Chapter 2
two
SKYLER
Of course he doesn’t move. He looks like the kind of man who doesn’t take orders kindly. Instead, he stares at me like he’d like to wrap his huge hands around my neck and wring it, slowly taking in my face and my wet white gypsy blouse that’s turned translucent from the rain and is broadcasting the fact that I prefer not to wear bras, and the skirt that’s clinging to my thighs.
He pays special attention to the ink that swirls from my left ribcage down to my hip.
I wait for him to apologize to me, for walking into my bar and ordering me around, but of course he doesn’t.
He looks like the kind of man who isn’t used to apologizing to anybody. In his expensive clothes, with his perfectly styled hair and his tight jawline, he probably spends most of his days around corporate ass-lickers telling him he’s the bees knees.
“Aren’t you leaving?” I ask him. “I think I made it clear that I own the place.”
His eyes narrow and yet somehow his sexiness isn’t diminished by his annoyance. “You’re Wayne’s kid?” he asks, frowning like he doesn’t believe me.
“What’s it to you?” I ask, my pulse still racing. I fold my arms across my chest for good measure, because if he’s going to be an ass he doesn’t get to look at my nipples while he’s doing it.
Especially since they seem to have minds of their own right now.
“I live on this island. Making sure it’s safe is my job.” He even looks handsome when he scowls. “So are you Wayne’s kid, or do I need to call the cops?”
He doesn’t look like he needs to call the cops at all. One flex of his biceps and he’d have me over his shoulder and marching me back to the ferry without taking a breath.
“Yes, I’m Wayne’s kid,” I say, because as good looking as this man is, I don’t want to be hoisted over his chest right now. Or anywhere else for that matter.
He nods, looking slightly mollified.
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
Oh boy. We’ve gone from evicting me to offering condolences. I’m starting to get whiplash.
“You knew my dad?” I ask him. And it doesn’t come out as strong as I want it to. There’s no way I want to show any vulnerability to this oaf, even if he is the first man to set my pulse racing in a long, long time.
“Yes.” He nods. “I assumed you’d be selling this place.”
I shrug. “I’m not sure what I’m doing yet. I just got here.” I pull my lip between my teeth. “Not that it’s any of your business,” I add, just to make him grimace a little more.
It works.
“Of course it’s my business,” he says, still not walking out of my damn bar. “I plan to buy this place as soon as it’s on the market.”
I immediately bristle. Oh hell no, that’s not happening. “It’s not for sale.”
Technically, that’s true. I won’t be putting it up for sale until I’ve had a chance to go through all the things that are still in here and in the living quarters. I owe that to my dad. Even if I don’t end up spending the next six months here.
But if it takes my last breath, I’ll make sure this guy never gets his hands on this place.
“What did you say your name is?” he asks.
“I didn’t.” And he knows that as well as I do. He’s got that ability that only rich men seem to have of putting me on edge.
And then he glances at my chest and I realize my nipples are still pushing against the translucent top that seemed like a good idea only a few hours ago.
I’m not attracted to him. Yes, in my past I’ve been a bit of an asshole magnet, as Lee would put it. But I’m older. I’m wiser.
I just need my body to get the memo.
“You’re Skyler,” he says, suddenly surprising me.
“How do you know that?” I narrow my eyes at him, feeling exposed in more ways than just having my damn nipples pressed against my top like traffic lights.
“Your father had a daughter and a stepdaughter. Skyler and Lee. Lee has a husband and a house and lives in LA. You…” he trails off. “Don’t.”
“He talked about us?” My voice comes out small. Not only because this man had some kind of connection with my dad, but because his knowledge of who I am must come from Dad too.
Which means Dad talked about us.
For some reason that makes my throat tighten so hard I find it difficult to breathe.
“He did.” He nods.
“What’s your name?” I ask him.
“Hudson Fitzgerald.”
He doesn’t offer me his hand, and I’m grateful for that. Mostly because I don’t feel that charitable to him, despite the lowering of his tone. But also because I’m not sure I want to touch him.
“And there’s really no need to be here,” he tells me. “Whatever offer you get, I’ll top it. I’ll buy this place as is. You can leave and enjoy the money.”
He says it so easily, like we’re talking about a simple transaction, not my dead father’s bar. I can’t walk away from it like that.
“Thank you,” I say. “But I won’t be taking that offer.”
Because now an idea is forming in my mind. I look around at the chairs stacked on the tables and the dust clinging to every surface. But in my head I see a bar full of people, laughing, ordering drinks, maybe a singer on the podium at the far end, a couple dancing to the music next to him.
And I see my dad behind the bar. Not the man who died of cirrhosis, but the man he was before. The one in the photographs I’ve seen from when Lee was young and I was a baby.
In a stupidly strange way it feels like home.
“I need to change out of these clothes,” I say, aware that I’ll have to run through the rain again to get to the car to get my luggage, but it has to beat being wet. And exposed.
This time he doesn’t look down at my body. Instead his gaze dips to my lips, to the stud in the top left corner. I part them, exhale, and there’s a flash in his eyes.
“Very well.” He nods. “But I’ll be back.” It sounds like more of a threat than a promise. He holds out a card. “If you change your mind, call that number. My assistant will answer day or night.”
I bite down a smile. “And what if I only want to talk to you?” I ask him.
“My assistant is more responsive than me,” he says.
“I bet.”
He shakes his head and goes to turn his back on me, before changing his mind. “This is a small island. Extremely boring. You’re going to hate it here,” he tells me, his voice certain. “I guarantee within a week you’ll change your mind.”
“Well if I do,” I say giving him a sour smile, “I’ll make sure you’re the last to know.”
* * *
HUDSON
The rain is pouring down in sheets as I head back to my car, wrenching the door open and climbing in before I close the umbrella. I slam the door hard for good measure before letting my head fall back against the leather upholstered headrest. I’m furious, because I should have known she was coming. I pay good money to know exactly what’s going on all over this island.
I don’t like surprises. Especially not in the form of a soaking wet woman who has the most perfect breasts I think I’ve ever seen.
Not that I was looking. I don’t think I’ve met anybody who’s less my type than her. I’m not keen on tattoos. I don’t like facial piercings. Fuck only knows what other surprises she’s hiding under those clothes.
You’d like to find out though.
I blink that thought away. Because that voice sounds way too much like her , and she was fucking infuriating. Beautiful, poised, and extremely fucking annoying. Not my type at all.
And yet if I close my eyes, I can still see her behind my lids. That wet hair stuck to her face, those white clothes clinging to her perfect curves. I try to push that image away, because even a few minutes in that woman’s presence tells me she’s trouble with a capital ‘T’. And something I don’t need is trouble.
“Is everything okay?”
My sister’s voice brings me out of my dark mood. She’s sitting in the backseat, next to Ayda. My six-year-old daughter is asleep, and has been since we left the hotel earlier. Autumn – my sister – volunteered to come with us while I drove into town to check on a few business arrangements. This rain has made everybody feel antsy. I think both of them needed to get out of the house, along with Barney, the huge Irish Wolfhound that is Ayda’s shadow. He’s currently curled up in the back of the car, snoring.
It was only when I drove by that I noticed the lock open on The Salty Dog door. We’ve had trouble there, since Wayne passed. Kids breaking in to drink from the optics, visitors from the mainland camping out and making fires in the center of the room.
And yeah, it’s not mine yet, but it will be. And I protect what’s mine. I don’t want the place burned down – I just want to own it.
“Everything’s fine,” I say tersely.
“Who was in there?”
“Nobody important.” I start up the car, but I can tell by the way Autumn shifts in her seat that my answer hasn’t satisfied her. My twenty-six-year-old sister is nosy as fuck. Honestly, my whole family is.
As the oldest of six, it’s always been my job to protect them. And sure, Asher, Wyatt, and Zach are grown men – as tall and as strong as I am – but Autumn and Eden are always my top concern, along with my daughter.
Even if Autumn is married to my best friend, she’s still my responsibility.
I back out from the parking space and curse when a car screeches to a halt behind me. Fuck it, I wasn’t looking and I always look.
I always do everything right. It’s how I’ve gotten to where I am in life.
“Be careful,” Autumn murmurs. I look back to check that they’re both okay. Barney, Ayda’s wolf of a dog – is lounging in the trunk, his head perched on the back of the seat like he’s standing guard. The sudden jolt has woken Ayda up. Her lips purse as she looks around, trying to work out where she is.
And all I can think is that maybe this is the day she says something .
But no words escape her lips. They haven’t for the past year.
I turn back around to pull out onto the road and head back to the hotel. I have more meetings this afternoon, and Autumn has offered to watch Ayda for me. I have a babysitter on call for when Autumn and my best friend Parker aren’t available, but I prefer my daughter to be looked after by family whenever possible.
By the time I park outside of the hotel the rain has eased a little. Enough for us to make a run for it to the huge oak door that leads to the Liberty Hotel. Autumn holds Ayda’s hand, the two of them running through puddles like it’s actually fun to get wet, Barney chasing them with delight because at heart he’s a working dog. Ayda gives a silent giggle and my jaw tightens, because her inability to speak is my fault.
I lost control of her mother. I almost lost Ayda. And now she’s lost her voice.
“I’m going to be a few hours,” I tell Autumn. “Then I’ll pick Ayda and Barney up. Is that okay?”
My sister gives me a beaming smile. “Of course. I have a commission to work on, she can help me with it.”
Autumn is an interior designer. She used to be based in New York, but since she and Parker got together, they both moved here. They live in the refurbished lighthouse on the edge of the hotel grounds. About a ten minute walk from where Ayda and I live in the Captain’s House that’s been in our family for generations.
I’m still getting used to being based here on Liberty permanently. It’s a slower pace of life, but a protected one, too. I know – or at least I usually do – exactly who’s coming onto the island. I nearly lost Ayda once and I’ll be damned if anybody gets close enough to her without warning again.
That’s why I’m so pissed about Wayne’s daughter turning up without me knowing. For a second her image flashes behind my eyes. The white top and skirt that had turned translucent and clung to her body. The vivid ink that covered her bare waist, curling up her side. And that fucking lip stud.
I hate lip studs.
So why am I imagining what it would feel like against my tongue?
Christ, I need to get laid. I run the palm of my hand over my face. That’s easier said than done on Liberty.
I stalk past the reception staff who call out a hello, through the double doors to the private area where there are two apartments and a business suite, at the back of which is my office. I push the door open and stride in, yanking the plush leather chair from beneath the oak desk before sitting down on it. I look at the three monitors on my desk that are always on, showing the NASDAQ, the S&P 500, and the Dow Jones.
A quick glance tells me not much has changed since this morning as I hit the call button on my phone that connects directly with my lawyer.
“Hudson, how are you?” Richard booms out.
“I need you to run a check on somebody,” I tell him.
“Sure.” He doesn’t blink at my brash tone. Probably because I pay him a hell of a lot of money not to. “What’s his name?”
“Her name is Skyler Brown. I want all the background.”
“Brown as in Wayne Brown?” Richard knows about my desire to buy The Salty Dog. If he were my therapist and not my lawyer he’d probably remark that it’s part of my need to be in control of everything. But luckily he isn’t and he knows better than to question me.
“Yep.” I’m still thinking about that fucking stud above her lip. I have no idea why I’m so fixated on it. “She’s just arrived on Liberty. I want to make sure she’s not bringing trouble with her.”
I glance out of my window. The rain has eased even more as I’ve been sitting here. It’s a light mist now, enough to give some visibility out of the window. We’re only a few weeks away from spring turning into summer and reaching our busiest time of the year. It’s our first full year of being open since the huge renovation project that took place on the nineteenth century hotel last year. Guests will be paying a hell of a lot to stay here on Liberty. Every suite in the hotel has been decorated to the highest standard.
We’re delivering luxury, privacy, and the promise of good weather. Luxury will include a bar near the center of town that will help my guests feel at home.
Not The Salty Dog. And not a bar run by a manic pixie dream girl with a stud in her lip and an attitude on her mouth.
That mouth though…
Swollen, pink, delicious. Christ, I could show her how to use it.
“Anything else?” Richard asks. He sounds amused.
Was I actually staring out into space then? Thank god we’re not on a video call. I don’t stare out into space, I don’t fantasize about sex. I have it hard and fast and then I move on.
“That’s it,” I say. “Make it quick, please.”
“It’ll cost,” Richard points out.
“And you know that I can pay.” Because yes, we extended ourselves with buying all the available real estate on the island, but after this year it will start to pay off. I have investors, I have money. What I don’t have is the time to think about women who are of no interest to me.
“On it,” Richard says, and I end the call without saying goodbye. I’ll have the report in my hands by the end of the week and be escorting that damn woman off the island shortly after that.
Then everything will be calm and under control. The way I like it. And I’ll never have to think about lip studs again.