Hurricanes in Paradise, Denise Hildreth [ebook reader with internet browser .TXT] 📗

The ice cubes clicked together as her bare feet walked across the stone floor, onto the carpet of the bedroom, and into the closet, where the valet had left her bags. She had motioned him in earlier with a wave of her hand, told him to put her things in the closet, and had gone back to Mitchell’s voice resounding in her head. She had no idea when the valet had left. When she stepped into the closet, she saw her clothes were neatly hung. He had obviously been there a little longer than she had realized. She selected a simple gray sweater that hung to her thighs and a pair of black leggings, then walked into the bathroom. She turned the silver shower lever to blistering and decided she might be a few minutes late. Laine Fulton was never late.

* * *

Riley sat at the bar and stared at the bubbles that swirled around in her glass of Dr Pepper, a lime bobbling against the surface. Her acrylic wedge heels clicked against the metal of the barstool as they moved to the music that filled the electric environment.

Riley sat snugly beneath a wooden trellis that held the goatskin covering above the bar. She looked toward the other end of the bar where a group of young men stood crowded together with their oxfords, crisp shorts, suntanned faces, and amicable spirits aided by the spirits they held in their hands. She loved to watch her guests; they came in with visible stress, and as each day passed, the tension flowed from their bodies. It was part of the magic that the Atlantis held. One of the men shifted slightly, allowing Riley to catch a glimpse of Tamyra seated at the bar.

Riley was relieved to see her. She hadn’t realized that she had been slightly anxious over the well-being of the young woman. She glanced at her watch. It was ten till six. She ran her hands down her dark-wash blue jeans, straightened the bow that fell softly at the neck of her sleeveless purple silk blouse, picked up her glass, and headed in Tamyra’s direction.

* * *

Winnie closed the book she had been reading and studied the picture of the majestic mansion on the cover. She had saved the book for her trip. When she retired from teaching, she had spent years catching up on pleasure. Now that she was back to educating, she didn’t have much time for pleasure. So if she did nothing but read the ten books she’d brought along with her, it would be worth the trip. She turned the book over and studied the face of Laine Fulton. Fair-complected, clear green eyes, movie-star cheekbones and lips, almost-white blonde hair that barely clipped the top of her shoulders, and a soft smile that seemed to resonate contentment. She had been one of Winnie’s favorite writers for the last ten years. Her novels were full of everything from intrigue to romance, and her range of characters as broad as Winnie’s denim collection.

She got up and walked into her suite, setting the book down on the coffee table. She picked up the small frame that she had set out when she arrived. She studied Sam’s face and smiled. Every time she saw him, it was as if she were seeing him for the first time. And she’d never forget that first time. It was a Fellowship of Christian Athletes meeting at the University of Tennessee, where they had both attended. She had gone because she had a fondness for both athletes and fellowshipping. What she never expected was Sam. He came in wearing a UT T-shirt, and when she saw his gorgeous green eyes, she sang a chorus of “How Good Is God.” It wasn’t until they had been dating for six months that he realized the only reason she had even attended that night was to meet an athlete. But by then he was so crazy about her, he didn’t care.

When he took her to his hometown of Nashville, he introduced her to the Ryman Auditorium, Patsy Cline music, and bowling at the Melrose Bowling Lanes. He taught her what a real gentleman was, how a lady should be treated, and how to control herself until her wedding night. When the wedding night finally came, she attacked him like a kenneled puppy, and he had loved every minute of it. And for the last fifty years she had loved every minute of him.

She set the frame down and looked out over the ocean. She pushed back against the tears that rushed to the surface as she closed the sliding-glass door. It sealed off the sound of the ocean like a tomb and she sealed off her tears like she had since the day she had placed Sam in his. She glanced at the clock on the DVD player. It was 5:55, and her stomach announced it was starving. In the bathroom, she ran her stubby fingers through her hair and dotted her lips with some hot pink lipstick. She picked up her room key, stuck it in the Vera Bradley Raspberry Fizz handbag she’d brought, and wandered out in search of beef.

4

Saturday evening . . .

Tamyra’s hand twirled the straw inside her glass of Perrier, and Riley knew she was completely unaware that anyone was around.

“Mind if I sit down for a minute?”

Tamyra’s head darted upward, and Riley pretended not to notice the puffy eyes staring back at her. “No, um . . . sure . . . that’s fine.” She shifted slightly in her seat.

Riley pulled the stool out, set her Dr Pepper on the counter, and ran her hand across the tortoise-and-seashell top as she climbed onto the barstool. “How has your day been so far?”

Tamyra managed a smile. “Nice. It’s beautiful here. The room . . . everything . . . just really beautiful.”

“I’m so glad. Did you go out to the Cain pool today? It’s our adults-only pool.”

Tamyra lifted her glass