Jamaica had been his sanctuary, a sabbatical that was no doubt coming to an end. It would take years for the island to regain its legs, for tourists to have a desire to return.
He could relocate Alex and Betty… if they wanted to leave. Blue Paradise Helicopter Tours could return when the island rebuilt.
Without work, without something occupying his mind, Trent would likely feel guilty and he’d avoided that pesky emotion for a long-ass time.
The past five days he’d felt plenty.
Has it only been five days?
Five long, grueling days that would all fold into themselves for some time to come if he stayed on the island.
Ginger whined at his feet and jumped up. The crickets grew quiet, and the night seemed to pause.
The earth rolled, a small shock that stopped nearly as soon as it began. Trent wondered if it woke his guest. Did Monica open her eyes and roll back over? Ginger was already curling back into a fuzzy ball to sleep. Ah, to be a dog…
A noise from inside the house, and Ginger lifting her head, answered his questions about Monica.
He sensed her eyes on him before she stepped beside the open French doors. “So was that a four?” he asked.
She chuckled. “Hardly. I just can’t sleep.”
Trent looked over and caught his breath. Her hair was ruffled from sleep, her eyes still half-open, or maybe half-asleep would be a better description. She wore tiny sleeping shorts and a soft pink T-shirt that said “Classy” over her br**sts. Breasts that were not held up by a bra. He noticed her pert ni**les through the thin fabric at the exact moment he realized he was staring.
After shifting his gaze to the landscape, and not that of the beautiful woman standing in his home, he said, “It’s a nice night not to sleep.”
She walked around him to the other cushioned chair and curled her legs under her as she sat. “It’s nice out here,” she said just above a whisper.
“In about thirty minutes it’s going to be even better.”
“Oh?”
“Sunrise.”
Monica leaned her head back with a sigh. “I don’t think I’ve watched a sunrise. Plenty of sunsets on the West Coast.”
“Do you live by the ocean?”
“No. I’m an hour and a half from the shore. I wouldn’t mind moving closer, but coastal living is so expensive.”
They sat in silence for a while. Monica was alone in whatever thoughts were running through her mind, and Trent was stealing a glance at her bare legs and comfortable presence. It dawned on him that if she wasn’t with him at that moment, he’d wonder where she was… what she was doing.
He pinched the bridge of his nose and wished the thought away. His skin heated just thinking of her. It’s chemistry. Nothing more, he told himself. The brief affairs he’d had while living on the island were always with a tourist visiting for a week, maybe two. Mutual sexual satisfaction that never ended up with the woman sitting across from him watching a sunrise in his home.
Monica might not be a tourist, and she certainly wasn’t there on a pleasure trip, but she was just as temporary.
“I was thinking—” Monica interrupted his thoughts. “You fly the helicopter for tourists, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Does this mess mean you’re out of a job?”
Not hardly. But he understood her question. “In a way. Tourists won’t return anytime soon.”
“Are you going to stay here? Will you lose your home?” There was real distress in her voice.
“Nothing so dire. Blue Paradise has other locations.”
“Oh, so you think they’ll transfer you?”
He chuckled.
“What’s funny?”
“I’m part owner of Blue Paradise.”
Her lips formed a perfect o. She shifted her gaze back to the ocean. “Will you stay here and help rebuild?”
He shrugged. “Probably not. Getting groceries is going to be a problem and living on a generator long-term is a lot like camping.”
“It sucks that you’ll have to leave your home.”
And his sanctuary. “I’ll be all right.”
Now she laughed softly. “You’ll find another place for shorts and flip-flops?”
“Maybe.”
The dark sky started its slow dance toward light. The faint glow of blue stretched out on the horizon and grew steadily until orange and red rays filtered through the distant clouds. He glanced over and saw the wonder on Monica’s face. Her bright ice blue eyes never left nature’s opening act. Even the crickets seem to hold their breath, and the birds held off their morning song, as the sun rose.
“Wow,” she whispered.
He shivered. Just watching her sent a different sort of chemistry through him.
She caught him staring and offered her smile.
He knew then that messing with Monica wouldn’t be a simple exercise in sexual relief. No, it would get complicated… very complicated.
“I’ll make some coffee,” he said suddenly, pulling himself out of the tractor beams of her gaze as he left the patio and escaped into the house.
Monica watched as Trent fled the patio as if she were the head “pregnant” cheerleader walking into the high school football team’s locker room, and he was the quarterback.
Even Ginger popped her head out of her paws to watch him leave.
“What’s with him?” Monica asked the dog.
Ginger released a deep sigh and settled back down.