chapter 4

Aiden waited until she was belted in before pulling out onto the main road. He hadn’t exactly told Pruitt that he’d be picking Franchesca up. He’d overheard her talking about the maid of honor’s arrival time the night before. He’d flown down with them to keep an eye on Chip. He’d screwed up Chip and Pruitt’s happiness once before and wasn’t going to let anything happen to them the second time around.

Besides, it gave him an excuse to spend some time alone with Franchesca. He’d thought of her—a lot—since the engagement party. She was… interesting. And damned if her headache cure hadn’t worked like a charm.

He needed to do something about those headaches, about the root of them. And he’d decided to use this trip as planning time. Plotting time. It was long past time he did something about the mess.

“Did you have a good flight?” he asked.

“Great. Would have been better if I could have gotten surfer guy’s number.”

“That’s your type?”

“Ah ah ah!” she pointed a finger at him. “You of all people don’t get to comment on my type.”

“Me of all people?” he asked, stepping on the gas to go around the roundabout.

Frankie grabbed on to the handle mounted on the dashboard but didn’t tell him to slow down.

“If we flipped back through some of your latest conquests, we’d see one blonde skeleton after another shopping and smiling and getting her picture taken.”

It was the truth. But that’s what Manhattan had to offer. Hundreds of well-to-do socialites that looked alike, acted alike, and had the same goals in life.

“Conquests. Is that what Hang Ten back there would have been?”

“Shut up.”

Aiden slowed abruptly to slip around a pick-up truck stopping at a roadside coconut stand. He drove rarely in Manhattan and had been delighted to find that traffic laws were more suggestions than actual laws on the island. It took him back to his racing days. The one time in his life that he’d ever really felt carefree.

“Jesus, Aide,” Frankie said, gripping the handle as they entered the next roundabout.

The nickname, freely given, felt strange to him… warm, familiar. “Welcome to Barbados,” he offered, slipping out the other side of the traffic circle.

She let go of the handle to harness her hair that was blowing wildly in all directions. She coiled it on top of her head and secured it with an elastic band. He let his gaze travel down her body. The pink tank top and white cotton shorts showed off the lovely olive tone of her legs. She had Mediterranean in her lineage. He’d bet money on it. No blonde skeleton was Franchesca Baranski.

“Eyes on the road, buddy,” she said dryly. “I was just wondering if it was casual day.”

“This is the one and only outfit of the whole trip that didn’t have to be coordinated with the bridesmonsters, and you won’t ruin my enjoyment of it.”

“Coordinating outfits?” He was so glad he wasn’t a woman. “Price you pay for having friends,” Frankie said. “But I’m sure

you wouldn’t know anything about that.”

And that was why Aiden kept his circle small. Miniscule really. He wasn’t social, didn’t enjoy attention or parties. He liked making money, rising to a challenge, finding the most creative solution to obstinate obstacles.

“Wow. Look at that water.” She pointed an unpolished finger to their left and leaned closer to him to get a better view. The highway paralleled the turquoise of the Caribbean Sea. He caught the scent of her hair, something exotic, spiced. And for one glorious second, the image of Frankie naked and sprawled across his bed materialized, unbidden in his mind’s eye.

“Picture perfect,” Aiden agreed.

“Have you ever been here before?” Frankie asked, digging through her bag. Triumphantly, she pulled out a tube of

sunscreen.

“Are you making small talk?” he asked.

“Figured we wouldn’t fight as much over ‘pretty ocean’ and ‘come here often?’” She squeezed the lotion onto the pads of her fingers and rubbed it onto her face. Aiden wondered when was the last time he’d seen a woman in anything other than full makeup and perfectly coiffed hair. The women he dated preferred to leave “natural” a closely guarded secret.

“Oh, I think we can find contention on any topic,” Aiden predicted.

She hummed an answer and didn’t elaborate. “What?” he asked.

“I’m trying to be polite. We’re here for Pru and Chip, and I’m not going to spoil their wedding by fighting with you.”

“You really don’t like me, do you?” Aiden asked with a grin. “Nope. But that doesn’t mean I have to be an asshole about it.

Some of us were raised better than that.” It was a jab at him, but rather than piss him off, it amused him.

“How were you raised?” he prodded.

“Uh-uh.” She shook her head. “We’re not going to play getting to know you. We don’t like each other, and we don’t need to. You do your thing, I’ll do mine. We’ll get through our formal portraits and our bridal party dance, and then we never need to see each other again.”

Aiden laughed. The sound of it foreign to his own ears. “I don’t

not like you.”

“I’m not biting, Kilbourn. So, you just demolition derby us to the resort in silence, and I’ll sit here and pretend you’re a cute Australian surfer.”

“I’m not trying to start a fight—” “Uh-uh. No words. Drive. Quietly.”

He grinned, shaking his head, and let her have her way. They zoomed along the skinny highway, swerving around potholes and stopping for the occasional pedestrian. They passed sandy white beaches with swaying palms and sunburned tourists. The street narrowed as he steered them into Bridgetown. They whizzed by store fronts and sidewalk produce stands, past a handful of luxury brand stores, and on by the cruise ship port.

Frankie’s attention was glued to the water view.

It was beautiful. The kind of blue that only existed on postcards. And the constant tropical breeze made the mid-eighties feel balmy, not oppressive. Not that he’d enjoy it. The long weekend was chock full of the downsides of wealth and privilege. Social obligation, familial responsibility, and—because he was closer to Chip than his own half-brother—gratuitous celebration. Was a marriage really worth this kind of fanfare? Shouldn’t the bride and groom want it to be something more private, more meaningful? He accelerated up a short hill, frowning.

“What could possibly be making you make that face while you look at this?” Frankie demanded, extending an arm to the sweeping vista before them.

“I thought we weren’t talking?”

“Right. I got distracted watching you look like you swallowed a lemon whole. Back to silence.”

On cue, his phone rang in the cup holder. Aiden glanced at the screen, his frown deepening.

“What is it, Elliot?” he demanded, keeping his tone clipped. His half-brother’s calls only ever meant one thing.

“How’s paradise?”

The less Aiden gave his brother, the easier the damage was to minimize.

“What do you need, Elliot?” Aiden asked.

“We need to talk about the board vote.” He heard the shift in his voice from charm to calculation.

“We’ve already discussed the vote. I’m not changing my mind,” Aiden said brusquely.

“I don’t think you’ve really thought it through—”

“I’m not naming Donaldson CFO. He’s under investigation for fraud from his last company. You can’t expect me to put our entire holdings at his feet and turn a blind eye.”

“The rumors about the fraud are completely overblown. It was just an ex-mistress with an axe to grind.” Aiden heard the distinct click of metal connecting with a ball followed by polite applause.

“On the course again?” Elliot spent more time golfing and drinking and fucking his way through the city’s female population

than he did behind his desk in his very nice corner office one floor below Aiden’s.

“Just squeezing in a quick nine with a client.”

It was bullshit, but Aiden didn’t have the energy to call him on it. The fact was running his family’s company and extensive holdings was falling more and more on his shoulders as their father seemed to be taking a step back. Elliot could only be roused to care about business when it was something that affected him personally. He hadn’t figured out Elliot’s connection to the thieving, cheating Donaldson, but Aiden wasn’t about to step aside and let his brother name the next CFO of Kilbourn Holdings.

“My vote stands. No on Donaldson. I have to go.” He disconnected before his brother could object and then turned his phone off to avoid the inevitable barrage of calls and texts.

“Business drama?” Frankie asked without looking in his direction.

“Family drama with a side of business.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t do business with your family.”

He shot her a glance. She had her face lifted toward the sun, a sly curve to her lips.

“It’s not that easy.”

She deigned to look at him now, lowering her sunglasses. “Nothing worthwhile is.”

The resort was walled in against the ocean behind soft yellow stone walls and a gate. He’d paid little attention to it when he’d arrived last night. But watching Frankie ooh and aah over the lush landscape and the curving drive, he tuned in and let himself forget about his family, his business. The hotel rose up three stories of stucco and stone, two wings joined by a two-story, open-aired lobby. The greenery continued inside, colorful pots clustered around a stone fountain. There was a bar on either end of the lobby and a straight through view to the water.

“Wow,” Franchesca whispered behind him.

The woman behind the desk with the cheerful knotted scarf in canary yellow looked up from her computer. “I hope you’re

enjoying your stay, Mr. Kilbourn,” she said with the subtle accent of the island adding music to her words.

“Of course,” he assured her. “Ms. Baranski is checking in.” “Yes, of course. Welcome, Ms. Baranski.”

“Thank you. Your resort is beautiful,” Frankie said with an easy smile she’d never given him.

As if she’d heard his thoughts, Frankie turned to him. She looked him up and down and arched an eyebrow. “Thank you for the ride. You can go now.”

He gave her a slow, dangerous smile. Franchesca Baranski had no idea who she was taunting. He wasn’t a man who was dismissed. He stepped closer to her, crowding her against the desk, and saw the surprise, the concern in those big eyes. There was something else too. A little flare, a spark of desire.

Aiden reached for her hand and brought her knuckles to his lips. “The pleasure was all mine.” He saw the goosebumps that rose

on her arm and grinned.

“I’m sure it usually is,” she shot back, yanking her hand free and turning her back on him.