Working on the tourist guide had also opened her eyes to a thriving community of writers, with several Caribbean-themed magazines and an award-winning newspaper all headquartered in St. Killian. Her passion for writing and investigating had been reignited, and she'd made another hasty decision, but this time she knew in her heart this one was for all the right reasons. Accepting a staff writer position, she'd packed up everything she owned and relocated to the island permanently, ignoring her mother’s protests and the wariness in her father’s eyes.
Submerging herself in each article on crime and corruption in the Caribbean had been the cleansing needed to turn her life around and reconnect with the woman she'd lost. Her stories were groundbreaking and riveting, giving her renewed confidence and a quick promotion to senior staff writer. The life she'd obliterated was being renewed, bridges burned were repaired, and the broken heart that had started her freefall had begun to mend.
The painful, bittersweet memories of her life in Africa were no longer sharp and debilitating, fading to a muted and transient presence that no longer haunted each of her days. That was, until three months into working for the paper, it was purchased by Burt Bronson.
Burt Bronson was legendary in the publishing industry, a renegade breaking all the rules specializing in buying small-market publications with fewer than 50,000 subscribers in circulation and turning them into literary forces to be reckoned with. He was a self-proclaimed tyrant, an oracle of publishing, arrogant but with a long line of successful newspapers to support his claims. The core principle of his business model was to inflict his distinctive style on every paper he owned. Hands-on in all of his ventures, Burt had moved to St. Killian to evaluate the Palmchat Gazette and ensure it was functioning to his satisfaction and specifications.
The reputation of the surly publisher had everyone at the newspaper anxious, except Vivian. She was reeling and off-kilter for an entirely different reason. One that had nothing to do with the man's demanding and critical editing style or his penchant for drastically cutting expenses through workforce reductions. Vivian had been stunned because Burt Bronson reconnected her with the past she was trying to forget. He was the one link to the man she was still madly in love with—his son, Leo.
6
One day Vivian would see Leo again and feel nothing.
Too bad that day hadn’t been last night.
The street circus had been epic, an experience she would never forget. The air had been charged with frenetic electricity. Bodies gyrated to calypso music as circus performers weaved through the crowd, thrilling onlookers with their acrobatic prowess. A massive stage, an island in the middle of the street intersection, displayed aerial acts including tightrope walkers, trampoline tumblers, and trapeze artists.
Vivian sighed, remembering the moment when she’d paused from dancing with one of the street clowns to grab a plastic cup filled to the brim with Felipe beer and noticed Amal was no longer dancing beside her. Flushed and panting, she’d pushed her way through the throngs looking for Amal. With the record crowd flooding the streets, it had been an impossible mission. Giving up, Vivian decided to text her to find out where she was.
Just as she grabbed her phone, it vibrated in her hand. On the screen was a text message from Amal: Found my waiter, gonna get laid tonight. See ya manana!
Her best friend was notorious for disappearing to run off and hook up with locals on vacation. Vivian just wished Amal hadn't picked Landon George. Despite the warnings she’d given her best friend about him, Vivian couldn’t deny that the man was as sexy as it got and that was the only criteria Amal ever used.
Stuffing her phone back into the front pocket of her cross-body purse, Vivian squeezed through the sweaty bodies in the street intersection. Thirty minutes later, she ducked down a side street to the back of one of the bars where a small wooden deck extended into the sand facing the water. The cool breeze wafting off the sea caressed her skin, giving her goose bumps. Vivian closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, allowing the ocean air to fill her lungs.
“Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes.”
The baritone voice she would never forget had stunned her as she opened her eyes and focused on the stars, scattered across the onyx sky. Vivian fought the urge to turn around and face the man behind her. Her emotions in turmoil, she struggled to stifle the longing to do something she’d regret later.
As a jolt of excitement flooded through her veins, resignation settled in. Tonight, restraint would lose the fight. Turning slowly, she saw the love of her life standing in front of her, too close and yet not close enough. His piercing, clear blue eyes bore into hers communicating a passion she’d seen only in her dreams over the past year and a half.
Words were exchanged in a blur, snatches of sentences her mind couldn’t quite remember. She could still feel the sensation of his mouth, his tongue whipping and swirling around hers. His hand slipped beneath the hem of her short mini-dress and then trailed up the inside of her thigh. Her body throbbed in anticipation of what she knew was to come, what she was craving, what she had to have again, even if it was just for one night.
His fingers had explored her, bringing her close but not over the edge, before entering her completely, with ardent force. He entered her inch by inch, slowly at first, before quickening his
