The Island Hideaway

Zara Reddy pulled her dark hair out of its ponytail, the amount of water squeezing out with her elastic making a huge puddle on the floor. She was used to being wet because she worked as a synchronized swimmer on the island on Getaway Bay, in some of their most popular shows.

This summer’s show kept her busy with practices during the week, and nightly shows from Thursday to Sunday. She didn’t work the matinees, thankfully. She was grateful for the jobs that always seemed to come her way. That way, she didn’t have to go to work at her family’s Indian restaurant in downtown Getaway Bay.

They were traditional in every sense of the word, and Zara had made more explanations about her life choices over the years than she cared to admit.

Her phone flashed violently with blue and green lights, and she checked her texts first as the other swimmers came into the locker room.

“Are you coming with us to dinner?” Suzie asked, taking Zara’s attention from her device.

“Oh, uh, I don’t think so,” she said, lifting her phone. “I think I just got that house-sitting job.”

Suzie wrung out her hair and started changing. “That’s great, Zee. Up on the bluffs?”

“Yeah. First time.” She was an experienced house sitter, and she’d completed a dozen or so jobs now. It was easy work, and she got to stay in some of the nicest houses on the island.

And this one?

This one was the crown jewel of the mansions up on the bluff. She’d been texting back and forth with a woman named Petra for several days now, and Zara had never answered so many questions. It was house sitting, not rocket science.

But Petra wanted a background check, and Zara’s references, and if there would be any pets in the house. Zara did have a long-haired white cat, but she’d kept that to herself. Petra didn’t seem like the kind that would tolerate felines.

The pay was sky high, and Zara smiled as she tapped out her acceptance of the job. She had a small apartment in a long row of them and staying up on the bluffs would add to her gasoline bill, but it would be so much better than listening to the thirty-somethings next door try to become Hawaii’s next big boy band—at all hours of the night.

The address to the house appeared on her screen, along with the code to the gate and the garage. Anytime tonight or tomorrow, Petra said. Send me your PayMe, and I’ll get you the money.

Zara showered and dressed, throwing her heavy bag full of suits, props, caps, nose clips, goggles, and more over her shoulder and heading out to her car. Hopefully, it would start. It was much too hot to sit in the car without air conditioning, listening to the engine click while she prayed it would turn over.

“With this new job,” she muttered to herself as she crossed the parking lot. “You can maybe afford to buy a new car.” One that actually started the first time.

Sighing, she got behind the wheel and stuck in the key. Miraculously, the car started with the first turn, and she fiddled with the dials on the air conditioner to make it blow harder. Her phone rang, and she answered the call from one of her best friends, Ash Fox.

“Hey, Ash.” Zara put the car in reverse, trying not to let any of the jealousy she’d been experiencing when it came to Ash infuse her voice. See, Ash had been Zara’s go-to friend when everyone else had a boyfriend. Ash never did. Ash sat behind her sewing machine almost all the time. Zara could always count on Ash—until Burke.

And now Zara had a huge, empty house on the bluffs to go home to.

“So remember how you said you might be able to help out at Your Tidal Forever?” Ash asked.

“Yeah,” Zara said slowly.

“Well, Hope is swamped, and she’s looking to pick up a few seasonally people this summer. Just until the Bellagio wedding is over in September.”

Normally, Zara would’ve jumped at the chance, because it was work, and she didn’t pass up an opportunity to make connections around the island in case she met someone who could open another door for her.

Anything was better than the door leading to Indian Room.

“I can’t,” she said, infusing the appropriate amount of disappointment into her voice. “I just picked up that house-sitting job I was telling you about. With the show, and now this, I’m not sure I’ll have time.”

“Oh, that’s fine,” Ash said. “Hope just said to spread the word. If you know anyone, have them call over to Your Tidal Forever and ask for her assistant, Shannon.”

“I will.” Zara knew Shannon too, and how she worked so closely with Hope and didn’t go insane was a quiet miracle.

“So, you got the house-sitting job?” Ash asked.

“Yes.” Zara smiled as she turned onto the road that led back to her apartment. She just needed to pack a few things and get Whitewater, her cat, into her carrier. “I’m pretty excited about it. I’m heading up there right now.”

“Pool?” Ash asked.

“Big pool,” Zara said. “In fact, I think there are two pools at this place.”

“I have four dresses to make by next weekend.” Ash moaned.

“I’ll be here until September,” she said. “In fact, I think I’m going to give up my lease.” After all, it was only June, and she could save three and a half months of rent if she gave up her place. There were plenty of rentals on the island, and she wouldn’t have any problem getting somewhere else come fall.

Not only that, but then the boy band wannabes wouldn’t be her neighbors anymore. Oh, yes, she was going to give up her apartment, just as soon as she made it back down to town from the bluffs the following morning.

Tonight, she was going to bask in the grandeur of this mansion, maybe sit by the pool, and just relax.

An hour later, the sun was nowhere near setting, for which Zara was thankful. She didn’t want to pull up to the house in the dark, but Whitewater would not get in her carrier, and it had taken Zara an extraordinarily long time to pack a bag and leave her house with the cat. The backs of Zara’s hands could testify of that, what with all the scratches from Whitewater’s protests.

The cat yowled from the passenger seat, and Zara said, “Oh, be quiet, Whitey. You’re fine.” So maybe the words held a bit of exasperation. But some of those scratches were deep, and two had bled a little. So the cat could be quiet as Zara navigated the twisty road up to the bluffs.

All of Getaway Bay’s rich and famous lived up here. Okay, fine, not all of them. But all the ones who didn’t live in the swanky penthouses on the beach. Beachside didn’t exist up on the bluffs. Oh, no. People bought these houses for the privacy and security, as well as the stunning, spectacular, three-hundred-and-sixty-degree ocean views.

Zara couldn’t decide which she’d rather have. Soft, white sand right out her back door, or a mansion in the hills. But for the next three months, she’d be taking this twenty-minute drive up to the mansion.

She turned onto the appointed road and went about a block before she met a closed and locked gate. After keying in the code, her excitement grew while the gate rumbled open. A sprawling piece of land sat before her, and she eased her car through the now-open gate onto the driveway.

With the gate moving closed behind her, another sigh passed through her body. She had tomorrow off from swimming practice, as the director was working with the acrobats and the main characters in Fresh Start, the not-to-be-missed show of the summer in Getaway Bay’s outdoor theater pool.

Zara had done a few shows at the same venue, and the special effects capabilities were superb. She’d also worked with Ian Granger, the director, several times, and while she’d thought they might have a spark in the beginning, it had fizzled fast.

Just like every other relationship Zara had had. She’d been in the dating pool for a long time, and she was feeling wrinkly and dried out from all the chemicals. She wouldn’t care that much that she was boyfriend-less if her mother didn’t badger her constantly to find that special someone.

As if Zara hadn’t been looking.

She gazed at the beautiful Hawaiian flowers, the trees, the black lava rock in the landscaping. This was done by a professional, and Zara loved every piece of it as she drove slowly past.

The house sat down a little hill, and it too spread out and up, boasting tall white pillars on the front porch, which faced the ocean. Of course, three sides of this house faced the ocean, and Zara hoped the room where she’d be staying had a walk-out balcony. Or a patio. Something where she could step from inside to out and breathe in the fresh air and hear the waves crashing on the rocks far below.

She pulled up to the front door and peered through the windshield. “All right, Whitey,” she said to the cat. “Let’s go see where we’re going to be living for a few months.”

Petra never had to know about the cat. The woman said she and her family would be overseas for the summer, thus the need for a house sitter. So Zara killed the engine, walked around the car, and shouldered her overnight bag before picking up the cat carrier.

At the front door, she keyed in the code and the lock disengaged. The alarm sounded once, and she stepped over to the keypad to disarm it. She hadn’t gotten a separate code for it, so she put in the same numbers she’d used to unlock the front door.

But that only made the alarm beep at her. The steady, every-two-second beeps made her want to stab something in her ears. She tried the code again, very aware of Whitewater’s increased yowling. It was as if the cat was trying to harmonize with the incessant beeping.

“Come on,” she muttered when she put in the wrong digit and had to go back.

She became aware of another sound amidst the chaos—growling. She turned to see a big, black dog standing about ten feet away, his teeth bared.

“Oh,” Zara exhaled most of the word as Whitewater started hissing inside the carrier. The dog barked, huge, booming sounds that filled the two-story high foyer.

With the beeping, and the hissing, and the barking, it was a miracle that Zara heard someone say, “Boomer, be quiet,” just before a man came through the doorway and stood behind the dog. He paused when he caught sight of Zara, his eyes widening. He lifted the spatula he held like he’d use it to defend himself if necessary.

“What are you doing here?” he yelled over the barking, the hissing, and the beeping.

“House-sitting,” she yelled back. “Who are you?”

He looked like he could be a fashion magazine model, what with that dark hair all swept back into a man-bun on the back of his skull. He opened his mouth, presumably to yell something else, and then rolled his eyes before striding forward.

“I changed the code,” he said, practically pushing her aside to punch in the numbers. The beeping stopped. He turned back to the dog. “Boomer, quiet.” The dog stopped barking, and Zara tried not to be impressed.

Tried, and failed.

“Sit,” the man said next, and the dog did that too.

Now, if she could get Whitewater to stop hissing….

Their eyes met, and dang if Zara didn’t have to jump back at the shock she received. He had gorgeous eyes the color of the black lava rock outside, and his olive skin had certainly been featured in many a woman’s daydreams about European beaus.

“Who are you again?” she asked, realizing he’d never said.

“I’m Noah Wales,” he said. “And I don’t need a house sitter.”

Noah Wales would not be swayed by a beautiful pair of eyes. Or all that dark skin. Or the curves this woman possessed. Oh, no. He would not.

Wasn’t that the whole reason he’d come to the island house in the first place? To get away from women like the one standing in front of him?

Yes, yes it was.

He blinked and backed up a step, though this was his house—fine, his family’s house—and he didn’t have to go anywhere. He gripped the spatula he’d been using to flip eggs, wondering why he still held it.

She blinked too, confusion coloring those dark, chocolatey eyes. He hated that description, as if everything had to be related to food. But when he tried to come up with another way to categorize her eyes, it was related to coffee.

He sighed. “Did my mother hire you?”

“Is your mother named Petra?”

“Yes,” he said. “But you said it wrong. It’s not Petra, like your cat is a pet. It’s Petra, like…peat moss.”

“Petra,” she said correctly, swinging the cat carrier behind her back as if Noah hadn’t already seen it. “Then, yes. Your mother hired me.”

Noah’s mind raced. He didn’t want his mother to know he was here. He didn’t want anyone to know he was here. He didn’t want this woman here with him. He just needed somewhere to lie low for a while until he could figure things out, repair his reputation, and then return home to Triguard.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Zara Reddy.” She extended her hand like they’d be bunkmates. He looked at it for a moment past comfortable and then gave it one pump.

Could he send her away? Would she text his mother?

Her phone shrilled out a few quick beeps in a row, stealing her attention and giving him some time to think. She tapped out a quick response and looked at him. “So, what are we going to do?”

“Well, I really don’t need a house sitter,” he said. Boomer’s claws clicked against the tile as he came closer. “As you can see, I have a guard dog. So I’ll be fine.”

“I need this job,” Zara said, her phone chiming in rapid succession again. “I’ve already sent your mom my payment info.”

Noah nodded. “That’s fine. She doesn’t need to know.” So maybe he spoke the last sentence with a little too much feigned nonchalance, because Zara’s perfectly sculpted eyebrows went up.

“She doesn’t?” She cocked her hip and put the hand holding her phone on it. “Does she even know you’re here?”

“This is my house,” he said. He didn’t have to defend himself to her. An inward sigh practically had him giving up. The truth was, he had to defend himself and his actions to everyone. He had since the moment he was born into the royal family, the Wales of Triguard.

“Your mother hired me this afternoon,” Zara said, a definite measure of desperation in her words.

“I’ll bet she said no pets.” He cocked an eyebrow at the cat carrier, where a definite low meow still emanated.

“You have a dog,” she said. “And he’s huge, and he’s definitely the shedding type.”

“This is my house,” he repeated, wondering if she’d even heard him the first time.

Her phone rang this time, and she sighed like he was the most annoying man on the planet, and said, “Excuse me a moment, would you?” She lifted her phone to her ear without waiting for him to say anything. “Hey.” She turned her back on him and wandered a few steps further into the house.

Noah needed to get rid of her. If any reporters saw her come through the gate, there’d be a dozen cameras watching the place. Where had she parked? Probably right out in the open, and he groaned as he turned to look out the tall, skinny windows that flanked the front door.

Yep, her beat-up sedan sat right there, out in the open for anyone to see.

“Sorry,” she said, and he turned back to her. “There’s this huge celebrity wedding on the island this fall, and the owner of the wedding planning place needs extra hands all summer.” She shook her head as if she was saying something crazy, but Noah seized onto the information.

“Is she paying or is it volunteer work?” If he could get some volunteer credit, maybe he could start to repair some of the damage he’d caused in Venice….

“I think she’s paying.” Zara squinted at him. “Why?”

“Why what? Nothing.”

“You have a look in your eye.”

“What look?” He scoffed. “You met me five minutes ago. I don’t have a look.”

“Mm hm,” she said, nodding. “I know your type. Rich, spoiled, handsome. Living up here on the bluffs like you own the world just because you can see a lot of it. Always looking to play an angle. What is it this time? Knocked up a woman and need to play nice with the press now? Or maybe…maybe you’ve had a bit of a scandal and need a way to clean up your image.”

Noah simply stared at her. Had she crawled inside his mind and rooted around in there until she’d found his exact situation?

“I have not knocked anyone up,” he said with disgust. “And I really can’t have the press here. So I need you to move your car. Now.” Had she said he was handsome?

Yeah, right after rich and spoiled.

“Where?” she asked.

“The garage,” he said. “Then we’ll talk some more about…stuff.”

“Stuff?” She stood there with that strap over her shoulder, her bag bumping her hip.

“An arrangement,” he said, the idea swirling around in his mind. “I’ll go put coffee on. Unless you prefer tea?”

She blinked at him, and Noah himself was a little weirded out by the way he was whiplashing between polite and defensive.

“Coffee’s fine,” he said, moving away from her. As he went, he caught the scent of her perfume, and it was part flowers and part something else that he couldn’t quite name. As he left her in the foyer and entered the kitchen, the word came to mind.

Chlorine.

She smelled like chlorine. He checked over his shoulder to make sure she hadn’t followed him, and relief ran through him when he heard the front door open and close. “All right,” he said to himself and Boomer as he filled the coffee pot with water. “Let’s just hear what she has to say, okay? Maybe this won’t be so bad.”

Zara took so long to return to the house that Noah thought she may have left. But she’d left her bag and her cat in the front foyer, so he poured himself a cup of coffee and waited. After all, he was the youngest child of a king, and waiting was practically part of his genes.

When she finally did come in, it wasn’t through the front door but the one that led into the garage. “This place is huge,” she said. “Did you know there are four doors leading out of the garage? I thought I’d never find my way inside.”

Noah smiled at her, enjoying the exuberance in her expression. “Well, you found the right one at last.” He indicated the coffee pot and the ruby red mug he’d gotten down for her. “Coffee?”

She eyed him as she moved closer and poured her own cup of coffee. After putting in a spoonful of sugar and quite a lot of cream, she stirred and faced him again. “So, Noah. You sounded like you had a plan.”

“Sort of,” he said, his mind still tripping on some of the finer details. “Where did my mother say you’d be sleeping?”

Zara set her coffee mug on the counter and pulled out her phone. “Let’s see. She said I could have any of the guest rooms to the right of the main staircase, or I could stay on the main level in any of the three rooms on the west side.” She looked at him. “I thought you didn’t need a house sitter.”

“I don’t.”

“Then what—?”

“I need the privacy of this place,” he said carefully. “I know my parents won’t be back for months. I need to…lie low for a while. No one can know I’m here.” He didn’t know Zara at all, but she seemed like a smart woman. Her quick wit while they’d traded jabs in the foyer told him she might be able to pick up what he was laying down without him having to spell it all out.

“So you want me to 'house sit.’” She made air quotes around the last two words. “To keep people away? So they think no one’s here?”

“Bingo,” he said. “And you can stay here. Get paid for sitting the house. Lie by the pool. Bring up groceries. Whatever you were planning on doing.”

“Bring up groceries,” she said. “You mean your groceries.”

“I might make a few requests,” he said as if that were a perfectly reasonable thing for him to do. Then he wouldn’t have to go into town. The idea really was coming together. “Everyone will think the house is empty. The paparazzi and cameras won’t need to stay or try to find me here.”

“Whoa. Paparazzi?”

“They’re relentless,” he said. “And they know I left Venice.” He hoped they didn’t know where he’d gone yet. He really just needed some time.

“Oh, of course,” Zara said with sarcasm dripping from the words. “Venice.”

Noah regarded her coolly. So she was beautiful. Smart. But she had a cat, and he generally disliked felines. Boomer didn’t seem to mind, as he’d followed Noah back into the kitchen and now lay panting near the fridge.

“So, here’s my deal,” he said. “You can stay here as you’d planned. Pick any of the rooms on my mother’s list, but I am staying on the second floor to the right of the staircase. Use the pools. All of that.” He took a step toward her, surprised and even more attracted to her when she didn’t back away from him.

“But no one can come up here. So no pool parties or anything like that. You’ll get the groceries and other things I might need so I don’t have to leave the house. You’ll still get your summer here. You’ll get paid.”

“And you? What do you get from this?” She folded her arms. “Because I’m not one of those women.” Her dark eyes flashed dangerously.

Noah laughed. “Trust me, Zara. I’m not one of those men either. I just got out of a really bad relationship. I’m not looking for another one.”

“Or a summer fling,” she said. “I don’t do flings.”

“Great. Makes two of us.” Just because she made his stomach flip didn’t mean he was going to act on the attraction.

“You still haven’t said what you’re getting from all of this,” she said. “Except me buying your groceries and running your errands and taking care of your house.”

Perhaps she had heard him when he’d said this place was his.

“I get the time I need,” he said. “The anonymity I’ve never had. And the chance to volunteer on that celebrity wedding.”

Her eyebrows went up again, and he wondered if she practiced such a flawless motion in the mirror. “Why would you want to do that?” she asked.

“I have my reasons,” he said. He’d been raised to serve others, and volunteer work was the best way to repair bad public perception. Now, if Noah hadn’t been “the bad boy of Triguard,” he definitely wouldn’t have logged over ten thousand volunteer hours over the past thirty-one years of his life.

“So, what do you think?” he asked, calmly taking another sip of his coffee, the way he’d seen his father do many times.

Zara studied him for several long moments, clearly working through something in her mind. Probably a lot of somethings. Finally, she said, “I think I’m crazy. I can’t believe I’m going to say yes to this.”

Noah grinned at her and plucked his own phone out of his shorts pocket. “Great. I’m just going to need the number of that wedding planning place….”