Private Paradise Read online

  Carla felt her face flame red. How dare he accuse her of being unprofessional? So what if she was still reeling from what had happened in the gym? She'd never let that get in the way of doing what was best for the guests and the resort. And Sam was right. Emergency and evacuation planning fell under his umbrella and he no doubt had more hands-on experience than Carla by far. Still, it almost choked her to admit, “You're right. Tell us your suggestions.”

  In a sick way, Carla was almost grateful for the storm barreling their way, as it provided a much-needed distraction as she and Sam worked side by side to get the resort buttoned up and the guests and staff down to the dock to be taken to St. Thomas by ferry.

  It saved her from having to summon up every last shred of control to pretend she was indifferent to him, that she didn't obsess over Sam's very revealing apology every waking hour of her day. With the clock ticking and only a few hours to get everyone off Holley Cay before the storm hit, for the first time in a week she didn't have time to argue with herself about whether or not she should put any stock in what Sam had said.

  About how sorry he was, how much he'd cared about her. How he hadn't meant what he'd said, that he'd only lashed out in a fit of insecurity.

  Under the best of circumstances, she didn't have time wrestle with herself, trying to convince the stupid, naïve girl inside of her, the one who still had a soft spot for her first love, that nothing he said mattered. She'd spent all week repeating to herself that it was all over and done and he could be as sorry as he wanted but it didn't mean she'd be dumb enough to open herself up to Sam, or any other man for that matter.

  Now, she barely had time to think as they put the evacuation plan into action. Carla took a few minutes to shower and change. Forgoing her usual wardrobe for obvious reasons, she pulled on a pair of Bermuda shorts with her Holley Cay polo shirt and slipped on a pair of running shoes that would protect her feet if any debris started flying.

  She met Sam in the lobby, where he was doing an admirable job of keeping the guests' anxiety under control.

  “Are you sure it's safe for us to take the ferry?” fretted a rail thin blond with a strong New York accent. Her husband, a senior partner in a major investment firm, looked equally concerned.

  “The ride to St. Thomas is only about forty-five minutes,” Sam said, his deep, measured voice betraying none of the stress he was feeling. “As long as the ferries leave the dock in the next hour there should be no problem avoiding the first wave of the storm.”

  Despite his reassurances, there was an anxious murmur among the guests as they milled around, clutching purses and carryons, taking turns looking wide-eyed out the windows over a sea that had grown choppier in the last several minutes.

  Carla couldn't blame them for their fear. Though the storm was still a hundred miles away from Holley Cay, it had already passed Puerto Rico and inflicted major damage to the strip of hotels along the island's south west tip.

  She could only pray that the storm would lose some of its force by the time it reached Holley Cay.

  In the next several minutes, she helped Sam and the rest of the staff get guests loaded onto the resort's fleet of golf carts to be shuttled down to the dock. Despite the stress working with Sam had put on her in the past week, now she was grateful for his presence.

  Not only did he remain unruffled even as Carla struggled to keep her cool in front of the guests, his aura of leadership, combined with his height and muscle mass were more than a match for the massive egos of several of the resorts' guests.

  Anyone who questioned the methods of evacuation or the order in which guests were being transported was politely but firmly put in their place as the rapidly dwindling crowd was taken to the docks.

  Soon the lobby was empty, but as Carla did a quick tally in her head she realized the occupants of one villa were unaccounted for.

  “Where are the Waters twins?” Sam echoed her thoughts.

  Carla didn't bother hiding her frustrated groan. “Probably still sleeping off whatever they did last night.”

  “I'll go drag them out of bed,” Sam said, his voice grim.

  “No way. I know you were special forces and all, but I wouldn't put it past them to tie you up and hold you as their sex slave, never mind the storm coming in.”

  Sam actually blanched at the thought. Carla suppressed a grin, wondering if he knew how many points he scored with his visible revulsion to the idea. “You go help Rodney make sure everything is locked down, and I'll meet you at the dock.”

  She grabbed a golf cart and sped off to the twins' villa on the windward side of the island. As Carla parked the cart the wind picked up, whipping her ponytail against her cheek. Though the air was warm and moist, goosebumps prickled on Carla's skin.

  The reality of the storm looming closer lent an urgency to her knocks as she went to round up the twins.

  A muffled, “go away” was barely audible over the gust of wind whipping over the island.

  Carla knocked harder. “Kayla, Karena, you need to come with me to the dock right now.”

  When the door remained firmly shut, Carla took out her own key and unlocked the front door. Fortunately, the twins hadn't thrown the deadbolt. The door swung open to reveal the girls lounging on the couch in the main room. Two pairs of identical green eyes glared up at her.

  “Like, what the hell do you think you're doing?” Kayla said.

  “Yeah,” Karena chimed in. “We're like, paying guests. You can't just barge into our room.”

  Carla bit back a snotty retort, reminding herself that these evil little snots were her guests and had to be treated as such. “Ladies, I'm so sorry to intrude, but there's a major storm headed our way and we have to evacuate the island.”

  Karena blinked sleepily. “Like, leave?”

  “Yes, like, leave.”

  Neither made any move to get off the couch. “Look, I'm kinda hungover,” Kayla said, gesturing to the array of half empty liquor bottles scattered across the low table in front of the couch, “and I don't really feel like going anywhere. So I think we're cool just, like, waiting it out.”

  Carla took a deep, calming breath and pasted what she hoped looked like a sympathetic smile on her face. “Wow, I know, hangovers are a total drag, and I can see why you might want to take it easy today, but the evacuation is not optional. It's not safe for you to stay here.”

  Karena settled deeper into the cushions and cocked an eyebrow. “Isn't it like, our choice if we don't mind risking it?” She and her sister exchanged another look. “I've never been in a real hurricane before,” she said, a little thrill in her voice. “Sounds exciting.”

  Carla felt her patience spread a little thinner. “You can watch the excitement from your hotel in St. Thomas, but right now, you have to get down to the dock. All the other guests are waiting.”

  Kayla sighed heavily, unfolded her mile long legs and got off the couch. Karena followed. Moving at roughly the speed of a banana slug, they wandered upstairs to the bedrooms. Carla followed. “For now all you'll need is your passport and enough clothing for a few days.”

  Ignoring her, Karena stopped at the upstairs storage closet and yanked out a full size steamer trunk stamped with a well known designer logo. She dragged it, grunting, into the first bedroom and started emptying the contents of the dresser into it.

  Carla held up her hands. “Karena, we don't have time for you to pack everything. Once the storm passes we'll either get you back here or make sure everything is returned safely at no cost-”

  “Yeah, right,” Kayla said as she marched in with an armload of shoes. “Like you people aren't going to be going through and looting everyone's stuff as soon as we leave?”

  Carla curled her fingers into a fist as she resisted the urge to slap her. “We're all evacuating the island so no one will be here to loot. Even so, no one on my staff would dare steal from a guest.”

  Karena let out a snort. “Right. Tell that to my friend who had her panties up on eBay.”
/>   Carla's jaw clenched and she realized short of hogtying the girls and loading them onto the golf cart, she wasn't getting out of here until the girls were ready. She dove into the fray, gathering up armloads of clothes, shoes, and lingerie and cramming it into the trunk and two suitcases the girls had brought.

  The walkie talkie on her hip beeped. Carla paused in her packing to answer. “Carla, where are you?” Bryce's voice was slightly frantic as it crackled over the receiver.

  “Just helping the Waters get packed up and ready to go.”

  “Well you need to get down to the dock, now. Everyone's loaded up and we just got notice that the storm is moving faster than we initially thought.”

  Carla clipped the receiver back on her hip and grabbed a suitcase, ignoring Kayla's squawk of protest. “You heard him girls. Edina's going to hit soon, and if we don't get you off the island, all your precious Louboutins and Louis Vuitton luggage will get carried off by the storm.”

  Should have used that as my opener, Carla thought, because suddenly the girls sprang into action, packing up the last of their belongings at warp speed. Carla huffed as she lugged the first suitcase out to the cart. Rain had started to fall, and she felt the fat drops pelt the top of her head. She went back up stairs for the other suitcase and found the girls struggling to lift the trunk.

  “You take the suitcase,” Carla said to Karena, “I'll help with the trunk.” Even with her regular workouts, Carla struggled to lift her end off the floor. “Jesus Christ, is this thing lined with lead?”

  Kayla ignored her, grunting as she managed to lift the trunk about two inches off the floor.

  Heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs. “Carla, what the hell are you still doing here?”

  Carla turned to see Sam in the doorway. His dark hair was wet and rumpled, rain dripped down a face tight with anger, and his wet shirt clung to every swell and dip of his muscled torso.

  “Ooh, did you come to rescue us?” Kayla cooed. She dropped her end of the trunk, sending Carla lurching forward as it threatened to jerk her arms out of the sockets.

  “Just helping the twins pack up a few things.”

  Sam's eyes narrowed at the huge trunk. “We can't take―”

  “They won't leave without it,” Carla said through clenched teeth. “Just help me get it out to the cart so we can get out of here.”

  Sam reached for the trunk and hefted it onto his shoulder like it was nothing. God you're strong, Carla thought as she watched the muscles in his arm and shoulder ripple under the weight of the trunk.

  “I know,” Kayla said, staring at Sam like he was a steak and she was a very hungry lioness. Carla felt her cheeks heat as she realized she'd said the words out loud. “Imagine those big strong hands, running all over―”

  “Okay, let's go,” Sam said, and Carla could see the hint of a flush under his tan. “After you,” he said indicating for Carla and Kayla to go first.

  Carla started down the stairs, flushed too, all over, and not just from embarrassment. The skin of her neck tingled from where his thumb had brushed it earlier this morning. Unlike Kayla, she didn't have to imagine how it felt to have Sam's strong, long-fingered hands touching her, running up the bare skin of her back, cupping her breasts, sliding inside the waistband of her panties...

  She stepped outside, jolted back to reality as the rain hit her face. Sam cursed as he struggled to get the trunk loaded onto the golf cart, and they all squeezed under the awning as best they could. Even so, in the five minutes it took to reach the dock all four were drenched.

  Bryce greeted them at the bottom of the ferry's ramp, relief visible in his face. He hurried over to escort the girls up the ramp. He was bone dry under a massive umbrella emblazoned with the Holley Cay logo. “We were this close to leaving without you.” he said to the girls in a scolding tone as they sauntered up the ramp without so much as an apology.

  “I can't believe you wasted half a goddamn hour packing all their shit up,” Sam snarled at her as he handed over the trunk to two of Holley Cay's bellmen. “We'll be lucky to make it in time to miss the storm.”

  Carla's hackles went up immediately. “What the hell was I supposed to do? They wouldn't go without their stuff, and unlike you, I'm not built like the incredible hulk. I can't go walking in all burly man and start throwing people around.”

  “You can't get so caught up in ass kissing a couple of spoiled brats that you put everyone in danger!” he said, pointing an accusing finger at her nose.

  Carla slapped the finger out of the way. “And you have no idea what it takes to do this job. I'm doing the best I can, so get off of my fucking case!”

  “Uh, guys?” Bryce's voice called over the whooshing of the wind. “We really need to get going.”

  Carla shot Sam one last glare and marched up the ramp and felt the metal walkway vibrate as Sam stomped up after her.

  She stepped into the ferry's enclosed cabin, her nose wrinkling at the mingled smells of expensive perfume and nervous sweat. The cabin was crammed full, the resort guests and staff members packed tight as sardines as over fifty people sought refuge on a boat never meant to carry more than twenty-five.

  Sam came in behind her and closed the door, so close she could feel the rise and fall of his chest against her back.

  “I'm sorry,” he breathed into her ear. “I didn't mean to get on your case.”

  “It's fine,” she said, not bothering to keep the snippy tone from her voice.

  “I didn't mean to criticize you, it's just that when you were gone for so long I started to worry about you.”

  She turned to look at him, craning her neck to meet his eyes. “You knew where I was. Why were you so worried?”

  His lips pulled tight in a grimace. “The wind was kicking up, the rain started. I started wondering if maybe a branch had broken off and hit the cart, or maybe you slipped on the stairs to the villa, whacked your head on that concrete―”

  Carla's lips quivered as she tried to hold back her smile. “I never realized you were such a worrywart.”

  “I'm not, usually,” he said tightly. “But when you've been through enough natural and man made disasters it's easy for your brain to go to worst case scenario.”

  His hand came up to cup her cheek, and even that slight contact was enough to raise her core temperature several degrees. “Anyway, I'm glad you're okay. I'll feel even better when you're a safe distance from the storm.”

  Carla tried not to notice the way he said “you're” not “we're,” or even “everyone,” as though he was especially worried about her in particular.

  She couldn't afford to entertain the idea of Sam morphing into a nice guy. If she even entertained the idea that he might approach relationship material, she'd be lost in a heartbeat. Especially when even now, in the middle of a catastrophe, it was almost impossible for her to keep her mind on anything but how good he smelled, how warm his body was pressed up against her. Her nipples tightened into throbbing peaks as every inhale caused her chest to brush his.

  Could he feel it, she wondered, the thought making her cheeks burn hotter.

  She had to get away from him. “I should probably say something to the guests,” she murmured. She stepped back, apologizing profusely to the New York banker whose foot she stepped on. She pushed her way to the front of the cabin, stopping at the door that separated the helm from the main cabin and called for attention. “Everyone, I want to apologize for the inconvenience. I know you were looking forward to another lovely day on the beach, but unfortunately for us, mother nature had other plans.” A titter of nervous laughter rippled over the crowd. “The good news is we've arranged for accommodations for all of you at the Ritz Carlton in St. Thomas, and of course the remainder of your stay at Holley Cay will be comped.”

  “Do you mind? That was my foot!”

  Carla winced at the annoyed voice, once again kicking herself for the decision to send the resort's other ferry to St. Thomas to be serviced. “I know it's crowded in here, but it's on
ly forty-five minutes to St. Thomas so if we can make do until then, we should be just fine.”

  She tried to ignore the annoyed rumblings and after a brief consult with Ron, the ferry captain, who was a dead ringer for Bill Murray, she exited through the helm to the deck to cast off the moorings.

  Squinting against the steadily falling rain, Carla untied the thick ropes from the cleats mounted to the side of the ferry and felt the engines rumble to life.

  “You okay out here?” Sam's voice called over the engine noise.

  “Just cutting us loose,” Carla said as the boat started to pull away from the dock. She followed him to the cabin door, pausing to take a last look at the island, the white buildings and red tile roofs of the resort. Was everything she and her cousin had worked so hard to build about to be swept away in the storm?

  “Everything will be fine,” Sam said as though reading her mind, his hand warm and reassuring on her shoulder. “No matter what happens, you'll get through this.”

  He stepped into the crowded cabin and held the door open for her. Just as Carla was about to step inside, the boat caught a swell and pitched hard to the left. Sam lost his grip on the door handle, and it slammed shut. Carla stumbled a couple steps back before she regained her balance.

  She caught the handle and unlatched the door, but before she could pull it open more than a few inches a violent gust of wind caught the edge and sent the heavy door flying open. The handle slipped from her hand as the heavy metal framed door slammed her hard in the chest.

  Pain exploded through her torso. Disoriented and gasping for breath, Carla staggered back, not realizing how close she was to the edge of the deck until her hip knocked into the railing and she went sailing over the side.

  Chapter 7

  Sam watched Carla flip off the back of the boat in slow motion, like one of those horrible dreams where you're trying to run but the ground feels like molasses, you try to scream but nobody can hear.