Chapter Four
The flights down to my island getaway are mostly uneventful. The only blip in the radar is a lightning delay due to a passing thunderstorm in my connecting city, Miami.
C’est la vie.
I just grab some lunch and wait out the weather.
It doesn’t take long, and once I’m finally on the last leg of the trip, it’s all smooth sailing from there.
I reach the private island in the Bahamas by late afternoon and have no trouble finding a cab at the airport willing to transport me over to the east end of the island where my rental property is located.
There is no rain here. In fact, the sky is super bright blue and sunny.
But it sure is hot.
Thank goodness the cab has great air-conditioning.
Since the island is so small, it doesn’t take long to reach my destination.
And, oh my, the rental is beautiful.
The house is surrounded by lush gardens and greenery, and after I pay the fare with a credit card, adding a nice tip, I step out of the cab and instantly can hear the sound of the waves hitting the nearby beach.
My own private beach.
That makes me smile.
“Aah, this really is paradise,” I remark to the cab driver, who is now out of the car as well.
Chuckling, he agrees, “It certainly is, Miss…?”
“Avery,” I provide. “But you can just call me Willa.”
“Well, Willa.” He walks around to the back of the taxi and pops open the trunk, where he takes out my three bags—two suitcases and a sizable carry-on. “I hope you have a lovely stay on our island paradise.”
“Thank you,” I reply.
I offer to try to handle everything on my own, but the kind cab driver insists on carrying my two suitcases up to the door, leaving me to deal with just the carry-on.
At the entrance, I let him know I have it from here, so he takes off.
Excited to check out the inside of the house, I key in the entry code.
But the weird thing is the lock doesn’t make any sound—no clicking, nothing.
I’m worried I put in the incorrect code and am locked out. But when I try the doorknob, it pops open.
“Okay, that’s odd,” I murmur.
I chalk it up to a glitch, or maybe the door unlocks silently.
I don’t know.
It doesn’t matter, as I’m too amped to give it another thought. I drag my two heavy suitcases into the entry area, noticing how nice and cool it is in here, and drop my carry-on and purse onto the parquet floor.
I also kick off my strappy sandals.
I’ll worry about gathering up all of this crap later.
I want to check out my new living quarters for the next three weeks!
I know from the photos that most everything, besides a sitting room and a deck, is on the first floor.
There’s a bit of a circular flow from the entry area, so I decide to hit the rooms from left to right.
I start with the dining area, and then it’s on to the kitchen.
I spend a few minutes checking to verify that everything is stocked as I was told it would be.
It is, so that’s good.
I proceed to the three bedrooms in the back, taking a super-quick peek into each.
Funny thing, though, is that in the master bedroom, it smells all spicy and soapy, like someone took a shower recently.
That can’t be.
Shrugging, I just close the door and figure it must be one of those plug-in air fresheners or something along those lines.
“Yeah, it has to be that. You’re the only one here, silly,” I admonish myself as I walk toward the final downstairs area to check out—the living room.
But after I take no more than two steps into that space, I let out a gasp.
Holy hell, there is a man sleeping over on the sofa with his back toward me.
I’m equal parts terrified and angry.
What is this guy doing in my freaking rental?
Is he a worker who forgot to leave?
Is he a squatter?
Is he the one who took a shower?
“What the fuck is going on here?” I mutter.
The strange man stirs from the sound of my voice, but he doesn’t wake up.
My heart is racing, but I’m frozen in place.
Should I run?
I mean, after all, the dude is wearing nothing but freaking boxer briefs!
I could be in danger.
But even in my state of freaking out, I can’t help but notice how nice and taut his ass looks in those boxers.
Oooh, and his back and shoulders are all pure, lean muscle. One thing’s for certain: This guy sure is built.
I wonder what his face looks like.
Since his back is toward me, all I can see is his mussed-up reddish-brown hair.
And that great body.
But nice bod or not, he has some explaining to do.
Irritation wins out over fear, and I clear my throat—loudly.
He moves a little again but still doesn’t wake up.
Grrr…
Now I’m even more aggravated, so I blurt out in a loud tone, “Hello? Hello? Who are you, and what in the hell are you doing in my living room?”
That wakes him up.
Mystery man practically falls off the sofa before he jumps up and spins around.
Holy fuck, he has a huge boner!
And I mean it is big.
My eyes are glued to his crotch.
I can’t help it, even as he grinds out an annoyed “Ahem, my face is up here, sweetheart.”
Ooh, though he sounds mad, I like the smooth tone of his voice.
I’m still staring—I mean, how can I not?—until he grabs a throw pillow and covers himself.
He then asks, “Who the fuck are you anyway?”
This dude has some nerve!
Clearing my throat, and with my gaze slowly moving up his really just mega-hot body, I snap, “I think the more important question at the moment is who are—”
I snap my mouth shut because my eyes have finally made it up to his face.
Not only is his face very nice to look at, but it’s one that I know.
Now I have only a single burning question, and I say it out loud. “What in the hell is Shane Thoma, hockey player for the Phoenix Bears, doing here in my living room half naked, and with a boner to boot?”