Any Way You Want It (Brand Clan #2)(7)
Everyone laughed.
“Not to be greedy,” added Eleanor Brand, the indomitable family matriarch, “but I’m ready to start planning the next wedding.”
“Me, too,” Bernadette agreed.
As several pairs of eyes turned and settled—inexplicably—on Remy and Zandra, a slow flush crawled up her neck and spread over her cheeks.
Grandma Eleanor gave Remy and Zandra an indulgent smile. “Did you two have a good time this afternoon?”
“Yes, ma’am, we did.” Lips twitching, Remy met Zandra’s gaze. “Didn’t we?”
She couldn’t help smiling. “Yes. We did.”
“That’s good,” Grandma Eleanor said approvingly. “I’m so glad you were able to come on this trip, Zandra. I would have been sorely disappointed if you couldn’t make it. You know you’ve always been a cherished member of this family.”
“I know,” Zandra said with warm sincerity. “And I’m very grateful for that, Grandma Eleanor.”
The old woman’s dark eyes twinkled. “Well, if you’d really like to show your gratitude—”
“Oh, my God!” Racquel suddenly exclaimed, pointing toward the sky. “Would you guys just look at that!”
Everyone turned to watch as the golden glow of the setting sun illuminated the horizon with breathtaking hues of pink, lavender and blue.
As the others admired the view, Zandra leaned close to Racquel and murmured, “Thanks for the bailout.”
Racquel chuckled, her eyes glimmering with amusement. “As someone who’s been on the receiving end of Grandma’s uncensored advice more times than I care to recall, I considered it my duty to intervene on your behalf.”
Zandra grinned. “God bless you.”
Not everyone was preoccupied with the spectacular sunset.
As Zandra turned and reached for her drink, she noticed Remy and Roderick looking at each other from opposite ends of the table, silently communicating in their secret twin language.
As her eyes narrowed suspiciously, the two brothers tipped their glasses to each other and shared the slow, cunning smile of coconspirators.
After dinner, everyone lingered on the beach to enjoy the live music and the gentle trade winds wafting off the Caribbean Sea.
Grabbing a cold bottle of Piton beer, Remy walked to a large boulder jutting out of the sand and nimbly climbed to the top. From his elevated perch he could see the entire beach, a glittering oasis rimmed by lush green mountains and cliffs.
Sipping his beer, he surveyed the tranquil scene below him, mentally adding it to the collection of images that had gotten him through the darkest days of battle and bloodshed, when he’d succumbed to rare moments of wondering whether he would ever see his family again.
He watched as his nieces and nephews chased one another up and down the beach, their squeals of laughter like music to his ears. He smiled at the sight of his older sister and her husband strolling along the shore holding hands, while the image of his mother and grandmother with their heads bent close together made him wonder what they were plotting.
He chuckled at the sounds of raucous laughter and banter coming from the table where his older brother, father, grandfather and Cleveland Morrison were playing gin rummy.
Farther down the beach, Racquel danced with one of the dreadlocked cabana boys who’d caught her eye during dinner, while River put the moves on Lena’s younger sister, Morgan, his hands spanning her slender waist as they gyrated to the pulsing soca beats.
Zandra and Lena stood by the water letting the foaming waves wash over their bare feet as they laughed and talked. Wearing white halter dresses with red hibiscus flowers tucked behind their ears, they looked like some artist’s rendering of beautiful island nymphs romping through a tropical paradise.
Captivated, Remy watched as Zandra arched her head back and closed her eyes, savoring the ocean breeze that tossed her hair about her face and shoulders.
He stared at her, his heart knocking against his ribs.
“Damn, boy,” drawled a deep voice laced with amused sympathy. “You got it bad.”
Remy dragged his gaze from Zandra to watch as Roderick climbed up the boulder and sat beside him.
Ignoring his brother’s teasing remark, Remy took a swig of beer and grunted, “Where’d you disappear to after dinner?”
“I went to see the hotel manager. Had to confirm some details for a surprise I’m planning for Lena tomorrow night.” Roderick grinned. “Don’t change the subject. I saw the way you were staring at Zandra just now.”
Remy flashed a narrow, insolent smile. “How do you know I wasn’t staring at your wife?”
Roderick snorted. “Because you don’t have a death wish. Not anymore anyway.”
Remy chuckled grimly, remembering the words Roderick had spoken to him the day he came home and announced that he was headed to Coronado Island to undergo BUD/S training to become a Navy SEAL. Upon hearing the news, Roderick—who knew Remy better than anyone and had always supported his dream of joining the SEALs—looked him in the eye and stated half seriously, “You must have a death wish.”
Remy had escaped death, but only by the grace of God.
“Oh, yeah,” Roderick said now, “I have something for you.” Reaching into the pocket of his linen pants, he removed a small white napkin and handed it to Remy.