Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 86020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Instead, she thought almost constantly about the resort. She loved everything they’d come up with. Could she handle managing the project? Yes, maybe she could, even if she had to ask for Dane’s help, since he’d done this so many times. She’d even relish the chance, though she wasn’t quite ready to jump in without backup.
But there was plenty of time to think about that. They were still in the planning stage. She picked up her phone and scrolled through her contacts as she spoke. “I’ll make arrangements with your pilot. When do you want to leave?”
Dane grinned as if they were going on a romantic holiday for two. Which, of course, they weren’t. “ASAP.”
After informing Dane’s pilot, she called Fernsby about food preparations.
Dane’s island was one of the many specks of land dotting the Caribbean. Too small for a resort, its amenities consisted of two huts on opposite sides of the island. One served as the living quarters, with three bedrooms and a common area, including the gorgeous lanai overlooking the beach and the ocean, with a marvelous view of the sunset. The second hut contained the kitchen and a living area where Fernsby stayed, doing all the cooking and bringing food over in a golf cart.
He could have stayed in the main house, but the first time Dane offered that, Fernsby had looked down his nose and drawled, “I prefer my privacy, sir.”
Cammie had never actually seen his room in the cookhouse, as they called it, but knowing Fernsby, it would be laid out with precision.
The island wasn’t large enough for a runway, so a helicopter flew them over from Martinique, where the plane had landed.
As always, Fernsby efficiently handled the distribution of goods and suitcases to the two huts, then doled out instructions. “I will prepare food for you for the week, sir, and bring it over later today.” He set T. Rex’s carrier in the golf cart.
Cammie held out a hand. “You can leave him here.”
Her words were met with a frosty admonition. “Camille, you two are here to work. I’ll take the little tyke with me since he can be such a nuisance.”
Rex wasn’t a nuisance at all. But with the quarter mile between the two huts, Fernsby would miss the dog. Even if he would never say so.
The weather was glorious, the sun warm but not too hot. The ocean air wafted through her room as she unpacked, the constant rhythm of the waves a balm to her soul.
Before leaving home, she’d arranged for a cleaning service to open up the island house, put fresh linens on the beds, and dust. No one had been here in all the months of her family leave.
Outside her room, the screened-in porch wrapped around the house. She could leave the two sets of French doors open all night long if she chose. She laid her teal T. Rex against the pillows. As odd as it might be, she always packed the dinosaur. Because its teal color made her happy. Because it reminded her of Dane.
His room was far closer here than in the big house in Pebble Beach. It would be easy to step outside her French doors and walk the length of the veranda to where his doors, too, would be open to the night air.
And Fernsby was on the other side of the island.
Of course she wouldn’t do it. She never had. She never would.
God, how she dreamed of it, though. She wanted it more than ever.
But knowing now how badly she wanted love and a life together to blossom between them, a rejection if she made a move would make the loss only more poignant.
Unbearable.
* * *
Half an hour later, Cammie pulled a sundress over her head, the stretchy smocked bodice fitting tightly over her chest. Sundresses and bathing suits were all she wore on the island. Dane liked his board shorts, his long legs tanned and muscled. And when he threw his shirt off for a swim? She had to count her breaths so she wouldn’t hyperventilate.
Dane was already pouring champagne when she stepped out of her room straight into the living room.
“I don’t think I can work if you give me champagne,” she said as he handed her a glass.
“We worked the entire flight. Now we need a break. We can start again tomorrow.” He tapped his glass to hers with the tinkle of crystal.
Fernsby arrived only minutes later, his golf cart laden with food he unloaded into the small kitchen’s refrigerator.
Dane stared in wonder. “Did you make all that this afternoon?”
With a hint of disdain, Fernsby said, “I am always prepared, sir.” He pointed to the fridge. “You’ll have cold salmon on a bed of asparagus, green salads, fruit salads. You’ll also find a fish pie with instructions on how to reheat it.”