two years ago, the simple fact remained that Merrilee had been his first, best love. But no yoke, no rudder, no ailerons could have kept their love on course when the war had intervened. Fate had stepped in, and there hadn’t been a damn thing he could do about it.
Damn, but he’d wanted so much more for her—forthem. And it was small comfort knowing that Oliver Weston had provided well for the woman who should have been C.J.’s. Upon Weston’s death, Merrilee had inherited millions, and she’d poured her passion into Fantasies, Inc. Now, it seemed, Merrilee thrived on bringing happiness to others.
Soon, C.J. hoped, he’d be able to bring some new joy to her as well. Lord knew, she deserved it.
“Intimate Base to Alpha-Victor-Oh-Oh-Niner, do you copy? C.J., where the devil are you?”
The voice rang in his headset, and he pushed the mike closer so he could respond without waking Ms. Cartwright. “Roger, I copy. I’m approaching from the east.”
“Roger that,” Chris said from the office on Intimate Fantasy.
C.J. peered down at the cluster of lush islands that made up the Fantasies, Inc. resort, then spotted the lagoon at Intimate Fantasy. “Got the landing area in sight.”
“You’re clear to land at your discretion.”
“Roger.” He cleared his throat. “Is Ms. Weston planning to meet the plane?”
A burst of static filled his ear.
“Say again?”
“Not sure,” Chris said, enunciating clearly. “Last I heard, she got held up on Wild Fantasy, but she’s hoping to make it.”
“Copy and out.” C.J. sighed, pulling the headphonesoff, wishing he knew for certain if he’d be seeing her today. So far, he’d only glimpsed her from afar. Up close, would she recognize him? He didn’t think so. His face was weathered, the ravages of both time and the war having taken their toll, and his once-black hair was now salt-and-pepper. Hopefully, she wouldn’t recognize him until he was ready. Just in case, he’d taken the added precaution of growing a moustache. And his reflective aviator sunglasses and battered Air Force cap didn’t hurt either.
Plus, she’d known him only as Charlie. He hadn’t been christened with his current nickname until the war. So as far as Merrilee knew, C.J. Miller was a complete stranger…at least for a little while longer.
Glancing down, he searched the blue water below, trying without success to see Merrilee’s small boat darting between the islands. Even after almost forty years in a cockpit, it still amazed him how tranquil the world looked from the air. Of course, the Florida Keys tended to look peaceful even from the ground, but there was something magical about the way the vibrant green islands burst out of the crystal blue ocean.
He chuckled. He was getting sentimental in his old age. Very sentimental, actually. Hadn’t he signed on as Fantasies, Inc.’s new pilot in order to be close to Merrilee? To see if, after all these years, they could rekindle their love for each other?
Crazy old fool. There was no rekindling needed on his end. The love he’d felt for Merrilee all those years agohadn’t faded one iota over the passing decades. And now, what he wanted more than anything was to run to her. To hold her in his arms and make the years melt away. But he also needed to be sure. The last thing in the world he wanted was to make Merrilee uncomfortable. No, he’d inadvertently caused her too much grief already.
He suppressed a shudder, holding the small plane steady as the memories haunted him, the wail of bullets and the screams of his buddies echoing through his mind. When his fighter had been shot down, he’d done what he had to do to survive. Wounded, he’d crawled through the mire until he’d come across the body of an officer whose life had already slipped away.
With a silent prayer, C.J. had exchanged his own dog tags—which clearly identified him as an enlisted man—for the officer’s. The N.V.A. often shot enlisted men on sight, but officers were kept alive for interrogation. As he’d hoped, the trick had saved his life, and not a day went by that C.J. didn’t thank the man for sharing his name.
