course, the apathetic Whitaker hadn’t staffed the front desk at midnight. He picked up the house phone, but before he dialed, he noticed an envelope next to it marked Mr. and Mrs. MacDougall. In it, the key to 1601, which he dropped in his pocket. He crushed the envelope and tossed it in the trash, smiling at the assumption that the MacDougalls came in pairs.
Well, he certainly hoped they would.
He crossed the lobby and sent a sneaky glance at the elevator. Just waiting for another trip to heaven with a stop in lingerie. He visualized those dangling gorgeous legs, that magical smile, that musical laugh. Oh, it was going to be a good vacation.
With a quiet chuckle, he climbed the stairs to the villa, noticing the first of many nice touches. Someone had left a few lights on, and a basket of snacks, fruit and wine sat perched on the counter. There were fresh flowers in the bedroom and little candies on each of the pillows of the oversize bed. It was clean, but small signs of neglect were still evident. The windows had been repaired, sort of, and one of the sliders to the patio didn’t work.
He was too tired to do a thorough exam. The next day, he’d take a run on the beach before his meeting with Nick Whitaker and then he’d tear Mar Brisas apart until he found what he came to claim.
The bottom of Nicole’s long, gauzy beach cover dipped into the surf, darkening the hem to navy blue. As the sun rose on Monday morning, she walked her usual mile up the beach, turning at the pink monstrosity called Jade Towers and wondering, as always, why the heck didn’t they paint it green if they were going to call it Jade Towers. It used to be Jimmy Miller’s produce stand, she’d thought sadly, and it used to be a nice, unassuming shade of tan that blended into the beachy environment. Just like Mar Brisas.
She tried to let the cool water and soft sand lull her into a state of hopefulness.
She’d spent all of Sunday with Aunt Freddie and that always put her in a good mood. Except that her aunt had insisted on taking a drive to see the billboard that had gone up that week. Nicole had, for the first time since she landed on Freddie Whitaker’s doorstep as an orphan, deceived her beloved aunt.
“How on earth did you come up with such an idea?” Freddie had asked.
“Oh, it just came to me while I was fixing the elevator,” she’d answered innocently, hoping the ever-intuitive woman didn’t simply smell out the lie.
She didn’t want Aunt Freddie to know she was obsessing over a stranger she’d met a week ago. One she’d spent about twenty out of twenty-four hours thinking about. Freddie would know instantly that Nicole didn’t run from the man because he lied or made a disparaging remark about Mar Brisas. She ran because the sheer force of her reaction to him scared the life out of her.
To change the subject, Nicole had told her aunt about the meeting that was finally scheduled for Monday morning and that’s when Freddie had planted the seed of a new idea in Nicole’s head.
Maybe this Quinn McGrath fellow would be amenable to letting her stay and run Mar Brisas. It wasn’t ideal, but at least she could try to maintain the authentic old Florida atmosphere, and keep what had become her home. Although she doubted they’d let her continue to live in 1801, the crown jewel of the property, she might not lose her job. Maybe they’d even consider restoring Mar Brisas to its original glory.
She would give Quinn McGrath a chance today, she decided. He’d be in her office at nine that morning, and she’d do everything possible to make him see the benefits of her plan.
Ready to swim, she stopped in front of her villa to strip off her cover-up when a movement on the wraparound porch of 1601 caught her eye. Good. The MacDougalls made it in after all. She silently congratulated herself. The ad was only up a few days and already they had more bookings. One of her employees told her Mr. MacDougall had called about the size of the bed. She smiled wistfully and stretched. Romance was in the air at Mar Brisas.
Wading out past the sandbar to where the water deepened to about six feet, she dove in and let the gentle swells take her for an easy float. Then she attacked the waves and swam along the beach for a solid twenty minutes.
Panting, but energized, she squeezed the water out of her hair as she emerged back at her villa. From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a man standing at the surf, watching her. She rubbed the saltwater from her eyes and looked again, zeroing in on the bare chest and running shorts. He was tall, dark and…way too familiar.
She took a few steps closer and blinked again. Her legs almost buckled as she stumbled on a sharp shell.
He reached down and picked up her blue cover-up from the sand. “Hey, lady.” He sounded as smooth as melted chocolate as he held the dress in the air. “This looks your color.”
Nicole froze, her jaw open, her mind blank. He let the fabric fall back on the sand and took a few steps closer. The early rays of sunshine backlit him, giving him the unreal quality of an oil painting. A few strands of black hair fell on his forehead and a shadow of morning whiskers darkened the hollows of his face. The planes of his chest moved with each breath, a dusting of dark hair covering the muscles and angles of hard flesh.
He was even more gorgeous than she remembered.
“I got your message,” he said softly as he approached her.
Her message?
A vision of blue on black flashed in her brain, and a shock wave rolled over her heart. The billboard. This couldn’t be happening.
This couldn’t be real.
She still hadn’t moved, but he stood in front of her. The water lapped around their legs, and the rising sun behind him warmed her face. He reached out and touched her cheek, then tunneled his fingers into the wet hair at the nape of her neck.
She parted her lips to speak, but no sound came out.
He took one more step and closed the space between them. Without a word, he guided her face toward his and kissed her. His lips were as warm and tender as she’d remembered, his mouth still hungry for her. Breaking the kiss, he flicked her lower lip with the tip of his tongue and Nicole thought she might drown in the next wave.
“I’ve been thinking about you, lady in blue,” he whispered.
“Mac?”
He glanced over his shoulder at his villa. “I saw you go in the water and I came straight to the endless white sand, exactly as instructed.”
Oh, God. He was MacDougall. She tried to swallow, but her throat closed in shock. “You’re the couple in 1601?”
“I’m the Mac.” He grinned and slid his hands down her bare, wet arms, leaving a trail of goose bumps in his wake. He laced his fingers through hers. “I was hoping we could be the couple.”
It was too much to fathom. He was in 1601. He’d come back. A distinct joy collided in her heart with another, peculiar feeling. Shame. He’d seen the ad and thought she’d placed it to find him.
He studied her expression and frowned. “I really checked in this time, so you can’t be mad at me.”
How could she tell him that anger didn’t propel her away from him? She couldn’t admit how much he’d affected her. “I’m not mad.” It was lame, but so was she at the moment.
“Of
