Perfect Passion. Day Leclaire
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question hit hard, the longing behind it slashing through his defenses and tugging at a heart he denied possessing. No, it wasn’t wrong. He understood her desire, it just wouldn’t happen with him. How could it when he didn’t believe perfect love actually existed? Despite the Pretorius Program’s claims, there was no such thing as perfection. Not when it came to true love or soul mates or whatever else this woman hoped to find. And yet… He gazed at the hologram, the woman’s lovely features etched with longing.
What if she ended up being his perfect match?
Trey laughed. Yeah, right. Not a chance in hell. No doubt he’d have a terrific week with a gorgeous woman with a brain capable of doing more than calculating the latest discount at Bloomingdale’s. At least she would if the Pretorius Program worked as promised. Even if she didn’t, what the hell? Maybe he’d get lucky and spend the entire week in bed with her.
And if she happened to possess any of the other attributes he considered a must-have in the woman he eventually married?
Not possible.
He’d realized long ago that he wasn’t a man destined to know love. He didn’t even believe in the emotion. Nor would he find someone who met most, let alone all, of his criteria—a woman who possessed unwavering loyalty. Who understood the concept of honor. Who was brilliant. Was capable of working alongside of him. Respected his work ethic. And yet, who also wanted a family.
No, the woman of his dreams didn’t exist, and wishing she did wouldn’t change that fact.
He gave an impatient shrug. Hell, best to be practical.
If she rocked in bed, he could live with that.
* * *
Les glanced around to make absolutely certain he wouldn’t be seen or overheard. Flipping open his cell phone, he dialed the private number he’d been given. It was answered on the first ring.
“Does he suspect?”
“No, Mr. St. John. Nor is he aware of the identity of the match. He flies out Friday.”
“I appreciate your help, Les.”
“Mr. St. John… He still intends to take you down. He still blames you for—”
“I know what he blames me for. But…she’s my daughter, Les.”
“Trey’s a good man in every regard except when it comes to you. I’m sure he’d never use her to hurt you.”
“If he does—” Justice fought to keep his voice even, though his gut twisted at the mere thought. “I will stop him.”
“He needs closure. It’s the only way. This is the only way,” Les said. And prayed he was right.
Jett arrived on Destiny Isle late Friday afternoon, the final leg of the journey accomplished by boat. The island boasted a single mountain, which no doubt had been a volcano at some point in its life, but was now covered in banana and coconut palms. Though they approached from the south, they circumvented the island to its western side where she discovered that, rather than being round, the island was actually crescent shaped.
A long pier extended from one of the sandy arms as it curved out to embrace a glorious aquamarine lagoon, complete with a powdered-sugar sand beach. The brochure had promised her a snorkeler’s paradise and from what she could see it hadn’t lied. Tucked snugly between lagoon and mountain sprawled a huge villa.
“Why did they put the pier out here instead of in the lagoon?” she asked the boat’s captain.
He grinned, his teeth a brilliant flash of white against his dark face. “Coral eat da boat.”
She returned his grin. “That would be bad, right?”
“Serious sufferation,” he confirmed with a laugh. He pointed toward the lagoon. “No trade winds on dis side. Storms, they come from d’other side. Calm water for swimming and snorkeling here.”
The minute they docked, the captain transported her luggage to the villa. “We deliver Sa this morning.” Sir, she interpreted. “He tallowah.”
Okay, she was clueless about that one, but considering the approval in the captain’s voice, she’d take that as a positive. “Great.”
He accepted the gratuity she pressed into his hand with another wide grin. “See you inna di lights.”
She frowned over the words. “I hope that’s soon,” she said.
“Oh, ya mon. Soon.”
And then he was gone, leaving her to face “Sa” on her own.
Leaving her luggage on the wide verandah, she opened the door and stepped inside the villa. Sunlight filtered in behind her, revealing a shadow-draped foyer. She couldn’t hear anyone, didn’t even sense anyone. Overhead a fan revolved in lazy circles, which told her the island possessed a generator. That meant both A/C, lights and other modern conveniences, thank goodness.
She walked farther into the foyer, the heels of her sandals clicking against the pale, bamboo hardwood flooring. So where the heck was Sa? No sooner had she thought the question than she sensed him behind her. Whirling around, she found him, his huge form taking up the entire doorway. With the sun at his back his features were cast in shadow.
“PW-5467, I presume?” he asked. She recognized his voice from the disc, soft and deep and deliciously rough as it whispered across the space separating them.
Jett deliberately lifted her chin in response. “And you must be PM-5468.”
“Guilty.”
He stepped across the threshold and walked toward her, pausing a scant foot in front of her. Dear God, he was gorgeous, even more gorgeous than his hologram suggested—and far more powerful and intimidating. How many times had she replayed his recording? Countless. And yet, it didn’t do the reality justice. It didn’t come close.
He had to stand a full foot taller than her, his eyes almost the exact same shade as the water filling the lagoon. Best of all, it confirmed what she’d sensed from his hologram. Not only was he gorgeous, but intelligent. It was written all over him. She continued her appraisal, approving of everything she saw. His hair was a nutty brown streaked with blond highlights, and his face, while cut using a mold off the Beware: Heartbreaker shelf, had been beaten into even more intriguing lines by experience and character.
While he studied her, she took her time studying him, allowing her gaze to wander from his face down over a body carved into tight, muscular angles and ridges—not to mention perfect masculine bumps and bulges—that would have left an envious Hercules crying like a little girl. When she looked up again, her gaze clashed with his. His eyes turned incandescent, burning with unmistakable desire.
Without a word, he reached for her. His huge hands gently closed around the lapels of her blouse and he tugged her the final few inches separating them, allowing her to discover that all those angles and ridges, every bump and bulge was indeed, rock solid. And then he took her mouth. Set her world on fire and confirmed one key fact.
This man would definitely rock in bed.
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