Say My Name (Stark International Trilogy, #1) (85)

When he doesn’t come back immediately I consider following, then decide to spend the time checking the equipment stored here. I’m just about to open the shed when he returns. I cross my arms and tap my foot.

“Just following directions,” he says, then pops the disk back in place before returning the camera to its original position.

“Let me guess. You have a new screen saver.”

“You,” he says as he taps the tip of my nose, “are a very smart woman.”

“You’re very playful.”

“Why wouldn’t I be? I had an extremely excellent night. I woke up beside a beautiful woman. And now I’ve been handed this exceptional canvas.” He sweeps his arm out to encompass the island. “Thank you,” he says, and the genuine sincerity in his voice makes my knees go a little weak.

“I always wanted you,” I confess. “Glau was a very poor substitute.”

“Hell yeah, he was,” Jackson says, and we both laugh.

He picks his rucksack up from where he left it by the security camera, then nods toward the path. “Show me our island.”

Our island.

I like the sound of that.

As it turns out, I’m right about it taking more than three hours to walk the circumference. Instead, it takes six. We spend the time discussing my vision for the resort. The section of the island carved out for couples, the area devoted to families. How the various recreational activities will be woven in. The number and type of restaurants I anticipate.

“This resort will be family oriented, but there should still be some areas that are private. I don’t want someone on a honeymoon or anniversary to feel this isn’t the place for them.”

We’ve made it back almost full circle, and now we’re on a sandy beach a few hundred yards from the dock. “Maybe one exclusive area with upscale bungalows and private beaches. The area with the inlet would be perfect,” he says. “Let me show you.”

He pulls out a notebook and sits in the sand, completely unconcerned about the way his pants are getting soaked or the water coming in to tease his feet, now bare since we tossed our shoes up by the dunes.

I watch his face and the sketch that is coming to life on the paper. He is completely absorbed, lost in this new world that right now lives only in his imagination.

His intensity is compelling, and I drop down beside him, then watch, enraptured, as he continues to put his vision on paper. Even as a sketch, it captures everything I’ve told him I want and yet makes it bolder, better.

He pauses and looks up, his eyes just a little glazed as if he has forgotten where he is. When he focuses on me, though, his eyes clear, and he lifts a brow in question.

“Perfect,” I say. And when I press a kiss to his cheek, I hope he understands that I mean so much more than the resort.





twenty


“I see what Glau was getting at with the consolidation of all the recreation facilities in one area,” Jackson is saying as the elevator doors open and we step into the office’s penthouse foyer. We’d spent the morning on the twenty-sixth floor in the previously empty space that Stark International has made available to Jackson and his team for the duration of the project.

Now, we’re on our way up for a meeting with Damien, but Jackson’s mind is still on the designs that he’d taped to the wall and then immediately started revising with bold blue pencil.

“It’s not only a terrible use of the natural space, but it also limits the flexibility of the resort as a whole.” He glances up, sees Rachel waving us over, and gives her a halfhearted wave as he flips more pages in the notebook he’s holding. “I also want to discuss the construction crew. Unless you’re contractually locked in, I’m more comfortable with my own team.”

“If we hit a snag, we can bring Aiden in, but you and I can work it out. Is Mr. Stark ready for us?” I ask Rachel as we reach her desk.

I glance down and can see by the light on the phone that he’s not. I glance at my watch and then frown. Damien is exceptionally prompt, and I can’t help but wonder why he’s still on a call when we’re scheduled to meet with him right now.

Not my problem.

The reminder isn’t easy to swallow. I’ve sat at this desk for so long that it’s strange not to be behind it on a weekday, even if the reason I’m not behind it is management.

“How’s the desk?” I ask Rachel, my curiosity getting the better of me.

“Busier than on the weekends,” she says. “Thanks for letting me pick up Monday and today.”

“Don’t thank me. I’m thrilled, too. Gives me more time on real estate.”

“Speaking of, guess who I had drinks with last night.”

“Aiden?” Rachel’s pretty and fun, and I’ve always thought they would make a cute couple. But she just shakes her head and says, “I wish! No, Trent.” From her smile, I can see that she does not consider Trent to be sloppy seconds.

And while I would be less than enthusiastic about him myself, I have to agree that Trent is both nice and competent, if rather dull. I keep my mouth closed about that last part.

“So?” I say. “Details, please.”

“No big deal, really,” she says, but her blush suggests otherwise. “But he was up here last night. I was, too, because Damien had one of his international conference calls from his house, and I was here in case he needed me to pull files or something.”