Island heat
Ten years ago, Aaron Wethers saved Rebecca Cromwell from drowning on spring break. Enamored by her sexy savior, Rebecca fell short of getting the hard-edged executive interested in turning his role of practical hero into a romantic one. Now his Caribbean resort is hosting Rebeccaâs fashion collection, and she has two weeks to show Aaron how much sheâs grown up. Yet instead of enjoying revenge, sheâs falling hard for the real but enigmatic man behind her long-ago infatuation.
Aaron hasnât forgotten the vibrant young student who propositioned him that night. Heâs left breathless by the self-assured, stunning beauty sheâs become. Under a blue island sky, they discover a deep, searing connection. But when a series of dangerous events threaten to sabotage her show, can he be the hero she needs now?
âTell me how we met. Where?â
Rebecca stopped walking and pointed to the water. âOut there.â
âOut where?â
âIn the ocean. Ten years ago you saved me from drowning.â She started walking again. âAnd when I offered my heart to you, you turned me away.â
He blinked and didnât move. No, it couldnât be. âBecca? Youâre little Becca?â
She threw out her arms and kept walking, increasing the distance between them. âAs you can see, Iâm not little anymore. And I know itâs best to stay away from you. You once called me a little mouse.â
âI know,â he said, walking up to her, easily catching up to her.
âYes, but the little mouse now knows better than to play with the lion.â
He shoved his hands in his pockets. âI didnât mean to hurt youââ
âWhatâs past is past.â
âAnd I donât see you as a mouse anymore.â
She stopped and looked up at him. âIâm glad, because I want you to picture me as something else.â
âWhat?â
âA dragonfly that you will never catch.â
He shook his head. âI canât.â
âWhy not?â
âBecause I have every intention of catching you.â
Dear Reader,
Tales of my great-great-grandfather, a rebel who grew up on the island of Jamaica, helped to flavor my imagination for the arrogant Aaron Wethers in Touch of Paradise. The talented Rebecca Cromwell came to me after I attended a fashion show for a local designer.
This story of sun, sand and seduction led to questions of âWhat if...â
What if a misunderstanding tore apart two people who were clearly meant for each other? What if a pet iguana helped reunite them? What if someone turned paradise into a dangerous puzzle?
What if...
Well, you get the idea. Finding the answers to these questions led to a journey of twists and turns and the ultimate romance.
Enjoy,
Dara Girard
DARA GIRARD fell in love with storytelling at an early age. Her romance writing career happened by chance when she discovered the power of a happy ending. She is an award-winning author whose novels are known for their sense of humor, interesting plot twists and witty dialogue. When sheâs not writing, she enjoys spring mornings and autumn afternoons, French pastries, dancing to the latest hits, and long drives.
Dara loves to hear from her readers. You can reach her at [email protected] or PO Box 10345, Silver Spring, MD 20914.
Chapter 1
The luscious, exotic island of St. James boasted white sand beaches, towering coconut and breadfruit trees and water so blue it put the sky to shame. Red Beacon Villa Resorts sat on the far north side, away from the islandâs bustling capital and other major cities. The resort was an international destination that catered to an array of guests and had done so for the past fifty years. Its majestic main house stood proud and welcoming. But while outside a soft Caribbean breeze toyed with the palm trees that surrounded the houseâs tall pillars and gleaming windows, a storm raged within.
âShe said what?â Aaron Wethers asked, glaring at the man who faced him. A little green lizard sat outside on the windowsill, seeming to look at the two men who sat in the office. One man sat behind a large oak desk decorated with intricate, inlaid gold trim. He was considerably younger than the second man and nearly twice his size, and his steady gaze seemed to make the second man sink lower in his chair.
The second man was Harvey Clark, a name heâd hated since he was a boy, but heâd never had the courage to change it, so he preferred to go by the initials H.C. Harvey wiped the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief and fought not to chew his nails. It was a nervous habit heâd finally conquered in his late forties. The room wasnât hot, but under Wethersâs stare, he felt like an ant under a microscope. Heâd practiced what he was going to say all yesterday and even this morning before the meeting, but nothing could have prepared him for the anger that flashed in his bossâs penetrating dark gaze.