Surrender At Sunset

Passion’s hideaway

Ever since enduring a possibly career-ending injury, Miami superstar shortstop Carlos Bradley has retreated from the world. His life undergoes a radical makeover when he’s convinced to hire a designer to restore his secluded island mansion to its former glory. Completely different from the women Carlos has known, interior decorator Virginia Andersen captivates him with her infectious spirit and the sensuality beneath her coolly professional demeanor.

The owner of a struggling design firm, Virginia can’t believe her new employer is a baseball legend. But Carlos wants more than just her expertise. And when he insists she move into his tropical getaway during the renovations, Virginia soon finds herself sharing the irresistible playboy’s bed. But when the media descends, she’s thrust into the limelight and her past becomes an open book. Is she ready to overcome her doubts to fight for a future with the man of her dreams?

He grabbed her shoulders, and for a moment his thoughts stopped. Her skin was as soft as it looked and she smelled good. Something faintly sweet but not perfumed. She smelled like something he would love to bury his face in and inhale. “You can’t drown yourself yet. There’s a basket filled with Swiss chocolates waiting inside for you.”

She placed her hands over her face, her voice coming out muffled. “Oh, please tell me you don’t have a basket of chocolates waiting inside. I said so many things to you. So many stupid, stupid things.”

“You called me a sexy shortstop with a squeezable behind.”

She groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

He pulled her hands away from her face. “Look at me, Ms. Andersen.”

She shook her head, her eyes still shut. “Call me Virginia. After all I’ve said to you, I think you’ve more than earned the right to call me by my first name.”

“Open your eyes.” He was touching her. He had just met her and yet he had her hands in his. He knew he should drop them, but he wanted to see her eyes again.

Dear Reader,

Welcome to Hideaway Island. Home of crystal-blue waters, white sandy beaches and the Bradley siblings. Join them on their journeys of self-discovery as they fall in love in one of the most beautiful places in the world.

In Surrender at Sunset meet Carlos, the superstar baseball player who’s hiding from the world after a career-ending injury. His new spunky decorator, Virginia, knows her biggest job will be to show Carlos that the simplest things in life are often the most meaningful.

Jamie Pope

Surrender at Sunset

Jamie Pope

www.millsandboon.co.uk

JAMIE POPE first fell in love with romance when her mother placed a novel in her hands at the age of thirteen. She became addicted to love stories and has been writing them ever since. When she’s not writing her next book, you can find her shopping for shoes or binge-watching shows on Netflix.

To the Harlequin Kimani team.

Thanks for all your support.

Acknowledgments

Jamie B., Denise S., Gail C., Jen M., Heidi U.

Thanks for brainstorming with me in Vermont.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Copyright

Chapter 1

Carlos Bradley heard the faint sounds of voices coming from somewhere in his house as he lay in his bed. One male and one female. For a moment he was mildly curious as to whom the voices belonged to. He lived on the secluded side of a small island off the Florida coast. He had picked the location because it was almost junglelike. Hot and overgrown and tropical. At times he felt as if he was the only one on Earth. No guests. No visitors allowed. Just a cleaning woman and a groundskeeper who came once every other week.

It must be them talking. None of his friends would come down here, even though they had offered once they had learned of his bad news. But after a while the offers had stopped. His phone no longer rang. He was alone. As he wanted to be.

He pulled the covers over his head in a vain attempt to block out the bright sun that was streaming through his bedroom windows and tried to go back to sleep. It was probably well past noon, but he wanted darkness. Night was the only time he could shut his eyes and forget that the world was still going on without him.

“Carlos!” He heard the voice of his baby sister, Ava, and then felt her bounce onto the bed. “This bed is enormous. Is he even in here?”

“Yeah,” his brother and Ava’s twin, Elias, answered. “He’s the lump in the middle.” A hard fist came down on his shoulder.

The hit stung but Carlos, too tired to even make noise, said nothing, just pulled the covers away from his face and glared at his younger siblings. “What...” His mouth felt dry. His tongue heavy from not having been used in so long. He couldn’t remember the last time he had spoken to anybody, much less carried on a conversation.

“What the hell are you doing here?” The twins were the only ones who still came around. They both led busy lives so he didn’t see them much. But they were the only ones who attempted to keep his connection to the outside world.

“We came to see what you were up to.” Ava gave him a once-over, concern in her eyes that hadn’t shown up in her voice. “You look terrible.”

“You look like shit,” Elias said, staring at him.

“I’m healing. Get the hell out.” He turned over and put a pillow over his face. He didn’t want to see anybody. He didn’t want to be around anybody. That was why he had escaped instead of staying in Miami, where all of his friends, colleagues and fans were. Why hadn’t they gotten that through their thick heads by now?

“And I thought you were Mr. MVP. Mr. All-American. Mr. Super Nice Guy Baseball Hero.” Elias shook his head. “If your fans could see you now.”

His fans.

They wouldn’t want to see him now. They wouldn’t want to see him at all. Not like this. Not broken and useless.

He had only been good for one thing, and that was winning games. Now that he couldn’t do that anymore, what was his purpose?

He was Mr. MVP, a star player since the day he’d picked up a glove. But that had all ended when his Achilles tendon had ruptured during the playoff game that had taken his team, the Miami Hammerheads, to the World Series. Surgery, rehab and six months away from baseball, and all he had to show for it was a nasty scar and decreased range of motion.

“How’s your foot?” Elias asked him, seeming to have read his mind. His brother grabbed his leg and studied the scar on his heel. Carlos could have fought the examination, but frankly he was too tired to give a damn. Plus, Elias was a doctor, in his first year of surgical residency. Even though his brother was a pain in his ass right now, he trusted his opinion.

Elias pushed back on his toes, causing a slight twinge in his tendon that hadn’t gone away since the operation. “Feels really tight,” Elias said, rotating his foot. “Are you doing your exercises?”

He was quiet. He had been good about it until a few weeks ago, until his father’s birthday arrived and it had hit him. He no longer had the two things that mattered most in his life. His father and the game.

Nothing seemed important anymore.

“That’s such a nasty scar,” Ava said, touching it. “He went to the best of the best, you’d think they’d find a way to make the scar look better.”

“It would have been better if Mr. Overachiever here hadn’t overdone it after the surgery. Thought he could go back normal activity, just like that. The wound got infected. You did more damage than good by overworking it.”

“Thanks for the recap. Now get out.” He didn’t need the reminder. He knew he had screwed things up, but he’d wanted to go back so badly. It was bad enough that he’d missed the game of his life. He hadn’t wanted to miss the next season. But instead of a quick recovery it had been setback after setback.

“You know how many hours I work. I barely get a day off. When I do, I come all the way from Miami to see you, the least you could do is be hospitable. Offer us some coffee. How about some lunch? A glass of lemonade? Something.” Elias looked down at him, annoyed.

“What do you want?”

“To see you, big brother.” Ava snuggled closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder. “Mom was asking about you.”

“I just talked to Mom. She’s having a nice time in Costa Rica with her sisters.”

“Yes, but since we live in the same state she thinks that we should spend time with you. I know you’d much rather be left alone, but I’m more scared of her than you. So we’re here. Get over it.”

Carlos sighed and wrapped his arm around Ava. He’d always had a soft spot for his baby sister. She had still been in college when their had father passed away, and at nine years her senior he had stepped in over the years in their father’s absence. “She is scary,” he admitted with a sigh.

“She’s started working out,” Elias said. “If I didn’t have a foot and a hundred pounds on her, I’m pretty sure she could take me.”

“Get up, Carlos,” Ava said, rising from the bed. “Feed us. I do love this island but it’s a pain to get here.”

It looked as though Carlos didn’t have much of a choice. Sometimes he viewed his younger siblings like a bad rash. Hard to get rid of. Everybody else had easily faded away once he’d gotten injured, but Elias and Ava had never left. And they wouldn’t leave him today until he got out of bed.

He forced himself past the immediate, familiar feeling of tightness in his heel as he set his feet on the floor. One of the reasons he’d bought this house was because of the huge master suite. It contained a bedroom, bathroom and sitting room, and with the small fridge he kept in there, he didn’t have to leave it for days at a time.

The house was enormous, much bigger than one man would ever need. But he had bought it because his father had liked it. It was oceanfront, secluded. The landscape around it made him feel as if he were in an undeveloped tropical country instead of on a little island off the coast of South Florida. His father had said it was a place that he could see a family spending their summers. He’d said it was a place built for a superstar. Carlos had bought it, thinking that his parents would spend their winters there and that the family would gather there for holidays. But when his father had died from a massive heart attack that had all changed.

His mother spent most of her time traveling around the world. Too active to stay still. Too sad to be around anything that reminded her of her husband. His older sister stayed in their native Maryland with her growing family who had their own traditions now. Elias was always working or studying, and Ava... Ava dated rich men. The house had stayed mostly empty for the past five years, but when Carlos had got hurt and Miami had become too much, it had been the only place he could think to go.

“I don’t think I have much to offer you,” he said as he led them into the massive kitchen. “I’ve got frozen pizza.” He opened the freezer, revealing that it was stacked to the top with them.

“Why do you have so much pizza?” Ava asked. Carlos looked back at his sister, who was dressed head to toe in designer wear. She was a beautiful girl and she knew it. She spent most of her days maintaining her beauty. He would guess that nothing processed and frozen had passed her lips in years.

“I was the spokesman for their brand. They do a lot for pediatric cancer research so I donated my fee and they gave me a lifetime’s supply of pizza.”

“Oh, do you have any fresh spinach? I could go for a simple spinach salad.”

“No.” He preheated the oven and went back to the refrigerator. “It’s either a sports drink or water. Take your pick.”

Elias grinned at him. “I’ll take a red one if you’ve got it. Ignore Miss Priss over here. Pizza is fine. Her rich fiancé can take her out to dinner later and feed her all the salad she wants.”

“Speaking of rich fiancés.” Ava looped her arm through his. “We’ve been searching for venues to get married next year and we are having a really hard time finding one we like.”

“You mean one you like.” Elias shook his head. “Your man doesn’t give a damn where you get married. I think he would be happy going to city hall and saving a hundred grand.”

“Nobody is talking to you, Eli.”

“Oh, excuse me? Did I need to wait to be called on? I hadn’t realized that we were back in elementary school.”

“Cool it, you two,” Carlos said firmly. He knew his siblings could go at it for hours once they got started, but they were closer to each other than to anybody else on the planet. They went to the same college and even now they lived next door to each other in matching town houses.

“He started it.” Ava looked at Eli.

“Well, I’m finishing it. What were you saying, Ava?”

“I’ve loved this island since Daddy first brought us here as kids. I want to get married here, but there is no venue that’s large enough.” She looked up at him with the big, soulful brown eyes that had gotten her out of a lot of trouble when she was a kid. “But this place looks as if it could easily hold two hundred and fifty guests.”

“You want to get married here?” He wasn’t sure why he was surprised to hear that. She was the one who’d suggested he look for a house on this island five years ago.

“Yes, and I came to ask you to walk me down the aisle. Will you?”

He was surprisingly touched by her question. It seemed as if the only things he’d felt the past few months were anger and emptiness. “What about Mom? I thought she was going to walk you.”

“I want you to do it. You take care of me. And if Daddy can’t be there I want his favorite person in the world to.”

“Okay,” he said. It was all he could say. He couldn’t turn her down, even if he wanted to.

Her eyes lit. “Okay to walking me down the aisle? Or okay to me having the wedding here?”

“Okay to both.” His father would have wanted it that way. He would have wanted his baby girl to marry in a place that she loved, and it was Carlos’s job to make sure all of his father’s dreams came true. Even if he wasn’t around to see them anymore.

“Thank you, Carlos!” She pulled him into a hard hug. “You going to fix up this place before the wedding, right?”

“Fix it up?” He looked around him. There was barely any furniture and the walls were white and bare but it looked fine to him.

“Yes, fix it up. Make it look more like a home than an abandoned oceanfront warehouse.”

“I’ve got to agree with Ava on that one. This house looks like a big, expensive dump.”

“Dump? It might be a bit sparse, but it’s not a dump.”

The twins looked at each other, communicating without words in a way that always drove him crazy.

“Fine. Whatever. I’ll fix it up. What do you think I should do with it?”

“I don’t know.” Elias shrugged. “It’s your place.”

“Get an interior designer.” Ava rolled her eyes.

“A what?”

“A decorator. You know, a professional person who will make this place look less like a rich serial killer lives here and more like the superstar athlete you are.”

“Where do I get one of those? The phone book?”

“The internet?” Elias suggested.

Ava rolled her eyes. “You don’t just pick a stranger. You get a personal recommendation.”

“From who, exactly?”

“I don’t know.” She went into the freezer, took a pie out and placed in the oven. “Don’t you have friends that have homes you like? You could ask one of them.”

“I never paid attention to their houses.” He truthfully had not. Plus, a lot of his player friends were married. Their wives took control of most of the household stuff.

“Well, what about your condo in Miami? Who did that?” Elias asked.

“It came like that. I bought the model unit.”

They all were quiet for a moment. “What about that little inn we rented out for Mommy’s birthday? It had just been redone. You liked it there, Carlos. I can call and find out who did it.”

He had liked it there. It was so different from all the other places in Miami, unlike all the other places he had stayed while on vacation. He had felt truly relaxed then, one of the rare times he’d felt that way since he became a man. He couldn’t describe what the place had looked like, but it had had a homeyness to it that had made him not want to leave.

“Okay. Let me know who it is and I’ll set it up.”

* * *

Virginia Andersen rubbed her forehead as she reentered her tiny rented office. The Miami heat and the stress of the day were finally getting to her. She had just returned from Mrs. Westerfield’s house for the second time that day after spending two hours showing her drape samples.

In every color imaginable.

It wasn’t as if Virginia minded showing the elderly woman the drapes. It was her job as an interior designer to do so. And since Mrs. Westerfield was her only paying client at the moment, she didn’t really have a choice. She just had one complaint. It was a small one, really. The elderly woman used her more like a personal assistant than an interior designer. Virginia walked her bichon frise, went to the grocery store with her and helped her picked out what to wear on her dates with someone she referred to as her gentlemen caller. And none of that bothered her. Mrs. Westerfield was fabulous with her love of vintage clothes, art and Latin culture. It was just...

It wasn’t her job.

And when her parents called to see what she was working on—and they always wanted to know what she was working on—she wanted to tell them she was using her eye for design and color to decorate beautiful homes, not picking up dog mess.

It was important to her that she prove to her parents that she was successful, or at least supporting herself in a lifestyle that they saw fit. Her father was a high-ranking military official, and her mother was a mathematics professor at an Ivy League college back in her home state of New Jersey. They’d had big plans for their twins.

But none of them included being an almost starving artist, and that was just what Virginia had been before she’d opened her design firm. Moving from state to state, chasing boyfriend after artistic boyfriend and painting. Some of her pieces had sold for big bucks, but it was never enough for her parents. They’d never understand her need to splash colors onto a blank canvas. They were too practical to see how a painting on a wall could bring someone joy.

And while they would have much rather had her be an actuary or an engineer, they’d never denied her the opportunity to learn about the things she loved. She had a bachelor of fine arts in painting with a minor in interior design and a master’s degree in art history. She was educated, just like any child of Colonel and Dr. Andersen should be, and they felt she should have a job suited to that education.

She’d been all ready to ignore her parents’ wishes and follow her heart, until her heart had led her here to Miami. She had come here at the request of her last boyfriend. Burcet, a beautiful Moroccan man with striking bronzed skin and long, wavy black hair, had grown up in France and spoke the most perfect French. He was a sculptor, passionate about his work and incredibly sweet and sensitive.

She had followed him when he’d told her he was going to get his big break, asking her to support his dreams, promising that once he hit it big he would return the favor. But after six months here he had disappeared, leaving a goodbye note taped to her microwave, never telling her why he left, just saying that he couldn’t be his true self with her.

That was when she’d taken a long hard look at her life. She’d been twenty-eight then, sleeping on a mattress in an un-air-conditioned studio apartment because she’d wanted to live the bohemian-artist lifestyle. And because she’d thought she was in love. But what had she had to show for it?

Absolutely nothing but the thoughts her parents had put in her mind about coming back home and getting a sensible job and leading a sensible life.

But sensible meant boring to her. So she’d taken her savings and her design degree and decided to do something meaningful. She’d opened a design firm. But for the past year she’d only had a few high-paying jobs in Miami’s crowded market. Most of her clients of late were the little elderly ladies who lived in Mrs. Westerfield’s condo complex. And while she enjoyed doing neoclassic dining rooms, she wanted a project that she could really sink her teeth into. She’d only had a couple of those and she was afraid there weren’t going to be many more in her future. If things didn’t pick up, she was going to have move back home and get that practical job her parents were always suggesting. Her mother had an in at a university. Virginia could be teaching bored college freshman Art History 101 by fall. All she had to do was say the word. All she had to do was go home with her tail tucked between her legs.

But she didn’t want that. She wanted a career where she could be creative. Where she could be in charge of her own path.

The phone on her desk rang and she jumped. Mrs. Westerfield had her cell phone number, so it couldn’t be her. Her heart lifted at the thought of a new client. “Andersen Interiors. How can I help you today?”

“I’ve got a German shepherd that needs to be taken to the vet. Are you available?”

“Shut up, Asa,” she said to her twin brother, but she smiled as she said it. Her brother was the only one who really understood her because he’d been raised by the same parents with the same expectations.

He chuckled. “What’s going on with you today, Gin? I called your cell but it went to voice mail.”

“That’s because I took Mrs. Westerfield to get a pedicure and had to shut off my phone.”

“You took her to get a pedicure?”

“Yup. She wanted me there to help her pick out a color. One that went with her manicure but not one that matched exactly. Coordination is in, matching is out, apparently. Then, this afternoon she called me back and fed me excellent chicken salad and lemonade while we looked at drapes. She’s tired of the ones in her bedroom. In fact, she’s tired of her bedroom, period, and would either like a Paris in the twenties theme or a hard-bodied man to shake things up.” She doodled a sketch on a piece of paper as she spoke to him. “You keep yourself in good shape, why don’t you truck yourself down here and make yourself useful?”

“No, thanks. Why do you work for her anyway?”

“Because, believe it or not, I like her and she pays me for my time. I told her she didn’t have to anymore, but she says she’s rich and she can’t take it with her, and she likes having a decorator on retainer. Plus she feeds me. She’s taking gourmet cooking classes and she tries all her new recipes out on me.”

“Sounds as if she’s keeping active in her old age.”

“I want to be her when I grow up,” Virginia told him, meaning it. “She’s going on a world cruise next week. She’ll be gone for one hundred and eight days. I’m going to miss her.”

“What are you going to do without your only paying customer?”