Ruined by the Seal(15)

It was a lovely stretch of beach.

Awful rocks in the water, but maybe those could be moved.

That wasn't in the Historical Society's mandate, of course. Nor its budget. But a girl could dream.

Turning the plantation into a bed and breakfast or an inn. Letting her mother run an establishment instead of just cleaning one.

But the millworks-the only fully intact ones remaining on the  island-were a national treasure. They didn't deserve to be abandoned so  the property could be a commercial venture. They needed to be protected.

She frowned and dug her toes a little deeper. She couldn't lose sight of  the importance of protecting the historical value behind her. And now  she had her girls on her side. They'd figure something out.

In the distance, Mick turned around and headed back.

She stood up, holding the towel she'd brought down to him.

"Were you watching me?" he called out as he stood up, twenty feet out from shore, and made his way carefully over the rocks.

Cara let her eyes drop to the scar on his leg. Whatever surgery he was  recovering from it hadn't interfered with his ability last night. But in  the cool, grey, early morning light, she could see how he held himself  carefully. Maybe when he wasn't thinking about it, his body was capable  of a lot more then he thought it was.

She stowed that thought away for another time. They had more pressing concerns to deal with.

"Yes, I was watching you. Enjoyed the view, too. You're quite a capable  summer." She laughed. "Is that a ridiculous thing to say to somebody who  was in the Navy?"

Mick took a long slow breath and set his jaw as he gave her a hooded look. "I don't remember telling you that."

"You didn't," she said quietly.

He took a few more steps towards her, stopping just outside her reach.  "There's probably a lot that we've learned about each other that we  haven't shared, isn't there?"

She nodded.

He held out his hand. "I'm Mick."

She stood up and took it. "Cara."

"I'm recently retired from the U.S. Navy."

"I'm the director of the island's Historical Society."

"Ahh," he said, giving her a wry smile. "What brings you to Villa Sucre?"

She let go of his hand and turned around, pointing back up the path  through the jungle. "It's a property of some historic significance."         

     



 

"Is that so?"

She handed him the towel and stepped to the side. He fell into step with  her as they walked back toward the servants' quarters. "The mill is the  only remaining sugar works on the island."

Mick stopped suddenly and looked at her, his brow wrinkling. "Really?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't you mention this sooner?"

"When would I have done that? When you were yelling at me to get off the property? Snooping on me?"

He rolled his eyes. "How about while I made you dinner?"

"You weren't very talkative."

"‘Hey, Mick, let me tell you why this place is special.' Is that so  hard?" He lifted his voice, mimicking her, and she wanted to growl.

Yes, it was that hard. "You showed up out of the blue," she protested,  her blood pressure rising with each word. "Seriously? Now you're putting  this on me? How about you stop for a second and say, ‘Hey lady, why are  you working so hard to restore this place, anyway?'"

He started laughing as she copied his voice, but stopped when she glared at him. "Hey, that was funny."

"This isn't funny," she said, shaking her head. "One minute together, awake, and we're fighting again."

"Maybe that's because we haven't had our good morning kiss yet." He gave  her a half smile and brushed his fingertips against her temple. She  twisted and pressed her cheek against his palm.

His warmth grounded her and she nodded. "Maybe."

"Come here." His fingers curled around the nape of her neck as he tugged  her closer, and she didn't care that he was still damp from his swim.  She folded right up against his body and parted her lips for him,  tasting the salt of the sea and the reassuring warmth of his tongue.

His lips pulled and pushed against hers, coaxing her into an extended,  breath-taking embrace that had her reeling when they finally pulled  apart.

"Good morning, Cara," he said quietly with a wink.

She grinned and pressed her fingers to her swollen lips. "Good morning," she murmured.

"Can I make you breakfast?"

Her stomach rumbled. "Yes, please."





ELEVEN





AFTER MICK MADE BREAKFAST, CARA TOOK HIM ON A TOUR OF THE GROUNDS. The  sugar mill, the fields, the main house. He made a list of storm damage  on his phone. It wasn't that bad, although the roof needed to be  repaired before the next one hit. It was a miracle the house had stood  vacant for a decade and not been destroyed.

They held hands and talked and didn't fight, which was a minor miracle.

That didn't mean they weren't talking around the elephant in the room-or on the estate, as it were.

His future plans meant taking all of this history and turning it into something ruthlessly modern, ruthlessly commercial.

She wanted to ask him about it, ask him to explain it to her so she'd  understand, but she had to be honest with herself-she wouldn't hear it.  Wouldn't hear anything past, "this all has to go."

So she didn't ask, and he didn't offer.

They stuck to what the plantation once had been, and the island's  history in general. She told him more about her friends and how they  were sisters from other misters.

Mick teased her that for a French girl, she didn't have much of an  accent, and she explained about her years away at university in  California.

"I can't believe that for years we were only an hour apart, and the  universe never put you in front of me," he said quietly. They were in  the hammock together, their legs tangled up. He was stroking his fingers  up and down her bare arm, and the late morning heat was making her  drowsy.

"Maybe our paths crossed," she mumbled, her eyes drifting shut.

"I would have remembered you."

"Maybe Fate didn't want us to meet until now."

He was silent then. Well, she wouldn't take it back. She felt strongly  about him, separate from any drama over the property. She was drawn to  him and it wasn't just sexual. If he didn't feel the same way, better to  know that now before her heart got too attached.

It might already be too late.

"You believe in fate?" He settled his hand on her waist. Big and warm. Solid. Sure.

"I actually hate to think about life like that," she admitted. "My dad  died when I was a teenager-a car accident-and ever since, the idea that  life events are destined to happen makes me want to cry."

"I get that. I've seen a lot of awful shit. I'd prefer not to think it's part of a master plan."

"But … " She snuggled closer. Their breathing patterns had matched up,  slow and lazy, and she felt his chest rise and fall with her own for a  few beats. "I don't know. There's something different about the good  things in life."         

     



 

"Like they're special gifts and should be appreciated?"

"Yeah."

He kissed her forehead. "I do appreciate whatever or whomever put you in  my path, Cara Levasseur. I appreciate the hell out of that."











MICK HAD A SERIOUS FUCKING PROBLEM. He was pretty sure he was falling  hard and fast for a woman whose heart he was about to break.

Cara's history lesson had completely dismantled his cocky perspective on  what they should do to Villa Sucre. But it wasn't his estate, and he  knew his best friend too well to hope that Will would be similarly  swayed.

If anything, Will might even be annoyed that Mick had let a woman get  under his skin. Could he choose Cara over his only viable career option?  Would she want him, broken and unemployed?

And all of this was a stupid place for him to let his head wander when  he hadn't slept for shit the night before and was enjoying a perfectly  amazing mid-day nap with a gorgeous woman in his arms.

But he couldn't stop thinking about the look on her face when she talked  about restoring the plantation to its original beauty. Open it to the  public as a museum.

Not that she'd ever get that opportunity-the more he thought about it,  the clearer his picture became of what had happened. Someone, probably  an intern, had sent a letter to the Historical Society based on an  earlier will. Then they'd forgotten to retract that letter, or maybe the  intern had kept that oops to themselves.

Either way, there was no reason for Mick not to believe that his  letter-the more recently dated one-was accurate. It was the only  inheritance Will had received from his grandmother. Surely the old woman  wouldn't have forgotten to give her grandchildren something? Or if she  had, she'd have realized the error and corrected it.

Will was blood. That trumped a charitable donation.

It was just a matter of time until Cara had to face the fact that she'd lost the estate.

What would she do then? She obviously had a lot riding on this  project-so much so that she'd moved in to maintain a claim of  possession.