A Woman Worth Loving

Sorry for running off…with your boyfriend.

It hadn’t been as sordid as all that, of course, not that Ali would believe her. Or that Audra had ever tried to convince her otherwise.

Audra had merely accepted a ride from Luke Banning. He’d been leaving the island, too, heading for the ferry at the same time. She’d hopped on the back of his Harley and neither of them had looked back. They’d parted ways on the mainland. He’d headed east to New York, driven as always to prove his worth. Audra had gone west to Hollywood, seeking fame. She wasn’t quite sure when she’d decided to settle for infamy.

She felt the ferry’s great engine reverse, slowing the big boat’s forward motion so that it bumped gently against the dock before stopping. The steel gangplank lowered with a mechanical hum and the cars began to drive off. Audra followed them on foot. She’d left her rental back on the mainland to slow her escape just in case she gave in to her nerves and tried to retreat.

Scanning the crowd, she sucked in a breath and bit her lower lip. So many faces. A lot of them were familiar despite the passage of ten years. Some of the people recognized her as well. She could tell by the way their gazes swiveled back to before their expressions twisted in censure. Otherwise they didn’t acknowledge her. No surprise there. None of the islanders had ever gone public about her ties to Trillium, apparently too disgusted by her to admit she’d been born and raised here.

Still glancing about hopefully, she walked past the queue of cars waiting to board the ferry for its return trip to the mainland. In her heart, though, she knew Ali hadn’t come to meet her. Audra had called ahead last night and left voice mail messages for her sister both at home and at the resort where she worked. Ali knew Audra was here.

Oh, well. She hadn’t expected this to be easy.

The walk to the resort wasn’t that long, but it was mostly uphill. Despite the fact that she smoked—or had until a week ago—Audra prided herself on being in shape. She routinely did five miles on her treadmill and twenty minutes on her StairMaster. Two miles, even uphill, wouldn’t be a big deal, she decided. Half a mile later, she revised her opinion.

And cursed her designer heels.

The temperature hovered in the low-sixties, but it felt cooler thanks to the lake. Even so, Audra shucked off the pricey black leather boots, casting a rueful glance at their lethal four-inch heels. In her stocking feet, she set out again, careful to dodge the rocks that dotted the surface of the asphalt.

Seth saw the gorgeous blonde limping along the side of the road as he rounded the curve. He was already pulling the feisty little Pontiac he’d rented to the shoulder when he realized who she was. Audra Conlan Howard Stover Winfield, in the flesh. He could hardly believe his luck.

He had scoured the island looking for her for the past few days, making discreet inquiries that had yielded very little information from the island’s tight-lipped locals. He’d come close to thinking he had been wrong about her destination. Now he was only too happy to offer his assistance—again.

Audra flashed a relieved smile when he pulled up alongside her and Seth felt as if a mule had landed a rear hoof on his solar plexus. At that moment he thought he understood perfectly why three wealthy, smart and established men had rushed her to the altar, two of them without the benefit of a prenuptial agreement.

Her looks were downright lethal, especially now. Gone was the Marilyn-blond hair she’d sported back in California. It was several shades darker, closer to honey than platinum. It still fell past her shoulders, but instead of being stick-straight it was now a windblown tumble of curls that made a man’s hands itch just to touch it. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

Other things were different, too. Her makeup was toned down, eye shadow and lipstick in hues far more neutral than vivid. Even her choice in clothing seemed reserved if fashionable. No hint of cleavage was allowed to spill from the almost prim neckline of the blouse she wore beneath a short fitted jacket. A carelessly knotted scarf hid the marks on her neck. As for her pants, they weren’t made of eel-skin or suede or the faux leopard fur she’d sported to a Kid Rock concert the previous fall. They were simple denim cuffed at mid-calf. Of course, the pointy-toed black boots she held in her hand were vintage Audra: Impractical, sassy with their dangerously high heels and sexy as hell.

“Can I give you a lift?” he asked when he recovered the power of speech.

“Oh God, yes.” She sank into the passenger seat with a low moan of relief. “You’re an angel.”

“Actually, I’m Seth. Seth Ridley.” He settled on his real name, since he had little doubt she was familiar with the assumed one under which he worked.

“I’m Audra…Jones.”

Interesting, Seth thought. Trying to cover her tracks to keep his fellow vultures at bay, no doubt. Seth appreciated her efforts. He wanted an exclusive, and the stars seemed aligned in his favor. He had not seen any paparazzi since arriving on the island.

“And you are an angel,” Audra added, holding out a hand once she’d fastened the belt.

Her hand was slim and fine-boned, and Seth remembered only too well how neatly it had fit within his much larger one when he’d held it the other night. As he shook it now it was warm and, like the other one, devoid of all jewelry. He realized something else then, as well. She was no longer sporting the long, blood-red nails that had been as much her trademark as the platinum-blond hair. All in all, she didn’t look much like the woman whose image he’d captured and preserved in several hundred digital photographs over the past two years. For some reason, that bothered him.

Seth cleared his throat. “It’s nice to meet you.”

She tilted her head to one side. Neatly arched eyebrows pulled into a frown. “You look…Have we met before?”

“Can’t say that we have.”

It wasn’t a lie, exactly. They’d never met. They’d never come into direct contact with one another before the other night when Seth had held her in his arms, stroked her hair and dropped that foolish kiss on her temple in a moment of regrettable weakness.

“Hmm. You seem familiar.”

“Guess I just have one of those faces,” he replied with a shrug. “Where are you headed?”

“The resort.”

He’d already learned that on this island there was no need to be more specific. Assorted cottages, cabins and small mom-and-pop motels dotted its eighty-five miles of shoreline. But there was only one resort: Saybrook’s. It took up three hundred and fifty acres of prime land, including several hundred yards of lake frontage.

He smiled. “Me, too.”

“Are you staying at the resort?” she asked.

“Yes. You?”

She shook her head. “Actually, I’m staying at a hotel back on the mainland. I’m just here to see…someone.”

He didn’t like either part of her answer. He wanted her close at hand and he wanted her alone.

“You’ll break my heart if you say it’s a man.” He added a wink, recalling that flirting was an art form at which Audra excelled.

She laughed, but surprised him by not flirting back.

“Family,” she murmured softly.

“Oh, are they staying at the resort?”

“No. She…she’s not.”

He couldn’t help but be intrigued by these cryptic answers from a woman who used to bare more than her soul for the paparazzi.

Audra turned her head, and he caught a glimpse of the little scar on her temple. Secrets. Let her try to keep them. He planned to expose every last one.

Saybrook’s Resort sat at the top of a hill facing Lake Michigan and the mainland three miles beyond it. The hotel was three stories tall, with thick columns spaced along the front, and every inch of it was painted a pristine white. A wooden porch ran the length of it, dotted with comfortable wicker rockers that swayed in the crisp morning breeze.

The main hotel had nearly a hundred rooms and dated to 1910. Back then it had drawn wealthy families from Detroit, Chicago, New York and even abroad. Old-money families that preferred not to mingle with the new rich, let alone the lower classes.

A small lodge and several cottages had been tucked into the nearby woods in the 1940s and 1950s. By then, Cary Grant, Marilyn Monroe, Clark Gable and other megawatt stars had made it their own Midwest oasis, adding a generous helping of glamour to its already gilded image.

Audra’s parents had worked at the resort. It was the main artery of the island’s economy, providing jobs for many local families. While growing up, Audra and Ali had often sneaked into the rose garden just outside the main dining room so they could catch glimpses of celebrities. Audra had had stars in her eyes from grade school on. Then she’d gone to Hollywood and realized that even good looks and a fair amount of talent didn’t necessarily translate into a lucrative career in front of the camera.

Seth pulled his car into the inconspicuous lot just beyond the hotel. Not many cars were parked there, but then peak season wouldn’t begin until Memorial Day weekend, which was still a few weeks off.

“Here we are,” he said.

Audra slipped back into her boots, grimacing at the blisters that had already formed on her heels.

“Thanks again for the ride.”