Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
The groom was not what Violet expected.
The investigative journalist label had led her astray. She'd imagined someone with a pasty complexion from not getting outdoors enough, maybe too thin from forgetting to eat while they worked, and definitely wearing glasses because of eyestrain. She was wrong on all counts.
Max Durant was a puppy of a human being.
His smile was warm and welcoming, and his eyes sparkled with delight, while the mop of wavy, brown hair that flopped onto his forehead was disarmingly tousled.
All of which softened the angular planes of his face, and the too-sharp intelligence in his dark eyes.
He had a lean, rangy build, broad shoulders, and a complexion that spoke of plenty of time outdoors.
He also had the long, slender fingers of an artist—or in this case, a writer.
"You must be my bride," he said with a welcoming smile, after she’d followed Rochelle into their open plan office.
The whole team, minus Noah who was in Atlantic City, were gathered together. They were spread around the room, lounging at their desks. As one, they appeared to be holding their breaths, waiting to see how Violet would react.
She didn't leave them hanging. "I'm not your bride, I'm your bodyguard."
"My mistake." He strode toward her, hand outstretched. "Maximillian Alexander Leopold Durant," he said with a grin. "Thought you should probably know my full name now, so you don't faint from shock during the ceremony."
Violet looked at his hand, then back to his face. "We're not getting married. There won't be any ceremony." She glared at Rochelle. "Or was that part a lie?"
Max dropped his hand but didn't seem bothered that she hadn't shaken it.
He thrust his hands into his jeans pockets and rocked back on his heels.
"Oh, no, your boss was right. This whole thing should be over long before we have to walk down the aisle.
Sorry, I was trying to ease the tension with a joke. "
"It wasn't funny," Violet told him.
"I see that now," he said. "For future reference, is it all jokes you don't find funny or just this one?"
Over in the corner, by the computers, one of the triplets coughed the words "all of them".
She ignored the fools. The constant chitter of the triplets had become the white noise background of her life.
Sure, she would have liked to have duct taped their mouths, and bought everyone some blessed peace, but apparently that sort of thing was frowned upon.
She kept her focus on the reporter. "How do you know the op will be over before the wedding?"
"I was just going to grab a coffee before I went over that with your team." He smiled again. "Would you like a cup too?"
Violet stared at him while she tried to figure out what was going on. This was her office, not his, yet he'd clearly made himself at home. What was his motivation? What was he trying to do? Charm her into liking him? The whole thing was weird. Before she could reply, her stomach rumbled loudly.
His twinkly eyes met hers. "I'll take that as a yes and add a couple of pastries to your plate." He sauntered over to the sideboard where the coffee pot sat next to a box of baked goods.
She was still trying to figure him out when he returned with a mug of coffee and a plate with two pastries on it.
"There you go," he said.
Violet stared at him.
Max was unfazed. "How about I put them down on this desk and you can get to them when you're ready?" He turned and placed them on the only desk that was completely bare on top. No photos, no notes, no computer. It just so happened that he'd chosen her desk.
"He's trying to be friendly," Rochelle whispered in her ear before shoving her toward the food.
Feeling tense, Violet cautiously took her seat, and poked at the pastries. Her stomach rumbled again.
"Don't think he's trying to kill you," Rodrigo said from the desk opposite hers. "They're safe to eat." He seemed amused by her hesitance.
"My mother told me never to take food from strangers," Violet told him.
Of course Max heard. "Then we should become acquainted real fast," he said, standing beside the whiteboard at the end of the room.
"Because there's going to be lots of food and drink on the island, and we'll look pretty stupid if you won't eat anything I give you.
Of course, if you think I might be trying to harm you, then feel free to get your own breakfast. I won't be offended. "
Challenge heard and accepted.
Eyes on him, Violet lifted a pastry and took a bite.
He grinned. Wait. Were those dimples? She blinked and tore her eyes away.
She’d seen dimples before. Better dimples than those ones for sure.
But her eyes kept straying back to the sight.
To her disgust, Max gave her a cocky chin lift in acknowledgment of her staring.
Violet looked away but not before she felt her cheeks burn.
She was not blushing. Violet Lee did not blush.
She concentrated on eating the pastry. It tasted like cardboard.
Max sipped his coffee and tried to get his runaway pulse under control. He'd been perfectly relaxed, getting to know the Benson Security team as he waited for Rochelle to brief the woman who'd play his bride. And then Violet Lee walked into the room, and he felt like he'd been punched in the gut.
He couldn't figure it out. Sure, the team had talked her up, explaining that she was a skilled martial artist, a former cop with acute instincts, and had perfect aim at the gun range.
It'd all sounded like a dream come true for his assignment, because he desperately needed someone skilled to watch his back.
But no one had prepared him for the experience of meeting the woman herself.
Nobody had told him that, as well as being a warrior, she appeared petite and delicate, with a timeless beauty that would make every man who met her look twice.
Nor did they mention her pristine olive skin and the wall of black silken hair that flowed over her shoulders.
She was fascinating. A study in contradictions.
A woman who moved like a predator but had eyes that saw deep into the soul of a man.
Eyes shadowed with mysteries he somehow knew she'd never willingly reveal.
She'd taken one look at him, held her head high, and dared him to try to get to know her, while making it perfectly clear that she had no intention of getting to know him.
She was magnificent.
And she was a problem.
Max didn't need a woman who could see everything when he was hiding so much.
Violet Lee could become a huge distraction to a man like him.
A man who felt compelled to unravel mysteries, to find out how things worked, to tie everything up in a neat, understandable bow.
A woman like Violet could very easily become an obsession. And he already had one of those.
"We're ready when you are," Rochelle prompted, jarring his attention back to the reason he was in Houston.
"Great," Max said as he ran a hand through his hair, making yet another note to book an appointment for a trim. "So, as you know, I'm writing a story on money laundering in the destination wedding industry. I’m particularly interested in a guy called Damien Poole, who owns a private island in the Caribbean called Wedding Island, as well as a chain of hotels throughout North America. I’ve long suspected that Damien is into some shady stuff, but this will be the first chance I’ve gotten to get some actual evidence. "
He kept his gaze firmly from Violet for fear she would know he wasn't telling the whole story. After all, the team didn't need to know everything.
"“Damien Poole…” Katrina Raast, the svelte brunette who acted as the office manager, was good people. Kind but professional. “Playboy. Fast cars. Big boats. Supermodels. Likes to boast about his life on Instagram and attend the Met Gala every year. Didn’t he inherit the chain of hotels he runs?”
“That's the one." Max tried very hard to keep his hatred of the man out of his tone but wasn't sure he managed it.
"I thought he saved the company, or something," Katrina said. "I seem to remember it being on the verge of bankruptcy when he took over."
"It was," Max said. "Until Damien miraculously found a silent partner who gave the business a huge cash injection."
"Do we know who the partner is?" Rochelle asked.
"Not a whisper. And trust me when I say I've looked.
Although I did discover that he meets this partner every few months, in person, on his private Caribbean island.
According to my source, there's a meeting scheduled for next week, which is why I booked a wedding for the same time.
It's the only way to get onto the island and get eyes on Damien and his mystery partner. "
"You could have gone in as staff," Katrina said, brushing her short, pixie-cut hair back from her brow.
"I thought about that," Max said, "but apart from some specialist staff he's flown in from other countries, all of the hotel workers come from nearby St. Patrice.
It's a tight community and I don't have the right accent or connections to get me onto the resort staff.
" He smiled wryly. "Or the right skin color. St. Patrice is mainly Afro-Caribbean."
Rodrigo De La Cruz, a charming, laidback man with eyes of steel, leaned forward in his seat. “Even if you are staying on Wedding Island, what makes you think you can get close enough to Damien to get a glimpse of his silent, and very secretive, partner? They won't exactly be dining in the resort."
“I haven't planned that part out yet,” Max said. "I was kinda hoping you guys would give me some tips."
Rochelle shifted, drawing attention her way. "The team will take care of that aspect of the mission," she said with authority.