Any Way You Want It (Brand Clan #2)(87)

“Maybe it’s best that I don’t tell you anyway,” Skylar continued sheepishly. “I, uh, wasn’t on my best behavior that night.”

I know, Zandra mused grimly.

“So,” Skylar said casually, “I was just wondering whether he’d called the agency to, you know, set up another date. I know that’s how it works, right? Your escorts don’t personally follow-up with clients, do they?”

Zandra sighed heavily. “No,” she answered. “They don’t. And no, he hasn’t called again.”

“Oh.” Skylar sounded so disappointed that Zandra’s heart twisted.

Damn Remy and his duplicity.

“It doesn’t mean he didn’t have a good time,” she assured her friend. “Clients don’t always call back right after a date. These guys are really busy. For all we know, he’s out of the country on business.”

“Of course,” Skylar said quickly. “That’s what I was thinking, too. Not that I’ve been dwelling on it or anything. I was just curious.”

“I know.” Zandra glanced around as her fellow passengers began gathering their things and powering down electronic devices. “Listen, Sky, they’re boarding for my flight now, so I’d better go.”

“Oh, okay. Well, have a safe trip, and remember I’m just a phone call away if you need me.”

“Thanks, Sky.” Zandra smiled. “Enjoy the rest of your summer and stay out of trouble.”

Skylar chuckled impishly. “I’ll try.”

“Try harder.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Before Zandra ended the call, Skylar said, “Zandra?”

“Yeah?”

Her friend’s voice was gentle. “Whatever it is you’re running away from? It’ll still be here when you get home. So don’t run too long.”

*

Over the next two weeks, Zandra licked her wounds in the peaceful solitude of a cozy cottage overlooking the same beach she and Remy’s family had visited during the previous trip to St. Lucia.

As one day blended into another, she tried to pretend that everything was normal. She ventured into town and bought artwork from local vendors to decorate the cottage. She took bus tours of the island, or went exploring on her own. She shopped at the food market, and cooked more than she had in years.

But when she ate on the terrace beneath a canopy of stars, she wished Remy were sharing the meal with her. When she went sailing and snorkeling, she longed for his company each time. When she headed down to the beach, lay in the shade and tried to lose herself in a book, her mind always wandered back to Remy, remembering the way he’d playfully tossed her into the water that long-ago afternoon.

One day as she watched a young couple build a sandcastle with their small child, she became so emotional that she had to get up and leave.

Coming back to St. Lucia, she soon realized, was like returning to the scene of a beautiful crime. Everywhere she looked she saw reminders of Remy, and she had to ask herself whether she’d subconsciously chosen to subject herself to these memories, the way she periodically read her mother’s suicide note. It was as though she found catharsis in self-punishment.

She was thinking of Remy late one afternoon as she walked along the shore of the empty beach, letting the waves wash over her feet, enjoying the warm sand between her toes. She squatted to pick up a shimmering shard of coral. As the foamy water lapped at her ankles and a gentle breeze sifted through her hair, she closed her eyes.

When she opened them and saw Remy walking toward her, a choked sob rushed up her throat. She thought she must be hallucinating. That she’d conjured him from a bottomless well of longing.

So she snapped her eyelids shut, kept them screwed together and slowly counted to ten. Then she carefully peeled them open.

He was still there.

And coming closer.

As she stared, the sight of him sauntering across the sugary sand took her breath away. He looked heart-stoppingly handsome in his white navy dress uniform. The one he swore he’d never wear again.

When he reached her, she got unsteadily to her feet.

“What are you doing here?” she asked in a choked whisper.

His dark eyes glinted at her. “You didn’t really think I could stay away, did you?”

She made a muffled sound, torn between laughter and exasperation. “You never could follow orders.”

His lips curved. “No, my queen.”

“Oh, God.” Her fingers trembled against her lips at the memory his words had evoked. “Remy...I—” She broke off, her voice strangling on another sob.

He gently stroked her hair, his eyes tracing her features. “I had to come, Zandra. Being apart from you was killing me.”

I know the feeling, she thought.

“How have you been?” he asked quietly.

“Um. I’ve been better.” She looked him over, shaking her head slowly. “You’re wearing your old uniform... How did you know?”

His expression softened. “Your mother told me.”

She stared up at him, stunned. “My...mother?”

“Yeah.” A shadow of a smile touched his lips. “It was on your prom night, after you left the house. She pulled me aside and told me about your bonding ritual, how you two would watch An Officer and a Gentleman together and cry afterward. She joked that any man who wanted your hand would have to show up wearing a navy uniform.”