Chapter 2 Nine Days
Waverly
When the elevator doors opened up to the hotel lobby at five fifty-five, breathing became difficult.
It had nothing to do with the wall of humidity which smacked me in the face and everything to do with the gorgeous man casually leaning against the wall.
If I thought Kier in swim trunks was a sight to behold, it didn’t even compare to the way he looked now.
The khaki dress pants he wore fit like a glove, accentuating his thick, muscular thighs, while the baby-blue, short-sleeved dress shirt tucked into the waistband, stretched across his expansive chest, leaving very little to my imagination.
His smile lit up the dim lobby as he pushed off the wall and strode toward me.
“You’re incredible, Waverly.” He leaned down to kiss my cheek.
My clothing options for the evening had been limited.
I’d chosen a cream-colored sundress covered in a pale green floral print, with straps wide enough at my shoulders to hide my bra.
It was light and airy and flowed down my body, landing just below my knees.
On my feet, I’d traded my flip-flops for a pair of white slingback wedge sandals.
They weren’t my usual high heels, but they were the closest thing I’d packed.
“Thank you. You look very handsome yourself.”
“Shall we?”
Heat spread across my back where his hand sat low on my spine, steering me through the tall automatic sliding glass doors at the entrance. Vibrant orange and deep blues stained the sky as the sun reflected its waning light along the rippled surface of the Caribbean Sea.
“This way.” His fingers curled around my hip, leading me toward the beach, away from the cluster of buildings which housed the two on-site restaurants. My interest piqued.
“Where are we going?”
He didn’t answer as we descended a set of stairs leading to the edge of the sand, instead he grinned and jerked his head to the left. That’s when I truly lost my breath.
Fifty yards down the beach, a large white canopy was erected in the same spot where our loungers had been earlier in the day.
Candles buried in the sand illuminated a path to our destination, surrounding the structure on three sides while their flames flickered in tandem with the slight breeze coming off the water.
“I wanted our first date to be memorable.”
“Mission accomplished.”
Kier kicked off his loafers, then held my hand while I removed my wedges. He kept holding my hand when we stepped down into the cooling sand and walked toward the tent.
“This is too much,” I said as he pulled out the white linen-covered chair for me to sit.
“I disagree.” He took the seat across from me. “It’s not nearly enough, but I was working with a bit of a time crunch. Plus, I’m being selfish. I didn’t want to share you with a crowded restaurant.”
“Good evening.” I startled when a man dressed in a dark suit approached, setting two black-and-silver menus on the table in front of us. “My name is Juan and I’ll be your server tonight. May I start you both with a drink?”
“Do you have a wine preference?” Kier asked.
“Anything white. Reds give me a headache.”
He turned to the server. “Give us a bottle of your best sauvignon blanc.”
“Very well, sir. I’ll return shortly.”
The sound of the waves crashing against the shore soothed my frayed nerves.
Thinking back, it had been a long time since I’d had a first date; so long in fact I couldn’t remember the last one.
It’s not like there was a plethora of men banging down my door to spend time with me.
Besides, my job demanded the majority of my attention.
“What are you thinking about so hard over there?” Kier’s deep voice wrapped around me like a warm blanket. It was calming in a way I’d never experienced before.
“Life?” I blew out a breath. “Or my lack of one truthfully. My job doesn’t allow for much.”
“Neither does mine.” He tilted his head slightly; his blue eyes boring into me as if trying to see straight through to my soul. “What kind of work do you do, Waverly?”
“I’m an FBI agent.”
Shock flickered over his features at my announcement, though he recovered quickly.
Normally, I would’ve given him a watered-down version of the truth.
In fact, Mac was the only man who actually knew what I did on our first date, simply because we’d met on the job.
Yet, there was something about the gorgeous man sitting opposite me that made me comfortable enough to give him full disclosure.
He grinned wide. “Beautiful and powerful; a heady combination.”
Even with the slight chill in the air as the sun dipped farther in the sky, my skin flamed with the compliment.
Usually, I’d curse my red hair and fair skin for the reaction; however, when his nostrils flared and his eyes—which seemed to darken a shade—followed the blush creeping up my neck until it spread across my cheeks, I felt every bit as beautiful and powerful as he said.
“Thank you.” I cleared my throat, then blinked a few times to break the intense connection. “What about you? What do you do?”
“I dabble in the wide world of technology.” He sat forward, leaning his elbows on the table. “Software development and IT support mostly.”
“Impressive.”
Juan chose that moment to return with a bottle of wine, which he promptly began pouring into our glasses.
Kier and I quickly looked over the menu, deciding to share a mango salad with a side of shrimp bruschetta as an appetizer.
For our main course, I chose the karni stoba—the Caribbean version of beef stew—while he went with the chef’s special, red snapper.
After collecting our menus, the waiter excused himself to place our order.
The crisp, tropical notes of the wine exploded on my tongue when I took my first sip. The subtle hints of mango along with something else I couldn’t identify—something earthy—were a refreshing combination. Taking another healthy swallow, I sat my glass back down, noticing Kier doing the same.
“Was I correct earlier when I assumed you were from Ireland?”
“I was born in Ireland, yes; in a small coastal town south of Dublin called Bray. My mother was American. She divorced my dad when I was two and moved back to the States. I spent the majority of my youth bouncing back and forth between continents.”
“That explains your lack of an accent,” I surmised.
He chuckled. “Oh, I have one, but it typically only comes out when I’m frustrated or pissed off.”
“Where do you call home now?”
“Hotels, mainly. The company I work for is in the process of searching for a new base of operations here in the States.”
“I couldn’t imagine living out of a suitcase.”
“It’s not ideal.” He took a drink of wine, then stretched his arm across the table, covering my hand with his much larger one. “What about you?”
“I grew up on the outskirts of Boston, then moved to Virginia for college. Now, I live in a small college town wedged in the Appalachian Mountains of West Virginia.”
“Sounds picturesque.”
“You have no idea.”
Our conversation flowed easily. He spoke about his parents—both of whom never remarried—which led to him telling me about his half sister, Sloane. She was the result of a brief affair between his father and his secretary, who quit her job when their relationship ended.
“Maeve, her mom, hid the pregnancy from my father, so we didn’t find out about her until she was already two weeks old.”
“Wow. That must’ve been hard.”
“Sloane was an unexpected blessing to our family, though at the time I acted like a real tool.”
“How old were you?”
“Seven.” He huffed out a laugh, then sobered. “I refused to call her by her real name for almost a year.”
“What did you call her?”
“I didn’t call her anything except that girl or the baby. It wasn’t until she got sick with pneumonia and ended up in the hospital that I finally got over myself. From then on, I swore nothing would ever hurt her again.”
Flipping my hand over, I laced our fingers together, giving a little squeeze. “You’re a good brother.”
“I tried like hell, but Sloane never made it easy. She had an independent streak a mile wide. Still does.”
I was enthralled with the way Kier’s entire being lit up when he spoke about his sister.
So much so, I barely noticed when our appetizers were delivered and our wine refilled.
There was a great deal of love and respect behind the stories he shared about their childhood.
It almost made me jealous of the fact I didn’t have an older brother willing to slay my demons.
“Are you still close with her?” I asked, taking a bite of bruschetta.
“Extremely.” His lips tipped up at the corners. “She and the twins will be moving near me once I get settled.”
“Twins?”
His grin widened, sending a wave of desire crashing through me. I had to clench my thighs together in order to suppress the sudden, pulsating ache deep in my core. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out how a simple smile elicited such an intense reaction from my body.
“Rogan and Reagan; Sloane’s seven year old twins. My niece and nephew are mo chroí, my heart in English.”
“They’re lucky to have you.”
Taking the last bite of mango salad, Kier signaled Juan, who disappeared briefly, returning with three additional servers in tow.
Two carried plates covered with a silver dome and the other held a medium-sized gray plastic bin.
Juan quickly cleared our dirty dishes, depositing them into the bin, then took the plates from the other servers and placed them on the table in front of us, removing the lids.
My mouth watered as I breathed in the aroma from the onions, garlic, and peppers in the stew.
“Can I get you anything else?” he asked.
Kier peered at me, waiting until I gave a small shake of my head to answer. “No, we’re good. Thank you, Juan.”