Or was she a fool to fall for this man’s grand manners? He didn’t wear an eye patch or a hoop earring, but plenty of corporate pirates had plundered unsuspecting buyers on dry land…something she’d learned the hard way when her husband’s habits came to light after he died.
But what choice did she have? She hadn’t traveled all this way to get spooked by a black man who escorted her to a black sedan with black-tinted windows, and then held open the door to its black leather interior.
Am I walking into a black hole I might never come out of? She was summoning Spike as much as asking herself this question, but her guardian angel apparently had better things to do when she needed him most.
“I—wasn’t expecting such a—a fine car,” she stammered, gesturing at the tropical wilderness within view of the airport and the obvious poverty of passersby who jabbered in the local language. They carried chickens in crates, and on their heads.
He moved with a graceful gallantry, stepping between her and that glimpse of harsh reality to close her door. Then he slipped into the driver’s seat beside her. The car, a big vintage Cadillac that would make collectors in the States drool, purred to a start. Cool air blew from the vents, circulating the scent of fine leather warmed by the afternoon sun.
“The Contessa insisted upon nothing but the best,” her chauffeur said in that cultivated voice. “You’ve probably not heard of Valenzia Borgia, but she was Italian nobility who lived with a sense of adventure and—”
“Lived? As in, past tense?”
Ramon smiled wryly. “She disappeared nearly two years ago, while on her evening walk along the beach. We have only my wife, Leilani’s, divination to go on, but Valenzia’s spirit guides instructed her to put the estate up for sale. The Contessa has no further use for it.”
Who did she believe? That hot airline steward or her driver?
“Do you think she drowned?” Cat hoped her questions didn’t sound nosy, Especially since Ramon’s talk of divination and spirit guides introduced a whole new set of issues.
“Miss Borgia was an excellent swimmer. Careful about herself,” he replied pensively. He swung the Caddie around a hairpin turn in the narrow road, which ended at the bottom of the hill. “Knowing how Valenzia had a highly developed sense of adventure, we suspect she either arranged for a…rendezvous that lasted longer than she anticipated—”
“Two years?” Cat murmured.
“—or she was abducted and has made the most of it.”
He flashed a white smile as he stopped the car at the very edge of the road, where nothing but the Caribbean Sea stretched before them. True, it was the most gorgeous shade of shimmering blue-turquoise she’d ever seen, but what the hell were they going to do now?
“And…and you never went after her? Never tried to find her?”
“Not all who wander are lost, Miss Gamble.”
What was that supposed to mean? And what was she supposed to believe? This man had just fed her a whopper about an Italian adventuress—without the least sign of anxiety about the Contessa’s life—and now they were sitting at land’s end like a couple of lovers out parking. The waves lapped at the rocky shore, accentuating the silence and the fact that there wasn’t another sign of civilization in sight. The fan circulated the scent of Ramon’s musky cologne with its cool air.
“We’re early,” Ramon remarked as he glanced at his watch. “The only way to take the car from here to Porto Di Angelo is by ferry. I hope Rodrigo remembers to come for us. When he dropped me here earlier, he and his pretty lady were taking a bottle of wine from a picnic hamper.”
When her face fell, the man beside her chuckled…a rich, seductive sound that, under different circumstances, might’ve made her, well—horny.
“You’ll learn quickly, Miss Gamble, that we islanders believe God gave us these little spots of paradise in the sea so we could enjoy every beautiful moment we spend on them. It’s a philosophy you’ll want to consider, if you plan to prosper here.”
Paradise…philosophy…prosper. Coming from the tall, dark—and, yes, devilishly handsome—Ramon in the pinstriped suit, those words made perfect sense in the same sentence. And yet…Cat toyed with the idea that he was mentally feeling her up. Partly out of allegiance to the Contessa, because he couldn’t sell his mistress’s estate to just anyone—
Oooh, and was she his mistress? Spike whispered.
—while sensing he was also sizing her up as a woman he might be living with…in whatever sense of that word applied. The hush of the engine, playing a duet with the waves licking the shoreline, cast a spell over her travel-tired mind.
Or did Ramon possess mysterious otherworldly powers, as his wife apparently did? It wasn’t much of a stretch to see this man with the close-cut, pointed goatee—and thumbnails—in the role of shaman or witch doctor. His eyes assessed her with leisurely curiosity. He exuded a comfortable sense of total control.
“And why do you want to buy Porto Di Angelo, Miss Gamble?” he asked in a deceptively dapper tone. “Many who can afford the Contessa’s playground aren’t prepared for the—culture shock, shall we call it?—of living such an isolated life. They’re not ready to depend upon a generator for electrical power, or to rely on a ferry operator like Rodrigo to get them to the mainland for groceries and supplies. Or when a hurricane’s blowing in.”
Cat caught herself following his lush lips, thinking how he’d make a wonderful late-night radio show host. Or hypnotist.
She blinked—maybe because Spike nudged her? While she couldn’t smell him, Cat had a tingly little sense of her angel’s presence. So…what was it Ramon had asked her?
“I—like Miss Borgia—am a bit of an adventuress,” she fudged, frantically fishing for a coherent reply. “I’m a romance novelist, Ramon, and my online research led me to the advertisement for your property, and—”
She swallowed, not yet ready to mention the Powerball jackpot or Laird’s death to this stranger. Which left damn little truth to draw upon.
“And you imagined yourself living in the exquisite luxury those photographs depict,” he continued for her, “without any real sense of the…potential threats we Caribbeans live with every day.”
“Are you one of them, Ramon?”
Cat fought to hold her gaze steady. Where had that come from? What gave a little white woman like her the balls to ask this big black—
His teeth flashed like pearls as his laughter filled the Caddie. “A woman who speaks her mind without mincing words! I like that, Miss Gamble.”
She let out the breath she’d been holding. He knew damn well she wasn’t really so brave or resourceful: he was playing along to see what he could get out of her…whatever that meant. Sitting so close to this powerhouse of a driver was becoming more of a challenge with every minute that ticked by. Where was that Rodrigo fellow, anyway? And why wasn’t Spike whispering brilliant questions or answers to her?
No response, on either count.
So Cat decided to see just how much truth Ramon could take. What did she have to lose? She could head for home anytime and never see these people again. She would tell Trevor, Grant, and Bruce the estate didn’t measure up to its advertisement. This overblown overseer might as well find out who she really was—because sometimes reality was far harder to believe than anything she could make up in her books.
“My husband overdosed six months ago,” she began, pleased that her voice didn’t crack on that subject, “and then I was confronted by more creditors than you can count, for debts he’d run up with his gambling habit. I lost my car and house in the process, Ramon. It was a stroke of sheer luck and a friend’s generosity that landed me