“I know. I kil ed her.”
Marc Waters stared at Ric, apparently not having a snooty comeback for that comment. Ric cringed inwardly, aware of the possibility that Ms.
Winston might very wel be in the room, listening to the conversation. It wouldn’t surprise Ric, from what he’d learned of the lady’s personality through her letters, that she would screen cal ers, taking advantage of her presence not being known and gathering what she could about them before agreeing to meet them. She had mentioned once in her letters to him that a woman in business had to be ten times more shrewd than a man, and as she’d put it, especial y in her time, when women weren’t involved in business.
Ric pushed the door open so he could see into the hotel room. Marc Waters instinctively took a step backward. It sounded as if he yelped under his breath. His eyes grew large as he sucked in a breath. If the man thought Ric would get rough with him, that wasn’t Ric’s fault.
“I’ve exchanged quite a few letters with Ms. Winston this past year.” He kept his voice low, almost whispering. “She didn’t know I existed before that, and I wasn’t aware I had family. She told me the dates she would be on the island, and I agreed to come meet her.” He had no intention of getting rough with anyone. It wasn’t his fault he stood six foot two and the man before him was possibly a bit over five and a half feet and one hundred fifty pounds dripping wet.
“Sir, I’ve already told you,” Marc said, stepping back farther, then turning and almost running to a phone on a round table in the middle of the room. “Don’t make me cal security.”
Ric stared at the imbecile facing him, waving the phone at him like a weapon. “Would you like the number?” Ric wasn’t sure if the man was going to start crying or piss his pants.
Marc Waters humphed, straightened, and looked to his side, through open glass doors that led to the bedroom half of the suite. “Al I need for you to do is leave, Mr. Karaka.” The man pul ed his attention from whoever was in the bedroom and boldly stepped toward Ric. “Ms. Winston isn’t here. I can’t change that for you.”
“When wil she return?”
“She isn’t going to return because she never came here in the first place.”
“Marc? What’s wrong?” a woman asked, peering around the opened doors. Her question was unnecessary, since if she’d been in that room the entire time, there was no way she’d missed Ric and Marc’s conversation.
The woman had incredibly captivating hair. Golden highlights wrapped around darker auburn strands. It flowed past her shoulders in thick, heavy curls. She had it pul ed back at her nape, but the hair tie constricting those locks wasn’t strong enough to confine al of it. Loose strands contoured her face. Ric had never seen such beautiful hair on a woman.
She looked at him and her blue eyes brightened. Her lips were natural y red and moist. She pursed them, looking as if she would blow a kiss.
His insides tightened. She was beyond ravishing. Her high cheekbones and cute, slender nose helped show off her intoxicating beauty. There was something about her, beyond the obvious sexual appeal, that made Ric’s dick stir to life. If he stared a moment longer, desires way too dark for someone who was probably related to him would surface and fog his focused thinking. He needed to remember why he was here.
“Is something wrong, Marc?” she asked, rephrasing the question as she gave Ric an appraising once-over.
“Nothing!” Marc waved an impatient hand at her. “Go into the room and close the doors.”
The woman tilted her head, looking amused when she shifted her attention to Marc.
Ric immediately wanted her attention back on him.
“I said now.” Marc apparently needed reassurance he was the man to listen to in someone’s eyes. His chest puffed out when the young lady disappeared behind the connecting doors and closed them behind her.
“We were supposed to get together today.” It wasn’t completely a lie. He’d told Samantha in his last letter to her, which he’d mailed just a couple weeks ago, that he would contact her once she arrived on the island. “There wasn’t an exact time set for our meeting, though,” he added. “Now what do you mean she never came in the first place?”
“Samantha Winston isn’t on the island.” Marc had retrieved his bal s and stalked around Ric to the door, then opened it, making a gesture with his hand. “Leave a card with me and when we discuss matters with her next, I’l let her know you were here.”
Ric turned slowly, the smal man’s words not sinking in. “She isn’t coming to the island?”
“Samantha Winston decided not to travel at this time. Apparently meeting you didn’t seem that important to her.”
Marc’s words cut deeper than if he’d stabbed Ric with a knife. It took more than a moment to master the rage that took over the rush of desire from a moment ago. Samantha Winston wasn’t coming. She’d changed her mind and decided not to visit the island. The truth hit him in the face but was damn hard to accept. Samantha had said they would meet and hadn’t struck him as a woman to go back on her word.
“It’s time for you to leave, Mr. Karaka,” Marc said sternly. “We’l make sure to tel Ms. Winston you stopped by.”
It had been the letters. They were such an odd way of communicating. It had tricked Ric and he’d fal en into the trap. No one wrote letters.
They e-mailed, texted, talked on the phone. The only letters that existed were junk mail. No one read them, just threw them away without a second look.
Samantha Winston’s letters had given him the power to dream. She’d been inquisitive about his past, present, and future. Her perfect penmanship and the quality writing paper she’d used had added to the personality of her he’d created in his mind. Although he hadn’t penmanship and the quality writing paper she’d used had added to the personality of her he’d created in his mind. Although he hadn’t mentioned converting the old banana plantation into a bed-and-breakfast—he’d wanted to discuss that with her in person—the many other ventures he’d told her he’d undertaken over the years had impressed her. Samantha Winston had expressed her opinion of Ric. She’d thought him intel igent, levelheaded, and driven.
Without Samantha Winston’s backing, the hotel would take a lot longer to do. If the place didn’t start making money within the next year—if not sooner—Ric would be forced to find a ful -time job to make the mortgage. He wouldn’t have time, or energy, to restore the house. He’d be stuck in a dead-end job.
He’d been one hel of a goddamn idiot.