rel="nofollow" href="#u972a9bf6-c48e-576e-be66-544859886c8b">Chapter 9
The smooth sounds of classic jazz filled the four-door luxury sedan. Ike Drake Jr. had had a stressful weekend, and he appreciated the way Wes Montgomery’s fluid guitar licks poured over his soul like water, washing the frenzy away.
In his preteen years, Ike had temporarily eschewed the music his grandfather loved in favor of the pop and hip-hop stars who then provided the soundtrack of his life. That didn’t last long. By tenth grade, during summers spent on Walter Drake’s farm, he regained an appreciation for his elder’s favorite musicians: Miles, Ramsey, Dizzy, Charlie and Wes. He also shared Walter’s passion for fishing, golf and classic cars like the meticulously restored 1961 Ferrari Spider he now drove. His grandmother Claire had labeled him an old soul since childhood, and even way back then had affectionately called him Mr. Ike.
Ike tapped a beat on his steering wheel, focused on the music and tried to forget about why his jaws were tight and his muscles were in knots. Days of Paradise, an annual event celebrating the incorporation of Paradise Cove and held during Labor Day weekend, was always a hectic time. The Drakes were among the town’s founding families, along with one of the wealthiest and most well-known. Their company, Drake Realty Plus, had built and/or sold many of the homes and apartments in which citizens resided. Ike’s brother Niko was mayor of the city. The Drake family participation was high profile and taxing. In addition to serving as the grand marshal for this year’s parade, he was on the Days of Paradise board and had helped oversee a three-day carnival and annual charity ball. These extracurricular activities on top of being immersed in the closing of a deal costing more than a hundred million dollars brought enough anxiety to raise his blood pressure. No one would fault him for being stressed and on edge. But if he was honest with himself, he’d admit that all of these very important issues weren’t the real reason for his discomfort.
The real reason was a woman named Quinn.
She’d burst into his world on Saturday night at the fund-raiser ball. Like a tornado, she’d bowled over everyone in her path and left hearts and emotions strewn around the room. Ike’s were among them.
The soothing sound of Wes’s “Bumping on Sunset” gave way to the memories of Saturday night. Without realizing it, his relaxed shoulders tensed. He gripped the wheel.
* * *
“Who’s that?”
Ike and two of his brothers, Warren and Niko, stood near the main bar in the Paradise Cove Country Club’s ballroom. Their position afforded an unobstructed view of the room’s entrance, through which a sexy siren who had elicited Niko Drake’s question had just entered.
“I don’t know,” Warren responded, his eyes glued to the room’s sudden star attraction as he sipped a neat bourbon. “But I guarantee she won’t remain anonymous for long.”
Ike could only stare. The stranger was stunning. Tall, he imagined around five-seven, but appearing statuesque because of strappy stiletto sandals and a high ponytail that exposed dainty drop earrings and an elegant long neck. Her dress was ultraclassic—a sleeveless black gown with a gently scooped neckline that hugged her slender body to the knee before flaring out into a dramatic train. Ike subconsciously nodded his approval as she came farther into the room, looking neither left nor right but either straight ahead or down at the petite satin-clad woman beside her. Classy, conservative, elegant...a perfect fit in this country-club crowd. Her mannerisms were understated, and while he was sure she was aware of her beauty and the subtle murmur of voices that followed in her wake, she seemed admirably unaffected.
After a long on-again, off-again relationship with a woman who, like him, had grown up in PC, Ike was single. Were he looking for a wife, she could potentially be a candidate. She was someone he decided to meet before the night was over. His eyes followed her as she passed the brothers, several feet away but partially hidden. His interest grew as he took in her regal bearing. He smiled as she passed them. But when he saw the back of her gown, his expression changed. He became as annoyed as he was attracted.
WTH?
The back of her Chai original was as risqué as the front was moderate. It plunged from her shoulders to just above her backside, exposing an expanse of creamy, smooth skin that made him think of vanilla ice cream covered with cashews and warm caramel. The back of the dress was made of lace, with carefully placed flowers in the fabric the only thing that allowed the enchantress to maintain any modesty at all. It was way too revealing,
