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The Wedding Fling
Meg Maguire


Inside the Runaway Bride’s Secret Rendezvous!It’s been a busy week for Leigh Bailey. The stunning starlet reportedly ditched her cheating groom on her wedding day, and ran off to enjoy a honeymoon-for-one at a secluded tropical island. But rumour has it that she’s not alone…And we have the exclusive scoop on Leigh’s hideout – right from the delicious man she’s been fooling around with! Resort pilot Will Burgess was going to give us the basics. But we never anticipated our insider getting up-close, and very, very personal. It’s the most salacious celebrity story of the year… don’t miss out!










Look what people are saying about this talented new author’s first Blaze


book, CAUGHT ON CAMERA!

“I literally could not stop reading this book. I ignored

my children as they pleaded with me to serve them

food and beverages. I ignored my weenie dog who was

whining to go outside to do her business. I refused to

do the laundry, pay the bills, or answer the phone. I

inhaled this book from cover to cover.”

—Penelope’s Romance Reviews

“4½ stars. [A] spectacular Blaze


debut.”

—RT Book Reviews

“Ms Maguire can sure write a kick-ass love scene.”

—Cheeky Reads

“I loved this story and instantly fell in love

with both characters.”

—Night Owl Reviews




About the Author


Before becoming a writer, MEG MAGUIRE worked as a record store snob, a lousy barista, a decent designer and an overenthusiastic penguin handler. Now she loves writing sexy, character-driven stories about strong-willed men and women who keep each other on their toes… and bring one another to their knees. Meg lives north of Boston with her husband. When she’s not trapped in her own head she can be found in the kitchen, the coffee shop or jogging around the nearest duck-filled pond.




The

Wedding Fling

Meg Maguire























www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


With thanks to Amy, Ruthie and Serena,

for reading it first. Thanks also to Laura

for getting me on the plane, and to Brenda for landing

us with minimal turbulence. Biggest thanks of all to my

husband, bringer of peanut butter.




1


LEIGH MADE A NEST in the rumpled sheets of her hotel room bed, arranging a napkin, spoon and peanut butter jar before her. She unscrewed the lid and set it aside, plunging the spoon deep to coat its back. As she savored the first taste, her anxiety dulled, worries temporarily forgotten.

She looked at the television, where two nattering entertainment anchors discussed the latest Hollywood wedding.

“The big question, of course, is the dress. After that taffeta fiasco at the Golden Globes, I know we’re all holding our breath.”

The anchors disappeared, replaced by a still of the sequined dress in question. Leigh frowned. She liked that dress. She jabbed her spoon back into the jar, barely tasting the next hundred calories’ worth of comfort as she licked it clean.

“Then again, that Grammy dress was a solid A,” one host said.

“Absolutely,” his perky colleague agreed. “When she gets it right, she nails it.”

Leigh watched the footage of the demure young woman on the red carpet pausing for photos, looking so calm and happy. Makeup flawless, styled hair bouncing, golden highlights glinting with each camera flash. Must be nice to be the girl on TV.

Stretching her legs in front of her, Leigh wondered what the media would make of her pajamas’ holly-and-ivy pattern in April. Then she looked to the jar in her hand and realized she probably had worse faux pas to worry about.

“Now, Leigh Bailey might be Hollywood’s last good girl, but what do we think? White dress?”

Simpering laughter. “She may be scandal-proof, but she is marrying a musician, let’s not forget that.”

Across the room, Leigh’s phone chimed, her mom’s ring tone triggering a fresh stab of panic that broke the peanut butter’s spell. She scrambled from the tangle of covers, gooey spoon landing on the white duvet. “Crap.” But this was L.A. The housekeeping staff had surely seen far worse.

She padded to the bureau and hit Talk. “Hi, Ma.”

“Leigh, where are you?”

“I’m eating peanut butter in bed, watching tabloid shows.”

“Honey.” A sigh, equal parts fond and frustrated; her mother to a tee. “The fitter’s already here in the suite. It’s nine-thirty.”

“I know what time it is.”

“And she’s the best in town, but you shouldn’t eat that garbage hours before you’re going to be seen in a fitted satin sheath by half the city. People will say you’re pregnant.”

It was Leigh’s turn to sigh. She turned to the TV in time to catch footage of herself in a bikini.

“Those shots from Maui,” the anchor was saying.

“She’s never looked better,” his partner concurred.

Leigh smiled drily. Lovely. Two weeks with the violent stomach bug that exiled her to the bathroom for most of her vacation… but she’d never looked better! She glanced longingly at the jar on her bed.

“Leigh?”

“Yeah?”

“When, honey?”

“I need to shower. Twenty minutes?”

“Twenty minutes, but twenty minutes. Not thirty, not an hour. We need the fitting done by eleven, before the makeup and hair people arrive. Then the photographers—”

“I’ll be there.”

“This isn’t some premiere, Leigh Bailey. It’s your wedding day.” Ah, the patented maternal use of the full name. The big guns were coming out.

“The day I should be in flip-flops and a sundress, in Grandma’s backyard,” Leigh said, frustration making her sound bitter. Making her sound distinctly like her mother. “I wanted a barbecue. I wanted you and Dad and Cody there, and Dan’s family. I didn’t want eight hundred people I barely even know, at some gigantic estate.” Funny how the guests had multiplied, the locale shifted and the budget exploded as Leigh’s day had morphed from a cookout to a circus, in six months flat.

The ringmaster went on. “It doesn’t work that way when you’re a star, honey.”

“I’m not a star, Ma. I’m just some girl who’s always in the magazines. I haven’t been in a movie in two years.”

“That’s not what it’s about these days. What channel are you watching?”

“Fifty-one.”

“Us, too. And who’s the main story?”

“Me.” Glancing again to the bedspread, she wondered idly if it was possible to OD on peanut butter. She imagined a team of burly EMTs crashing through the door to find her slumped with a spoon dangling from her mouth, TV droning, bed and carpet littered with empty jars.

“Following an apparent cry-for-help binge, Leigh Bailey was found unconscious the morning of her wedding from an alleged peanut butter overdose. Doctors administered grape jelly intravenously, and the actress is now listed in stable condition. The wedding has been postponed until further notice.”

Her mother burst through the daydream. “Leigh?”

“Sorry, what?”

“I said you are a star, honey. And I know you wanted to keep things simple, but think about Dan. Dan wants all this.”

“He didn’t before.” A queasy gurgle soured Leigh’s stomach. Dan did want all this, the circus. She sometimes wondered which woman her fiancé saw her as—the one on TV having her clothes and waistline critiqued, or the one in her pj’s. Dan used to be her anchor, keeping her grounded amid the chaos, but small changes over two years had added up. A new apartment, wardrobe, a new collection of opinions about which restaurants they could or couldn’t go to. Just like the mutant wedding, their relationship had changed, its modifications too incremental to spot without hindsight.

Dan used to talk about his music, where the band was going. The band hadn’t practiced in months, and his enthusiasm for songwriting had been replaced with talk of producing, investing in a label, opening a club. More driven by cachet than creativity. Sometimes Leigh worried he’d bought in to the myth of that girl on the screen. Sometimes she bought in to it herself, though not lately. Not since the impending wedding had grown to such epic proportions.

“Do you think he still loves me?” Leigh asked her mother.

“Of course Dan loves you. You two are perfect together.”

As if on cue, footage of her and Dan from early in their coupledom appeared on the TV. She really did look happy. She looked like herself, recognizable, Dan so at ease in his own scruffy skin, back when he’d been a happy and passionate nobody. She hadn’t seen him smile at her that way in months. He smiled through her these days, like a man focused on something beyond his grasp, something behind her.

“Every bride gets wedding-day jitters. If you didn’t feel nervous, we’d have something to worry about.” There was jingling behind her mom’s words, the sound of jewelry being adjusted.

“Right.”

“Now get in that shower, young lady.”

They hung up and Leigh shuffled to her suite’s gorgeous bathroom, all polished marble and glass. After a shampoo and scrub, she slicked lotion on her waxed legs, toweled her hair and brushed her teeth, so freshly bleached they ached. “You, only better,” as her mother said of such enhancements. But weren’t moms supposed to love you exactly the way you were?

Leigh wiped the steam from the mirror and stared at her naked reflection, glad she’d never let herself be talked into changing anything major—bigger boobs would look ridiculous on her frame, and would be a liability if she ever started dancing again. She was already admired for her pale, creamy complexion, so tanning was mercifully off the table. She looked at her nails, shaped and buffed by a manicurist, but fundamentally hers.

Her engagement ring sparkled under the bulbs circling the mirror. So pretty. And she’d fought so hard to keep it, against her mother’s protests that it was too small, too simple, too anybody’s. But like the boobs, Leigh thought small-and-understated suited her fine. She polished the solitaire with a tissue, feeling better as she dressed to face the drama surely swirling in her mother’s suite. The bridal suite, sans bride.

She walked down the long hall to the opposite corner of the hotel’s twenty-first floor and knocked. Her mother answered at once, already styled, as though a wedding were a tornado that might touch down at any moment and must be vigilantly prepared for. She had her cell clamped to her ear, and her tone made Leigh’s chest tighten. It could only be her father on the other end.

“You are kidding me. Jesus, Jim. It’s like you get off on not listening to—No, I never said that. Not only do you not listen, you just make up whatever it is you want me to be saying.” She glanced at Leigh. “Your daughter is here. The one who’s getting married, or will be if you can manage to get your act together. Right. We’ll talk about this later.”

Unseen, Leigh rolled her eyes. No, you won’t. They’d fight later, turning yet another non-issue into a marriage referendum as they’d been doing for as long as Leigh could remember. All those years ago she’d thrown herself into dancing, ballet at first, then modern, any and all kinds, whatever got her out of the house and the endless two-way badgering. When she’d landed her first movie role her parents had magically stopped bickering, united in their new project—Leigh’s career. Of course, the peace hadn’t lasted, but here she was ten years later, still desperate to be the good girl, successful and respectable, her naive inner kid thinking she could somehow fix them, if only she worked hard enough.

Her mom clicked the phone off and shook her head, her frosted bob too shellacked with products to budge. She sighed in exasperation, then changed modes, quick as a flipped switch. She smiled warmly and pulled Leigh into a hug. “Oh, honey. Your big day.” She stepped back to stare at her daughter’s face. “It’s finally here, isn’t it?”

Leigh nodded, returning her mom’s grin as best she could.

“Twenty-seven. When on earth did that happen?”

When, indeed. And twenty-seven was far too old to still be living for parental approval. Leigh pictured the plane ticket in her purse. When she landed back in the States in a couple weeks, she’d put her foot down. Her parents had their own lives to lead, and so did Leigh. If only she knew what she wanted that life to look like…

Her mother turned to the action elsewhere in the room, the wedding planner on his phone, the fitter standing patiently beside the ivory halter gown.

That dress. The battle Leigh had forfeited in favor of winning the war on her ring. The ring she’d wear for the rest of her life, the gown just a day. But it was a lovely dress. More sophisticated than the playful one Leigh had fallen hard for, but compromises had to be made to keep mothers happy… or at least shut them up.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” her mom said.

“Yeah, it is.”

“Glad you let me talk you into it now? It’s just perfect for the venue.”

Leigh nodded, so sick of certain words—venue, entrance, presentation.

She let herself be led to the fitter and dutifully stripped. The dress was slippery and cool as lake water as it slid down her bare skin, and she felt clad in something beyond satin… adulthood, perhaps. Womanhood. Her mother tugged her from the thought.

“Oh, Leigh.” She tapped a finger against Leigh’s belly. And only in L.A. would it count as a belly. “You and that peanut butter.”

Leigh smoothed the satin over her offense. “Girls should know it’s normal to have a stomach.”

“I agree, but it’s not normal for a person to eat half a jar of that stuff by herself. It’s very fattening, and you won’t have that metabolism forever.”

Leigh shrugged. “Tell me you’d prefer I take up smoking, then.”

Her pack-a-day mother smiled grimly and dropped the subject. “Well, you look beautiful, belly and all.”

Leigh turned to the cheval mirror at her side, and she had to admit the girl reflected back was pretty. Though once her hair and makeup were done, her snack digested and belly deflated, would there be anything of Leigh left?

She looked to her mom. “Do you remember what you promised me? My wedding gift? About quitting smoking once all this craziness is over?”

“I remember.”

Leigh grinned hopefully. “So I’ll get back from the island and you’ll be all strung out and snappy?”

“I’ll do better than that, honey, and finish the withdrawal while you’re away.”

Leigh smiled again. Though her mother promised to quit smoking nearly as often as she lit up. “There’s other stuff that needs to change, once I’m back.”

Her mother feigned ignorance, fussing with some invisible imperfection in the satin. “Oh?”

“About you and Dad? Maybe going on a trip of your own, away from all this?”

“I don’t know, Leigh. I’ve got a hundred things going on, all that stuff with the charity ball coming up in June.”

Leigh opened her mouth, then closed it, realizing she didn’t have the stamina for this argument. But once she got back from her honeymoon she’d be putting her own marriage first, instead of acting like a smoke screen in theirs. Once today was behind her, she’d be in the clear. Marriage would render her blissfully boring to the press, and she couldn’t wait to fade into obscurity for a year or two, maybe permanently. Fame had never been her dream. Just another role she’d stumbled into, trying to make people happy.

She stared out the huge window across the city. What would Dan be doing, right now? Probably sleeping in, after his bachelor party. Not that Dan was much for getting wasted and crazy. He was a pretty low-key guy. Or he used to be a pretty low-key guy. Who he was wasn’t so clear anymore.

She missed his passion. Their hectic, high-profile engagement had done a number on their sex life, and Leigh suspected he was readjusting how he saw her, no longer his girlfriend, but his soon-to-be wife.

When the fitter got to her knees to fuss with the hem, Leigh leaned close to her mother’s ear to whisper, “I don’t think Dan and I have had sex in nearly a month.”

“You’re very busy people.”

“No one’s that busy. We’re not even newlyweds yet. That can’t be normal, can it?”

“You and Dan aren’t normal people. And Dan is very ambitious. You’re lucky to have such a driven man, Leigh, really. Not like your father—”

“Ma.”

“A lot of girls in your position have husbands who don’t expect to do a thing after they get a nice tight grip on those celebrity coattails. Dan’s not one of them. You’re very, very lucky.”

Leigh knew she ought to feel lucky. The man she was marrying was her best friend. Or had been. She prayed they’d get some of that back, being away from everyone for two weeks. No, they would get it back. She needed to think positive. Still, a bit of reassurance wouldn’t hurt.

When the fitter excused herself to make a call, Leigh thought she ought to do the same. She padded back down the hall to her own room, shut the door and stood before the windows, holding down a button on her phone to speed-dial Dan.

He answered just as she was about to hang up, and his voice alone reminded her to breathe. “Hey, you. What’s up?”

“Hey. I, um… Oh God, I don’t know.” She laughed, already calming.

His tone was warm, but tight as well. “Everything okay? You sound kinda spastic, spazzy.”

She smiled at his teasing. “I guess I’ve got jitters, but I wanted to hear your voice, before I saw you. You know, at the altar.”

“You’re sweet. I’ve got jitters, too. Goes with the territory, right? Especially with the audience we’ve got watching. You’ll be fine.”

Leigh waited a beat for something more—an “I love you,” perhaps. It didn’t arrive, but Dan was stressed, same as her. And like her, he didn’t really know what he was doing. No script, just two young people nervous before their vows. Normal. The thing Leigh ached most to be. She glanced at her ring, its diamond blinking in the morning sunlight.

“Okay,” she said. “Thanks. I just needed to talk.”

“Just breathe, and I’ll see you before you know it. I better go. I’ve got my brother on the other line.”

“Tell him hi. See you soon.”

“Bye.”

Leigh nearly hung up, but after a pause Dan added, “Babe?” He hadn’t called her that in months, and the name flooded her with relief.

She held back an impulsive plea—that they run off and elope, skip all the staged drama. “Yeah?”

“Sorry about that. It was her.”

Leigh’s brow furrowed. “Her?”

Dan laughed. “It was Leigh. She’s got bridal nerves.”

She went dead numb, head enveloped by an echoing, unnatural calm as she realized he thought he was talking to someone else.

“Babe?”

This time the pet name hit her like a slap. “Yeah?” her mouth replied, disconnected from her brain.

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous.”

“No,” Leigh murmured.

“I know right where you’ll be today. Every chance I get, I’ll try to catch your eye. I mean, this might be us in a few years. We have to be patient. If it’s supposed to happen, it’ll happen. You never know.”

The numbness faded, and in its place Leigh felt hot in her dress, constricted, felt tears boiling up to sting her sinuses. Her heart pounded in her ears, loud as a gong. “You never know,” she whispered.

“Don’t cry. I know the timing’s awful, but it’s not like we planned this. It’s worth it, we both agreed. You and me, we’ll have our time. Last night wasn’t goodbye, I told you.”

Leigh didn’t reply.

“Okay? Allie?”

She sucked in a breath. Allie. Allie. Her mind was too blank to supply a face, a remembered mention… not that it would help. “Okay,” she breathed.

“I’ll miss you while I’m away. You know that.”

No words came.

“I love you.”

That did it. Those words Leigh needed so badly, offered to comfort some mystery woman. Some Allie. Her hand shook as she pushed the end button.

She stared at herself in the mirror that ran behind the marble bar, at this stranger with her face, draped in a beautiful dress. Thoughts flashed and jabbed, but the numbness reduced them to abstract concepts. There was an Allie, who’d stolen Leigh’s pet name. Who’d kept Dan from taking Leigh’s call for four rings, on their wedding day.

The shock lifted, and behind the numbness was pure pain, so sharp it seemed her heart must be coming apart, cell by cell. Strange white sequins danced before her eyes and she leaned against the bar, feeling heavy and awkward, as though suspended on strings. The dress was shrinking, an invisible corset binding her too tight to take a full breath. The room blurred, and for a moment she knew it was just a dream. She’d jerk awake and everything would be as it should be, spinning walls and strangling dress all vestiges of a nightmare.

The room did come back into focus. The dress relented enough for her to catch her breath, and the spots abandoned her vision. She pushed up from the bar to find the bride in the mirror peppered with red blotches, eyes wild. Leigh saw only a stranger staring back, a scared woman of twenty-seven as ignorant as she’d been at seventeen, playing dress-up in yet another glittering identity.

She clutched the phone and raised her hand, drew it back… but no. Her posture crumpled. Now wasn’t the time to start smashing up hotel rooms like some out-of-control celebutante. Actually, perhaps this was the perfect time for that, but Leigh wasn’t that girl, no matter what the tabloids yearned to report.

She pressed a palm over her thumping heart, scared by the sheer pain of feeling this angry, this hurt. The rage was like an animal trying to claw its way out of her chest, but she held it down, as she always did. She forced her mind to practical matters. Decisions that needed making.

She should confront Dan.

No, she couldn’t.

She had to call it off. But then the press would hound her mercilessly and the whole world would find out about this.

What was the alternative? Go through with the wedding and deal with the fallout later? Her heart twisted anew, her hands trembling as she thought of faking her way through the ceremony, her jaw clenching and lips quivering as she imagined uttering her vows, hearing Dan recite his and knowing he’d already violated them. More likely, she’d run off en route to the altar in front of two videographers and an audience of hundreds, as public as humiliation got.

She rubbed at her chest, begging her heartbeat to slow. The satin seemed to mock her fingers, cool and smooth against her heated skin.

Leigh couldn’t remember the last decision she’d made for herself, but all at once, and for the first time in ages, she knew what she had to do.

She had to run.

Now.

She didn’t have the first clue what she wanted from her life, but she damn well knew it wasn’t all this—a three-ring sham of a wedding to a man who didn’t love her, a career of other people’s making, a city where she couldn’t enjoy a moment’s anonymity.

Her suitcase waited by the door, packed with two weeks’ worth of clothes and toiletries, passport and ticket in her purse, ready to go. The trip she’d so been looking forward to, the one she’d hoped would reconnect her and Dan… the mere notion was a hand around her throat. The tabloids had been salivating for Leigh’s fall from grace forever, and if she was doomed to reward their persistence, she’d give them a doozy—a gen-u-ine wedding day no-show.

She switched off her phone and slipped it into her bag, with no intention of turning it back on anytime soon.

As she wheeled her case down the hall, all was quiet, the elevator empty, the lobby peaceful. No small mercy, the press not having discovered she was staying here. She hiked her dress up to her shins and marched barefoot past Reception, through the door the stony-faced porter held, and into the cool spring air. She knew which long black Town Car was hers by the driver leaning on the hood, flipping through Variety.

“Hector.”

His brows rose and he stood, taking in her getup. “Good morning, Leigh. You’re early. Very early.” His familiar deep voice with its musical Haitian accent calmed her. “And you forgot your shoes. And your mother. Change of plans?”

“Change of plans” usually meant Leigh was being harangued by a reporter and needed to end an evening earlier than expected.

“Change of plans,” she agreed, and climbed inside when Hector opened the door. He shut it in his firm, reassuring way and she heard a thump as he stowed her suitcase.

Once behind the wheel, he lowered the glass. He aimed the car toward the exit. “Has your mother got her own ride sorted out?”

“Don’t worry about my mother. If she calls you, tell her I asked to go home, to the apartment. I need some time to think about things.”

“Ah. She being a mother-of-the-bride-zilla?” Hector teased. “You need me to drive you around before we go to the estate? Dramatic entrance?” He squinted at her in the rearview mirror, possibly noticing she had no makeup on, no jewelry, that her hair was still a damp tangle and her face flushed and mottled.

“We’re not going to the estate,” she said, feeling strangely serene. “We’re going to the airport.”

“Oh?”

She nodded, steeled in her decision. “I’m going on my honeymoon. Alone.”




2


WHEN THEY ARRIVED at LAX, Hector brought Leigh her suitcase and she wrestled herself out of her gown and into jeans and a T in the backseat, protected by the tinted windows. She dug her slip-ons from her luggage and glanced at her dress. It looked like the shed skin of some beautiful, mythical creature. She left it in the car.

To camouflage her identity and the tears she could feel brewing, she found and donned her big aviator shades and Giants cap. She swallowed all the rage and sadness and confusion rising in her chest, and forced a smile.

“Thanks, Hector.”

“It’s no trouble. Just my job.”

“My mom’s going to tear you a new one.”

He grinned. “I know.”

“Would you do one more thing for me?”

He nodded, and Leigh slid off her engagement ring and handed it to him. In place of the sadness she’d anticipated, she felt her back straightening, as though fifty pounds of pure dread had fallen from her shoulders.

“Give that to my mom or dad or to Dan, whoever you see first. And the dress. But try to avoid all of them for at least a few hours. Until I’m on a plane.”

“Are you going to be okay?”

She took a deep breath. “Yeah, I’ll be okay. I just need some time away. Thank goodness I’m already booked someplace where nobody’ll recognize me.”

He nodded and slipped her solitaire into his breast pocket. On impulse, Leigh did something she never had before—she hugged her driver. He offered a quick squeeze in return, as warm as professionalism allowed.

“You take care of yourself. I’ll dodge your mother as long as I can.”

She yanked up the suitcase’s retractable handle. “Wish me luck that there’s an earlier flight with room for me on it.”

He held up two sets of crossed fingers. “Enjoy your getaway.”

With a wave, Leigh said goodbye to the last familiar face she’d see for two weeks. She said goodbye to L.A., to the girl she no longer recognized as herself, and strode through the airport’s sliding doors and into the unknown.

THE FLIGHT SHE CAUGHT to New York was insanely overpriced, yet well worth it to feel L.A. dropping away behind her. If any of Leigh’s first-class neighbors recognized her, they were kind enough not to let on. It was the calmest six hours she’d passed in weeks, nothing but blue sky and white clouds, totally unlike the storm swirling in her head.

She’d failed to change her second flight, a smaller carrier that had no planes leaving before the one she’d already booked, the following morning. The idea of being alone in another hotel room with only her thoughts for company scared her, so she napped fitfully through the night in the airport.

She arrived in Bridgetown at lunchtime, though, sadly, her luggage did not. No clothes, no cell charger, no toiletries. Abandoned by her own belongings.

With a mighty sigh, she headed for the airport’s exit. As the doors slid open, the warm, scented air of the island enveloped her, the sun caressing her travel-weary body. By the cab stand, a group of three smiling men played steel drums. Just an extra touch to realize tourists’ stereotypical expectations, but it worked. Leigh’s panic faded with the song’s cheerful notes.

She’d be okay. There were plenty of clothes to be purchased here in Barbados, and her sleeping cell phone had enough juice to make a handful of calls.

Speaking of calls. She dug the device from her purse and turned it on with held breath. Alerts for voice and text messages multiplied as the phone roused. Though tempted to view Dan’s and find out if he’d caught on, she ignored them all, tapping out a text for her mom. I’m safe. Won’t be in touch for a while. Don’t worry, and please don’t follow. Sorry for the stress. See you in a couple of weeks. Leigh. As soon as the message was sent, she switched off her phone for good.

Leigh had a few hours before her final flight, and she spent it wandering the shopping district, buying a knock-off designer suitcase to fill with new clothes, then ate a lunch of fried plantains from a street vendor. It was easy to stay distracted here, amid all the colors and smells and sounds. And how lovely it felt, being any old visitor to these cheerful strangers.

At two-thirty a taxi dropped her off outside the city, at an airport on the coast—a tiny terminal with a large antenna, no runway. The roadside billboard proclaimed it Bajan Fantasy Airlines. A long dock led out into the glittering water, where a seaplane—a Cessna on water skis—bobbed lazily in the waves. As far as she knew, this was the only way to get to Harrier Key. She’d picked the resort island for its seclusion, booking one of only four private villas.

She walked through the terminal’s open door and into what reminded her of a bus depot. A dark-skinned woman in a salmon-pink dress stood behind a long counter, and a single passenger lounged in the waiting area, reading a newspaper. Leigh gathered her printed ticket and ID.

The woman greeted her with the gigantic Barbadian smile Leigh had gotten very used to while shopping. “Miss Bailey?”

Anonymity gone, Leigh fell back to earth with a thump. “Yes. That’s me.”

“I knew it! You know how I knew that?” the woman asked brightly, tapping on a keyboard.

“Not the tabloids, I hope.”

She gave her a funny look. “Tabloids? Dear me, no. I know ‘cause you the only woman flyin’ with us this afternoon.”

“Oh. Right.”

More tapping. “And you’re all checked in. How about Mr. Cosenza?”

She flinched. “He won’t be coming.”

“Oh dear.”

“Yes, change of plans.”

“I’m afraid the tickets are non-refundable.”

“That’s fine. Sorry if it’s any extra trouble for you.”

“Not at all. You got twenty minutes before you take off. Help yourself to coffee or tea.” She nodded to a counter with carafes and a jumble of mismatched cups.

“Thanks.”

Leigh filled a rainbow mug and took a seat across from the other passenger. He wore jeans, and a linen shirt with the top few buttons ignored, his tan and the state of his overgrown brown hair telling her his vacation had been going on for some time. He seemed like a man with no place to go, in no rush to get there.

He caught her staring. His eyes were as blue as the water beyond the windows, and Leigh didn’t look away quickly enough to appear polite, so she smiled instead and gave a tiny wave. He smiled in response, then turned back to his paper. Leigh tried to keep her gaze on the ocean, though she stole a glance at her fellow traveler every few seconds.

Something about his ease attracted her. Leigh had been surrounded by L.A. people for so long—a species whose males preened as diligently as its females—that this man’s lack of styling struck her as refreshingly exotic. He was also nothing like Dan, which didn’t hurt. Taller, she suspected, generally bigger, more fair, with those bluest of blue eyes.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Leigh let herself imagine how it might feel to kiss a man who wasn’t Dan. What would he taste like? What would his skin smell like? How would his stubble feel, after she’d spent two years with a studious shaver? The fact that she could wonder such things had her breathing easier. She was hurt, not ruined.

The stranger folded his paper and called to the woman behind the desk. “Just the one, Jackie?”

“Just the one.”

“Right.” He turned to Leigh. “You ready to go?”

She blinked. “Go, like, take off?”

“Unless you feel like swimming.”

“No, I’m ready.” She drained her cup and rose to place it on the coffee counter. She looked to the man as she picked up her suitcase. “You do this a lot? Do you work on one of the islands?”

Another smile, one that gave him a dimple. “I do.”

Jackie broke in. “He’s your pilot, dear.”

“Oooh.” Leigh offered a dopey grin. “Sorry. I thought you were a passenger.”

“Only if you feel like doing the flying. In which case I’ll happily take a nap.”

She laughed. “No, no, you do the flying.”

“Okay then.” He gave Jackie a salute and headed for the rear door, Leigh following him into the sunshine.

“You’re American,” she said.

“Guilty.”

“Where are you from?”

“In some former life I recall living in New York City.” If he’d ever had a jarring city accent it was gone now, and his voice matched his looks. He was easy on both the eyes and ears.

“Wow. You’ve made quite a lifestyle change.”

He stopped short a few paces from the building and turned, crossing his arms over his chest, seeming suddenly taller. “Before I let you board, we have a little issue to clear up.”

Apprehension tightened her middle. “Oh?”

“You’ve put me in a tricky spot.”

“Did I? I’m paying for both tickets.”

He shook his head, his smile more mischievous than warm, shifting all the flattering assumptions she’d too hastily made about him. “Your mother left about ten messages demanding I don’t take you off this island.”

Leigh frowned, feeling a touch of panic.

He leaned closer. “Bit of an awkward position for me. I’m sure you can appreciate that.”

Her attention jumped everywhere, from his face to the plane to the water. “Can I bribe you?”

He straightened, expression brightening. “Sure. Knock yourself out.”

She rifled through her purse, hiding her irritation. “A hundred?”

He accepted the colorful Barbadian bill and pocketed it.

Leigh released a breath, as relieved as she was annoyed. Her shopping trip had taught her that prices here were highly negotiable, a bit of island culture she might need to get savvier at, lest the locals fleece her at every opportunity. This latest swindle set her back about fifty American dollars, but no price was too high, not in exchange for getting her where she needed to be.

“So we can go?”

“We can.” He led her down the long aluminum dock. The plane was small, its bottom half painted a cheerful aqua, top half gleaming white and emblazoned with the name The Passport.

Leigh’s unscrupulous pilot looked over his shoulder. “The rumor mill at the resort said this is your honeymoon.”

“It is.”

“Think you may have forgotten to pack your husband. Or did he get misplaced in transit?”

She smiled to cover the pang she felt. “Change of plans.”

WHEN THEY REACHED the plane, Will took Leigh’s bag and stowed it in the cabin. She traveled light, for a celebrity. He pictured her faceless fiancé back in L.A., sitting on a bed beside a pile of clothes and swimsuits that also hadn’t made the cut. Poor bastard.

Will hopped back down to the dock. “Just you and me, so you have a choice—sit back here or play copilot.”

“Which is better?”

“Tough to beat the view in the cockpit.”

Tough to beat a chance to have her as his captive audience, as well. He might not get many chances like this again, and he was secretly pleased when she said, “Okay. Sure.”

He secured the cabin and she followed him to the front, fumbling her way up the short ladder that connected the float to the cockpit. She settled into the far seat, taking in the console and instruments. When Will buckled himself in and donned sunglasses, she followed suit. She squinted at his license, displayed in a plastic frame mounted above the windshield.

“William Burgess.”

“Captain William Burgess,” he corrected officiously. “But Will is fine.”

“Leigh Bailey.”

He offered his finest pilot’s handshake, decisive and confident, qualities a person ought to value in a man charged with transporting her across sea and sky.

As Will prepped for takeoff, Leigh reached out to touch the panel of a gauge on the console. Scowling, he snatched her hand away and set it firmly on her knee.

“Don’t get handsy,” he said, pulling a cloth from a compartment and buffing away whatever fingerprints Leigh may have left on the glass. He might not dress like a captain, but this plane was more than his meal ticket—it was his baby. And he didn’t let strangers poke and prod and leave smudges on his baby.

Leigh frowned, looking annoyed. “Sorry.”

After a brief safety spiel, Will started The Passport, and soon enough the beaches of Barbados were slipping by from several hundred feet up. He wondered what she was thinking, given her intent gaze. Maybe the same things he always did—all that sand, all that water. All this, all to herself.

He spoke over the drone of the engine. “You didn’t need to bribe me, you know.”

She frowned again.

“It’s your name on the ticket. Doesn’t bother me if your old lady’s got her panties in a twist about what you’re up to.” He flashed her a grin, one that made her cheeks flush from discomfort, he guessed. “Want your money back?”

“Nah. You earned it.” Her casual tone was a put-on, Will could tell.

“Must be nice to be able to take or leave a hundred bucks.”

“I suppose.”

“Nice to be able to take or leave a husband.” It was a mean jab, he knew, but bound to earn him a response, a bit of information about his passenger. Maybe a sound slap, had he not been operating a plane. “So which did you do?” Will prompted. “Take him or leave him?”

“I left him,” she said coolly.

“Good for you. Hope you’ve got a lovely settlement coming to you.” An even lower blow, but Will had accepted a generous offer to collect information on this woman, and he didn’t like the thought of tweezing it out with some sympathetic, smooth-talker act. He’d goad it out of her. At least that way he wouldn’t be exploiting some false confidence.

Her face burned and she turned to glare at him. “That’s a really rude thing to say.”

“Is it?”

“Yes, it’s really rude.”

“Good thing I don’t fly for tips.”

She blinked, clearly incredulous, and shook her head. All that friendliness she’d showed him in the terminal fell away, surely sinking deep beneath the waves below.

“Not too late to swim, if you’re offended by the service.”

“No, thank you. Though I suspect I’ll be sitting in the cabin on the way back.”

“Probably wise. My old man was a cabbie in New York. My gifts of customer service are purely genetic.”

“A very rare and malicious disorder, I’m sure. Thank goodness you’re not contagious.”

He grinned, rather enjoying the dig.

“And since you’re so nosy, you may as well know there’s no settlement, because I didn’t get married.”

Will swallowed. “Duly noted.” He’d expected to feel some kind of triumph at such an informational coup, but he didn’t. It actually felt bad, a nauseous little twist in his gut.

“I was just teasing, you know.” Will met her eyes as much as was possible through two pairs of shades. “Taking the edge off?”

“More like sharpening it.”

“Not my intention.”

“I hope your landing approaches are smoother than your social ones.”

“Sorry.” He didn’t make an effort to sound especially sorry. Nausea notwithstanding, the tactless approach was working. “I’ve never had a runaway Hollywood bride in that seat before.”

She pursed her lips. “Do you know who I am?”

Enough to know some sleazebag back in L.A. will pay good money to hear what you’re up to. “There’s only a few types who vacation at this place, and when they’re women coming from Los Angeles, I can usually narrow it to actress or model or Hollywood wife. And we’ve ruled out wife.”

Leigh held her tongue.

“Not that I need to know,” Will said with a theatrical sigh of disinterest. “I’m just the chauffeur.”

Leigh countered with a haughtiness that struck him as un-practiced. “I have a chauffeur, sometimes, and he’s far better at diplomacy than you.”

“I have no doubt.” Will gave her another searching look. She wasn’t the woman he’d been expecting, and fruitful though it was, she didn’t deserve the antagonism… but he couldn’t deny he liked the way his teasing made her cheeks go pink. Still, he softened his tone. “Don’t take this personally if you can help it, but I didn’t have you pegged as a woman scorned.”

“No?”

He shook his head. “More like an escapee. Thought maybe I was your getaway driver.”

Her lips parted, but no reply followed. Her look said he was right, that she had escaped. From what, Will couldn’t guess, but one thing seemed clear—her flight was no publicity stunt.

He felt another pang in his middle.

Will had designed his life as free from obligations and guilt as humanly possible, expressly to avoid the ugly emotions he felt now. He didn’t want to report on this woman anymore, but at the end of the day, she was nothing to him. He needed the money for things that mattered. Things that mattered far more than a few innocuous tidbits leaked to some slimeball editor thousands of miles away in Hollywood.

Leigh’s hackles seemed to lower. “You are,” she finally said. “You’re my getaway driver.”

She relaxed back into her seat and they were quiet for ten minutes or more.

Will pointed into the distance. “See that?”

Leigh squinted at a dot in the turquoise ocean. “Is that it?”

“Yup. That’s your hideout.”

“Wow. That is private.”

“Eleven square miles of paradise. Nothing but white sand and swaying palms and room service.”

“Sounds heavenly. Though it’s probably nothing exotic to you.”

Will laughed. “Are you kidding? I’ve lived on that tiny speck for seven years now, and I still wake up every day pinching myself.” The second he abandoned the prying, the sourness in his stomach eased.

“You live there?”

He nodded. “Fly people back and forth twice a day for a passable stipend.”

“Wow.”

“You say that a lot, you know.”

“Oh. Yes, I suppose I do.”

“You’re very easy to impress,” Will said as the plane began its descent. “I like that in a woman.”

“Yes. That would be a requisite for a man of your charms.”

He laughed again, then realized he might be in danger of actually liking Leigh Bailey, celebrity runaway bride or not. That didn’t bode well for his gig.

The island grew closer, and Will could make out two of the villas from this angle, two tiny blue swimming pools, two docks poking out into the waves.

“So you are famous, right?” he asked, banking the plane left.

“Not crazy-famous. B-list, I guess. Maybe B plus.”

“What are you famous for?” She’d been in some films he’d never heard of, but that was all he knew about her.

“When I was in high school, outside San Francisco, I was really into dance. And one summer I was fed up over not getting called back for theater auditions, so my mom drove me to L.A. to try out for a movie. And I got it.”

“What kind of movie?”

“About a shy, bookworm girl who goes away for a summer to Miami and meets all these hot-blooded ballroom dancers, and falls in love with this boy. Just another star-crossed teen romance with a dance-off at the end. That’s what I’m most known for. And I did a few romantic comedies and a couple indie films, and got talked into a cosmetics campaign. But nothing hugely amazing.”

“Looking to be the next big thing?”

“Quite the opposite.”

Will’s brow furrowed in surprise, and he hoped she didn’t notice.

“I’d happily wake up tomorrow as a complete nobody.”

“I hate to break it to you, but running away from your wedding’s not gonna do much to keep you out of the spotlight.”

“No kidding.”

“But if you’re looking to be a nobody, you’ve picked the best place on earth to do it.”

“Actually… You let me bribe you into taking me this far. Any chance I can bribe you into keeping your mouth shut to any other passengers or resort staff?”

“Discretion comes standard. In fact, I’ve already forgotten your name, Miss…?”

She smiled grimly, and Will tried to ignore the fresh stab of guilt his lie triggered.

AFTER A SHAKY LANDING, Will climbed out and secured the craft to a long aluminum dock, then offered Leigh a hand as she disembarked.

“Thanks.”

He fetched her suitcase and made a beeline for a huge stucco building with terra-cotta roof tiles and a grand arched entryway. She followed, breathing in the sea-scented island air as the plane’s diesel smell faded. She took in the white sand, blue sky, her pilot’s backside… the latter merely to spite Dan. Not because she still had any lingering curiosity about kissing this galling man. Certainly not. Though Will did retain some appeal. She’d gotten so used to everyone telling her what they thought she wanted to hear, Will’s tactlessness had a strange allure.

He held the door as they reached the reception building, the lobby equal parts posh and primitive with its huge windows and fountain and exotic plants.

He set her suitcase before the unmanned reception counter and tapped a silver bell.

“Thank you,” Leigh said.

Will didn’t leave, and she bit her lip. His proximity made her feel funny. Naked. “Sorry. Am I supposed to tip you?”

He smiled. “I’m driving you to your villa, once you’ve checked in.”

“You do that, too?”

“I do for that unit. It’s not far from my place.”

“Okay.”

“And you may tip me for that, incidentally.”

Leigh’s retort was cut off as a harried young Caribbean woman appeared.

“So sorry to keep you waitin’. Mrs. Cosenza?” Ah, another dagger in the breast.

“Miss Bailey,” Will corrected, tucking his hands in his pockets.

The woman looked to Leigh. “Oh?”

“Yes, just me. It’s under Cosenza, but I… Well, anyhow. Change of plans.” She ought to have that printed on a T-shirt.

The woman got busy typing. “So only one key, then. No problem at all. You’re in the Shearwater Villa.” She procured a plastic card and swiped it across a device before handing it to Leigh. “Let me jus’ get a driver ‘round for you.”

“I’m on it,” Will said.

The woman frowned first at him, then Leigh. “You really want this bum escortin’ you?”

Leigh looked from one to the other.

The woman laughed. “Just kiddin’—you’re in good hands. Terrible vehicle, but very good hands. Now anything you need, you’ll find the phone numbers in the binder waitin’ on your coffee table. You have a lovely visit, miss.”

Leigh followed Will outside to a small parking lot.

He held up her suitcase. “Anything delicate in here?”

“Nope.”

“Good.”

They walked past several shiny white SUVs to a rusty old pickup. Will put her bag in the bed. He opened the passenger side and once again Leigh buckled herself in as copilot.

Will slid behind the wheel. Just to test him, she tapped the dashboard provocatively.

“Go nuts. It’s only the plane I’m a fascist about.” The truck started with a mournful noise. He drove them onto a smooth gravel road, heading inland. Leigh unrolled her window to hear the birds and welcome the sun on her arm.

“Final leg of your great escape,” Will said.

She nodded.

“How long do you get to play fugitive, before you turn yourself in?”

“Two weeks.”

“Very nice.”

Already this place had her pain fading to a dull throb. Reality could shove it, as long as she was in paradise. She smiled at the decadence of the idea and shut her eyes, angling her face to catch the sunshine.

“Two weeks of surf and sand and rum,” Will said, giving voice to her thoughts.

“And silence.”

“My mistake.”

“We have plenty of surf and sand and rum in Los Angeles, anyway. I picked this place for the seclusion.” She turned to smirk at him. “How did you end up down here, anyhow?”

He made a face as though he’d never considered it before. “Got my pilot’s license when I was nineteen, moved to Cancún. Moved to Nassau. San Juan. Woke up here seven years ago.”

Sounded a bit like Leigh’s life, waking up somewhere unexpected… only this man had flown himself to his destination, whereas she’d merely let herself be shuttled. She was done being swept. She might not know where she ultimately wanted to end up, but she’d brought herself this far, and against everyone’s wishes. Felt awfully good. She eyed Will’s hands on the wheel, wishing she was driving.

The truck trundled out of a small palm forest and past a tiny settlement of colorful houses on stilts, all of the milling residents unmistakably island people. Will raised his hand at everyone who greeted him, and engaged in a playful fake argument with one of the men, laughing as he turned his attention back to the road. How weird it must be to live someplace where friends were the vast majority of the people one encountered, strangers the oddities. Weird and comforting.

“What is that… area?”

“The shanty town? That’s where all us commoners hang out when we’re not fluffing your pillows or spit-shining your bidets.”

“A whole town, just to make the visitors at four measly villas happy…”

“Easier said than done.”

She got stuck staring at his arm for a moment, tanned skin and trim muscle beside cream-colored linen. “Which came first, the town or the resort?”

“Resort. This place was human-free until it got developed fifteen years ago.”

“What’s there to do in town?”

Will laughed. “For you? Nothing. Just a bunch of rowdy resort rats drinking and dancing and saying all the stuff we’re not allowed to when guests are within earshot.”

“Dancing?”

“Stick with the spa treatments. Your villa’s got everything you’ll need, a speed-dial for your every whim.”

“Maybe my whims don’t come on silver platters,” Leigh said, and the skeptical, bawdy glance Will shot her made heat bloom unbidden in her middle. She took her shades off to glare at him properly. “Not like that, Captain Pervert. Just, I don’t know. Maybe I’d like to get out and explore. Meet the locals.”

“If you wanted that, you wouldn’t have come to this place. But if you need a lift to Bridgetown I leave here at ten and two, seven days a week. Plus special trips for a steep fee. Can’t fly after dark, so book a place to stay on the mainland if you’re looking to party.”

She nodded, committing the times to memory.

“Here we are,” Will announced, driving them up to a stately yet modern stucco building with vast windows—so vast Leigh could see the ocean clear through the other side. “Wow.”

“Wow…” Will echoed, pulling around the circular drive. They exited and he carried her suitcase up a set of wide stone steps.

“Thank you.” Leigh checked that her key card worked, setting her bag inside before rooting through her purse.

Will shook his head. “Don’t.”

“No tip?”

“Your earlier gratuity was more than generous.”

“Oh. Well, thanks for the lift.”

“Enjoy your stay. See you when you’re ready to head back to the mainland.”

She put out her hand and he accepted it. That sure shake, his skin as warm as his dangerous smile. A curious, vengeful part of Leigh imagined that confident touch elsewhere on her body. A new man’s unfamiliar palms on her bare skin, for the first time in two years… Realizing their shake had gone on too long, she released his hand.

“See you around,” she said lamely.

“I suspect you will. Enjoy your escape.”

“I’ll try.”

He offered a polite smile, then trotted down the steps, not looking back as he climbed into his truck and drove away.

The second he disappeared past a stand of palms, Leigh missed him. Not Will, the person, but the sort of person he was—one who didn’t give half a damn who she was.

She carried her bag through the entryway and into a sunken living room that opened to a solarium at one end, overlooked by the mosaic-paneled counter of a gleaming kitchen on the other. The villa was only one story, but the cathedral ceiling and tall windows made it feel doubly spacious. Plush furniture, massive television mounted on one wall, cut lilies filling the air with the heady smell of the tropics.

She wandered through the living room and found the master bedroom. Its far wall was nothing but glass, looking out onto her patio with its pool and hot tub, pristine white beach and aquamarine ocean beyond.

The place was jaw-droppingly gorgeous. Island-exotic but L.A.-stylish, peaceful, ordered, quiet…

Too quiet.

It was far too easy to get lost in one’s thoughts here, and Leigh was eager to get lost outside her head, at least until the stinging open wound of recent events scabbed over.

She made herself busy, unpacking straight away. To her surprise, she found a crumpled hundred dollar bill in her suitcase. She smoothed it, conjuring Will’s smirk. “Freak.”

She called Reception and gave instructions for how to field any calls. Miss Bailey is enjoying her vacation, and does not wish to be disturbed. If you leave a message, we will be sure it reaches her. Just the right mix of stern and casual, so hopefully, she’d be left alone, but not cause too huge a panic.

That first evening passed in beautifully appointed boredom. Leigh napped, waded in the surf, ordered a delicious dinner and admirably resisted both the TV and her phone. She was going through the motions of relaxation, but didn’t feel any of their effects.

This was surely the longest in years she’d gone without seeing a familiar face, and she hadn’t counted on how lonely she’d feel, how small and insecure. The solitude was supposed to clear her head, but her worries seemed to echo all the more loudly. Now and then she nearly missed Dan… but no. She merely missed her old life, that comfortable lie she’d grown so accustomed to living.

LEIGH SLEPT POORLY, reading on the couch until she fell into fitful dreams full of dress fittings and ocean waves.

The next morning, her doorbell chimed as she was brushing her teeth. She crossed the lounge, spotting Will Burgess’s truck through the window. Her stomach gave a funny flutter. She was clearly hard up for company, to feel a rush at the prospect of a conversation with the most abrasive man she’d met in ages. Sexy, sure, but undeniably tactless.

Toothbrush in hand, she opened the door.

Will’s eyes were hidden by sunglasses, and stacked atop his pair were another—Leigh’s. “Good morning, valued guest.”

“Good morning, sketchy pilot.”

He took off both sets of glasses and handed hers over. “You left those in my truck yesterday.”

“Thanks. You left your bribe in my bag.”

He grinned, and Leigh was tempted to don her shades to protect herself from his extraordinary eyes.

“Must have fallen out of my pocket.”

“And into my zipped suitcase.”

“The mysteries of physics. You’ve got a little…” Will gestured at the corner of his mouth.

Leigh wiped at her lips, at whatever toothpaste he saw.

“Other side.”

She tried again.

“That got it.” Will leaned against the door frame. “Must be hard not having your butler around to let you know when you’ve got stuff on your face.”

She rolled her eyes.

“How did you cope, brushing your own teeth?”

“Are you waiting for a tip, Captain? Because the more you talk, the crappier your chances are getting.”

“Just being friendly. Customer service and all that. Anything you need?”

Company was the only thing Leigh really craved, but she wouldn’t admit it to this man. “Only if you know how the coffeemaker works. It’s so high-tech I couldn’t figure it out.”

“I can operate a plane, so let’s hope it’s not beyond me.”

Leigh stepped aside and he strolled to the device.

“Damn, that is high-tech.”

She watched as he messed around with the digital features. His laid-back charisma seemed even more obvious amid the kitchen’s sleekness. What Leigh had felt in the terminal the previous afternoon hadn’t been a fluke, or a simple matter of revenge—she was attracted to him. But it was a purely physical attraction, signifying nothing more than the fact that he was slightly sexier than he was annoying.

After much poking, he got the machine hissing and gurgling and coffee began to fill the pot.

Will gestured between the machine and himself, making a great show of his accomplishment. “How about that? All it needed was a retinal scan and two forms of ID.”

“Thanks.”

“Just make sure you select a mode. I think that’s the only trick. Anything else you need?”

“No, I’m good. Thanks for bringing my sunglasses.”

“Anytime.”

She was on the verge of inviting him to stay for a coffee, but he spoke first, sparing her from sounding pathetic.

“I better head in for the morning flight.”

“Yes, you better.”

She walked him to the door, trying to ignore the shape of his shoulders beneath his shirt, the disarming, masculine rhythm of his easy gait.

“Thanks again.”

He gave her a salute and headed down the steps to his truck. “Enjoy your coffee,” he called, slamming his door.

“Enjoy your flight.”

He draped his tan arm along the open window as the engine groaned to life.

Leigh closed her door and listened until the truck was gone, then sank up to her neck in lonely silence. She poured a coffee and flipped through the resort’s activities guide, nothing sparking her interest. Nowhere in the many descriptions did it say, “Interact with other humans before you lose your mind! Don’t forget to bring a towel.”

She shut the binder, more listless than ever. All she wanted was what Will had just offered—company. No pampering or butt-kissing, no star treatment. She wished he’d come back, but there was no good reason for him to. She’d just have to settle for a masseuse or horseback riding instructor…. But she was sick to death of things being done for her, services offered by supremely nice people who probably just gossiped about her once she’d gone.

Then something occurred to Leigh. She didn’t have to wait for Will to come back to enjoy a taste of the candid, easy company she craved. She could go after what she wanted herself. After all, what had playing by the rules done for her lately?




3


AS THE SUN DIPPED LOWER, Leigh’s mood rose higher and higher.

A shower washed away the salt from her afternoon swim, and her hastily acquired shorts and funky halter top enveloped her in a sense of blessed unfamiliarity. The smell of sunscreen had her craving a cold drink, perhaps one with an umbrella in it, served in half a pineapple or some other delightful cliché.

When the clock chimed five-thirty she grabbed her new sandals, carrying them as she walked down the beach. Just as she’d hoped, after a twenty minutes’ stroll she spotted the workers’ settlement farther along the shore.

Will’s clunky old truck was parked just off the road, and Leigh followed a wooden walkway through the grass and sand to a dwelling yards from the high tide’s edge. Tinny music played from an unseen radio, and she spotted its owner as she neared.

He was straddling an upside-down canoe raised on blocks beside the building, sanding away a coat of peeling paint. It seemed there was no limit to how casual his wardrobe could get. He was dressed in khaki cutoffs, a plaid button-up shirt left completely open to flap about his arms in the warm breeze. He swept his shaggy hair from his eyes and Leigh had to admire the greater whole of him. Tan and lean, that mischievously handsome face looking placid for a change, his attention focused on his project. His well-past-five-o’clock shadow and bare feet made her envy his life with a fresh pang.

She clapped the soles of her sandals together. “Knock knock.”

Will glanced up from his task with a grin. “Well, look who’s here. You get lost on the way to a hot-rock massage?”

“Is this where you live, Captain?” She nodded to the cottage on stilts. “It’s adorable.”

Will glowered, faking insult.

“Sorry. It’s butch. Really butch.”

He set aside the sanding block and wiped his palms on his shorts. “What can I do for you, Miss Bailey? Need a lift to civilization?”

“No.”

“Thank goodness for that.” He reached to the windowsill and took a deep swig from a bottle of beer. “How was that coffee?”

“Just fine, thank you.”

“You walk all the way here?”

“It’s only about a half mile.”

“Didn’t know your kind walked.”

She shot him a snobby look, meandering closer. “My kind?”

His smile sharpened to a smirk, one that stirred Leigh’s pulse. “Yeah, your kind, little miss movie star.”

“Well, you were misinformed. My kind does plenty more than walk. I came to ask you about the dancing you mentioned yesterday.”

His brows rose. “That’s what you came here for? Dancing?”

“Sure. It’s my favorite thing in the world. Or it used to be.”

“And here I thought maybe you’d missed me.”

“Again, you’re greatly misinformed.”

“I don’t know what you’re thinking of, but the dancing here isn’t what you’re after. More like stand-up dry-humping.”

Leigh pictured such a thing. “Sounds like a movie I starred in.”

Another of those deadly, snarky smiles. “What happened in the movie?”

“The annoying pilot told the charming actress where to find a cold drink and a good beat.”

“Of course he did.” Damn, that dimple.

She kicked at the sand. “So, will you tell me?”

“I’ll do better than that. I’ll take you.”

“Yeah?”

“Sure, what the hell.”

She smiled. “Thank you. It’s way too quiet back in my villa.”

“I’ll get chewed out if any managers think I invited you to fraternize with us lowly workers.”

“Then tell them the truth—that I forced myself on you.”

His lips twitched, as though he was holding back a remark, a flirtation. Just that tiny hesitation from this shameless man brought a warmth to Leigh’s skin, one that had nothing to do with the late afternoon sun.

“I’ll bribe you,” she offered.

“No more bribes. Plus I’ll get chewed out worse by management if they hear I failed to chaperone you, out among us uncivilized natives.” Will slid down from the canoe.

“Is this what you do with your free time? Fix up old boats?” Leigh ran a hand over the point where rough paint met smooth wood, and stole a glance at Will’s bare chest while he stowed tools.

“I do all sorts of stuff. And I work less than four hours a day, so I do a lot of all sorts of stuff.”

“No TV?”

“I don’t have one. Very little worth watching.”

“That’s for sure.” Leigh imagined what would have happened if she’d stayed in her villa—check room service for peanut butter availability, then scour the channels for news about herself. Pathetic, toxic habit. Tomorrow she’d phone and see if the satellite could be disconnected for the duration of her stay.

She waited while Will disappeared inside his house. The radio went silent and he emerged carrying a cooler, with a pair of sandals on top of it.

“What’s in there?”

“Essentials.” He headed up the walkway, dropping his sandals to the ground as they reached the rough gravel road and slipping them on. Leigh did the same.

“Thanks,” she said.

Will shrugged, setting ice inside the cooler rattling. “I would have ended up there eventually anyhow, with or without you.”

“Where are we going?”

“To Bethany and Oscar’s place.”

“And they work here, too?”

“That’s a given. Bethany’s a chef, Oscar manages the drivers.”

“They throw lots of parties?”

“It’s not that organized around here. People finish work, take a nap or smoke a joint—”

“Or sand a boat.”

“Or that. Then you wander toward wherever the ruckus is coming from. But I know it’ll be there tonight, since it’s Monday. Always something happening at their place on a Monday.”

A girl ran past them, followed by a smaller one, both shrieking with laughter.

“That little one was theirs,” Will said.

“Cute.” Leigh craned her neck to watch the kids disappear between the trees. “How often do us guests turn up at your get-togethers?”

“Rarely. Especially ones like you,” Will said with a tight, self-satisfied smile.

“Ones like me? Go on, tell me what that means, since I know you’re dying to.”

“Just that you’re a girl. Most of the guests who party-crash are older men, looking to escape their wives’ idea of a vacation. But they’re rare, as well. You’re just extra rare. Like how I like my steak.”

She laughed. “How old are you, anyway?”

“Thirty-three.”

She nodded, not sure what she’d been expecting. He lived a life she’d normally have ascribed to either a younger man, not yet compelled to shape up and find a “real” job, or an older one sick of the rat race. “What’s it like, living in a postcard?”

Will stared over the water for a moment, and Leigh studied his eyes in the dying sun, bright as a blue glass pendant she’d admired in the shopping district the previous morning. She wondered who had raised this man and given him those eyes, and what they thought of the life he’d made for himself, so far from New York City.

“It’s lovely,” he finally said.

“What’s the least lovely thing about it?”

“Hurricanes.”

“I mean, like, from day to day.”

“Honestly, there’s not much. Bit of a pain getting hold of certain things. Costs an arm and a leg to have stuff shipped from the States. Hence all the bribes you’ll see going down around here.”

“What sorts of things? What do you miss?”

“Aren’t you just brimming with questions?”

She smiled at him. “I’m desperate for human contact.”

“You must be, if you came to me. So much for your dreams of seclusion.”

“So what do you miss?”

He pondered it. “I miss watching the Knicks play. Can’t buy that off a guy in Bridgetown.”

“Well, I’m sure I get that channel at my place. Feel free to come watch a game, in exchange for tonight’s party.”

He met her gaze squarely for a breath. “I may just take you up on that.”

“You’ll have to make it worth my while, of course.” She rubbed her fingers together and bobbed her eyebrows at him, as silly as she’d been with anyone in weeks.

“You’ll fit in just fine here, Miss Bailey.”

Their gazes lingered longer than was casual before they turned back to the road. Leigh felt that heat again, the one she wished was as simple as sunburn. This time it had nothing to do with revenge, a shift that felt at once joyous and dangerous.

“That’s it.” Will nodded to the farthest house in the settlement, bigger than his own but also on stilts, with rounded lavender shingles like fish scales. Tiki torches were lit along the beach, a grill smoking and a dozen people milling around it, cups and beer bottles waving as arms gestured. The breeze carried their laughter, and the aromas of sizzling meat and ocean breeze and that distinctive Caribbean scent, of flowers and sand and the vastness of the sky here. Leigh breathed it in, drank in the color of the clouds as dusk approached. She filled herself with this place, so full there’d be no room for a single bad thought.

Will kicked off his sandals at the roadside as they headed for the beach. He glanced at her. “Ready?”

She looked at the people. “Sure. Seems calm enough to me.”

He grinned. “Wait till the sun goes down.”

“You guys can’t be crazier than the nutjobs back in L.A.”

They rounded the house to the beach, and a few partygoers cheered as they spotted Will.

“Everyone!” he bellowed. “There is royalty among us peasants this evening.”

More cheers and a few whistles sounded, and a couple of bottles raised in Leigh’s direction.

“Her highness wants a taste of how the real islanders live,” Will went on with an indulgent grin. “So do be on your worst behavior.”

He led Leigh across the warm sand and set his cooler near the grill. A tall, big-bellied man greeted him with a hand clasp and a slap on the back before turning his smile on the party’s newcomer.

“Oscar, this is Leigh, staying at Shearwater. Leigh, this is Oscar, your host for this evening.”

She shook Oscar’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“And you.” His attention shifted as Will pulled two shining blue fish from the cooler. “Ah, beauties! Bethany will be pleased.”

Will handed off the gift and rinsed his hands in the ice. Oscar left them to deliver the fish to the immensely pregnant woman manning the grill.

“You caught those?” Leigh asked Will.

He nodded. “I go out most mornings. Motorboat, not canoe.”

“Wow.” She caught it this time, mocking herself before Will got the chance. “Wow….”

He smiled. “Get you a drink? Cocktail? Beer?”

Not sure she was ready for whatever filled people’s plastic tumblers, she opted for a beer. Following Will inside to a bustling kitchen, she smiled nervously at the other guests as he found her a bottle. She was introduced in warmly teasing tones, a flurry of names and faces. Leigh’s nerves returned, seeing how intimately they all knew one another, how laughter seemed to quiet when her guest status was announced.

She leaned close to Will. “Is it making people uncomfortable, my being here?”

“Uncomfortable is too strong. Not like the boss is in the room. But you do change the atmosphere. You’ve got the power to complain.”

“I don’t want to spoil anyone’s good time.” And she certainly didn’t want to be anyplace where’d she feel once again like an outsider.

Will nudged her with his elbow. “Give them a few more drinks, an hour or so to get used to you. Just be yourself.”

“Be myself.” Whoever that was. Leigh straightened, sipping her beer and deciding to do just what he’d said. She did know who she was. It was her family and Dan and all those strangers in Hollywood who’d tricked her into believing she was someone else, someone different, some face off a screen or magazine spread.

Outside, a drum sounded. Will nodded to the exit and she preceded him into the cooler air, the darkening evening. She met a few more people, all polite but unmistakably distant once they learned she was a paying guest. She and Will wandered to the water’s edge, until they were wading in the sea, sipping their drinks, watching the torchlight bouncing off the dark waves that lapped at their shins. They’d both gone quiet, and Leigh wondered how much of a damper she was putting on his evening.

Will cleared his throat before asking, “So, do you regret it? Leaving him?”

She met his gaze, shocked. Shocked he’d been wondering something so personal, so sentimental, and equally surprised to realize the question hadn’t yet crossed her mind. But the answer needed no speculation. It would be ages before she could feel anything good about Dan. Though she hoped she could eventually forgive him, she knew he was now a figment purely of the past. “No, I don’t regret it.”

Will nodded, expression neutral as he turned his attention back to shore.

Leigh exhaled a long and melancholy sigh, and in its wake she felt relief unknotting her muscles. “It would’ve been a huge mistake if I’d gone through with it. The way I realized I couldn’t marry him… It hurts, anyhow. It’s humiliating and complicated, but once all that fades, I’ll be happy with my decision.”

“You seem like you’ve got a good head on your shoulders.”

“For a celebrity,” Leigh said wryly.

“For anybody.” He sipped his drink, not meeting her eyes. “How could you end up at the altar with any doubt in your mind?”

“It’s hard to explain. You have to think of fame as a drug. It does stuff to your head. It gets you sort of drunk or high, and reality’s modified. Especially when everyone around you seems to see things the same way.” She watched the quavering reflection of her calves in the water. “Like you’re all seeing the world in a funhouse mirror, but everyone agrees that it looks the same, so you just… You get used to the warp, I guess.”

“Enough to marry the wrong man?”

“Nearly. I know, it sounds awful.”

“Sounds typical, though. The Hollywood crowd aren’t known for their stellar marital track record.”

Leigh nodded. “My fiancé—the guy he used to be, anyhow—I would’ve married him, no hesitation. But by the time the big day arrived, he was different. And it’s so easy in that world to tell yourself, ‘things will be normal again, after X happens.’ Your movie wraps or the ink dries on your next contract. But X happens and things don’t just go back to normal. Normal is something you opt out of when you sign up to be part of the entertainment business.”

“Lots of people dream of having what you do.”

“I know they do.”

“But not you.”

She sipped her beer, considering. “I never wanted to be famous. I was seventeen and all I wanted to do was dance, and maybe see if I could build a life out of it. The fame was a fluke, but it had its own momentum, especially when I saw how proud it made my parents. I’m sort of a people pleaser. Okay, I’m a massive people pleaser.”

Will laughed, the rich sound as relaxing as the alcohol. As warm and intimate as she imagined his breath might feel on her neck.

“It’s hard for me to admit I don’t want any of it anymore,” Leigh said, “knowing how ungrateful so many people would say I was if I quit.”

“Fans, you mean?”

“Fans, sure. But there’s way more guilt about your family, for whatever they may have sacrificed. And from all the people who believed in your talent, pushed you and promoted you. But I also know I’m expendable. I’m not the ‘it’ girl-next-door, twenty-year-old actress anymore.”

He finally met her eyes, his blue ones seeming as bright in the torchlight as they were in the sunshine. “Washed up at twenty-five? That’s harsh.”

“Twenty-seven, but yeah. I’m a certain kind of commodity, and my time’s peaked. There’s an army of perky replacements happy to take my old roles.”

“Ouch.”

She laughed. “Yeah, my expiration date’s fast approaching.”

They shared a smile, again lingering just longer than was innocent. Her gaze moved to his bare chest before she got hold of herself and turned to watch the party on the beach. People were eating and laughing, and more musicians had joined the drummer, as children danced in the sand.

“So what do you want to do?” Will asked. “If your dream of becoming a nobody comes true.”

She kept her eyes on the party. “I want to dance.”

“Like on stage or—”

“No, right now. I want to dance.” No thoughts of what to do once she got home. Just enjoy the present, the simple pleasures of this place.

She sloshed to shore and left her bottle in a milk crate full of empties. The two children who’d run past earlier were hopping and gyrating before the band, and as Leigh approached they looked up at her, curious.

“What’s the best dance you guys know?” Leigh asked them.

After a pause, the older child demonstrated her moves, a hip-thrusting motion accompanied by a rolling of her narrow shoulders, bawdy if not for the fact the kid was only about ten. Leigh mimicked the choreography, earning herself a hesitant grin.

“Look, look,” said the younger girl. She offered her own signature moves, something equally raunchy she must have stolen from a music video. Leigh gave it a go, until the little girl dissolved into giggles.

“What?”

The child pointed to Leigh’s butt.

“You got no ass,” said the older girl.

Leigh laughed, faking offense. “Sure I do.”

“You all flat back there. Like all them skinny, rich white ladies.”

“I can’t help that.”

“You oughta eat more,” the smaller girl announced loudly, earning a reprimand and waggle of grill tongs from her mother. “Sorry.”

“Anyhow,” Leigh said, “you can dance with whatever size butt you’ve got. Show me any moves you have, I bet I can do them as well as you.”

“Bet you can’t,” the older girl taunted.

“Bet I can. Go on, let’s see what you’ve got.”

Will wandered over. “Careful, girls. She was in a movie about a dancer and everything.”

For a stinging second, his comment made Leigh feel like even more of an outsider, but she was grateful for the credibility it seemed to earn her with this tough crowd. Two sets of eyes widened. “You was in a movie?”

“I was. And I was the star. It was about a girl who learned how to tango. You want to see?”

Vigorous nods answered her.

Leigh demonstrated a flourish of moves, and her skeptical audience warmed before her eyes.

“That’s cool,” the bossy girl said. “How you do that?”

Leigh offered lessons, accepted tips in return from her young acquaintances. Before long the grown-ups were finishing their dinners and fetching fresh drinks, dancing in pairs on the sand. Seeking a partner of her own, Leigh scanned the growing crowd, but found Will busy at the grill, giving their pregnant hostess a break. No matter.

Leigh danced by herself, enjoying the beat and the atmosphere, the flicker of firelight and the deep indigo of the sky overhead. She shut her eyes, absorbing the laughter and music, feeling free in a way she hadn’t in years. Feeling a high no vice Hollywood traded in could ever touch. Just some nobody girl, dancing on some nowhere beach. Just Leigh, for the first time in forever.

Across the sand, Will caught her eye again, laughing at a friend’s joke. That damnable smile… Her energy shifted, dropping low in her belly, warm and curious, and Leigh wondered if maybe it wasn’t high time to get busy making some bad decisions.




4


WILL DITCHED HIS PLATE in the kitchen. Leigh ought to get herself some dinner before they ran out… or maybe she was planning on a late-night call to room service, not this lowbrow fare. Still, at the moment she was doing a fine impression of lowbrow herself. She was dancing with Rex, one of the younger drivers, and watching gave Will a funny pang.

Jealousy was too strong a diagnosis, as was concern. Let the girl have her fun. He only hoped she didn’t go too nuts, as celebrities seemed so fond of doing.

He wandered closer, if only to keep an eye on her. Well, fine—to have a better view of her. This not-quite guest, his not-quite date, the answer to his financial prayers… though he had yet to do a thing with what she’d told him in the plane. Just now it was hard to remember who she was supposed to be to him. Skin pale as the sand, smile bright as the torches. The hesitant, haunted girl he’d met on the mainland was gone, along with her street clothes, a vibrant creature now inhabiting her body. Will couldn’t for the life of him put his finger on who this woman really was, and until he did, he couldn’t bring himself to sell any details to the press, not even harmless ones.

But whoever she was, it was exciting to watch her body moving this way, at once rhythmic and chaotic, like the waves. Will knew better than anybody how intoxicating this place was. He’d been high for seven years now.

What would those stupid tabloids make of her? Runaway Bride Dances the Night Away with Resort Staff. Some picture of her, long hair whipping wildly. Some shot that made her look drunk despite the fact she’d yet to open a second beer. No photo would convey what he saw—a woman lost in her own infectious joy. The way a bride ought to look, dancing at her wedding.

Will remembered how he’d felt the first time he’d set foot on a beach like this. He’d been eight when his father had taken him to Mexico—a future pilot’s first plane ride, a city kid’s first trip beyond the bounds of the subway. All that brown Bronx slush forgotten the second they’d lifted off, winter gloom eclipsed by the thrill of flying. He’d known from the moment his toes sank into the warm sand that he was going to live somewhere like that. Just a shitty little seaside town, but the best his dad had been able to afford. All Will had known was that for the first time since his mother took off, the world had seemed beautiful again.

He wondered if Leigh had left some sad soul heartbroken in her wake. Will didn’t think so. She was an actress, maybe a decent one, but even a guy as simple as Will could sense the pain behind the performance. He wasn’t the type to pry or question, but he wanted answers from this stranger who’d managed to invite herself along on his evening. He was also a master of playing the free spirit himself, and if Leigh’s front was anything like his, he wondered what burdens it was designed to hide.




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