CRASHING WAVES. SUNLIGHT streaming onto his face. A light breeze blowing through the open floor-to-ceiling windows. And a pounding headache.
Alex Stone reached his hand out to the bedside table and groped for his phone, then brought it to life to read the time. 8:37. Shit.
He sat up in bed and swung his legs to the floor, cursing his brother as he grabbed a pair of swimming trunks from his suitcase. Ditching his boxer shorts, he slid the trunks over his bare hips and bent forward to dig around for a T-shirt. His head protested.
Alex may not have minded his headache so much if it was the price for an evening of fun, but the case was anything but. After arriving in Moretta from LA last night, tired and jet-lagged—naturally, Alex had refused his brother’s offer of a private jet to neighboring Barbados in favor of three leg-cramping commercial flights—his considerate rock-star brother had driven him straight to his place, where a raucous party was in full swing. No amount of sleeping pills or pillows over his head could block out the noise and music pounding through the walls of his brother’s home, which lasted until, by Alex’s estimation, about four hours ago.
He glanced at his phone again: 8:40. His scuba-diving lesson was due to start in twenty minutes. He’d taken all the preliminary lessons back in LA, and today was to be his first open-water dive. But right now he was exhausted and feeling anything but mentally prepared for it. It was probably dangerous to dive with so little sleep. He was staying on the island for a week; there was no rush. He should cancel...
Screw that. This was something he needed to do. He’d promised himself he would, and Alex Stone was a man who always kept his promises.
Alex opened his bedroom door. It had been dark when he arrived last night, so between the lack of light and the throngs of bodies crowding the space, he hadn’t gotten a good feel for its layout. Now Alex could see how breathtaking both the house and its setting were. Each of the eight bedroom doors opened onto an expansive piazza with the beach just beyond it. Between a stand of palms on his right and a rocky outcrop to his left, the turquoise ocean lapped gently. As he watched, a tortoise slowly made its way along the sand in his direction.
Alex turned and walked toward the main house, noting that there wasn’t an empty glass or a cushion out of place to be seen, thanks to his brother’s twenty-four-hour housekeeping staff. Passing through the enormous living room, he admired a trio of white sofas the size of queen beds and the tasteful, original artwork on the whitewashed walls. By the time he got to the stainless-steel-and-polished-concrete kitchen with coffee on his mind, his walk from one end of the house to the other felt more like a quest.
“Hey, little brother,” Dev said with a grin as Alex entered the room. Lounging against the counter with a cup of tea in his tanned hand, Dev was the picture of health. For the life of him, Alex would never understand how his brother could party as hard as he did and never look the worse for wear. “Sleep well?”
Alex glared at him as he hit the button on the Starbucks-size espresso machine. “Glad to hear you haven’t lost your sense of humor.”
“What happened to you, anyway? You missed your own party.”
Alex stared at him in disbelief. “My party?”
Dev shrugged. “Yeah, man. I haven’t seen you in what, four years? My brother comes to visit me—I pull out all the stops.”
“And I always thought the guest of honor was supposed to get a little attention at his own party. My mistake.”
Dev appeared oblivious to Alex’s barb. “Plenty of people there would have loved to give you a little attention,” he said with a wink, turning his head toward the window. Through the glass, Alex could see Dev’s entourage—including several silicone-breasted groupies—lounging by the infinity pool. Alex gave his head a hopeless shake. There was no denying that he and his brother looked alike—same tall build, dark hair and unusual aqua eyes. The eyes were courtesy of their mother, and, Alex thought, looked devastating on Dev’s somewhat prettier face but didn’t quite work with Alex’s more masculine features. But the similarities ended with their appearance; in every other way the brothers were about as different as guitars and boardrooms, much like their respective careers. “I have to get going,” Alex said, downing the last of his coffee.
“Going?”
“Scuba diving. I told you last night.”
