“Oh, right.” Embarrassed, Kyra realized she’d been so drawn to the enigmatic man in the sketch that she hadn’t even noticed the child and woman huddled off to one side. “Rescued?”
Stuart swerved, steering around a pothole. “Yeah. Maria works in the administration building, and her sister’s kid was visiting. He managed to wander away and we had everyone out looking for him, but no luck.” He cocked his head indicating the photo. “Turns out Carlos had crawled into one of the small boats, and Michael got to him just as the kid was trying to stand up. The boat went over and, well…”
He sucked in a loud breath. “If my man hadn’t come along, it coulda been bad.”
Kyra’s heart twisted. The little boy was one lucky fellow. “Who is this guy? A guest? How come he was right there? And why the patch?”
Stuart shrugged, focusing on the road in front of them. “Um… I don’t have any idea. He ran off right after Maria showed up. Like I said, I was lucky to get a good look at him, much less learn his name. He never hangs around long enough to chat.”
Interesting. Kyra traced a finger over the coarse paper as a chill raced up her spine. She imagined that it had been her in the capsized boat. She closed her eyes, her body tightening as she imagined his arms grasping her firmly below her breasts, his breath hot on her neck. He would have eased her back into his own boat, then bent over her, his lips nearing her skin, his eyes boring deep into her own. And then…
Oh my. She crossed her legs to quell a flood of purely sexual heat, then shifted in her seat as the Jeep bounced along. She needed to get her imagination under control.This man…this island…and suddenly her libido was in overdrive.
“Pretty wild, huh?” Stuart said.
“Very wild,” she whispered. Then, determined to block the decadent images, she turned to better face him and scrambled for something mundane to discuss. “So you’re just here for the summer?” she finally asked.
“Yup.” He swung the 4x4 around a graceful stand of trees, then shifted gears. “I’ll be a sophomore at U.C.L.A.”
Kyra hid a smile. Maybe she’d been right about the surfing. “You’re a long way from home.”
He shrugged. “My grandparents live in Tampa, and it’s a great job.”
“Are you studying art?”
“Nope. Drama,” he said. “I’m an actor.” His blush resurfaced, amusing Kyra. If he had hopes of being a celebrity, he’d have to get over that shyness.
They cruised down a driveway lined with palm trees that were strung with paper lanterns. Though just barely twilight, the lanterns were already lit, and they glowed a faded orange against the pink and purple sky. Up ahead, a converted Spanish mission rose majestically, dwarfing the nearby trees.
“That’s the restaurant,” Stuart said.
“It’s beautiful.”
“Yeah, it’s modeled after an historic landmark.” He brought the Jeep to an abrupt halt, then picked up aclipboard with What’s Your Fantasy? stenciled across the back. “Well, we’re here. You’re scheduled for dinner with Ms. Weston. The hostess can take you to her table.”
A valet opened her door, and she stepped out. “Thanks, Stuart.”
“Have fun,” he said, then shifted gears and took off down the caliche drive.
She followed the hostess through the elegant restaurant to a secluded table set with fine china and silver. Ms. Weston smiled as Kyra approached. “Hello, dear.”
“This is a beautiful place, Ms. Weston.”
The older woman gestured to the chair opposite. “Please, call me Merrilee. I hope your accommodations are suitable,” she added, as Kyra sat down.
“Fabulous. The cabana is wonderful, and the beach is, well, it’s perfect.”
“I’m so pleased you think so,” Merrilee said, as the waiter silently approached and poured two glasses of red wine. “We try our best to make sure every aspect of our guest’s stay is to their liking.” She lifted her glass. “A toast. To fantasies.”
“To fantasies,” Kyra repeated. The clear tone of fine crystal sang out as they clinked glasses. Kyra took an experimental sip. “Chateau du Maurier, 1992. My favorite.” And extremely hard to find.
“I know.” Merrilee said, the corner of her lip curling into a smile.
Kyra took another sip, remembering just how muchMerrilee did know about her. The application had been long and detailed, and Kyra had spilled her soul for the first time in her life. To do her job right, Merrilee Schaefer-Weston needed to know her clients’ deepest desires.
Right now, Merrilee knew more about Kyra than anyone in the world, including Evan and her father. Even more than Mona, and certainly more than Harold.
The thought was both unnerving and reassuring.
