The Cottage on Pelican Bay (Catalina Cove #7)

Chapter 1

1

Two years and nine months ago

“Vaughn, my flight made it to New Orleans,” Zara said into the phone as the sound of thunder grew louder. “But with the weather the way it is, I won’t try driving to Catalina Cove tonight. I’ll take a shuttle to one of the hotels at the airport and stay until morning.” Another clap of thunder was almost deafening.

“That’s the best thing,” Vaughn Miller said to his sister. “Although the hurricane isn’t headed this way, it’s causing enough wind and rain to make you think it is. I understand several trees are down on the main road from New Orleans to here anyway,” he added. Catalina Cove was an hour drive from New Orleans.

“My goodness. I just heard that the airport is closing and won’t reopen until tomorrow sometime. I feel sorry for all those people who’d come to New Orleans for the summer music festival and can’t get a flight to return home,” she said.

“Well, hopefully, they won’t be stranded for long. Things are supposed to be better tomorrow, Zara.”

“Let’s hope so,” she replied.

For Zara, this was an unplanned trip. She was coming home to lick her wounds and Vaughn was the one person capable of cheering her up. When she’d called to let him know she was flying in, he hadn’t asked why. He’d just said he would be there when she arrived. More than anything she needed her big brother’s hug.

Home...

She hadn’t thought of Catalina Cove as home since she’d left for college over ten years ago. “I’m hoping to see you tomorrow, Vaughn.”

“Same here.”

A short while later, after Zara had checked in to her hotel room, she was ready to go to the hotel’s bar for a drink to calm her stressed nerves. Although her flight had landed safely, the turbulence had been almost unbearable.

When Zara entered the bar, not surprisingly it was crowded with people, mostly stranded travelers who probably needed a drink to unwind as much as she did. She was about to turn and go back to her room and order room service when her gaze connected with a man sitting across the bar.

And he was staring at her.

She’d been the object of men’s interest before; however, usually they weren’t the object of hers. At least not with this intensity. He was absolutely gorgeous, and the way he was staring at her had certain parts of her inwardly quivering, while warm blood rushed through every vein in her body. Strong sensual vibes were radiating between them even from across the room.

And he was sitting alone...

Zara drew in a deep breath. Should she? Umm...why not? She’d always let the guy make the first move, but doing that hadn’t gotten her anything but a man who’d cheated on her. As far as she was concerned, there was no time to play coy. She was a single woman and thanks to an unfaithful boyfriend, she was no longer in a committed relationship.

But then what about that legs closed, options open rule she’d implemented after her breakup with Maurice four months ago? She had kept her legs closed. So why did she view this guy as a viable option? For the first time in her life, she felt like a woman on the prowl and that man who was sending out all these deep, sexual vibes to her was her intended target. Her legs began moving as she scooted around tables and chairs, making a beeline in his direction.

What if he was married? Gay? Or just didn’t want to be bothered? But the way he was looking at her could eliminate all three possibilities. The handsome man stood as she approached his table. The way his gaze was roaming over her, he was taking in everything about her. From that smile on his face, he liked what he saw. His expression wasn’t lecherous by any means. It was warm yet appraising.

Her eyes were just as assessing, and she thought he looked pretty darn good in those jeans and pullover shirt. Her gaze shifted to his hands. Specifically, the third finger of the left one. He wasn’t wearing a ring and there wasn’t an indication one had been there. She figured his age to be thirty-five or -six. He had cocoa-colored skin, brown bedroom eyes, a nose that added a perfect symmetry with his features, and a pair of sensual-looking lips.

When she reached him, he extended his hand. “Hello, I’m Saint. Would you like to join me?”

Suddenly, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to join him or not. It was bad enough his eyes were dazzling her, but the deep huskiness of his voice was making her stomach somersault. Then there was his touch when she took the hand he offered. A rush of desire clawed her insides. Never had she felt such primal attraction to a man before. What in the world was wrong with her? He even smelled good. His masculine scent filled her nostrils as she inhaled.

“Hello, Saint. I’m Angel, and I’d love to join you.” From the twinkle that appeared in his eyes, she knew he didn’t for one minute believe her name was Angel, just like she didn’t believe his name was Saint.

When Zara sat down, she decided not to beat around the bush, and asked, “Are you married, Saint?”

“No,” he said, reclaiming his chair.

“What about engaged or in an exclusive relationship?”

“No to both. What about you, Angel? Are you married, engaged or in an exclusive relationship?”

Fair question. “Not anymore.”

He lifted a brow. “To which of the three?”

“I’m no longer in an exclusive relationship,” she said.

“Oh, I see.”

If the way he was looking at her was anything to go by, he really did see. More than she liked or preferred. At that moment a waitress came up to take her order and he told the woman to put it on his tab.

“You don’t have to do that, Saint.”

“I want to,” was his response.

She flashed him a grin. “Okay. I’ll never argue with a man who’s a Saint.”

The sound of his chuckle made every hormone in her body sizzle. “The storm has you stranded as well,” she said.

“Yes. I take it you’re in the same predicament?”

“That’s right,” she answered. There was no reason to correct his assumption that she was stranded due to the airport being closed. Her plane had landed. She just couldn’t drive where she needed to go.

“Do I detect a French accent?” he asked.

An amused twinkle appeared in her eyes. “Yes. And do I detect a Northwestern one for you?”

“Guilty as charged.”

“No need to feel guilty.” She leaned closer. “I like it.”

He angled over the table and said, “And I like yours.”

She knew the exact moment he’d realized he had dipped his head closer than he’d probably intended, and their lips were within inches of touching. Instead of pulling back, their gazes locked. She noticed when his smile faded, and his look became as intense as hers.

Suddenly a deep sexual hunger flared to life within her. She was driven to lick her tongue across the fullness of his lips. So she did so, with shameless fortitude. Zara wasn’t sure what she’d expected...other than the glint of surprise that appeared in his dark eyes at her bold move.

Playing it cool, she said, “I like your taste.” Licking her lips, she settled back in her chair.

“Do you?” Looking like he was gathering his wits, he sat back in his chair as well—as if for the time being he needed to be a safe distance from her. She wasn’t bothered by the thought of that. She also liked the fact his lips were still wet.

“Yes, Saint, I do.” At that moment the waitress returned with the drink she’d ordered, a pi?a colada. She felt his eyes watching her as she tried her drink. He was probably wondering if she was usually this daring. He would be shocked to know she wasn’t. But there was something about this man, who’d introduced himself as Saint, that brought out a naughtiness in her she didn’t know existed. That said a lot for a twenty-eight-year-old woman who’d only slept with two men in her lifetime.

When the waitress left and they were alone again, he said, “I believe I would like your taste as well, Angel. So, when can I sample it?” The sound of his husky voice spiked arousal in her, sending images of him doing that very thing—tasting her, but in a different way—flitting through her mind. Heat curled inside her at the look he was giving her.

She eyed him back while thinking that she knew nothing about him other than he was handsome as sin and had the ability to generate desire in her very core. It didn’t help matters that since her breakup with Maurice, she hadn’t been interested in sharing a bed with a man...until now.

She sipped her drink again. Going for broke, as well as for bold, she said, “I know of a way for you to do that, Saint.”

“And what way is that?” he asked, as a jolt of sexual energy bombarded Saint’s senses. He thought this gorgeous creature sitting across from him was definitely no angel.

Yet, he liked it. Hell, he liked everything about her.

When she had entered the bar, she’d done so with the sexiest walk he’d ever seen by a woman in all his thirty-four years. His heart had pounded with every step she took in a sexy sundress that showcased a pair of beautiful shoulders. When she’d come to a stop in front of him, he’d gazed into the most captivating pair of hazel eyes. They were perfect for her almond-colored skin. As far as he was concerned, everything about her was perfect. Even the way her hair was pulled back from her face and held hostage by a clip complemented her features. She had a plump pair of sexy lips, and he liked the size of her breasts and the pair of shapely legs in sandals.

He knew Angel wasn’t her real name and figured she’d said that because she didn’t believe Saint was his. Although he was born Evans Toussaint, those who knew him called him Saint. A part of him thought maybe he should correct her, but decided that if he did, she might feel compelled to come clean with her real name as well. If she felt more comfortable using an alias, he didn’t want to put her on the spot. As far as he was concerned, she could think—or do—whatever she wanted. If this angel wanted to be naughty, he had no problem letting her. Just like he had no problem letting her discover he was no saint.

And to think, after what his ex-girlfriend had put him through, he’d been convinced his body had lost any desire for a woman. He certainly hadn’t been interested in anyone since he’d broken up with Mia almost a year ago. Now, not only did he like Angel’s naughtiness and boldness, but damn, a strange abundance of heated lust—strong, thick and unrelenting—had taken over his body. Intense heat flowed between them. This woman had him floating on a cloud of sensations the likes of which he’d never experienced before. Was she an angel or a witch? She had to be one or the other because this thing between them defied logic. At least in this universe it did.

“Give me your room number and expect me in half an hour,” she broke into his thoughts to say.

He honestly didn’t think she was serious and decided to call her bluff. “I’m in room 954.”

She nodded and then, without another word, she finished her drink, stood and walked out of the bar, and not once did she look back.