Ryan had lived in Parpetai before moving to the staff dorm at Mesquale. He’d discovered that the seven thousand inhabitants of the biggest village on Mesquale Island were an odd mix of locals, ex-pats, resort staff who didn’t want to live at the resort, and an eclectic group of writers and artists. A Southern Pacific–French flavor permeated the small city. The shuttle from the resort to Parpetai ran twenty-four hours a day.
“Always throws me when I see a guy I served drinks to yesterday on the shuttle.” Poppy nodded toward the fellow sitting on the other side of the bus. A dark-haired fellow with dark skin had his arm around a pretty woman in a yellow sundress. He didn’t stare at Poppy or Charla, but instead kept his gaze locked on Ryan. The shuttle circled the outskirts of Parpetai, making three stops. Finally they hit the heart of the town, and Charla stood to exit. Ryan grasped her hand.
A tingle slid over Charla’s skin. Poppy was right, Charla did have it bad for Ryan. He was gorgeous, with that black hair and blue eyes. Plus he was smart and kind, and no matter what Poppy didn’t think “added up,” hadn’t he been her knight in shining armor? The couple across from them stood too. Everyone filed off the bus.
Once they were on the curb, the Mesquale guest turned to Ryan. “I know you.” He tilted his head with a quizzical look, trying to place him.
“Probably. I’ve been working at Mesquale for the last couple of weeks. Have you been to The Banana Boat?”
“No.” He shook his head. “We just arrived yesterday. It’s not from Mesquale. I’m nearly certain that we’ve met.” He tapped his finger to his chin. “Wait? You’re …” He glanced at his wife and then back to Ryan. He lowered his voice. “You’re Ryan Murphy. You built Metro Media.”
The smile remained plastered to Ryan’s face, but the look in his eyes changed. For the briefest instant his grip on Charla’s hand tightened.
“Sorry. My name is Ryan, but I think you’ve got the wrong guy.”
“Noooo. Come on?” He leaned closer to Ryan. “I understand why, that you must want your privacy, but—”
“You’ve got the wrong guy.” Ryan’s voice was firmer, with the hint of an edge. Charla glanced from Ryan to Poppy. She and Trevor stood farther up the road. They were walking toward Coquille, the club and restaurant where they were having dinner.
“Really? Wow. I did a merger deal with his company a couple years ago, and you look just like him.” He turned to his wife. “They say everyone has a doppelganger. I guess I just met Ryan Murphy’s. Hey, can I get your picture? So when I run into him in L.A, I can show him?”
“No man, but thanks.” Ryan pulled Charla toward Poppy and Trevor.
Charla’s chest tightened, and her feet didn’t feel right. She glanced at Ryan, but he stared straight ahead, directing them both to where Poppy and Trevor stood waiting.
“Yo, man, come check this out,” Trevor called to Ryan.
He dropped Charla’s hand and walked with Trevor a little ahead of her and Poppy. Trevor pointed out the statue of St. Lucius and where he came to write on his days off from Mesquale.
“What was that about?” Poppy asked.
The couple walked in the opposite direction. “They thought Ryan looked like somebody they knew.”
“He must have one of those faces,” Poppy said. “That’s two different people in two days.”
Cold trickled through Charla’s belly. She didn’t mention that the guy on the shuttle said the exact same name that Josh Hughes had said. That couldn’t be, could it? She didn’t want to know … Fear, resistance, and a desire to shut her eyes and pretend that this odd similarity between the man she was falling for and the billionaire Ryan Murphy wasn’t happening. Why was she doing that? Why was she so desperate to root herself in denial?
Because she no longer wanted to be alone. She didn’t want to fight every battle solo. She wanted a person she could depend on and rely on and be with. Ryan had fought for her, he’d tried to protect her, he’d saved her job, he’d made her feel safer in two days than she’d felt in years. Her Ryan couldn’t be that Ryan. She needed Ryan to be the guy who was great looking, sexy, and a bartender at Mesquale. Besides, what were the odds that Ryan was actually Ryan Murphy, the billionaire?
Maybe as good as the odds that two people in two days would mistake Ryan for Ryan Murphy.
Her stomach tumbled. Then everything would be a lie. She couldn’t tolerate lies. She couldn’t pretend reality was one way when it was actually another. Pretending, playing nice, that was ultimately what Bertram and his mother and even Gerome, Bertram’s father, had wanted Charla to do. Forget the lies and the assault and the secret agenda and proceed with life as though everything were normal. Instead she’d left, because she couldn’t live with the falseness and their sick, twisted game of pretend.
Trevor and Ryan stood in the doorway of Coquille. Trevor held the door open. “Come on, ladies, your fantastic evening awaits.”
Too many coincidences … two people calling him Ryan Murphy, Antigua, Orso …
Ryan grasped her hand. He pulled her close and gazed into her eyes. “You okay? You look a little green.”
She nodded. “I’m good.”
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. She relaxed into him. How in such a short time did his body seem meant for her? The scent of sunshine and ocean and the rich smell of him. She wanted this relationship to be real. She wanted these feelings to be true. She didn’t want any of this to be a lie.
*
“So wait,” Charla said as Ryan poured her another glass of wine. “What you’re saying, Pop, is that you didn’t even like Trevor at first?”
Poppy turned a mischievous look toward Trevor. “Let’s just say I found his body much more appealing than his personality.”
“Ouch. Pop, that hurts my heart.” Trevor grinned and took a long swallow of wine.
“It’s nothing you don’t know now, and I think you knew it even then. Admit it, you saw me as a challenge. You needed to prove to me that I should like you.”
“Every man enjoys a challenge. I don’t suppose I’m much different,” Trevor said.
“Oh you’re different,” Poppy said. “Different in all kinds of ways. You wouldn’t take no for an answer. Most men I turn down cower in fear and run. But this one?” Poppy tilted her wine glass toward Trevor. “This one would not leave me alone. Poems. He started leaving me poems. Can you believe?”
Ryan’s fingers wrapped around Charla’s beneath the table.
“A man uses the gifts he’s given, and a writer writes.” Trevor took a long drink of wine.
“Ah yes. Well, that writer wrote his way into my bed.” Poppy finished her glass of wine.
“Ah, just your bed, Poppy? No, I do believe you mean your heart.”
“My heart?” Poppy pursed her lips and cocked an eyebrow. “You’ve come close, my love. So close, but I’m afraid that particular organ was decimated many moons before you.”
Trevor maintained a smile, but Charla saw the pain trickle into his eyes. He loved Poppy. Adored her. He’d write a million poems for Charla’s roommate if given the chance.
“Then what was it, lovey?” Trevor pressed his body forward in his chair, and placed his hand to the back of Poppy’s neck.
Like a contented cat, Poppy closed her eyes and relaxed into Trevor’s touch. “Layla,” Poppy murmured. “It was Layla.”
“The hotel masseuse?” Trevor asked.
“You say masseuse, I say psychic. The woman has agift. Her hands are magic. Pure magic. She informed me when I returned six months ago that I would meet a poet who would fulfill my every fantasy.”
“We’re into fantasies now? Oh, I think we need another bottle of wine.” Trevor waved toward their server, who nodded and headed toward the bar.
“Not just those kinds of fantasies. Layla said that during this contract at Mesquale, I would get great pleasure if I’d just surrender to the person who pursued me.”
“Did she tell you about the giant bribe I gave her to say that?”
Poppy’s eyelids popped open.
“A joke, Pop, a joke.”
“I should think so,” Poppy said. “One doesn’t mess with Layla’s magic. She’s the reason Mesquale has such an avid following. Ask any person who’s ever been to Mesquale more than once and they’ll tell you it’s Layla’s hands and her insights that bring them back to Mesquale again and again.”
“Have you been?” Ryan stroked his hand over Charla’s hair and rested his palm on her back in a possessive touch that she relaxed into.
“Not yet. I’ve booked an appointment.”
“She’s booked solid,” Poppy said. The server filled her wineglass from the new bottle of wine. Four empties stood tall on the table. “She has to take guests first and then squeezes in staff when she has openings or cancellations. The woman never has an empty day unless she books herself out. I’m telling you, she’s magic.”
“I have to admit”—Trevor relaxed into his chair—“her touch is magic. Not only her touch, but her ability to tell you what you need to hear.” He gazed at his wine. “Even if it’s not exactly what you want to hear.”
A shiver raced up Charla’s spine. What were the words she didn’t want to hear? Truths that she didn’t want told. Was she headed for some kind of horrible repeat of what had happened in San Diego? Perhaps not the same gross action, but the lies and half-truths and powerful men with secret agendas.
“I need an appointment.” Ryan sipped his wine.
He didn’t drink much. Was that always the case, or did he need to keep his wits about him? Were there words and a past he didn’t want to share? A truth that he didn’t want Charla to know?
“We’ve spilled our story. What about you?” Poppy asked with more than a hint of a gleam in her eyes.
“I’m not the only one who hasn’t told my arrival story.” His hand covered Charla’s, and he squeezed. “I believe Charla was the next to arrive.”
Poppy’s gaze flicked from Ryan to Charla, and the merriment slid from her face. “We’re not talking about Charla, we’re—”
“No it’s fine.” Charla shook her head. “Truly, Poppy, it’s fine. When I was at the airport today, I saw all kinds of messages and emails and texts on my phone from months before when I left California, and they didn’t bother me. I’ve had nine months, and I’m over it.” Charla twisted the stem of her wineglass and stared at the table. She lifted her gaze to Ryan’s. “I came to Mesquale to escape a marriage.”
“You were married?”
“Thankfully, no. That would have been the worst mistake of my life. One I might not have survived. I was nearly married. Engaged. He wasn’t a good man. His family weren’t good people. Lucky for me I discovered those things before the wedding. So I left.”
Charla’s stomach pitted. There was more she could tell Ryan. She could tell him about her soon-to-be father-in-law’s attempted assault. How her soon-to-be husband didn’t believe her. How her soon-to-be mother-in-law called her a whore and a liar. How for a brief while, when still living in San Diego, she’d feared for her life and retribution from her father-in-law for telling the truth.
She looked into Ryan’s eyes. Yes, there were many more facts about what happened between her and the people who were to be her family she could tell, but she didn’t want to, and really she didn’t need to. Those events were in her past and she didn’t want to look back or carry the shame and guilt like heavy packs strapped to her back.
“Bad things happened. I left. I’ve had a year to think about all that took place. I’m lucky that everything happened when it did.” She leaned toward Ryan. She was lucky that she’d gotten away from Bertram and his family. Oh so lucky.
Attraction flamed through her body. Ryan’s nearness caused her to vibrate with desire. This want, like an ache, was unfamiliar. She’d never experienced this kind of desire before Ryan. Being with him, in his arms, beside him here, felt natural. As though she’d been waiting for him her entire life. Ryan would never hurt her. He would always protect her. There were no doubts in her mind … aside from one.
His lips pressed to hers in a gentle kiss that held promises of the passion he felt.
“Awww, look, Trevvy, do you remember when we were young and in love?”
“What the hell, Pop. I kiss you like that all the time.”
Charla smiled while Ryan continued to kiss her. Poppy and Trevor were adorable and in love even if neither wanted to admit it. Ryan sat back and rubbed his palms up and down her arms. “I think it’s time to go back to Mesquale. What do you say?”
She was hot for him, her body already swollen and wet, her nipples tight and aching for his touch. “I completely agree.”
Yes, it was time to go back to Mesquale. Time to return to the resort and go to bed.
*
The shuttle dropped the four of them off just at the edge of the resort property line. He and Charla walked down a path to the beach, with Trevor and Poppy just ahead of them. The salty smell of the ocean led them through the plants to the sand. Stars peeked through the tiny wisps of clouds that remained in the sky from the storms earlier in the day. The moon shone down on them.
A beautiful night with a beautiful woman.
Peace filled Ryan’s heart. Hints of joy trickled through him. For the first time in what felt like forever his grief had parted. Much like the stars on this night, happiness played peekaboo through the sadness of his past. The goodness in Charla and his want for her parted his heavy sadness. The moon reflected off the ocean.
Ryan stopped walking and turned to Charla. Her beauty stunned him. When he lost Paloma and their future together, he believed that happiness and desire would be forever absent in his life. Charla changed that. Her honesty and her kindness called to him.
He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek.
“I feel so close to you,” Charla said. “As though I’ve known you a lifetime, and we’ve only just met. How is that possible?”
In just one night, he’d come to think of Charla as his. There was a force bigger than either of them that propelled them to each other. Like metal to a magnet, her closeness, though desired by him, was more than a choice. Charla was a compulsion.
“You never told me your story.” Her gaze contained more than simple playfulness.
“My story.” Ryan inhaled the salty scent of the sea and the fresh rain-scrubbed air. Where did he start? How did he start? What was best to tell Charla so that he might keep her? Not anger her. Not make her feel used or betrayed.
“You left to escape a marriage, and I left because I didn’t get to be married.”
Her hand fell from his. His palm was suddenly cool and wanting. “So you were in love and she left you?”
“Not because she wanted to leave.”
“I don’t understand.”
“There was a car accident, and I was driving.” An ache pulsed through his chest.
Charla’s hand flew to her lips. “Oh no. Oh …” She looked away from him and toward the ocean as though the pain must be too much for him to bear. “Oh, Ryan, I’m so sorry. How? When? Oh that is just … I don’t really have words.”
“Nor did I, for a very long time. There was rain. It was late. I was tired. I took a turn too fast, not faster than any other night, but on that night with the wet pavement … we slid into an oncoming car.”
Charla’s eyebrows pulled tight. “I can’t imagine.”
“She was beautiful, Charla. You would have loved her. Everyone did.”
“What was her name?”
“Paloma.”
How he’d raced through life always believing they’d have each other well into the dusk of their lives. But they hadn’t.
Ryan hadn’t said Paloma’s name out loud in over a year, but her name felt right on his lips as he told Charla about her, as he let Charla know what had made him and scarred him and hurt him.
“I loved her. I didn’t believe I would love again.” His gaze met Charla’s. “When I stayed with you, when we were together … I hadn’t … Things don’t move this quickly for me. I’m methodical and systematic. I don’t do impulsive well. But with you? Feelings rushed through me, and even though I know that this is happening fast, nothing about it feels impulsive or random. You with me feels right, as though we’re meant to be, as though we were made for each other.”
“I know.”
This moment together, holding hands, was more intimate than last night. My God, had that only been last night? A lifetime of emotions had passed through him on this day, a closeness that had been building as he worked with her for weeks and then exploded into a rightness when he’d taken her into his arms.
“I can’t explain it,” Ryan said.
“I’m kind of afraid to try. I’m scared this is magic that we’ve stumbled upon in paradise, and if I ask too many questions or think too much, the spell will break and this entire moment might slip away.”
His chest tightened with her words. “No, no, no.” This feeling, this woman, couldn’t slip away. Here, now, with Charla, was the first time he’d felt alive in over a year. She made his heartbeat. She caused him to smile. She created a happiness and joy that he’d thought was lost to him for the rest of his life.
He pulled her close, her sweet breath mingling with his. There was so much he needed to tell her, facts she needed to know. They couldn’t build a relationship on a foundation of half-truths. He needed to tell her who he was and why he was at Mesquale. Should she find out his identity on her own, without him telling her, how could she ever forgive him? How could she ever trust him again? How could she—?
“Guys!” Trevor yelled. “Mesquale is on fire!”
Ryan whipped his head toward Mesquale. A blaze flamed through the roof of the resort.
“Oh my God,” Charla whispered.
Ryan started forward and then turned back. “Stay here. Stay with Poppy.” He took off in a run, with Trevor by his side. Mesquale was his. The guests were his responsibility. His feet pounded the sand. Sirens wailed in the distance. He and Trevor sprinted toward the fire consuming Mesquale.
Please God let everyone be all right.