Page 20 of Storm Warning
Zach cleared his throat and stepped in to explain. “We only need the staff to think we’re leaving. So, we’re going to have a ‘situation’ come up at one of our other properties. We’ll make a show of being called away, head to the lobby, get into the hotel limo, and drive to the airport. The jet will take off empty. We’ll remain there in case anyone’s watching, then come back after dark.”
Relief flooded through her so suddenly it left her dizzy. She barely knew him—why did the thought of him leaving hurt like losing something precious?
Nick was watching her, she realized, his gaze assessing. Had he seen her relief? The corner of his mouth lifted.
“Though I have to say,” Nick added, his voice dropping lower, “having to hide in my own home is a bit like being grounded as a teenager. At least this time I’ll have more interesting company to look forward to.” His eyes held hers, the green depths warm.
He sobered then, becoming more contemplative. “Lena will need to be included too. We can’t dump the whole reservation mess on her without support. David will have to stayhere at the Residence, so he’ll need to work with her remotely.”
He tapped his fingers against the table. “He could put an earpiece on her or mirror her terminal. No one would suspect he was right here. Actually, it might reinforce the belief we’ve left if she’s seen coordinating with him from a distance.”
“Sounds like a plan!” Kate smiled, relief and excitement intermingling. For the first time in longer than she could remember, she felt part of a team.
“Just remember in your next book,” Zach said, unexpected teasing in his tone, “we’re the good guys who get the girl. Make her smart and sexy, okay? We have standards.”
Kate laughed with delight at his teasing. “For you, smart, sexy, and intrepid. Nothing less.”
“Intrepid, I like that,” Nick said, his smile widening. He leaned forward, close enough for her to catch his scent of rain and cedar. “Though I have to say, Kate, you’re setting a high bar for fictional heroines. How are they supposed to compete with the real thing?”
The compliment landed like a physical touch, spreading heat across her skin. She opened her mouth to respond but found herself trapped in his gaze instead.
“I think,” she finally managed, her voice huskier than intended, “you might be a dangerous man to spend time with, Mr. Ivory.”
“Nick,” he corrected gently. “And I hope so. Where’s the fun in being safe?”
Something shifted inside her, like tectonic plates rearranging themselves. She’d come here to write, to meet a deadline, to enjoy some solitude. Instead, she’d stumbled into corporate espionage and found herself drawn to a man who made her forget all her carefully constructed reasons for staying single.
Something warm unfurled—part exhilaration and part quiet certainty. For once, she was where she was meant to be, even if she had no idea where this path might lead.
And, strangely, she didn’t want to.
Another look passed between Nick and Zach—longer this time, more complex.
“Okay, seriously,” she said, “that’s at least the fifth time you two have done that thing where you have an entire conversation without words. What’s your secret? Twin telepathy without actually being twins?”
“Something like that,” Zach said, the corner of his mouth lifting.
“You’re not going to tell me, are you?”
“Not yet,” Nick said softly, and the promise implicit in those two words—that eventually he would, that there would be time for that—made her heart skip a beat.
She should probably be worried about that. About the way this man she’d just met could affect her with a look, a word, a smile. About the mysteries that surrounded him and his brother. About the fact that she was already in too deep.
But sitting there in the warm sunlight, with the taste of strawberries still sweet on her tongue and the promise of something unnamed shimmering in the air between them, Kate couldn’t quite ignore her anticipation.
She was definitely in trouble.
The good kind of trouble, but trouble nonetheless.
Chapter 8
Sunset
Kate satcross-legged on her balcony overlooking the sweep of pale sand, her laptop balanced on her thighs and her hair tumbling over one shoulder. She often used a recording of waves to lull her into a loose, inspired focus. But today, with the real thing filling her ears and the warm breeze brushing her skin, her thoughts whirled, the cursor blinking on the screen like a dare.
The publisher’s looming deadline hovered like a constant countdown in the back of her mind.Storm Warninghad started as a love letter to reinvention. A woman running from a life not working. A woman who rebuilt herself some place beautiful, some place that would welcome her. It was a story Kate needed to tell. Perhaps the story she needed to live.
No matter how many books she sold, no matter how many kind reviews she received, a small, poisonous voice always whispered she wasn’t good enough. That she used her stories as an excuse not to live her own life. That she’d chosen a career that let her escape into fiction because reality was too complicated, too raw. Writing wasn’t a proper job—it was just a hobby, and she was playing pretend with imaginary friends.