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“Panhandle? Do caricatures on the boardwalk? I hear they are looking for cage dancers at a bar downtown.”
“Or you could come home,” he said quietly. “Well, not home to Mom and Dad, but move to New York where I am. You could be with all your artsy people and I’m sure you could get a job teaching at a school here without Mom’s help.”
“I don’t want to teach, Asa. I like being an interior designer. I’m good at it, too. I just need more time to prove it.”
“I know, Gin. You’re a good painter, too. A great one, but you gave that up.” He knew she had to follow her own path, just as he had to follow his. He’d been on track to become a doctor, just the way her parents wanted, but he’d dropped out of medical school in his third year and become a paramedic. He was too much of an adrenaline junkie to do rounds and spend all day in one building. His choice had, of course, disappointed their parents. Both of them had disappointed their parents when they’d diverged from the paths laid out before them. “You do whatever you want, Gin. But you can always come home if you need to.”
“I know.”
“I know you know. Just don’t forget it. I’ve got to go. I’m about to start my shift.”
“Love you.”
“Yeah, me, too.” They disconnected. Asa used to drive her crazy when they were kids, but they had grown a lot closer as adults, though they lived hundreds of miles away from each other. He was protective, even though she was older by six minutes. He would make a good husband for some woman.
One day.
It was as if her brother was on a single-handed mission to date all the women in the mid-Atlantic states.
Her phone rang again, which was shocking considering she barely got two calls a week, much less two in one day. “Andersen Interiors. How can I help you today?”
“Is Virginia Andersen there?” It was a man’s deep voice, one that sounded vaguely familiar but she couldn’t place.
“This is she.”
“This is the same Virginia Andersen who did the Rosecove Inn?”
“Yes, I was the interior designer.” Rosecove had been her favorite job. There was something special about that little ocean-side inn with its own private beach. It had been one of her first big jobs, and the owner had taken a chance on her. She’d be forever grateful for that chance. When she’d showed her parents the pictures of it afterward they had been impressed. She didn’t need their praise to feel validated, but it sure was nice to have it.
“Good. I want you to decorate my house.”
“You do?” She tried to keep the surprise out of her voice. “Great! Are you interested in your entire home or just a few rooms?”
“The entire thing.”
Her heart beat a little faster as she changed the page on her notepad. This was just what she needed. A new client equaled a new opportunity. “How many bedrooms?”
“Six bedrooms. Five bathrooms.”
“Six bedrooms, five bathrooms?” Her voice squeaked. “How many square feet are we talking, Mr....”
“Mr. Bradley and seventeen thousand.”
“Square feet?” she squeaked. “Seventeen as in one more than sixteen and one less than eighteen.”
“Yes,” he said slowly, and she realized something was up. This was a joke... It had to be. She didn’t know whether to laugh at the absurdity of it all or cry, because for a moment she’d thought she had the job of her dreams.
“Your house is seventeen thousand square feet and you want me, who has decorated two inns and a slew of old ladies’ condos, to decorate it? Okay, Mr. Bradley, my mysterious benefactor, who are you really?”
“I’m Carlos Bradley.” His deep voice sounded slightly annoyed. “I have a house on Hideaway Island that I would like you to decorate.”
“Carlos Bradley! The sexy shortstop.” She laughed. “You look damn good in those uniform pants, Mr. Bradley. Tell me, how many squats does it take to get your behind that hard?”
“Excuse me?”
“You’ve got a great butt. One that I would very much like to squeeze one day.”
“Uh...I might let you one day, but I think we should at least meet first to talk about the house.”
“Your house. Right. I suppose I have an unlimited budget to decorate your massive mansion. Tell me, do you have a pool and a tennis court that need some jazzing up, too?”
“Yes to the unlimited budget and pool, and no to the tennis court.”
“Can I ask you a personal question, Carlos?”
“You told me you wanted to squeeze my ass, I think we’re at that stage in our relationship.”
“Do you really give gift baskets to all the women you sleep with after you’re done with them?”
“Where did you hear that?”
“Where any self-respecting gossip seeker does. The internet. There was a picture of one and everything.”
“I don’t give every woman a gift basket.”
“It depends on how good they are in bed, huh?”
“What?”
She giggled. She would think this was a mean joke if she weren’t so entertained by it. “You can drop the act now. Are you one of Asa’s friends? You’ve done a great job mimicking the voice. I’m impressed.”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Andersen, but this is really Carlos Bradley and I really am calling to see if you will decorate my house.”
“Yeah, yeah.” She rolled her eyes. “And I was on the cover of the swimsuit issue.”
“I’m not joking.”
“No? Well, if you aren’t joking and you are Mr. MVP with the sexy round behind and the sleazy parting gifts, then I expect a town car waiting for me here at ten tomorrow morning and a private plane taking me to Hideaway Island. I could take the ferry, but why should I? You can afford to fly me out.”
“A private plane?”
“Yup and chocolate. I would like a basket of Swiss chocolates waiting for me when I get there.”
“Fine. 10:00 a.m. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Great! See ya then.” She hung up the phone. Asa had gotten her good. She was going to have fun getting him back.
Chapter 2
The next morning Virginia was sitting in her office thumbing through her recently delivered design magazines when a man in a black suit and cap came through the door.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m here to pick up Virginia Andersen.”
She blinked at the man for a moment. He certainly was wearing a driver’s uniform complete with a name tag. “Pick me up for what?”
“I’m Mr. Bradley’s Miami driver. He asked me to take you to the airstrip. There will be another driver waiting for you to take you to his house.”
“What?” She laughed. “You’re here to take me to the airstrip?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He looked confused for a moment and then glanced at his watch. “The pickup was requested for ten o’clock. Is that correct?”
“Um...” She thought back to the phone call yesterday. She had requested a 10:00 a.m. pickup along with a long list of ridiculous things. Her brother had sworn he wasn’t playing a joke on her when she’d called him last night. She hadn’t believed him. He was the same guy who used to throw spiders at her when they were kids. She wouldn’t put a phone call past him, but this...this was too much. “I did say ten.”
“Do you need more time, ma’am?”
“No.” She stood up, grabbing her handbag from beneath her desk. “I just need to lock up. I’ll be out in a minute.”
“I’ll be waiting outside.” He turned to leave.
“Wait! You aren’t an ax murderer, are you?”
“No,” he said slowly, pulling out his wallet. “I can show you my credentials.” He showed her his employee ID and his driver’s license.
“You probably think I sound crazy. You probably are just doing what you are paid to do and have nothing to do with this whatsoever. I’ll be out in a moment. Thank you, Richard.”
He left and Virginia pulled her cell phone out of her bag, calling her best friend Willa.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Wil. It’s me. I can’t talk right now, but I think my brother is playing a huge joke on me. Just in case he’s not, I want someone to know that a driver showed up at my office to take me to Carlos Bradley’s house. The story is he wants me to decorate it.”
“What?”
“I know.” Virginia shook her head. “It’s unbelievable. But if I don’t call you back by eight tonight, call the police.”
“Don’t get in that car, girl. It could be because I write murder mysteries for a living that I’m crazy paranoid, but I wouldn’t do it.”
“I really think Asa’s up to something. He called me yesterday right before all this started. He wanted me to come home. I’m wondering what it is.”
“He wants you home? Okay. Go, but you better call me long before eight.”
Willa was smart, the calm, sensible counterpart to Virginia’s adventurous nature. “Okay. I’ll call you after each leg of the trip.”
“Each leg? Where the hell are you going?”
“I think I might be headed to Hideaway Island.”
* * *
Carlos sat just outside his front door waiting to see if the interior designer actually showed up. He could have waited in his house for her, but curiosity about the woman he’d had the strangest conversation of his life with had driven him outdoors.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d just sat outside and let the sun beat down on his back. It had probably been the last time he was on the field, the same day he’d got hurt. He had spent so much of his life outside, smelling Astroturf, sweat and dirt, hearing thousands of fans cheer whenever he stepped up to bat. But it had all ended abruptly. Surgery, rehab, recovery. No fields, no fans, no career. It didn’t seem as if it made much sense for him to go outside anymore. But this morning the air-conditioning inside had become too much for him. The stuffy, too-chilled air had made him feel a little choked, so he’d escaped outside, sitting on the stone steps that led to his front door.
He had to admit that the heat felt good, the sun felt good, and the air, even though it wasn’t dirt, sweat and grass scented the way he was used to, smelled sweet to him. Like ocean air. Like summer. He might still be sitting in his bedroom trying to block the sun out if it weren’t for his siblings and the crazy designer who didn’t believe he’d called her.
He could have hung up, called around, hired somebody else who had a better résumé. It would have been a hell of a lot less trouble. But there was something about Virginia’s voice on the phone, something about her warm laughter that made him want to meet her. If for nothing more than to put a face to the woman who’d told him she wanted to squeeze his butt.
People didn’t talk to him like that. At least, not to his face, and he found that intriguing.
A black town car pulled up. Its windows were down, revealing the passenger in the backseat. Carlos couldn’t see her features clearly but he could see that her skin was just a shade lighter than milk chocolate and her hair was in wild thick curls.
The car then came to a stop, the woman scrambling out before the driver could reach her. She was pretty. Beautiful, really, but in an earthy unglamorous way that he wasn’t used to. She wore a long, light pink dress with big flowers, and it bared her pretty shoulders and hugged her curvy body in all the right places. Her skin looked smooth and sun kissed. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. Maybe someone older. Maybe someone more polished. Not a woman staring up at his house with eyes wide and her mouth open.
He stood up, walking down the steps to meet her. She hadn’t seemed to notice him until that moment. Her eyes snapped to his face. Beautiful almond-shaped eyes with thick lashes. As he stepped closer he could see that her face was clean of makeup, her cheekbones were sharp, but her face wasn’t thin. Nice didn’t seem like a good enough word, but she was nice to look at. Like somebody he could spend hours observing and never get tired of the image.
“Holy crap. It is you.” She surprised him by touching his arm; not just touching it, but wrapping her fingers around his biceps. “Wow, that’s hard.” She took her hand away and he found immediately that he missed the contact. It had been so long since he had been touched. “You’re real, right? I’m not dreaming or hallucinating. You’re really Carlos Bradley, and you really wanted me to decorate your house.”
“You thought I was lying?”
She slowly closed her eyes as a flush spread over her face. “I thought my twin brother was playing a huge joke on me.”
“You have a twin?”
“Yes, Asa. I called him last night promising retribution. He probably thinks I’m a nutcase. You probably think I’m a nutcase.”
“I do. But I have twin siblings, so I understand.”
She opened her eyes, looking thoroughly embarrassed and really kind of adorable. “Thank you for being understanding. If you could be so kind as to point me toward the ocean.”
“It’s behind the house.”
“Great.” She stepped away from him. “If you need me, I’ll just be drowning myself in it.”
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 ass.”
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.
“I don’t want to.”
* * *
This had to be a dream. It had to be. Stuff like this just didn’t happen to her. She didn’t arrive in chauffeured cars or ride in private jets. Especially not for work. She was usually chauffeuring people around. She had even picked up Mrs. Westerfield at the airport on a few occasions. But now she was standing in front of the biggest house she had ever seen, with America’s favorite baseball player holding on to her hands. She didn’t want to open her eyes. Because when she did, she would have to come face-to-face with the fact that she had just blown the opportunity at the job of a lifetime.
“It’s hot out here,” Carlos said. “Come inside.”
She opened her eyes then, and there he was. Mr. MVP. He was royalty in Miami, a legend in the making, so she’d seen his image everywhere. Billboards. Commercials. In magazines. Still, she hadn’t paid much attention. She knew less about baseball than she knew about quantum physics. The only things she knew about him were that he was rich, he was good at his job and he went through more women than he did pairs of underwear.
That put him in her “typical womanizing athlete” category. Somebody she wouldn’t find attractive no matter how good-looking they were. But the thing was, he was extraordinarily handsome in person. Nowhere in sight was that plastered-on smiling face that she saw in ads. The real deal wasn’t smiling at all. He was looking at her with intense green eyes that contrasted with his deep brown skin. He was big, too. Well over six feet tall with a hard body that heat just seemed to roll off. He was one beautiful man, and he was touching her, holding her smaller hands in his massive ones. She’d be a big fat liar if she said her tummy didn’t feel a little funny.
“Okay.” She tried to compose herself as she followed him in, but she couldn’t stop the barrage of berating thoughts that kept entering her head. She was dressed well enough to take Mrs. Westerfield around town, but not to meet an important client. She would have worn a suit. She would have tamed her wild hair.
Her mother’s voice kept playing in her head.
If you want to be a professional you have to look professional.
Virginia had never seen a hair out of place on her mother’s head. She would pass out if she knew that Virginia was here in a maxi dress with bare shoulders and strappy sandals. It didn’t matter anyway. She wasn’t going to get this job.
She shouldn’t get this job. She really wasn’t qualified. Carlos’s home was a Spanish-style mansion with a beautiful roof of handmade red tiles. It was art. Everything from the rounded windows to the heavy wood carved door and meticulously placed stone accents was perfectly planned. It was such a contrast with its surroundings, which were kind of wild and unkempt. Coming to Hideaway Island felt like coming to another world, but coming to Carlos’s quiet part of the island was something else entirely. It almost felt like a fantasy.
She followed him to the foyer, which was big, open and airy with high ceilings but nothing else. No colors on the walls, no art, nothing. It was truly a blank slate. A dozen ideas rushed into her head. There were so many things she could do with this space alone.
She walked a little farther into the house, into a great room that held a single couch. Nothing else. Their footsteps echoed around her in the empty room. The architecture of the inside of the house was as beautiful as the outside, but that was it. The place was empty, but more than that, it felt empty. “Are you living here at the moment?”
“Yes,” he answered, looking back at her.
“Alone?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, but this place is so big for you to be here alone,” she said as she walked into the kitchen. “It’s so secluded here. Don’t you get lonely?”
He stopped fully, turning to face her. She’d known it was a stupid question as soon as it came out of her mouth. She had no right to ask him. “It’s none of my business,” she said in a rush. “You could probably have a different woman here every night of the week if you wanted.” He just blinked at her and she wished she had a muzzle, something to shove in her mouth to keep her from speaking. She just couldn’t get over the fact that she was here with him. Here alone with him, on this secluded island, in the middle of nowhere.
“I came here because I wanted to get away from everything.”
“I understand,” she said quietly. It might have been all in her mind, but he had this way of looking at her. Maybe it was his intense green eyes, but he looked at her in a way no other man had. In a way that made her skin hot. In a way that made her want to get closer to him and run away at the same time.
She was attracted to him and it was weird. She liked artsy men. Dancers, painters and poets with soulful eyes and sensitive hearts, and yet this massive athlete with his quiet manner and stern face was making her tingle with just a look.
“I bought this house five years ago, but because of my schedule I haven’t stayed here. I’m only here now because I’m no longer playing.”
“You’re not playing?”
He looked at her blankly. “It’s baseball season and I’m here.”
“It’s baseball season?”
“Are you serious?”
“Um, yes,” she answered feeling dumber by the moment.
“Do you even know what team I play for, Ms. Andersen?”
“The Dolphins?”
“That’s football.” He shook his head. “I play for the Hammerheads. I ruptured my Achilles tendon going for a catch in the playoff game that took my team to the World Series. I had surgery and an infection. They haven’t cleared me to play this year. It was reported everywhere.”
“I guess I’ve been paying more attention to your behind than your career, because I didn’t know any of that.” She shook her head immediately. “I don’t know why I can’t control my mouth around you. Yes, I do. I’ve been spending too much time with Mrs. Westerfield.”
“Who’s Mrs. Westerfield?” he asked, looking bewildered.
“My client. She’s seventy-eight and has no filters. Said she’s lived through two husbands and five wars and has earned the right to say whatever she pleases. My parents would be horrified if they could see me right now. Totally horrified. Why aren’t you telling me to shut up?” She was babbling, but there was something about him that made her nervous.
He shook his head and gently grabbed her wrist. “Let’s go see the rest of the house.”
“I came all the way out here. I might as well.” He looked at her strangely, but she ignored it. He was touching her again with his big, callous, rough hand that felt good on her sensitive skin. It made her wonder how his hands would feel grazing over her hips or on the backs of her thighs. She tried to shake off that thought. But it was too good. One day she was going to tell her grandchildren about the day a baseball legend had grabbed her hand and showed her around his house.
“There are two bedrooms down that hallway.” He motioned with his head as he walked. “One’s a suite with a bathroom. There’s another full bathroom down that hall for guests to use.”
He led her into a large open room where one wall was a row of doors that opened onto a lavish pool that overlooked the ocean. There was no other way to describe it but luxurious. With a few changes and some bikini-clad women it could be the setting for a glossy music video. She understood why he’d bought this place. It was fit for a superstar like him.
“This is beautiful,” she told him.
He nodded and led her out of the door, past the pool and onto the path that led to the beach. Away from the lavishness of the house, the land around them was wild, not landscaped, but it was probably one of the most beautiful spots in the country. The other side of the island, where she’d landed, was adorable, with a cute little shops and restaurants and a downtown that had a European feel. It wasn’t as touristy as some of the other islands off the coast. It was quiet. But on this side of the island she felt truly at peace, with the sound of the waves crashing against the shore and the breeze blowing through her hair. She felt relaxed for the first time since the car showed up at her door that morning. Which was odd, because she was standing next to a gorgeous millionaire, someone she had made a fool out of herself in front of.
“My little sister wants to get married here next year. She wants me to walk her down the aisle. I need the house fixed up before then, so she can impress all of his important friends. It’s very important to me that she is happy.”
“Who’s she marrying?”
“Some older man. He’s a real estate investor from England who wants to take over all of South Florida.”
“You don’t sound as though you’re too fond of him.”
“He spoils the hell out of her and she seems happy. She’s got him opening up a restaurant here on the island next season. But no, I don’t like him. I don’t trust him. He’s forty-nine. She’s twenty-seven. What the hell does he want with her?”
“Aren’t you a hypocrite? Wasn’t the last woman you dated twenty-one?”
He looked at her again, those piercing eyes of his narrowing. “You know that, but you don’t know that I got hurt or what team I played for?”
She shrugged. “I remember being irrationally annoyed at you when I heard that on some entertainment news show. You’re a thirty-six-year-old grown man and she’s barely out of girlhood. Someone who should be studying for her college final instead of spread across the hood of a car in a bathing suit that would fit a toddler. What the hell did you want with her? I’ve seen that girl give an interview. Don’t tell me it was for her sparkling conversation.”
“She was more mature than most her age and I was with her because I know she didn’t want me for my money.”
“No. She wanted you for your status. Every up-and-coming model needs to be seen on the arm of a major athlete.
“Has anyone ever accused you of overstepping? Because you seem to have a knack for it.”
She knew she was wrong. She knew she had crossed a line, but she couldn’t stop herself with him. She couldn’t make herself shut up. He probably didn’t run into too many women like her. He was a mythic figure to most of the world, and she should probably be cowed by him, but for some reason she wasn’t.