was achievable if he followed her three rules: seek redemption, make amends, forgive yourself. The first two were going to take a lifetime to achieve, since he’d hurt so many people. He didn’t deserve forgiveness.
But even though he was undeserving, he sought redemption anyway.
And he fell in love with Angel.
For the first time in his life, he had a purpose.
He woke up.
Claire would never understand. She turned her light brown eyes on him and twirled a platinum-blond curl around her finger. “Things weren’t always bad between us.”
“They weren’t good enough. I know the difference now. I don’t intend to ever settle again. How about you? Don’t you want to feel joy? Happiness? Love?”
It was her turn to laugh, but there was more spite than humor in it. “What has gotten into you? You really think a guy like you can fall in love? When will you have time for it?”
His mood darkened. “Why are you here?”
“I want what’s mine.” She leaned over the table. Her stature was fiercely determined, but something else, too. Desperation. “The kids are back and you are better. Plunder Cove is where we all belong. Together.”
He leaned over, too. “No. Go home, Claire. I’ve found someone else and I’m going to marry her, if she’ll accept me.”
He didn’t tell her that he had no idea where Angel was at the moment.
“Polygamy is a crime, sweetheart,” she said with a wicked smile. “Or have you forgotten? I didn’t sign your divorce papers.”
“Damn it, Claire! Enough. Sign the divorce papers, take your money, hop on that broom of yours and fly back to Santa Monica.”
“Now, that’s the man I remember.” Crossing her arms, she sat back. She seemed rooted to the chair and was decidedly not leaving.
“This is my home,” he said, “passed down from my family. Mine. Understand me? Be happy with the money I’ve given you the last ten years and get on with your life. Leave me the hell alone.”
Without yelling or throwing anything, RW got up and walked away. He was surprised at how steady and sure of himself he felt.
He picked up his cell phone. “Robert, bring the Bugatti around to the side. It’s time to go.”
Claire would eventually sign those papers. He had no doubt. He needed to move on to the next item on his agenda.
He was sneaking off to a quiet town on the coast, far away from prying eyes. If all went as planned, he’d be back before his kids knew he’d left Plunder Cove. If they realized he’d overstated the extent of his illness this morning to sneak out, he’d have some explaining to do.
He couldn’t drag his children into the danger surrounding Angel. He was expendable. Hell, he was living on borrowed time already. But the woman who’d saved his life needed him to save hers.
She’d been running from a Colombian gang of murderers and drug dealers for years, barely staying one step ahead of them. She’d been hiding in his home under an assumed name all this time. But when the gang came to his home, searching for her a few months ago, Angel fled to protect him.
She thought she’d be able to hide from the gang, from him, but he had resources she couldn’t imagine.
Enough was enough. He’d do whatever he could to force Cuchillo and his gang to their knees and bring Angel home.
Even if it meant sacrificing himself as bait.
Chloe was about to combust or squeal or any number of things that would not be the least bit professional. Instead she quickly went down to the restaurant to talk to her sister-in-law.
She found Michele in the kitchen, her arms coated with flour as she kneaded pasta dough.
“You’re here!” Chloe said.
“Where else would I be? Oh! How’s it going with Mr. Dreamy Eyes?” Michele asked with a smile.
“He’s so handsome...and that voice, the accent, oh, my God. He turns me to mush.” Chloe closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Complete idiotic mush. Mind if I pace a little? I grumble better when I’m moving.”
“Grumble? Why aren’t you ecstatic? You get to spend all week with him.”
“It’s not him—it’s me.”
“Have at it.” Michele motioned to the floor. “Just don’t slam anything around. I’ve got cake rising in the oven.”
“I’m not my mother. I don’t slam things.” Chloe paced quietly, making sure not to stomp.
“Hey, speaking of the wicked witch...” Michele glanced over her shoulder and lowered her voice. “I messed with her a little earlier—not bad, just enough to teach her she’s not welcome in my restaurant, our restaurant. She doesn’t get a free pass after what she did to Jeff.”
Chloe blinked. “Mom’s still in Plunder Cove?”
Michele whispered, “Yeah. She met your dad for a late lunch. Weird, huh?”
Weird didn’t begin to describe it. “Did she throw dishes, wine bottles? Did my dad toss her out?”
Goodness, if her parents started fighting while Nicolas was here, the deal for the show would be off.
“Not at all. They talked quietly. Civilly. Then your dad left before she did.”
In the Harper household, civil parents didn’t make sense. What were they up to? Chloe stopped walking in circles at the counter, where Michele was pounding the dough. “Can I do that?”
“You want to knead my dough?”
“Can I beat it a little, too?”
“Sure.” Michele stepped back. “Wash up and you can knead away. Want to tell me why you want to punch dough?”
Chloe dried her hands and began kneading. “The guy who inspired me to play the guitar is upstairs. In my house. Nicky M! And holy moly, he looks so good. I can’t even begin to describe how well his butt fills out those slacks. But I’m representing the resort in this deal. I shouldn’t be thinking about his anatomy!”
“But you are.” Michele smiled wickedly.
Well, yeah. “You’d think I’d use this opportunity to—I don’t know—ask him how he comes up with his perfect rhythm. Or ask about the inspiration behind his lyrics in ‘Baby, Come After Me.’ I have this amazing chance to learn about lyrics and music from a master. Instead of asking intelligent questions, I could barely put more than two sentences together. What’s the matter with me?
“You
