ON A WHITE-SAND BEACH in St. Vincent, pristine mosquito netting rode a tropical breeze. The material was attached to a gazebo, the pale structure contrasting with the gem-blue of the sea and the lush vegetation.
Everything was more vivid out here, Sean thought as he tipped back an ice-flaked bottle of beer. More alive.
Just as he’d been these past two months.
The netting parted, letting in the sun. The light flashed off the band of gold on his finger, the ring winking at him.
He tossed away the magazine he’d been reading. People, complete with an article about Lincoln Castle, and how he’d become a hero by saving a drowning child while the actor was on location in Europe for that romantic comedy.
Linc’s new publicist was good. He had to hand that to her. She’d also gotten Lakota good exposure for a valuable painting she’d discovered in one of those vintage stores.
A silhouette blocked the sun, shading him. A figure as voluptuous as the local fruit he’d been eating lately.
She moved forward. Fiona. His wife.
The sun filtered over her, and he saw that she balanced a fruit platter in her hands. Bananas, coconuts, oranges and…
He laughed. A spray of maraschino cherries.
“People magazine, huh?” She sat next to him, plucked a cherry from the selection of snacks. “My former assistant has really been good for Linc.”
“Rosie’s been good for Lakota, also.” As she ran the cherry over his bare chest, his nipples tightened. Tease.
“Where Linc goes, so does Lakota. You talked to her last. Isn’t she due back on the soap next week?”
Lakota was working on that travel show Fiona had suggested before she quit Stellar. Still going to auditions, still hanging in there.
“Let’s talk about something else,” he said. “Namely…”
He pulled her into his arms, hugging her until she nuzzled against his neck. “…not talking.”
“Okay,” Fiona mouthed, sighing into her cozy spot.
He enjoyed the feel of her, would for the rest of his life. Even if they were interrupting their jaunt around the Caribbean—on both their tabs, even if he had technically won the bet—they’d always be on a holiday. Next week, they’d be returning to the States to meet his family, her family, to see Linc and Lakota, who were a lot like family.
After that they could go wherever they pleased, until their comfortable savings ran out. Then…? They’d talked about opening a bar on the sands of some island maybe, living real lives and not existing through others.
“Sorry to break the silence…” she said, sketching her fingers over his legs, higher…
“No you’re not.”
She laughed. “…but I brought reading material, too.”
She produced a book from the folds of her sarong. The Sensuous Woman.
“Think I can practice The Butterfly Flick?” she asked, all playfulness.
The Flick. They hadn’t gotten around to actually doing it until things had been worked out between them, once and for all.
It’d been worth the wait.
“Anything for literacy,” he said, sinking down in his lounge chair as Fiona undid the drawstring on his pants. “Anything to keep you happy.”
And as that wolfish howl returned and screamed through his veins once again, he knew it cried for only one person.
Fiona. And it always would.
He’d bet on it.