Page 5 of Beach Reads and Deadly Deeds

“Push your boundaries, that’s what they’re there for.”

—Colleen Hoover, Slammed

When Stuart Cohn had handed me the brochure on St. Claire last month and said this was where they were sending me for R I had become a part of the island itself.

Unrealistic. All of it. What hot lifeguard would want me, Mia Crawford, who had to control everything and everyone for fear

that something would go wrong? You know the phrase if you want it done right, do it yourself? My picture is plastered next

to it. Letting someone else make decisions felt like I was on a roller coaster with no seat belt. Maybe that’s why I felt

so out-of-sorts coming to St. Claire—the decision wasn’t really mine.

I wandered through the main building, in no rush to check in. Wide hallways, floors of large terra-cotta tile, potted ferns,

and still more birds chirping. A pair of bright blue lovebirds perched on a branch above me as I strolled through the main

hall. For a minute I thought they were fake, like in Disneyland’s Tiki Room. Then they flew across the hall to another tree,

where they looked down on me and chattered. The sounds of nature—birds, ocean, waterfall—replaced the need for music.

Enchanting.

Nooks abounded. A bench here, a comfy chair there, a café that oozed rich coffee and sweet pastries where a foursome—an older

couple and a much younger couple—sat chatting. A family vacation? Grandparents taking their favorite grandchild and spouse

on a special trip? Or did they just meet and hit it off, a multigenerational friendship? I pictured coming here with Grams.

She would have loved everything about the island. Grams had genuine joy. Sometimes, I wished I’d inherited that trait.

“Remember, drinks later,” a voice said. I jumped, then grinned when I saw David and Doug standing next to me.

“Yes,” I said. “Here?” I waved to the bar next to the waterfall.

Doug linked his arm with David’s and said, “Tonight, the Sky Bar, top of the mountain.” He motioned toward a sign that listed times the shuttle left for the Sky Bar each night. “You’ll love it. A buffet to die for , music, and the most exquisite sunset you will ever see. You’re coming.”

“I don’t know,” I said, feeling out of place. They were so friendly and seemed so genuine that I didn’t want to decline, but

I didn’t want to intrude on their anniversary either.

“You are ,” Doug said.

“I’ll try,” I said. “Thank you.”

An attractive forty-something man, lean and fit with black hair graying on the sides and dark blue eyes, approached us. “David?”

He smiled when David turned to him. “I thought it was you.”

“Andrew, great to see you again.” They shook hands, and David said, “You remember my husband, Doug?”

“Of course.” Andrew shook Doug’s hand.

“Andrew Locke, Mia Crawford,” David introduced us. “Mia came over on the ferry with us.”

Andrew smiled and took my hand. “Good to meet you, Mia. Is this your first time on St. Claire?”

“Yes,” I said. Andrew was not only attractive, but exactly the kind of man I gravitated toward. I glanced at his hand. No

wedding ring.

“What do you think so far?”

“Beautiful,” I said. “I can’t wait to hit the beach.”

“My girlfriend and daughter are waiting for me there right now,” Andrew said. “David, I’ll reach out, and we’ll have drinks

to catch up.”

Okay, girlfriend. Scratch him off the list. Also, he was at least ten years older than me. Not an insurmountable problem,

but I didn’t go after men who were taken, no matter how attractive and friendly.

“That would be great,” David said.

Andrew smiled at me. “I’ve been coming to St. Claire every year for more than a decade. If you want any information about the island, let me know.”

Andrew said his goodbyes and headed toward the beach.

David glanced at his watch. “Let’s unpack. We’re meeting the others in thirty minutes. See you tonight, Mia. If you don’t

come, you’ll hurt our feelings.”

They headed down a path that led to private beach cabins. I wasn’t sure if David was serious or not, and I didn’t want to

hurt anyone’s feelings.

I headed toward the lobby when I heard Nelson Stockton’s familiar voice. “Anja, you don’t know what happened, and I’m not

going to take any chances with you.”

The couple sat on a love seat in a nook that faced the waterfall. They were practically hidden among the plants that lined

the alcove. A tiny bird hopped on the table in front of them, then flew away.

“Darling,” Anja said in her subtle accent—not foreign, maybe a touch of the South. “I won’t let you do this. Do you think

I’m so weak I can’t survive exposure?” She reached out for her husband, her diamond bracelet sparkling in the sunlight coming

from the open roof.

“You shouldn’t have to. Dammit, woman, I love you!”

I felt a jolt of compassion, the emotion in Nelson’s voice hitting a chord deep down, the tone more than the words telling

me how deeply he loved his wife. I didn’t want to intrude on their private conversation any more than I already had, so tried

to discreetly backtrack. Unfortunately, Nelson saw me.

“Ms. Crawford, yes?” he asked with a nod.

“Yes, hello,” I said as if I hadn’t noticed them.

“I’m Nelson Stockton. We met briefly on St. John. My wife, Anja.” He took her hand, kissed it.

Anja smiled warmly. “We’re going to have a bite to eat in the bar. Care to join us?”

“Oh—thank you, but I still need to check in.”

“We’ll be there all afternoon, I’m sure. The beachside bar—the Blue Dahlia—is quieter and more relaxing than the poolside bar. Stop by and we’ll get to know each other.”

It sounded like a genuine invitation, just like David and Doug’s earlier.

“Thank you, maybe I will,” I said with a smile and walked away. I wanted to know more about whatever had upset the couple.

Next to the reception desk was a long table with multiple glass canisters filled with icy water, a different fruit floating

on the top of each one. Oranges. Lemons. Pineapple. Cucumber. I poured some of the lemon-infused water and drank deeply, looked

around the lobby again, and spotted the most gorgeous man I’d seen in, well, forever.

I poured another glass of ice water. I needed it.

He could have walked right off the cover of a romance novel. Sun-kissed brown hair that curled at the collar, his eyes a deep

green, like a lush forest at sunset. His skin light brown from both heritage and time outdoors. Like a Mayan god touched by

St. Patrick. He was wearing khaki shorts and a lightweight jacket over a white polo shirt that might have been a staff shirt.

Staff or guest, he was the most attractive man I had seen all day. All week. All year.

He was chatting with an employee and the honeymooners.

I couldn’t help but stare.

He glanced over and caught me looking at him. Was I blushing? No, please no. No blushing.

He smiled. I melted. My face heated. Damn. Blushing.

The Irish-Mayan god stood between me and the reception desk. I would have to say hello. I wanted to say hello. I smiled. He

nodded, motioning for me to approach. I took a step forward, but an overdressed older couple rushed over to him and began

an animated conversation.

Dammit. Okay, I would wait around for him to be done greeting every guest. Maybe he was the manager, or the activities director,

with a job to do.

I could think of a hundred ways he could entertain me.

He winked at me as if he could read my thoughts, and I abruptly turned and started walking. Right into the gift shop. Okay,

good. I’d browse a bit, calm down, and when I was done, maybe my dream man would be free.

My cell phone rang, throwing me completely off-balance. I hurriedly pulled it from my bag and fumbled to answer, worried that

there was an emergency at work. I knew I shouldn’t have come to a remote island!

No emergency. It was Jane, one of my closest friends.

“Mia!” Jane squealed. “I’m with Amanda. I’ve got you on speaker. We were just talking about you and decided to call instead.

How is the resort? How are the men on the island? Describe them all. Every juicy detail.”

I glanced around to make sure no one could hear her side of the conversation.

“Stop. I practically just got here.”

“Where are you now?” Amanda asked. “On the beach? In that sexy new bikini we forced you to buy?”

Jane said, “I’ll bet she’s in her room reading.”

“Where are you?” Amanda demanded.

“I’m not in my room reading,” I said as I stared at a rack of bestsellers.

“See?” Amanda said. “So, talk.”

“About?”

“How is it? The island, the men, the drinks. Spill.”