“Where are we?”
“We’re going over the bridge to Bay Island, Miss. I’ll take you. But we have to park and walk across the bridge. There are no cars allowed on Bay Island.”
It was a tiny island, sitting smack dab in the Newport Back Bay. I’d been down in this area many times but had never noticed it. This area was a popular tourist destination in the summer and Mom often drove the two hours down to soak up the sun and ambiance when the heat of Anza grew too much for the both of us.
Who even knew this place was here? There was no more densely populated area in all of Orange County than the Newport Bay, with houses crowded along the shores like soldiers lined up for inspection. Nevertheless, in the middle of it all was a private island.
The briny smell and clean ocean breeze hit me first, when I stepped out of the town car. I glanced toward the late afternoon sun, still hours from setting, my heart pounding faster with each step I took over that bridge.
Bay Island was like no other place I could imagine. About twenty houses ringed the sandy shores, central tennis courts and a private park. The island even had its own caretaker. The driver keyed in at the gate and led me to one of the golf carts waiting nearby. I wondered why we didn’t just walk. How far away could his house truly be on this tiny speck of land?
But of course, it was the one furthest from the gate, with its own little corner beach and lawn. And it was one of the biggest homes. As we approached, I mentally sized it up, wondering how many bazillions it must have cost him.
All this for one single guy. I thought about what Heath had learned during his investigations. Adam had had no romantic relationships. Why? It was true he was driven and worked long hours. Perhaps he just didn’t make the time for anything else? But why work so hard without having the time to truly enjoy it all? And why not find someone to share it with?
Maybe he saw no need for a relationship or had no desire for it? It couldn’t have been for lack of women wanting him. Not only was he ridiculously rich, but he was ridiculously hot. And I had no way to judge, but I imagined he was good in bed—maybe even phenomenal. Or maybe that was just my hope. But then, I had no basis for comparison, so how would I know?
He greeted me at the door, dressed in a camel-colored dinner jacket with skinny black tie and matching black trousers. He was arrestingly handsome, and welcomed me with a kiss on the cheek.
“You look gorgeous,” he whispered against my temple as the driver receded with the golf cart to fetch the other guests.
“I didn’t want to make a bad impression on your friends, being a north-county bumpkin and all. Best not mention my phone number starts with a 714 area code,” I said, instantly knowing how lame that sounded because what did it matter what sort of impression I made on his friends? They’d never see me again after Adam and I went to bed later that night.
A shiver of excitement slithered down my spine and bumps appeared over my arms at just the thought of it. Adam’s eyes narrowed as if he noticed, but he did not comment on it. He proceeded to show me around—briefly, because a full tour would have taken at least an hour.
The house was arranged around a wide central hall with rooms opening off to the sides and a mezzanine wrapping around three of the four sides of the floor above. Overhead, a giant skylight let the sun in and the room was bright and airy, emphasized with white furniture. I’d stepped into another dream.
If I lived here, with my own beach and view of the bay, I’d never jump on a plane to Amsterdam or St. Lucia or anywhere else. I’d be grateful for this, my own little cove of paradise, and too scared that it would vanish while I was gone.
Adam watched me with an amused smile as I looked around, commenting on this feature or that. I couldn’t get over the private beach and he murmured, for he was standing very close, that maybe we could enjoy it later that evening. Alone.
My pulse raced. “But we’ll be on the yacht, by then.” And, because I had only just remembered, I glanced down toward the bay and saw an empty slip with a little electric Duffy boat bobbing forlornly beside it.
“Yes, about that,” he said, just as the guests were arriving at the front door. “We’ll have to postpone our trip in the yacht. I had to put it in for a minor repair.”
I opened my mouth, about to question him when he stepped forward and received the other couples—there were six people in all—and welcomed them. One couple was considerably older than Adam—thirties and forties. One of the men I recognized as Adam’s lawyer from our first meeting.
He had the light of recognition in his eyes and he darted a strange look at Adam. Heat crawled up my neck. I knew what was going through his mind. Why’d you bring your prostitute here?