I place a finger over your lips. "Shh. Don't. It makes my head hurt thinking about it."

Your tongue traces my fingertip before you take my hand away and hold it in yours. "Are you hungry? You have to be. We didn't eat much dinner before things, um, took a turn last night."

"Strangely, I'm not. I think I had too much wine. My stomach's a little queasy."

You dangle your leg over the side of the hammock and nudge your toes on the patio, rocking us gently. "I like my boxers on you." And off of you, lingers unspoken between us.

"What's your timeline for the hotel renovation?" I have to stop this steam train before it derails me again.

You kiss my knuckles before answering. "That's up to you."

"I'm not the project manager, remember?"

"You can call yourself whatever you want to, but you're here now. I told you this place is yours." Your dark eyes flicker up to the initials carved on the wooden beam, leaving my heart to beat wildly in speculation of what's running through your mind. "Yours to do whatever you want with." Your hand holds mine firmly against your chest, directly over your heart.

"Merrick..." I don't know what to say. "I don't know what that means."

You turn to me again, your lips brush my cheek as you say, "It means I want you to stay here with me, Rachael. I want you to make this hotel into your dream-however you envision it. I want to give that to you."

"Why? I know you said you heard the pa.s.sion for this place in my voice when we talked on the phone, but that's no reason to bring a woman you don't know down here and ask her to stay. Merrick, you don't know me."

You push up on your elbow and gaze down on me. "What do I need to know? A driven, smart, beautiful woman is in love with this hotel-just like I am. She turned it down. It's impossible to think about anyone else working on it. I swept her away like Archibald Weston with Ingrid Burkhart." You rub your thumb over my cheek. "n.o.body else belongs here. I don't want to share it with anyone else. Turtle Tear's story won't be complete if you're not in it, Rachael."

G.o.d, what happened to the business savvy man I thought you were, and who replaced him with this gorgeous, romantic creature lying beside me with his eyes melting into mine.

"You know I don't have a job," I say. "I'll have to go back and find one. I can't live without money, and I can't take this on as a full time position. I've already turned it down-my mom will be coming home-" Your hand clamps down on my mouth, and you grin widely.

"I'll take care of you here. Don't worry about anything. Your obligations will be met. Shannon will get her half of your rent. All your other bills will be paid. Everything will be taken care of." I shake my head no, but you won't take your hand off my mouth to let me refuse you. "Consider it a consulting fee if you have to."

I bite your finger and you s.n.a.t.c.h your hand away. The shocked expression on your face makes me laugh. "Weren't expecting that, were you?"

"A grown woman biting me? Well, I can't say it's never happened before, but..." You laugh and pull me up off of the hammock with you. "So will you keep the pool here?"

With my hand in yours, I follow you out into the courtyard. "I haven't said I'll do it."

You take both of my hands and stand facing me. "Let me get this straight. You don't want me to offer to take you home, so you're going to be here, but you haven't agreed to plan the renovations. So," you lean in and kiss my jaw, barely at the edge of my lips, "Rachael, why are you here?"

"Because you brought me," I say, resting my hands on your pecs and letting my head drift back as you kiss my neck.

"Why are you staying?" you whisper, tugging on my earlobe with your lips.

"Because of this." The words are out before I knew they'd been on my tongue. I don't remember thinking them. It's a completely blatant response.

"I was hoping that was the case." You pull me against you and press your lips to mine. Your kisses are slow, savoring every second. These aren't the urgent, frantic kisses of last night. These are slow and painfully sensual.

My fingers spread on your chest feeling more of your skin. Your tongue hasn't touched mine, and I ease mine out to find yours. You pull your mouth away, grinning. "Keep it slow. We have all day."

"I thought I was in control of this?" I lift my brows at your smug expression.

"You kissed me, so kisses are fair game."

"Oh, you got the green light, so now you're taking over?" I pull away and jab my hands on my hips.

You smirk and your dimple dips in your cheek. "I apologize, ma'am. You have full authority over all physical contact between us."

"Ma'am," I mutter. "You make me sound like your grandmother."

You grab me around my hips and lift me up off my feet. "How about s.e.x kitten? Is that better?"

I slide down your body as you slowly release me and latch onto your lips again. "s.e.x kitten sounds like I'm a p.o.r.n star," I say between kisses.

"You kind of were last night. My own private show." You breathe out heavily into my mouth. "I've never been so turned on in my life."

"Me neither." I take your bottom lip into my mouth and tug before letting go.

"You were so hot." Your tongue traces under my upper lip.

"So were you." You lift me back up and cup my b.u.t.t, urging me to wrap my legs around your waist. I smile against your lips. "What happened to taking it slow? We have all day, don't we?"

You groan and lean your forehead against mine. "You're right. And you are a s.e.x kitten, getting me all worked up again."

"Calling me a s.e.x kitten implies we're having s.e.x."

"Maybe we will." You touch your nose to mine.

"Maybe we will. Maybe we won't."

"It's your call."

I nod, feeling confident and authoritative. I can bring you-a big, powerful, s.e.xy man-to your knees right now if I wanted.

Chapter Eight.

We sip iced coffee sitting on wooden stools at the rotting butcher-block island in the kitchen.

"Have them here tomorrow," you say to Joan, your a.s.sistant, on the phone. I know her name because I've been listening to half of your conversation. The first half I tried to give you privacy by lurking in the entryway while you made our coffee, but you came out and retrieved me, asking me if we should start on clearing the island and get a crew here.

"Yes, bring those too, please" you continue. Then your face lightens at what she's said and you smile, looking down into your mug. "You know me too well."

A pang of suspicion streaks through me, and I wonder about your relationship with Joan. But it's stupid of me-you and I are...I'm not sure what we are, but whatever it is, I have no reason to be jealous of anyone. I definitely hold no claim to you, nor do I want to.

You hang up and tap the phone on the counter. "Have you thought about landscaping? Should we pave trails for walking and biking around the island?"

I place my hand over your phone, silencing your tap-tap-tapping. "You do realize you sprung this on me, right? I haven't exactly thought it all through."

Narrowing your eyes, you lean forward over the counter. "I might not know everything about you, Rachael DeSalvo, but I know you put a lot of thought into this renovation. Are you telling me you don't have anything at all in mind?"

I sip my coffee, lick my lips and take a deep breath readying myself to let my vision loose. "Fine. A man-made grotto on the west side with a waterfall and a swim-up bar. Private cabanas. Exotic gardens south of the cloistered courtyard with hidden niches, oversized outdoor furniture, and soft, overstuffed cushions." Your eyes shine with intensity listening to my plan. "Places to get lost in. Places to fall in love." My eyes drop from yours. You kiss your finger and place it against my lips.

"Validation," you say. "You belong here, don't you?"

I glance back up to your eyes and can't suppress my smile of agreement. "Yes."

Your face is luminous. "Do you forgive me for the way you ended up here?"

The way I got here is a dark black spot in my conscience that won't fade. I can only look into your eyes and not speak. My lips don't hold the answer you want to hear.

Your lips press tight and you lightly pound your fist onto the counter. "We'll work on it. Come on. We have trees to climb."

"Trees to climb?" I follow along behind you out the hulking, heavy hacienda door to the front of the hotel.

"Whoa," I whisper, shading my eyes with my hand. For as far as I can see, there are lines of trees weighed down with ripe fruit. Oranges, limes, mangos, figs-more fruit that I can see from where I stand. "The famed orchards of Turtle Tear."

"Where the key limes grow for the infamous key lime pie of Turtle Tear Hotel." You pick up two baskets sitting beside the front door. By the dried dirt and petals inside, I think they held flowers at one time. "Let's go pick some so I can make it for you."

"You have the recipe?" I take a basket from you, and we walk down the gentle drop of the two front stairs.

"I hope. I took a lot of cookbooks out of the kitchen and stacked them upstairs so they don't get lost. We can go through them this afternoon if you want."

"I don't have any other plans I'm aware of." I nudge you with my elbow.

"I can think of something, I'm sure." You nudge me back.

You pick up a stick and hack some of the tall gra.s.s out of our way, and we duck under the limbs of trees baring ripe, swollen fruit ready to drop onto the ground and burst open.

"I think these are key limes," you say, reaching up to pluck one off a branch. "Their rinds are lighter colored than regular limes, I believe."

"You're the Florida native," I say, holding up the basket for you. "Limes don't grow in Cleveland."

You glance down at me and frown. "I'm not a Florida native. Why did you think that?"

I scroll through my mind trying to recall when you'd told me you lived in Florida. You never did. Why did I think you lived here? "Where are you from? Where do you live?" I really don't know you at all. I've been feeling closer and closer to you when all I've done is fill in the blanks myself.

"Georgia originally, right outside Atlanta. Heidi still lives there." You pull another lime from the branch and drop it in the basket. "I've been in upstate New York for the past five months. I move about every six months or so."

"Why so often?"

One shoulder hitches up in a shrug. "Never felt comfortable anywhere. No place felt like home I guess."

"You're considering retiring and staying here though. For how long? That's a huge decision for a six month commitment."

Holding a lime up to your nose, you take in a big sniff. "Ah." You toss it in the basket and pause, holding my gaze. "This is home, Rachael. This finally feels right."

Upstairs behind the couch in the sitting area, you lift a huge cardboard box and sit it down on the coffee table. Filled with old books, loose sheets of paper and a couple file folders, it isn't the organizational style I expected from you.

"Seriously?" I gently backhand you in the chest. "You need a filing cabinet or something. This is a mess."

You laugh, running your fingers through waves of dark hair. Your olive-toned skin has tanned a little more over the past couple days here, making your white teeth seem even whiter, your lips even redder. I'm struck by how I find every move you make sensual. Your voice vibrates through me, collects and smolders in my center.

"Organization isn't my strong suit. That's why I have Joan." You sit on the couch and hook my waistband with a finger, pulling me down next to you. "Start digging, woman. My mouth is watering thinking about that pie." Your eyebrows shrug suggestively.

"Don't get all worked up. We have all day...for pie." I pull a stack of papers and books out of the box as you chuckle, low and deep.

Instructions and a warranty for the new stove are in the first booklet I flip through. I toss it aside and grab a sheet of paper from the stack. It's faded and hand written. I can't make out one word. Beside me, you're squinting at a yellowed page in a cookbook. I pick up a file folder and leaf through.

The contents are recent. The pages have the Rocha Enterprises logo scrolled across the top. I glance to see if you're paying attention. Maybe I shouldn't be going through your business files. You're humming to yourself and running a finger down the page in the cookbook. My eyes turn back to the file on my lap.

The top page is t.i.tled: TURTLE TEAR PROJECT and it's dated 2010. I didn't realize you've owned the hotel and island that long and renovations haven't begun. Why the hold up?

The next page is a resume for a woman named Adrianna Singer. Her name is circled and beside it, in your handwriting, it says: HIRED 6/15/10. Behind Adrianna's resume is a photo of you and a dark-haired woman. You're both wearing bathing suits holding drinks served in coconuts with leis around your necks. Hawaii, maybe? Is this Adrianna? Your arm around her waist holding her close tells me she was-is?-more than an employee.

The next few pages are pink duplicates of purchase orders for building supplies, work orders for a construction crew and detailed project notes for the hotel renovation. All are dated in early 2011, and all of them have CANCELLED scratched across them in angry, black pen-in your handwriting. The last pages in the file outline a severance package for Adrianna Singer.

I slam the file shut not wanting to see anymore. You glance over, frowning. "Something wrong?"

Accusations streak through my mind, but I try to sound merely curious. "No, nothing." I hold up the file before laying it aside. "Was Adrianna Stringer hired as project manager before I was offered the job?"

Your expression freezes. Your eyes open a bit wider. "Um." You shift and cough. "She was hired with the project in mind. Negotiations on this place were still ongoing then." Your knees swivel toward me, and you lay your hand on my wrist. "Things with Adrianna...fell through."

I shake my head, reaching in the folder and pulling out the photo of you and her. "I have to ask. Do you start...relationships with all of your project managers, or just the brunettes?" I flick the photo, sending it spinning toward you. It hits you in the chest and falls to the floor.

You pick it up and study it. "Adrianna and I did have a relationship. It was short lived. We weren't good together. It ended badly." You toss the photo into the box on the table. "And no, I don't start relationships with all of my project managers, blonde or brunette."

"Did you..." I bite back the word kidnap and try again. "Did you whisk her away, too, or did she accept the job offer?"

You s.n.a.t.c.h the file off my lap, tear it in half and throw it in the box. "What do you think, Rachael? I've apologized, explained my stupid, desperate mistake and asked for your forgiveness." You throw your hands in the air. "I don't know what else to do."

You're angry, but I can't help the words that keep shooting out of my mouth. "So, did she belong here, too? Was it her dream? Was this home to her? Or did you just use those lines on me?"

Your hands grasp my arms and jerk me toward you. "Listen to me. Everything I've told you is the truth. I didn't use any lines on you. Adrianna wasn't right for this hotel project just like she wasn't right for me. She didn't care if she brought Turtle Tear back to life or if she was getting paid to do any other job I gave her. It was a paycheck, and I was the billionaire on her arm for a while. That's it."

"You were the billionaire on her arm for a while," I repeat. She hurt you, didn't she? It sounds like she did.

Your eyes flash, and you let go leaning back into the couch rubbing your forehead. "It doesn't matter. It's been over for a long time now."

I sit back and scoot closer to you. "In the last few days, you've told me about strained relationships between you and your dad, you and your sister, and you and this woman. Do you push people away on purpose?" I fold and rub my arms, nervous for your response.

"They push me away, Rachael, not the other way around." Your eyes are closed. My fingers twitch with the need to reach up and stroke your cheek.

"Why would they do that?" My voice is so soft; if we weren't sitting so close, you would never hear me.

You exhale loudly shaking your head. "I try. I'm always f.u.c.king things up. Look what I did to you."