Chapter 1
Jill Stuart watched Frampton’s eyes a moment more, then stole a glance toward the horizon. At most, she had another five minutes before the March sun rose on the island community off Florida’s west coast. When had she lost control? She looked down at her scanty attire and immediately took a deep, calming breath. If she worked quickly and carefully, this fiasco would end before anyone in Cinnamon Key spotted her in her nightclothes.
Her thoughts were interrupted by an impatient growl. Pressing a hand to her collarbone, she took a step forward. The small white terrier continued chewing on her silk kimono and was now dragging it with him as he backed away.
Today was not the day for this. Not with little Andy coming. Not with the parrot funeral to plan. And certainly not with her boss, Mr. Merriweather, due for a "surprise" visit.
"Come on, Frampton. Let’s go home. I’ll give you a treat. I promise, I will."
With his tail wagging like a metronome, Frampton flattened his forelegs to the ground. Lowering his chin to his paws, he shifted his eyebrows as he continued staring at her.
While she studied his moves, Jill sensed the situation coming to a turning point, and the tension between her brows began to ease. She was going to regain control any moment now. Everything was going to be fine. It was simply a matter of reeling him in on the kimono. As she began reaching forward, she measured out her voice—half reasoning, half promising.
"That’s right. We’ll play a game. We’ll—"
His tail slowed to a stop as he raised himself on all fours and stepped back. Jill eased herself down to a crouch and into a slow crawl over the dew-soaked grass. Any second now she’d have him. Any second.
As the sun began filtering through the screen of hibiscus, she winced at her miscalculations. Daylight was upon her, and she was still in her nightclothes pleading with ten pounds of mischief. Her control was slipping again. She closed her eyes to center her scattering thoughts.
"Please come home, Frampton. I’ll give you anything you want. Anything."
The dog stopped backing up, cocked his head, and watched with growing curiosity.
So did the man in the window.
With a coffee mug in one hand and his cell phone in the other, Drew Webster pressed his nose against the glass. Who, he wondered, was this blond Venus kneeling in his uncle’s backyard? And why was she begging this Frampton guy to come home with her? He lowered the phone and twisted his head until his ear was flat against the glass. And why was she clad only in lingerie?
"Drew? This is important," came the voice over his cell phone. "That casino in Atlantic City has agreed to talk about our proposal for their atrium. I told them we’d get back to them. Drew? Are you there?"
Atriums were the last thing on Drew’s mind as he leaned his cheek against the window to get a better look at the mesmerizing tableau outside. She wasn’t moving a muscle of her sleek and perfectly tanned body. The only thing in motion was the morning sunlight dancing through her white-blond hair. He smiled. So Venus had white-blond hair. Twisting his head again, he noticed that the pale pink of her boy shorts and lace-edged camisole contrasted rather nicely with the shocking-red hibiscus. Shifting her hips, Venus began reaching out to something or someone beyond the window. His jaw dropped open at the same time one pink strap slipped from her shoulder. Drew set his mug down and pressed his forehead against the window for a better look, but the lady in pink was moving slowly out of sight.
"Right. I’ll get back to you, Jeff." Without taking his eyes from the scene outside, Drew clicked off the cell phone and tossed it onto the four-poster behind him. He straightened his tie and ran his fingers through his hair. The last thing he expected to find in his uncle’s backyard was a love goddess.
"Frampton, I am not playing anymore," he heard her wail as he opened the door.
She was hitting the grass with her hand. Shaking his head, he quietly crossed the patio to where she was sprawled on her stomach. He moved close enough to notice a bare trace of downy white hair between her shoulder blades and a tiny mole above the band of lace. With only a quick glimpse of her profile, he couldn’t see much of her face. White-blond curls parted on the side and reaching just below her ears obscured it. Right now he’d have to be satisfied with the exquisite curves of her body and lean lines of her legs and arms. Lord, she was femininity from head to toes. And all that lovely sun-kissed skin interrupted by nothing more than sexy silk lingerie.
"Please don’t run!" Jill lowered her head onto her forearm and hit the ground again. Things were definitely out of control. She should be in her office preparing for Mr. Merriweather’s visit. And why had she promised to take little Andy miniature golfing?
Nearby she heard a slider door open, then shut. Several seconds later a pair of oxblood wing tips appeared in her peripheral vision.
"Never beg," instructed a masculine voice above her.
"What?"
"I said, never beg. Besides, he can’t be worth it if he has you groveling in the dirt."
"I can’t lose him. Shhh." Not bothering to look up at her uninvited adviser, she scrambled on all fours past the patio, then stopped. Sinking back on her heels, she shoved her fists to her hips. "Now you’ve done it. You’ve scared him away, and I’ll never catch him."
She heard amusement mixed with uncertainty in the man’s voice when he replied, "Catch him? Why would he ever want to run from you?"
Jill stood up and brushed the dew from her hands and legs. "It’s just a game he likes to play," she said, straining her neck toward the picnic area. Whoever this man was, she wished he would quietly leave. He was breaking her concentration. She picked her kimono off the lawn, gave it a quick shake, and slipped it on. As she was about to turn to confront the stranger, a ball of white fur caught her eye.
"Some game he likes to play," the man remarked. Then, in a tone of disbelief, "A dog?"
Frampton had reappeared from behind a palm, launched himself inches into the air with an energetic bark, and tore off again.
With frantic energy Jill waved her hands in the air. "Not the canal, Frampton," she said in a fierce whisper as she sprinted after the dog.
Dashing through the backyards of Nutmeg Court, Jill recognized the signs of an awakening neighborhood. A few automatic sprinklers were on, and newspapers were already being retrieved from several lawns. One person waved at her. Pretty soon they’d all see her running through their backyards in dishabille and out of control. She began imagining the letters that would be written to Merriweather Development about this incident. She had to put the consequences out of her mind, though, because Frampton had just rounded the gazebo and would be at the canal any moment.
Jill stopped beside the large, bougainvillea-draped structure, trying once again to gather her thoughts and plan a new strategy.
"Is it always so lively around here in the morning?"
Hadn’t he gone away yet? "Shhh. Of course not," she whispered.
"I thought Cinnamon Key would have a leash law."
Turning to him, she was about to explain that Cinnamon Key did have a leash law, because she’d written it. What she saw left her tongue attached to the roof of her mouth.
Her first impression was that he didn’t belong there. Looking totally out of place in the 90-degree heat, he was still undeniably gorgeous in his three-piece business suit and Italian print tie. He looked as if he’d missed his jet to the polo matches but could call up another anytime he felt like it. That was an easy speculation considering he had the most confident, engaging smile she’d ever seen. Thick chocolate-brown hair swept back and to the side over his smoky topaz eyes. His gaze was magnetic, so magnetic, she couldn’t stop staring. Who was this guy? Like a deer trapped in a headlight’s beam, she found it impossible to look away. Finally, her gaze drifted down over the rest of his face. There was something roguish about the trace of dark stubble on his chin and jaw and the way it contrasted with the rest of his face.
Appearing to be in his mid thirties, he was too young for a sno
wbird. So if he wasn’t escaping the cold winter season up north, he had to be visiting one of the residents of Cinnamon Key. There was no other explanation. An alarm went off in her brain. No. It couldn’t be one of Mr. Merriweather’s associates. Suddenly conscious of her nightclothes, she pulled the kimono closer, retied the sash, and smoothed the lapels. He didn’t look like the type usually accompanying Mr. Merriweather, but she had to ask anyway.
"You wouldn’t be from Merriweather Development, would you?"
"Not unless you wanted me to be."
His outright flirting was disarming, but she forced herself to accept his answer as nothing more than a reprieve. Brushing away a lock of curly hair from her forehead, she sighed loudly. "I have to catch Frampton. What time is it?"
"Right. Frampton."
As he lifted his wrist to check the time, the man was barely concealing his amusement with the mini-drama. Slipping both hands into his pockets, he leaned against the gazebo. "Almost six-thirty. Mind if I watch this?"
The twinkle in his eye was daring her and teasing her at the same time. When she moved the edge of her kimono to cover one knee, his gaze followed her hand, then continued slowly to her toes and back up her body. He’d meant for her to see the appreciation in his eyes. And in his slowly evolving smile. Her own nerve endings were humming with interest. Something delicious was stirring between them. Something rich and real in the perfumed morning air. The laugh lines around his eyes continued deepening. As she began returning his smile, Frampton barked, she blinked, and the moment was gone.
Was she losing her mind? She was standing in her nightclothes letting this stranger flirt with her when she should be off catching Frampton! "I’m sure you must find this all quite amusing. Well, it isn’t going to stay funny for long if he reaches the canal," she said, stomping away.
"Forgot his inner tube, did he?"
"Alligators," she shot back over her shoulder. The man suddenly stood to attention.
"Alligators? What alligators?"
"The Cinnamon Key Wildlife Sanctuary backs up to this community. The alligators are always swimming into our part of the canal and—Frampton!"
The little white dog rounded the gazebo and ran between them, punctuating every other step with a bark. He was like a windup toy wound too tightly. He also appeared to be having the time of his life.
Drew sized up the situation, which was close to chaotic. "To the right!" he shouted.
In a matter of seconds he headed off the dog, sending him straight to the lady in pink. Her look of relief as she scooped up the small bundle of white fur was a visual delight. She was patting the happy creature, her pink nail polish and tanned fingers making an interesting contrast against the dog’s back. With the tips of her fingers sunk into the white fur, it made Drew think of snow and Christmas. He began imagining her hand resting against his ski-sweatered chest. Then he pictured her hand drifting down—
Breaking into his thoughts, he heard her scold, "Bad dog, Frampton." Any corrective effect was lost when she allowed the dog to lick her chin. With relief still evident in her blue-green eyes, she looked up at him. "Thanks. I’m sorry, I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Jill Stuart, the sales manager and resident liaison here at Cinnamon Key."
"Drew Webster. You’re probably the person I want to see. I’m here visiting my uncle. Maybe you know him. Ralph Webster?"
Her thick blond brows lifted in amusement. "You’re Ralph’s nephew? You’re little Andy?"
He pressed his hands together, then opened them and shrugged. "What can I say? I’ve had a growth spurt."
He certainly had. His broad shoulders didn’t come from a padded suit, and that impish grin held a degree of sensuality that didn’t quite fit the seven-year-old she was expecting.
"When he told me his nephew, Andy, was coming for a visit, I volunteered to help keep you busy. I’m supposed to take you golfing this afternoon. He didn’t expect you until later."
He walked alongside her. His height, somewhere over six feet, was perfect for blocking her five-feet-eight-inch frame from Mr. Hernandez’s line of vision.
Drew slid his hands into his pockets once again. After a sideways glance at her he decided not to touch her remark about keeping him busy. Sooner or later, though, he’d remind her of her promise to Uncle Ralph. "I was through with my business meetings in Atlanta earlier than I expected. Luckily, I was able to catch a ride on a friend’s company jet at four this morning." Rubbing his chin, he began to add, "I didn’t even take time to—"
She slapped a hand across his chest. "Don’t move."
"I beg your pardon?" He looked at her hand and was instantly reminded of the image he’d had several minutes ago. Her pink-polished nails were a feminine counterpoint to the firm pressure she kept up against his shirt and tie.
"Oh, no." Wrapping her fingers around the knot in his tie, she led him behind a storage shed. "Sorry," she said, letting go of his tie. "Mr. Hernandez was about to see me." Covering her bottom lip with the edge of her teeth, she peeked around the corner of the building and held her breath. After a moment she slouched against the wall and exhaled. "Okay, he’s gone. I’m sorry, what were you saying?"
Standing closer, Drew braced a hand on the wall next to her head. Frampton sniffed suspiciously. "Just that Uncle Ralph left his key and a note with the gatehouse guard. Seems he and a friend are in Miami. They’re due back this afternoon. So-o-o…"
"So?" she asked as she watched his serious expression turn into a challenging grin.
"So what are we going to do to keep me busy?"
Her breath caught in her throat when all sorts of delicious images presented themselves to her. As if he were reading her mind, his eyebrows lifted in pretended shock. Ducking under his arm, she came out on the other side of him. When he looked over his shoulder, she was already backing away. "You’re a big boy, Mr. Webster. And I have work to do. Thanks again for helping with Frampton."
"I’ll walk you."
"No." She was hurrying now. "I mean, please don’t go to that trouble."
"Wait. What about our golf date?"
"Tell Ralph I’m canceling that reservation at Rex World."
"Rex World?"
"He suggested I take little Andy miniature golfing."
"Then by all means don’t disappoint little Andy," he called after her. "He loves miniature golfing."
She put a finger to her lips to quiet him. "I don’t," she said, teasing him back. "I’ve really got to get Frampton home and then get ready for work."
"Jill?"
"Yes?"
He waited the longest time before answering. "What would you really like to do today?"
There it was again. That sensual challenge in his voice that belied the innocence of his words and stirred up the butterflies low in her belly. "To keep my job," she said, darting behind a house as its resident came out and hung up a bird cage on his carport. She waited for the man to go inside again before pulling on her robe. "I work here, Drew. This is getting embarrassing."
He nodded once as a businesslike tone returned to his voice. "Is your office in the building by the main gate?"
"Yes. Twenty-one Cinnamon Circle."
"I’d like to come up later and talk to you about something. Uncle Ralph’s concerned about a problem he—"
"A problem? Is there something wrong with Ralph? He isn’t ill, is he?"
"No. It’s a security matter."
A security matter? That was all she needed on top of everything else. "What kind of security matter?"
"Hi, Jill. I like your new clothes."
Another resident had discovered her. Rolling her eyes, she lifted one of the little dog’s paws, on her index finger, to wave it. "Frampton got out," she explained.
Returning her gaze to Drew, she felt her stomach contract. And not from hunger. Or the possibly worrisome situation he was about to explain. He was smiling at her. It wasn’t a smug smile, or even the kind that enjoyed another’s discomfort. It was the kind of smile that begged
you to see the humor inherent in the moment and enjoy it with him. She bit her lip to keep from laughing out loud. He had her attention once again. All of her attention.
"You’re a very popular lady around here," he said, strolling closer. "Tell me, should I take a ticket and wait my turn?"
His voice was deep and masculine, curling around her like a warm caress. Every fiber of her being locked into the intimacy of the moment. The humid air took on a misty quality, and only the light in his smoky topaz eyes shone through.
Something was happening to her, something warm and alive and—Frampton struggled in her tightening embrace. She blinked and looked down at the little dog. Rescued from the evolving fantasy, she felt the sting of a blush on her face. "What kind of security matter?" she repeated as Drew caught up with her.
"He thinks one of his neighbors is being systematically burglarized."
Jill amazed herself by keeping her lower jaw in the up position. He’d managed to melt her bones, then turn her stone-cold, both inside of one minute. Presenting a calm exterior to this man would be a minor miracle. She shook her head, fighting the crazy idea of crime in Cinnamon Key. "Someone would have reported a burglary to me. I’m sure there’s been a mistake."
He shook his head firmly. "Not according to Uncle Ralph. Seems it’s happened several times over the past three months."
She shook her head again. "This can’t be true. Ralph has simply misinterpreted something." Of course it wasn’t true, but a tiny shiver rippled through her body anyway. The mere thought of a burglary at Cinnamon Key was enough to make anyone shiver. Or was it that Drew Webster was moving closer?
"I know Uncle Ralph, and he’s not the type to misinterpret this sort of thing. He’s one of the most levelheaded people around." He ran his fingers through his thick, straight hair, combing it back from his forehead. "Look, I’ve come here because I’m very fond of him. I hate seeing him distressed, especially at his age. Jill, he’s seventy-two years old, and I wouldn’t want him to be next."
"Of course you wouldn’t. Neither would I. But I find it seriously hard to believe there’s a crime wave in progress here. My fingers are on the pulse of this community. These people are like family to me."
He reached out to give a gentle tug on the dog’s whiskers. The dog responded with a playful nip. With his thumb still in Frampton’s mouth, Drew looked up.
"Then you can appreciate my concern for my uncle."
His steady gaze and serious expression shook her confidence. Maybe, just maybe, he was onto something that had escaped her attention. "Yes, I do appreciate your concern. Just who did Ralph say is the victim?"
"He didn’t tell me."
When the backs of his fingers brushed her wrist, he left them there. The continuing contact was sending sparks flying through her, disorienting her. "How long will you be visiting Ralph?"
"I think I could stretch this visit into a week or more… with a little encouragement."
A week. A whole luscious week with Drew Webster down the street. What a provocative idea. She looked down at where his fingers were rubbing against her wrist.
"Jill, I’d hate to think of anyone in danger here. I want to help."
Danger?
Help?
His friendly attitude coupled with his determined sensuality had her breaking a sweat. Temptation never looked or felt so good. Then that old panic began spiraling in her stomach, and something akin to a warning flare went off inside her. The burgeoning sensations suddenly imploded to one nugget of truth. Right now Drew Webster was the danger. No matter that she felt herself drawn to him, she couldn’t afford the luxury of seeing where the attraction could lead. She’d been disappointed by people before, and she wasn’t about to take that risk again. Long ago she’d learned not to need anyone for anything; she’d learned to depend on herself. Wrapping her arms firmly around Frampton, she stepped away. She didn’t know how she was going to do it, but she was going to check out his burglary story and avoid him at the same time. "There’s really no need for you to stay the whole week. No one’s in danger here, and if someone were, I’d take care of it. I take care of all the problems at Cinnamon Key. That’s my job."
She turned away from him as he narrowed his eyes and scratched his chin. Heading for the side yard, she could feel him staring at her. Controlling her desire to run, she walked across the street to Barbara Brody’s house. There were other things to occupy her mind besides Drew Webster. Like getting Barbara’s dog home.
Barbara met her at the door of her screened porch.
"Jill." The older woman pressed a fistful of pearl necklaces to her breast. "Where did you find him?"
"I was out on my balcony having my morning coffee when I spotted him trotting toward the gatehouse."
"I had no idea he’d gotten out," Mrs. Brody said, looping the opera-length strings around the fingers of one hand. Taking the dog from Jill, she hugged him to her chin. "I know what a handful this little maniac can be once he gets going, and I can’t thank you enough for bringing him back. I was up early this morning cleaning some jewelry and completely forgot about him."
While Barbara showered Frampton with embarrassing attention, Jill looked toward Ralph Webster’s house. "It did take a little longer to catch him than I expected."
"Well, won’t you come in for some coffee, dear? You probably didn’t get a chance to finish yours." The dog looked up from Mrs. Brody’s arms and barked.
"Thanks for the offer, but I have to get back and dressed for work." She turned for the door, stopping before her hand reached the doorknob. "Mrs. Brody, how well do you know Ralph Webster?"
"Rather well. He’s in my bridge club, and I’ve had him over several times for dinner. Why do you ask?"
The last thing she wanted to do was alarm the older woman. Recently widowed, Barbara Brody was trying valiantly to put her life back together. Unwarranted speculations about neighborhood crime would only cause the older woman needless worry. Still, Jill felt an obligation to the community to put Drew Webster’s words to rest permanently. "I, uh, just met his nephew, and I was wondering if Ralph had ever said anything to you about him."
Barbara’s exaggerated expression was meant to tease. "Andy? You met little Andy in your nightclothes?"
"He’s no little Andy. He’s probably in his mid thirties and likes to be called Drew. What has Ralph said about him?"
"Not much. Only that he’s from up North and Ralph doesn’t see him often enough. They do talk on the phone at least once a week. Seems the boy’s very involved in expanding his business." Barbara ran her fingertips over the little dog’s nose. "For what this is worth, Jill, he’s divorced. No children."
"Lots of people are divorced, Barbara," said Jill, a bit too quickly.
Tilting her head to one side, Barbara looked up at Jill. "So, what do you think of him?"
"He’s… very interested in his uncle." Jill fixed her eyes on the pearls while she tried to figure out a way to slip in a question about the alleged burglaries. "He wants to make sure Ralph is safe here in Cinnamon Key. Isn’t that funny? I mean, who doesn’t feel safe in Cinnamon Key?"
While Barbara patted the back of her neatly chignoned hair, the strings of pearls dangled from her fingers, clicking softly. "I can’t imagine."
"You’ve never seen anyone or anything suspicious around the neighborhood, have you?"
"Of course not, dear. Nothing of a suspicious nature happens here. But if it ever did, I’d call you immediately, and you’d take care of it."
Breathing a sigh of relief, Jill nodded. "You’ve always taken care of things so well, Jill."
Frampton barked, it seemed for emphasis, and the two women laughed.
"That’s right, Frampton," Jill said, shaking her finger at the dog. "I take care of all the problems at Cinnamon Key. That’s my job."
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Trouble in Paradise
Susan Connell