Sunswept, p.1
Sunswept, page 1
part #4 of Discovered by Love Series
A Discovered by Love Novella
Carla Laureano
SUNSWEPT
Published by Laureano Creative Media LLC
P.O. Box 3002
Parker, CO 80134, U.S.A.
www.CarlaLaureano.com
© 2021 by Carla Yvonne Laureano
Cover photograph of couple © Syda_Productions/Deposit Photos. All rights reserved.
Cover concept by Mark Lane II
This story is a work of fiction. Characters and events are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is coincidental.
All rights reserved. Except for brief excerpts for review purposes, no part of this book may be reproduced or used in any form without written permission from the publisher.
First edition 2021
Bailey Jensen always allowed for some discrepancies when booking a vacation rental, but she didn’t remember reading anything in the listing about a man in her bathroom.
She stood stunned in the bedroom for a long moment, then quickly backed out of the room before he could see her, her heart pounding. For a second, she was tempted to go back outside and check the house number, as if Upper Matecumbe Key, one of the four islands that made up Islamorada, Florida, might have two bright yellow houses with turquoise shutters with similar addresses…that shared the same electronic keypad code.
Clearly there had been some sort of mix-up. The last guest had overstayed his reservation and the host either didn’t know or had forgotten to contact her. She was no stranger to these sorts of situations. She was a real estate agent, after all, and she’d walked in on things in supposedly empty houses that would make the bravest agents’ hair curl. There was nothing to do but walk straight back in there and find out exactly what was going on.
Bailey steeled herself and marched back to the bathroom, where the man was standing at the sink, wearing board shorts even if he wasn’t wearing a shirt. She cleared her throat once and waited.
Not a movement, not a flicker of awareness of her presence. Was this guy clueless or just completely transfixed by his own reflection? She tried again, putting on her most professional voice.
“Excuse me. I think you’re in my bathroom.”
That did the trick. The muscles in his back—rather nicely developed ones, some inane part of her brain noted—went rigid. Slowly, the man turned to face her.
She froze. The bushy beard didn’t surprise her, not considering the sandy brown hair that brushed his shoulders from behind. But the eyes—long-lashed and almost gold like a cat’s, widened in mild surprise at her presence— stopped her in her tracks. No man who looked like a beach bum should have eyes that beautiful.
While she was frozen in—what? Shock? Appreciation?— he looked her over from the top of her messy blonde bun to the tips of her pink pedicure. His eyebrows lifted, his expression remaining mild. “From where I’m standing, it looks like you’re the one who’s in my bedroom.”
“Cute,” she said. She kept her eyes fixed firmly on his face, slightly disturbed by all the tanned skin at the edge of her vision but not enough to drive out the faint impression of abs. “I see why you’d think that, but you’re the one overstaying your reservation. I’m supposed to be coming in today.” She glanced at her watch. “Two hours ago, actually, thanks to traffic in Miami.”
Now he grinned, showing even white teeth. “Well, in that case, I should get out of your way.”
Bailey blinked. “Really?”
“No, not really. I just got here an hour ago myself. I booked the cottage until Monday through Better Rentals. See?” He turned back to retrieve his phone from the vanity, scrolled for a few seconds, then held out what appeared to be an email confirmation for the cottage.
“But I booked it through Sunday on VacayAway.” Bailey fumbled for her own phone, but he barely looked at the screen.
He crossed his arms and regarded her impassively. “Then it seems we have a problem.”
She narrowed her eyes. Why did this guy look familiar to her? She searched her memory, sorting through filed images until something clicked. “Point Break!” she blurted with a rush of relief.
“Excuse me?”
Heat rushed to Bailey’s face. It was a fault of hers, or a superpower depending on who you asked, this heightened sense of patterns. When some little similarity caught her attention, she couldn’t rest until she sorted it out. And her vacation rental interloper bore a strong resemblance to a young, cat-eyed Patrick Swayze from the original Point Break movie.
“Never mind.” Normally, she managed to keep her epiphanies to herself, but there was nothing normal about this situation. She shook her head, pulling herself back to the present. “What are we going to do about this?”
“One of us has to find a new place to stay.”
“I don’t have time to find a new place to stay,” Bailey said, but she already had the VacayAway app open, her thumbs tapping and scrolling as if of their own volition. “My conference starts tomorrow, and I can’t miss any sessions.”
“Problem solved. Stay at the conference hotel.” He brushed past her to the open suitcase on the bed, pulled out a faded T-shirt, and slipped it on over his head.
“I can’t. It filled up months ago. And besides, I’m not spending any more time there than I have to.”
Her tone must have given away more than she intended, because he cocked his head curiously. “Why not?”
“Because I… It doesn’t matter. It’s not something I’m explaining to a stranger.”
“I can fix that.” He held out his hand. “I’m Zane.”
She hesitated for a moment and then took it. “Bailey. Bailey Jensen.”
His hand was warm and strong, but he didn’t linger on the handshake. “Well, Bailey Bailey Jensen, I’d love to be chivalrous and give up the place, but I’m here for a wedding, and I don’t think the groom would appreciate his attendant showing up wrinkled and sand-covered from sleeping on the beach.”
“You could find—”
“As I think you’re discovering from your compulsive scrolling, there’s nothing left. It’s high season in the Keys.”
He was right: all her half-hearted searching had shown were rooms in people’s houses that were little more than a twin mattress on the floor and a bare bulb, compared to this beautiful jewel box of a cottage, with a massive iron king-sized bed and hardwood floors and an ocean view…
Bailey sucked in a breath. She’d been so distracted by the strange man in her bathroom that she’d completely missed the panoramic view of the ocean from the wall of sliding doors. She practically ran to the nearest one, threw the door back, and stepped onto the deck.
Blue stretched out 180 degrees before her, water lapping on the sandy ribbon of private beach that separated the house from the water. The soft murmur and break of waves immediately drained the tension from her body, even as it steeled her resolve. This was why she’d booked the cottage in the first place, for a respite from this long, frustrating, disappointing year. The conference was already going to be a test of patience and self-control, and she wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t her first step in extricating herself from her current predicament.
She turned and faced Zane. “I’m not leaving.”
He crossed his arms. “Then we have a real problem. Because neither am I.”
* * *
Zane Whitney stared at the woman, unblinking, and watched the emotions play over her face. He was being a little cruel, he knew, but he was enjoying the way he could predict her next sentence a split second before it left her mouth. She was like one of those machines that was encased in clear plastic, where you could see the turning of gears and blinking of lights as it worked.
It wouldn’t have made a difference, anyway. He wasn’t giving up his rental, despite the chivalrous impulses that kept delivering words he couldn’t actually say. He already didn’t want to be here in Islamorada, didn’t want to be in this wedding, certainly didn’t want to give a toast to the happy couple. This little beach cottage, so close to the ocean he could practically roll out of bed and dive in for a morning swim, was his one compensation for the whole debacle.
Though this southern pixie in front of him was a close second. In fact, he wished he knew what he’d done to deserve this kind of luck. She wasn’t beautiful, exactly. It was more that she was unbearably cute. Petite. Dressed in a tank top and denim shorts that showed a fit but curvy figure, she could pass easily for a college student on break. She just needed a paper cup in one hand to hold her pumpkin spice latte. Until she opened her mouth and out came a smoky alto that made him think that latte would have to be spiked with bourbon.
Either way, he wasn’t quite ready for this introduction to be over.
“I suppose we could flip for it,” he said, feigning indifference.
She blinked. “Flip for it?”
Zane reached for the pile of change he’d left on the nightstand and held up a quarter. “Yeah. You call it. Heads or tails.”
She didn’t look convinced of this solution, but she answered anyway. “Heads.”
“Okay then.” He flipped the coin up in the air and caught it, then slapped his right hand over the back of his left. But when he lifted his right hand again, there was nothing there.
Her eyes flew to his.
He shrugged again and leaned forward to retrieve the quarter from the front pocket of her shorts. He held it up, frowning. “I don’t know what we’re calling this? Heads or tails?”
She star
He leaned forward to whisper. “Magic.”
Bailey chuckled. “Fair enough. But it doesn’t solve our problem.”
It kind of did, because now she was calling the situation their problem rather than thinking he was the problem. Magic had a way of disarming even the most suspicious person.
“How did you do that, by the way? No, wait, a magician never tells his secrets, right?”
“An illusionist, but no, I’ll show you. Come here.” He plopped down on the edge of the bed and gestured for her to sit beside him, where he showed her how to palm the quarter, pretend to pass it to her other hand, and then push it to her fingers to produce it again. She was doing a decent French drop after a couple of minutes. More importantly, she was no longer looking at him like an enemy.
Then he sighed. “Listen. I really do need to do this wedding on Saturday. After that, I can just go home. You can have my other two days. Best I can do.”
She bit her lip. “That’s a really nice offer, but my conference ends Saturday. I have to drive back to West Palm Beach on Sunday.”
“Well, it’s either that or share the place.”
Instantly, she stiffened, all the good will evaporating. “I really don’t—”
“Relax. There’s a sofa bed in the living room. I’d offer to flip you for it, but…” He produced the quarter with a flourish and made it disappear again. “I don’t mind. You can take the bedroom, and I’ll take the sofa. There’s a powder room off the kitchen too, so you can lock your door.” He held up his hands. “I’ll be a gentleman. Scout’s honor.”
“That would be a lot more convincing if you hadn’t just proven you’re a con artist.”
He pretended to be hurt. “Illusionist. Not a con artist. And I showed you how I did it!”
“Right, all part of your evil plan,” she said, but she was smiling again.
“How about this? It’s getting late. Let’s grab a bite to eat. You can ask me questions and decide if I’m legit and then make up your mind.”
“You know, Ted Bundy didn’t seem like a serial killer.”
He snorted. “First a con artist, now a serial killer? Tough room.”
She bit her lip.
“Seriously. I have no options. It’s a small wedding and all the other attendants brought their significant others, so I can’t even bunk with someone. I just need to get through this godforsaken wedding and then get back to my real life.” He broke off. It was far more than he’d intended to say to a stranger, but now it seemed like it might work in his favor.
She was looking at him thoughtfully. “I think I’m going to let you buy me dinner now.”
She must be insane.
Bailey drove down US 1, windows down and music up, the wind and sound preventing conversation while she tried not to steal glances at the man sitting in the front passenger seat beside her. He was a stranger she’d met twenty minutes ago and quite possibly a beach bum, based on his attire and the fact he didn’t even have a car. Who didn’t have a car? When she’d voiced the question, he’d given that eloquent shrug of his and referenced the beach cruisers chained in the storage area beneath the elevated house.
Except she’d snooped around the bedroom while he’d been changing in the bathroom. Next to his wallet—no, she hadn’t looked inside; she did have some scruples—was his watch, a nice looking Rado chronograph she’d had to look up because she’d never heard of it. And in his closet beside a handful of dress shirts was what she assumed was his wedding suit, a lightweight summer wool. She didn’t recognize that label either, but the tailoring suggested it was custom. Not to mention she knew how much she’d paid for the cottage, and it wasn’t cheap. All pointed to a man who made a good living, despite his odd transportation choices.
Not that money ensured someone wasn’t a serial killer, but it did mean he probably wasn’t a freeloader trying to con a stay in a luxury beach house. She’d called the host to confirm that impression and to tell her of the mix-up, but she’d only gotten voicemail.
Zane seemed to know the island, though, because he already had a reservation at a casual seafood restaurant near the end of Islamorada on Lower Matecumbe. She parked in the sand-strewn lot and waited for him outside the car so they could walk to the hostess stand together. Now Bailey did sneak a couple of discreet looks in his direction. He was attractive, for sure, given the resemblance to a young Patrick Swayze, but more than that, he was calm, self-assured, unruffled. Whereas she had been in a tailspin, even before arriving in Islamorada and finding her place double-booked.
Though considering the circumstances, she figured she was justified a little freak-out.
The hostess was wearing an impossibly short skirt and a polo shirt. She gave Bailey a once-over and settled on her companion. “Reservation?”
“Zane. It was for one, but my friend got here early.”
The hostess shot Bailey another surreptitious look, decided she was no competition, and flashed a brilliant smile at him. “Not a problem. Beach, patio, or balcony?”
Zane looked at Bailey, who hesitated. Her inclination was to say beach, but she had the feeling they were probably romantic candlelit two-tops and he might get the wrong idea.
“Go on, you know you want to sit on the beach.”
How did he do that? She nodded anyway. “Beach.”
“Right this way,” the hostess chirped and led them through the warmly lit dining room to a strip of beach set with bistro tables and tiny hurricane lamps.
Bailey paused to kick off her flip-flops and dangle them from her fingertips, then continued down the rough sand in her bare feet. Once they were seated uncomfortably close at the table, she opened and closed her menu. “You obviously know this place. What’s good?”
“The Florida lobster, hands down. With or without the filet.”
“Big spender,” she commented mildly.
“I’m hoping I might talk my way back into the bedroom.”
Bailey’s eyes jerked to his face in alarm.
“Oh, no… I didn’t mean… I meant to switch. Not to…share.” For the first time, he actually looked flustered. Maybe he was just a good actor, but she could swear above his beard his cheekbones were turning pink. Her stomach unknotted a tiny bit.
They both ordered—Bailey the lobster, Zane the surf and turf and Bahamian conch fritters to share—and then she turned her full attention on him. “So, what do you do?”
“I’m in IT,” he said easily. Then a shadow passed over his face. “I was in IT. Right now, I’m in between projects.”
“Aha! So you are a beach bum!”
He grinned. “Is that what you were worried about? I’ve been gainfully employed since I was nineteen. I got the opportunity to cash out of my last company due to a change in ownership and now I’m deciding my next move. Actually, I was thinking about looking at some real estate while I’m here. For my own personal use, of course, but mostly as an investment.”
“It’s a very convenient time to be in Islamorada, then.” She smiled. “I’m here for a real estate conference.”
“That is rather convenient. Tell me, are you a good agent?”
“I’m here to accept an award for highest performing agent in Florida.” At the quick lift of his eyebrows, she added hastily, “At my firm, that is. But it’s a big company.”
Zane raised his water glass in a toast. “Congratulations. I happen to know it’s an extremely difficult career. That’s an accomplishment.”
“Thank you.” She smoothed her napkin in her lap and leaned forward. “Actually, that’s partly why I can’t miss anything. I have to complete my continuing education to renew my license and then I’ll be able to start my broker’s program. Go out on my own.”
“I see.” He looked closely at her. “You must really want to get out of your firm.”
“I didn’t say that!”
“But you thought it. If you’re the top agent in your firm, you’re probably doing well. Either you want the challenge or you don’t like your boss.” He narrowed his eyes. “It’s the last one.”
“Seriously, how do you do that?”
