Trust In Us

“Are you okay?”

She heard him speaking to her, his smile carrying more heat when he leaned close to ask how she was. He extended a hand as if he meant to cup her elbow but barely let his thumb graze the bend of her arm.

Alythia ordered—no, begged—the sudden and completely uncharacteristic desire to moan to cease and desist with the pressure it applied to her larynx.

“I, um— I’m good,” she managed, and then followed up the lie with a laugh. “I was good before I got here and saw that my ride was kind enough not to leave without me.”

He roared into laughter, the sound causing Alythia to jump at the full honesty of it. Despite the contagious effect of the reaction, she winced when he looked her way.

“Sorry, I know I sound ungrateful,” she said.

Curiosity intermingled with his amusement. “Why do you think you’re ungrateful?”

“Most people dream of visiting the Caribbean.” She looked toward the jet once more. “Of those who have actually had those dreams come true, few get there on a private plane.”

“Um, could I take that stuff for you?” he inquired of her bags again before the dumbfounded amusement on his face started to make her feel uneasy.

“Sorry. Um...” Aly began to relinquish her bags. “Thanks for your help— Oh, wait.”

Easing the strap of a tan duffel over his shoulder, he watched her fumble through a plump midsize purse.

“Dammit...I knew I had a five or ten in here....”

“Hey.” He cupped her elbow that time. “There’s no need to tip me.”

Alythia blinked toward the plane. “I’m pretty sure you guys are way behind schedule because of me.”

“We’ll get there.” He voiced the soft reassurance while applying a light massage to the elbow he cupped. “They aren’t gonna leave without you.” He winced a little against the sun in his eyes when he glanced at the plane. “This is a vacation. No clocks. Say it. ‘No clocks.’”

“No clocks.” Alythia nodded in a hypnotic manner while repeating the phrase that sounded like heaven. “No clocks.” She gave in to a smile that demanded to be seen.

Clarity surged in the liquid chocolate of Gage Vincent’s stare and he realized that the woman standing before him had no idea that the plane was his or who he was for that matter.

He dipped his head to peer into Alythia’s eyes and observed her that way for several seconds. He nodded, evidently satisfied that her outlook was improving and more than a little captivated by the stunning shade of her gaze. He then took four of her five bags, effortlessly hoisting the straps across his shoulders and angling one at his neck.

Alythia held on to an overnight case—the smallest of the five. Her smile brightened in approval of the button-down shirt he wore. The short sleeves revealed the flex and ripple of well-toned muscle accentuated by the flawless café noir of his skin.

“Shall we?” He motioned her ahead with the hand secured about the handle of a boxy brown-and-beige case.

“Do you think your boss will be a jerk about me holding up the party?” Alythia asked once they were crossing the tarmac toward the waiting plane.

“You’re good.” He paused. “The man’s a sucker for women. Especially women who look like you.”

“Thank you.” Her words were delivered coolly enough even though his remark had threatened to halt her stride. “Um...will you be on the flight or...?”

“You’ll see me around.” He halted at the foot of the mobile stairway.

“Thank you.” Aly made no secret of the fact that she was attempting to memorize his face before she headed on up the steps leading into the plane.

Gage’s smile went from friendly to smoldering within seconds of Alythia’s exit. He thought her legs seemed to go on forever beneath the airy white skirt that flared above her knees. She wore an emerald racer-back tank that matched strappy sandals that added emphasis on trim ankles and shapely calves. Not until one of the actual baggage handlers interrupted his survey to ask for the cases did Gage look away.

Chapter 2

Gage inclined his head a fraction as though he were attempting to obtain a better view of what he was observing. Absently, he moved the back of one hand across the sleek whiskers that had just started to shadow the strong curve of his jawline. He’d probably have a full beard by the end of the trip, he mused, still staring fixedly at the screen of his MacBook Air.

The golden flecks lurking in the liquid brown of his gaze seemed to sparkle more vividly. He was putting forth a more diligent effort to view the small square footage of space in the same light as the man he videoconferenced with did.

“Sorry, Clive...it’s just not working for me,” he said, at last accepting defeat.

“That’s because you’re not seeing it through a tourist’s eyes.” Clive’s voice rippled out through the laptop’s speakers.

“I resent that.” Gage put up an obviously phony show of being insulted. “I’m as much of a tourist as the next man.”

“Woman,” Clive corrected. “You also need to see this place through the eyes of a woman.”

Clive’s robust and genuine laughter rumbling then, Gage raised his hands defensively. He reclined in the swivel chair behind an efficient but more than adequate desk in the office aboard the aircraft.

“You’ve finally lost me...completely. I’m afraid this requires an expertise that I’m not in any way sorry to say I don’t have.”

“Are you for real?” Clive was incredulous when the screen split and he appeared on the monitor. Soon, though, he relented with a decisive shake of his head. “Look, G, I don’t need you to actually see my plans here.” He referred to the space along the quaint side street within the resort he owned. “I only need you to tell me that you believe the venture has moneymaking potential.”

Gage replayed the clip that had provided a 360-degree tour of the space in question. The area was practically shielded from view due to the overgrown foliage. The camera turned away from the space to offer a brief presentation of the cobblestone street that boasted a twenty-four-hour breakfast bar, nail, wax and massage spa, as well as a bookshop, among its other sole proprietorships.

“Definitely has diversity going for it,” Gage murmured, while more avidly assessing the locale.

Via split screen, Clive could be seen rubbing his hands palm to palm. He even seemed to be performing a little excited dance in his chair, the back of which could be seen moving to and fro through the screen.

“Well?” Clive’s baby-blue eyes were wide with expectancy.

Smirking with evident devilry driving the gesture, Gage let his old friend sweat out the wait for a few more seconds. “I want to take a look at the site when we land, but based on what’s before me now...I can see it.”

Clive bowed his head and Gage’s smirk turned into a grin when he heard the man’s delighted grunt drift through the laptop’s speaker. While Gage hadn’t truly been able to visualize Clive’s business plan for the space at his resort property, Gage saw money. And when Gage Vincent saw money, money was made.

A chuckle accompanied Gage’s grin as Clive’s excitement infected him to an extent. “When’d you get so interested in fashion?”

“Well, hell, Gage, we can’t all be GQ superstars, now, can we?” From the screen, Clive waved a hand toward Gage, who looked worthy of a spread in the famed magazine even in the simple button-down shirt, its cream color accentuating the flawless pitch of his skin.

“I still know what I like, though,” Clive finished indignantly.

Gage’s chuckling rounded out on a quick laugh. He traded stroking his jaw for massaging it and more closely regarded his friend. “Is it the fashion you like or the woman who gave you this idea?”

It was Clive’s turn to raise his hands in defense. “I swear it’s the money the fashion can make me.” The quirky smile that always betrayed his attempts to be at his most serious betrayed Clive then. “The woman only helped me to see it through her eyes.”

Gage’s infectious, hearty laughter erupted. “Is she a blonde or brunette?” he queried through his laughter.

Clive buffed his nails against the crimson polo shirt he wore. “Neither,” he replied.

“Mmm...redhead, then.” Gage was confident with his guess until Clive sent him a look of mock smugness through the screen.