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

She set it down on the bedside table, then pulled back the already-drawn duvet cover and curled up beneath it. She lay there, eyes wide-open, staring at the desk sitting in front of the window. After ten minutes she’d had all she could take.

She jerked the duvet cover off; her heels pressed hard against the wood floor as she walked over to the desk. She tugged at it, trying to pull it to the other side of the room. With each barely successful heave, hot tears burned trails down her cheeks. “I want to work in the other room this week! I don’t need a desk to work!” she shouted as she cried.

With the desk only slightly relocated, she collapsed in a raging heap on the floor with her hands still wrapped around the legs of the desk. After a few guttural and expletive outbursts, she stood quickly and swatted at her tears with her hand. She snatched a tissue up from the nightstand and grabbed the phone, pressing 1.

A voice answered before the second ring. “Hello, this is Gerard.”

She cleared her throat. “Gerard, this is Laine Fulton. I need my desk moved from out in front of my window.”

“Absolutely. I will be there in just a few moments.”

“Thank you.” She hung up. He had not acted like her suggestion was at all strange. It was almost midnight. It should be strange.

She sniffed hard and plopped down on the edge of the bed. Gerard was in and out in less than five minutes. When the door closed, she stood in the middle of the living room for a moment, the quietness surrounding her. Then she went back into the bedroom, grabbed a pillow and the duvet from the bed. The comforter dragged on the ground as she made her way back into the living room and plopped down on the sofa. Curling up like a baby, she pulled the blanket up under her chin and looked into her bedroom. Perfect. She couldn’t see the desk at all from here.

5

Sunday morning . . .

Laine rolled over and almost fell off the edge of the sofa. She gripped the cushion while the repercussions of yesterday’s imbibing wreaked havoc on her bladder and her head. When she returned from the bathroom, she sat down on the edge of the sofa. The African tribal ceremony that played in her skull made going back to sleep out of the question. She squinted to try to read the backlit clock on the DVD player. It looked like a five, but she couldn’t be certain. It was still dark outside, and though this was her favorite part of the day, she didn’t quite feel like paying it any attention this morning.

She laid her head back down on her pillow while the drum solo pounded on her right temple. Expletives rolled beneath her breath as she pushed herself upright. In five minutes she was dressed and out the door. Daughtry blared on her iPhone as she pushed the Down button of the elevator.

The elevator deposited her in a foyer of suites where two neatly pressed Bahamians stood as if waiting to simply greet her. She gave them a raised hand and headed out the door toward the ocean. Her pace matched the rhythm of the music that pulsated in her ears. She turned it up to try to blast out the pounding in her head. The four ibuprofen she popped had yet to infiltrate the front line of her marching band, but she ran anyway.

Periodic lanterns along the large concrete walkway dimly lit the roving pathway that coursed through the myriad of pools and over manicured lawns. She could hear the ocean and breathe in its salty air before it came into view. The moon was slipping away quickly and morning was beginning its push. She stepped from the path and her tennis shoes dug into the thick, damp sand, her weight pushing against her calves, propelling her farther down the beach.

The ocean’s roar was able to make its way past both the pounding of the music and her headache. She loved the ocean. Its massiveness gave her comfort. A comfort that said there was something bigger in the world than her. Mitchell had been that in a way. He had kept the predators at bay. Guarded her talent. Guarded her heart. And in one moment, everything that he had given her was washed away as quickly as the scampering crab that ran toward its hole in front of her. So now, more than ever, she needed to know there was something bigger than her. Even though the mere thought collided with her doubt.

A doubt that she pressed against as her feet sank deeper into the sand. She had always used the first run of the morning to clear her head, purge the chaos, and refocus her thoughts. But focused thoughts had been rare commodities the past year. That’s why her latest book was six months behind, why four assistants had found their way through her revolving door, and why last night she had let three strangers join her for dinner. She hated dinner with strangers. Honestly, she didn’t like strangers at all. Crowds either, for that matter. She had preferred dinners with Mitchell. Alone. But there was something she hated worse than strangers or crowds. She hated eating alone. That’s why she made Riley come in the first place.

The sun thrust out the remnants of yesterday and forced her into today. That was when the words of the song “Home” that was playing on her iPhone began to register with her heart. Home? She didn’t even know where that was anymore. Home had been with Mitchell. With no children, he had been everything to her. And she had felt displaced since the day she walked out of their home and moved into the St. Regis hotel. A year later she was thinking she might need to find a