of the breadth of your skill set.”
Her voice had dropped, turning sultry, and his body hardened in an instant. Yeah, he remembered how hot their kisses had always been. If he could find a way to make up for his mistake, maybe she’d be interested in a repeat of the fun, expectation-free part of their past.
“Are you flirting with me, Cara?”
She smiled and Meredith’s shark threat seemed less treacherous in comparison. “Not in the slightest. Your best skill is walking away and I took copious notes. Allow me to demonstrate what I learned.”
She pivoted on one sexy stiletto and hobbled after Meredith, leaving Keith standing alone by the pool.
With a tropical storm on the horizon and a grand reopening combined with a bridal expo in two days, Cara was a distraction he could ill afford to indulge. Their history was painful and irreconcilable. Probably too difficult to overcome, regardless of whether she’d actually forgiven him.
Nonetheless, her pointed refusal to engage fanned the flames of his competitive streak into a full-fledged blaze. Once, he’d been eager to disentangle himself from a wannabe trophy wife with zero ambition, and now he could think of nothing else but exploring the new, uncharted Cara.
Keith Mitchell did not back down from a challenge.
“What do you mean the flight was canceled?” Cara dropped to the bed and flung both shoes at the wall. Since she was a lover not a pitcher, her Louboutins clunked to the carpet well short of the intended target. Just as everything else she’d attempted to do since landing on this island impersonating paradise.
Meredith pushed a couple of buttons on the coffee brewer—her second pot of the day. “C-A-N-C—”
“I know how to spell canceled, smart aleck. Why is the flight canceled?”
Her sister shrugged. “Mechanical failure. Pilot’s strike. Lost in the Bermuda Triangle. Take your pick. Does it matter? You can wear the dress in the show and I’ll run things backstage. People will love the designer taking the runway. Stop freaking out.”
“I have to freak out. It’s what I do.” Cara had already sent Jackie home and the replacement model should have landed at Providenciales Airport an hour ago. Except her flight out of JFK was canceled.
“Let Keith bring you that bottle of wine he offered. You need to relax.”
“One day, I’ll learn to stop repeating my conversations to you verbatim.” Cara scowled and rubbed her ankle, which was not fine despite all her insistence to that man. Mentally, she scrolled through her shoe inventory and gave up. Except for her jogging shoes, she’d brought nothing less than three-and-a-half-inch heels. She might not even own anything less than three. “I have no interest in being anywhere near Keith.”
“I’ll drink it then. The bottle he sent last night was not bad.”
Cara wouldn’t know. She’d refused to let one drop grace her lips. “You can fantasize about him, too, if you want. Or sleep with him. I don’t care.”
Meredith jerked to a halt, halfway across the room. “Oh, honey. I had no idea you still had feelings for him. Don’t clue him in just yet, okay? Make him work for it.”
“I don’t still have feelings for him!” Cara fell face-first into the raw-silk comforter. Such a vehement denial probably didn’t help her case any. Rolling, she stared at the ceiling.
Mad, she had plenty of. Summoning it up took no effort at all.
She frowned when it didn’t happen. Well, hell. She might not be as pissed as she used to be, not anymore. He’d been so weird in the elevator after she’d laid into him about being such a sleaze. Weird and speechless, and Keith didn’t usually do speechless. He always had words at the tip of his tongue.
That’s how she knew he’d told the truth about why he left. And she should have told him about the miscarriage right then and there in her dressing room, regardless of how upset and disoriented she’d been. They’d both made mistakes—his obviously being a lot more flagrant and inexcusable—but it was over with and she had a job to do.
Cara sat up. “I have alterations and so do you. Thanks for being a pit bull earlier and I really appreciated the shark warning, but nothing is going to happen with Keith. In fact, the name Keith Mitchell is henceforth banned from being said. Keith Mitchell is like Voldemort to you.”
“Creepy on the outside but looks like Ralph Fiennes underneath and has a delish accent?” Meredith waggled her brows.
“Shut up. I’m doing my alterations on the beach. The waves are relaxing, aren’t they?” Cara gathered her sewing kit and folded the dress into a bag while Meredith snickered through dumping half a sugar refinery into her coffee.
“Then I’m doing my alterations at the pool. Maybe Paolo will be back, now that your boyfriend’s not there to scare him off. Don’t wait up,” Meredith called after Cara as she exited their hotel room.
The beach was deserted. Everyone currently staying at the resort had a behind-the-scenes role in the bridal expo. The real guests were the wedding professionals who would arrive for the grand opening at the end of the week and then attend the expo featuring the latest wedding trends.
Cara had her pick of beach loungers and arranged a plastic tarp over several to lay out the dress, careful to keep it away from the sand, though the entire expo would take place on the beach. Sand was inevitable. The alterations weren’t extensive but she’d handmade all her dresses and every stitch had to be redone carefully. No sewing machine quick fixes for Cara Chandler-Harris Designs.
If the bridal expo worked to increase business as she planned, sewing machines would be a necessary part of her future. Standing orders meant she couldn’t take a month to make one dress any longer. Cara threaded a needle and reminded herself she welcomed the influx of business and the opportunity, though Meredith had to convince her of it daily.
This was Cara’s life now. She stabbed the needle through the silk spread out over her lap. Weddings were for other women, not her, regardless of how much she wished otherwise. Cara couldn’t imagine trusting a man enough to fall in love, let alone marry him. Every day, she expected to wake up and realize she’d gotten over her caution.
Hadn’t happened yet. Until then, she’d sew. The surf crashed a few feet away and the cry of gulls floated on a light afternoon breeze. Her life did not suck. She’d found a way to be content instead of deliriously happy, and it was enough.
Sometime later, a shadow fell over the tiny new stitches. Cara glanced up and cursed her stupid quivery heart for lurching even a little bit over the sight of Keith. But sweet Jesus did that man fill out a suit, and he had charm and wit to spare. Once upon a time, she’d thoroughly enjoyed his company.
“Busy?” he asked.
“Nah. I’m working on my tan.”
“Sorry, that was a stupid question.” He sat without invitation on the next lounger, their knees nearly touching, and his eyes trained on her bare feet. “Is your ankle still bothering you?”
“Geez.
