Orchids & Hurricane Kisses Read online

  Orchids & Hurricane Kisses

  Book 3 of the Heart of the Family Series

  Stacy Eaton

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  About the Author

  Also by Stacy Eaton

  Copyright 2018, Stacy Eaton, Nitewolf Novels

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real events or real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Created with Vellum

  Chapter 1

  Rye

  I had a song stuck in my head from the moment I walked out of the church until I boarded the plane alone four hours later. It was about a guy who taped his fiancée’s picture to the seat beside him and proceeded to get drunk on the way to his honeymoon, alone. Ironic—not really.

  I was going to need to bring my brother and his new girlfriend back a hell of a souvenir after saving my ass from marrying Autumn. Pregnant—she was freaking pregnant with another man’s baby and was going to marry me. What a bitch.

  Damn, how close had I come to taking my vows and being bracketed with some other guy’s kid to raise? Talk about a close call!

  Getting on this plane and getting as far away from Cricklewood Cove and Autumn was all I had been able to think about. My bags had already been packed, and I made a call to my friend who was my travel agent, told her what I needed, and she shifted my plane tickets and got me on the first one out of Dodge.

  I couldn’t care less how many times I needed to change planes to reach my destination, or if my luggage even made it there at all. All I wanted were flip-flops, a cold drink, or fifty, and the sound of the surf slamming against the sand.

  Ironically, when I’d talked to Pam on the phone about my flight arrangements, she had told me that I might want to change my destination. There was a storm brewing in the waters east of the island, and they were predicting it could turn into a hurricane. I told her I didn’t care about a storm because I’d just left a shitstorm of epic proportions. What was the difference? Life on one hand, weather on the other—it truly was a toss-up.

  So here I was on a plane to a Caribbean island alone. I tried not to think about the whys of it, but they kept invading my mind. I had known there was a problem. Jesus, if I was honest with myself, I had known there was another man, and it hadn’t bothered me. How messed up was that?

  I cracked open the first bottle of whiskey that the flight attendant had left for me. I’d asked for four. She’d given me two and said she’d be back to check on me in a little while. If she tried to flirt with me, I would know I was living that country song stuck in my head.

  Women always flirted. I’d been pretty much ignoring it since I was twenty when I got bored with jumping from one girl to the next just to get lucky. Roan and I were twins, and he had taken advantage of our shared good looks by modeling. The idea of putting myself on display like that was whacked, and it was even stranger when I ran across a picture of him in a magazine or on a billboard and people thought it was me.

  We were just different enough that we could fool people by looks, but not by our actions—except Finley—Roan’s new girlfriend—at least I hoped she was going to be. Finley had been able to tell the difference between the two of us the minute she had met us. That was the first thing that I liked about her.

  The second was the fact that she brought my brother back to life—not in the real oh-my-god-my-brother’s-dead-save-him kind of way, but in the way that he’d been partially living since his wife had passed away six years ago. There was a new spark in his eye and a spring in his step that his son Wade or I couldn’t have done for him.

  The third reason that Finley was at the top of my list of favorite people was that she saved me from marrying Autumn. Had my brother not noticed that something was going on and that Finley knew what that something was, I would have been the fool to say I do to someone who did not deserve my respect, my name, or my money.

  So, yeah, I really like Finley, and as I poured the second whiskey into my plastic cup, I realized I was jealous as hell of her and my brother.

  My brother had found two great women to love, and I had yet to find one. I had cared about Autumn, but I had lied to myself and convinced myself that I loved her, when I really hadn’t.

  I gulped down the drink and glanced around for the flight attendant. I was going to need a few more bottles to make all this nonsense stop long enough for me to get to the island and acquire a bottle of tequila.

  Nine hours and two planes later, I was in the taxi and on the way to the beachside resort. I was exhausted and a little tipsy, but that was fine. I planned on being a whole lot tipsy within an hour of arriving.

  As the taxi pulled up under the front portico, I saw nothing but couples. Maybe I should have taken Pam’s advice and gone someplace else. Too late now, and honestly, I couldn’t care less about the other people. I had a date with the barkeep.

  Luckily, my luggage had made it and the porters handled the bags while I went inside to check in. I waited for one couple to move aside, and then I approached the front desk as a woman rushed forward and stepped into my path. I pulled to a quick stop so I didn’t slam into her while the clerk behind the counter looked just as surprised and gave me an apologetic smile.

  “Ms. Black, I told you that I would let you know.”

  “But that was two hours ago. Have you not heard anything yet?”

  Her voice was a little huskier than I had expected, and I was curious to hear her speak again.

  “I have not. Now, please step aside, Ms. Black, so that I can help—”

  “Waterman, Rye Waterman.”

  “Rye?” The woman turned to me, and I froze as I stared down into her very big and bright, green eyes. “As in short for Ryan?”

  “No, Rye, as in R-Y-E.”

  She started to chuckle and then she put her hand to her mouth and laughed harder. The clerk and I shared a look to see if the other person found anything funny with that.

  “Why are you laughing?” I asked.

  “Is that really your name?” she asked around a chuckle.

  “Yes.”

  She laughed again, wiping at the corner of her eye. “Your parents must not have liked you to have named you after bread.” She cackled.

  I started to laugh but then sobered. “If you think that’s funny, they named my brother Roan.”

  She stilled completely. “Roan? His name is Roan Waterman?”

  I studied her and wondered if maybe she knew who he was. The way she’d said his name was as if she was asking if I was indeed related to the one and only Roan Waterman. She gave me the once-over, up and down my body, and I realized that she must know something about him.

  “How do you know him?”

  The woman threw her head back and howled with laugh
ter. I glanced around the lobby and noticed everyone staring at us, well, her actually. I began to chuckle again, I couldn’t help it. Laughter was contagious, especially when the person was doing a full-on belly laugh.

  “Do you know him?” I asked her again.

  She threw herself forward, bending at the waist and putting her hands on her knees while she continued to laugh like a hyena. The clerk shrugged like he had no idea what had gotten into her while trying to remain composed himself.

  “Ms. Black, do you mind?” the clerk leaned over the counter, trying to get her attention.

  She was still laughing as I heard her say, “Rye and Roan,” in between great gasps of air. She kept at it for another minute, and I really wished that I knew why she was laughing. I could have used a good laugh as I stood there with my hands on my hips watching her dark-brown hair wave to and fro.

  Finally, she started to get herself under control and stood, grabbing onto my arm to steady herself. She was wiping tears from her eyes, and I briefly wondered if she had been crying and not laughing, but then she opened her eyes, looked at me, and promptly started laughing again.

  “I’m sorry,” she put her hands up, “I’m sorry,” she said between jagged laughter. One of her hands slapped against my chest, just over my heart and stayed there for a second, then she let her fingers drift over my pecs as she began to walk away, laughing almost hysterically as she went.

  The clerk and I watched her until she was out of the room, and then I continued to stare at the door as I listened to her laughter fade. When I finally looked away, I glanced at my chest, expecting to see a handprint on my shirt. Why was the skin under the material tingling?

  “I’m very sorry about that, Mr. Waterman.”

  “That’s okay,” I told him once I’d finally snapped out of it and rubbed my chest absently.

  The clerk glanced around, “Is Mrs. Waterman with you?”

  Now I felt like laughing hysterically. “No, there was a change of plans.”

  “Oh,” his eyes popped wide, but he quickly cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders.

  “Did you wish to change rooms, sir? We currently have you staying in the Honeymoon Bungalow.”

  “No, it’s separate from the hotel, right?”

  “Yes, sir. It’s down the beach a little way and has a semi-private beach and private pool.”

  “Then that’s what I want.”

  “Yes, sir.” He continued to check me in and then gave me a map of the resort and snapped his fingers. A porter appeared beside me with my bags and asked me to follow him.

  As we went out the same door that Ms. Black had used, I wondered if I would find her someplace curled up in a ball after having a laughter seizure, but as I followed the man dressed in white Bermuda shorts and an aqua short-sleeve polo shirt, I didn’t see her.

  I did, however, notice the bar near the pool, and then a second bar near the second pool, and knew I would be seeing both of them later. The porter took me to my bungalow, and I tried not to think that I should be here with a Mrs. Waterman.

  As I thought of that, the laughing woman flashed into my mind, and I chuckled to myself. She had a great laugh. I hadn’t heard anyone laugh that hard in a long time, and it was pretty awesome to hear.

  The porter stopped to allow me to open the door and then came in behind me to set down my things. “Do you wish for me to unpack your bags, Mr. Waterman?”

  “No, thank you. I can do that.” I pulled a few bills out of my pocket that I’d put there earlier just for this reason and handed him his tip while he bowed slightly to me and told me to call if there was anything I needed.

  As the door closed, I glanced around the bungalow. It was made for honeymooners alright. In every corner, there were flat areas and pillows to make beds for sex. I sighed and looked toward the bar.

  I made a beeline for it and pulled open the fridge, finding it full of my pre-requested beer and her pre-requested wine coolers. For a snobby woman, she really did have bad taste in alcohol. I pulled out four beers and then closed the fridge.

  I headed toward the rear slider and pulled back the screen to step out. I paused and set the beers down to kick off my shoes and socks, then I recovered my bottles and headed for the sand.

  I was about twenty yards from the water when I dropped to my ass and set the bottles beside me. I probably should have grabbed a bucket of ice to keep them cool, but it didn’t matter—I didn’t expect them to last very long.

  I cracked open the first one and literally guzzled the whole thing the moment it hit my lips. I was just pulling the bottle away when I heard a swish in the sand and glanced to my side to see the laughing woman coming my way, a bucket in her arms with beer bottles peeking out of the top. Damn—was this an apology or was she really a beer woman? Please tell me she’s a beer woman, I almost said out loud.

  Chapter 2

  Amy

  If it wasn’t for bad luck, I wouldn’t have any—especially on this trip, and I knew that I was driving the front desk guys nuts, but hey, they were the ones who lost my luggage—like, all of it, every single piece—except my laptop bag that I’d had on my person.

  Maybe I shouldn’t have cut in front of someone to ask for the eighth time if they had any news about my stuff, but I was tired of waiting, and I wanted to change clothes. I was still in the slacks and blouse I’d arrived in yesterday. Yep, it had been twenty-four hours, and they still couldn’t find my bags. How did you misplace three matching bags between the airport pickup and the resort?

  They should be glad that I wasn’t a travel blogger or resort reviewer, or I would’ve been typing about this as fast as my little fingers could go. Maybe I should start one, I thought as I waited restlessly for the vacationer at the counter to move.

  I hadn’t wanted to come on this trip in the first place, but my editor had waved some extra time off in front of me if I did, so I’d caved. Now my daughter was getting sick back home, they’d lost my luggage, which, besides my clothes, makeup and toiletries had included my bathing suit, sunscreen, and my passport.

  I wanted to kick myself for slipping my passport into the front of my carryon and not in my laptop bag, but at the time, I’d been rushing through the airport to the shuttle pickup and hadn’t expected my bags to vanish into thin air. Shame on me. Wasn’t I always telling Cammie to be more careful with her belongings? I felt like such a hypocrite.

  As I was brushed aside again by the front desk, the deep voice of the man behind me caught my attention when I heard his name. I wasn’t sure why I started laughing, but it was either that or cry, and I was damned well not going to cry in front of the very handsome and familiar-looking man.

  Once I started laughing, I couldn’t stop, and then he told me who his brother was, and I thought I would bust my gut as the cackling got worse. Oh, man, yeah, I knew Roan Waterman alright, and before I bent over and almost passed out from laughing so hard, I righted myself and took another peek at the man standing there. He was just as handsome as his brother had been ten years ago.

  I walked away from him in a mass of hysterics and felt my laughter jag on the verge of switching gears. I was a chuckle or two away from crossing into sobbing territory, and I sure didn’t need to do that in front of Roan’s brother.

  Had I tried to completely calm myself and speak to him, I would definitely have fallen into his arms and blubbered on his expensive silk shirt.

  I managed to get myself under control as I headed toward my bungalow. It was the one perk I had since the resort staff had lost my luggage. They felt a tad bit guilty and had upgraded my room from the main hotel to a beachside bungalow. I had a feeling they only did that because the couple that was supposed to be staying there had backed out due to the threat of the storm on the horizon. I wish I had been able to back out, especially since the chef I was supposed to interview for our magazine was called off the island on a family emergency.

  It had taken our magazine six months to get this interview with him, and wh
en I’d learned he was gone, it was just another mark on the wall of bad luck.

  I let myself into my room, sat at the small table, and flipped open my laptop with a weary sigh. I didn’t feel like working, or playing a game, or talking to anyone, so I snapped the lid closed and got up. For a few minutes, I restlessly prowled my room, and then found myself digging around in the fridge for the last few bottles of my beer. I loaded my ice bucket and plugged the bottles in place. I kicked my cheap gift shop flip-flops off at the back door and stepped out, intent on sitting by the water’s edge and watching the sunset while I got drunk for the second night in a row.

  I’d taken two steps into the sand when I noticed the man from the front desk sitting on the beach, chugging his beer. I glanced at the bungalow behind him expecting to see a woman joining him, but there was no movement or light inside the bungalow. I studied my beers and then shrugged and made my way toward him.

  He noticed me as I approached, and one of his brows arched rather sexily as he stared at the ice bucket.

  “Hi,” I said more perkily than I felt.

  “Hello, again.”

  “Do you mind if I join you, or—” I peered back at the bungalow.

  “No, have a seat. I’m alone.”

  I dropped into a crossed-leg position a few inches from him. From where I’d taken a seat, I could smell his musky cologne and inhaled deeply. Man, he smelled sexy, too. Maybe I shouldn’t have sat so close to him. I wiggled a few inches away and put the ice bucket between us. “Toss your brews in here to keep them cold.”