“Are you staying at the resort?” the woman asked. She was tall and slim, with a regal but friendly face.
Shelley wondered how the woman managed to push the wheelchair through the thick sand so easily. Was she his granddaughter? Young trophy wife?
“Yes,” Shelley replied. “I’m staying in the honeymoon cottage.”
The old man shifted in his chair, and the woman settled a hand on his shoulder as she asked, “You’re on your honeymoon?”
“Actually, I’m not married. I’m on a solo honeymoon.” She tried to sound as if it was something people did every day. “This trip was a gift to myself.”
The old man’s hand stilled on the dog’s neck as he lifted serious eyes to Shelley. His gaze was careful and assessing, as if he was considering how what she’d said about taking a solo honeymoon fit with her image. But then, just that quickly, he turned his attention back to petting the dog.
Shelley stiffened, realizing just how quickly she’d been dismissed.
“Now, that sounds like a fun idea,” the woman said with a warm smile that instantly put Shelley at ease again. “I’m Didi Kostas, Mr. Rockwell’s private nurse.”
Mr. Rockwell? Shelley hadn’t expected to meet—or rather, be alternately ignored, then scrutinized, then dismissed by—Mr. Rockwell. She’d read about him online when she was researching the property and knew that Chandler Rockwell III was a very impressive man. He’d taken over the family business after graduating from Harvard Law and had dedicated himself to it ever since.
Shelley tried not to act surprised or impressed. After all, she hated when people connected the dots between her name and her own wealthy family.
“I’m Shelley Walters. It’s nice to meet you.” Shelley dropped her eyes to Mr. Rockwell, hoping to introduce herself to him as well, but he didn’t deign to look her way again.
“It’s a pleasure meeting you, Shelley,” Didi said. “Well, we’d better get going. Mr. Rockwell has a meeting this morning.” When she patted his shoulder, he finally—and somewhat reluctantly—met Shelley’s gaze again and offered her a curt nod before they headed off.
Shelley watched them for a moment, then turned back to take one last look at the bay before tending to her growling stomach, wondering how such a standoffish man ran such a warm and friendly resort.
Warm and friendly.
Her mind traveled back to thoughts of Quinn. She’d felt warm in his arms last night. Safe and warm. And wanton.
She smiled as the word unexpectedly passed through her mind. She'd never thought herself the wanton type before. Not until last night when every inch of her had been vibrating with desire as Quinn's mouth devoured hers and his hands possessed her like he never wanted to let her go.
Did he live on the island? Or was he here on a vacation? Or on business? She had so many questions and nothing but time on her hands for the next week.
She headed toward the resort, hoping to run into the man she couldn’t forget.
Mysterious, sexy Quinn.
Chapter Four
QUINN STOOD IN his grandfather’s massive office in Chandler’s private wing of the resort, flanked by Trent and their brother Derek as they waited for their grandfather to arrive for their meeting. Ethan, their youngest and quietest brother, was looking out the window at the beach.
Quinn had been unable to get the image of Shelley playing in the waves, the sinful feel of her mouth against his, or the sexy sound of her gasp of pleasure as he'd dragged her closer in the heat of passion, out of his mind since last night. No matter how hard he’d tried to immerse himself in work after arriving back at his suite, his mind had continually drifted to her. He’d never had difficulty focusing on work before, and he hadn’t known what to do with the energy—or the desire—meeting Shelley had instilled in him. He couldn’t exactly go for another run, and he couldn’t focus on work, so he’d ended up taking a cold shower, then lying in bed…still thinking of Shelley.
And still wanting her, just as fiercely as he had when she'd been in his arms.
He’d finally fallen asleep a little after four, and he’d awakened again soon after with the sound of her laughter playing through his memory and the sweet taste of her still on his tongue. But it was her smile, and the way her eyes had radiated happiness like beacons in the night, that had brought him down to her cottage at the ungodly hour of six in the morning to deliver a hangover remedy.
He'd been compelled to also leave her with a reminder of him that wouldn’t be easily forgotten. Because he sure as hell hadn't been able to forget her.
He’d grabbed the candle and a pack of matches, and he’d sat on her porch while he’d made the champagne bottle into a candleholder just like he and his siblings had done when they were kids, under the watchful eyes of their mother. It had taken twenty minutes, but he hadn’t minded a second of it. It was such a strange feeling, wanting to do something like that instead of picking up where he’d left off with his work the night before like he normally would have.