The email had said there would be other guests traveling to Corazón with her. Sylvester had no close family, but he had invited several distant relatives. None of them knew the reason for the invitation. That was something Sylvester probably intended to reveal once they were on the island. She couldn’t see anyone who looked like they might be waiting for a launch to take them for an extended stay on a luxury island. The thought of enforced proximity to strangers made Connie shudder slightly. Compulsory enjoyment. Was Sylvester some sort of masochist? Look on the bright side. Wherever this adventure might lead, at least it was not into a temporary job in a poky office where she would be chained to yet another dreary desktop computer.
A slightly shrill voice interrupted her thoughts. “Hurry up, Guthrie! I told you we should have left the hotel earlier. And I still don’t understand why we couldn’t have flown first-class. No, don’t put my cosmetics case there! Oh, for heaven’s sake.” The woman exuded restless, perfumed elegance. Connie decided her companion must be her husband. Who else would obey her staccato instructions so meekly? The hapless Guthrie followed in her wake, carrying a quite astonishing array of suitcases from the cab onto the quayside. Then, as his companion found the original arrangement unaccountably displeasing, he obligingly reorganized them.
“But that was how you told me to do it, Lucinda.” His protest was made in tones of mild confusion.
Looking up, Connie encountered the gaze of a tall, fair-haired man who was wheeling a single suitcase as he approached her. There was something vaguely familiar about him, but she couldn’t quite place what it was. From his frowning expression, he appeared to be thinking exactly the same thing as Connie. They both regarded Lucinda and Guthrie in dawning horror. Oh, please, God, no. Surely life could not so be unkind? A paradise island, even one with a sinister reputation like Corazón’s, deserved pleasant—if not perfect—company. Let my instincts be wrong. Just this once.
“The email said nine-thirty and it’s exactly that now. Unpunctuality is abhorrent to me. Don’t stand there, Guthrie. I can’t see the harbor with you blocking my view.”
The man with the suitcase drew level with Connie. She felt her cheeks burn as he gazed down at her. Four years after the attack that had left her scarred, she should be used to people staring at her, but it had never become any easier. Obviously realizing his silence was making her nervous, he made a visible effort to strive for normality.
“Are you waiting for the de León launch?” When she nodded, he held out his hand. “My name’s Reynolds.”
“Oh!” Connie was taken aback. That was the name of Sylvester’s attorney, but this was not the same man she had met with in Missouri. He was younger, fairer, and there was less formality about him. She regarded him a little doubtfully. There was a definite resemblance, however.
“From your expression, I suspect I was right. I take it you are on your way to Corazón, having met with my father a week ago?”
Connie felt the frown clear from her brow. Her nervousness began to disappear like champagne bubbles rising to the top of the glass. “Oh, yes. I can see it now. You look a little like your father, you know.”
“I hope to God that’s not true. He acts like he’s got a baseball bat rammed up his ass most of the time. Although I shouldn’t complain. I’m a junior partner in the firm and, even though it leaves him short-staffed in the Florida office, he’s given me as much time as I need to go on this little jaunt of Sylvester’s.” His voice was cheerful. “Allow me to put my powers of deduction to the test even further by using a process of elimination to decide which of Sylvester’s relatives you might be.” He tilted his head to one side and studied her face.
Connie had the distinct impression the gesture was for show and that he already knew who she was. How could he not? Her hand went to her throat in a protective gesture and she thought she saw a glimmer of something in his eyes. Probably sympathy. She hated that look. It was too depressingly familiar.
“I was going to guess that you must be Constance Lacey. But I’m not sure you’re old enough.”
“If you are on your way to Corazón as your father’s representative, Mr. Reynolds, you will know I’m twenty-seven. Since I look every day of my age, I’m going to accuse you of being the most outrageous tease.”
His eyes twinkled in response and she decided she liked him. He was easy to laugh with.
“Acquit me, Miss Lacey,” he said, adopting the same mock-formal tone. “I was trying to flirt, not tease, and I’m never outrageous. You are wrong about one thing, however. I am on my way to Corazón, but not as my father’s representative. Like yours, my mother was a distant relative of the de León family. I have been summoned as part of this curious proposition of Sylvester’s.”
“Oh.” Connie fiddled nonchalantly with the top button on her shirt. “Have you met him?”
“Sylvester? Oh, yes. Many times.”
Connie succumbed and allowed her curiosity to get the better of her. “What is he like?”
“Exactly as he appears in the press. Handsome. Charming. Witty. Unfathomable. Sylvester has never been anything less than pleasant to me, but, at the same time, I wouldn’t want to cross him. I’ve never been allowed to get close enough to him to know how he’d react.” Lifting one hand, he shielded his eyes against the brilliant sunlight. A sleek, white boat with a rampant lion emblazoned on its bow was approaching the quay. “Unless I’m very much mistaken, this, Miss Lacey, is our lift.”
“My friends call me Connie.” Even as she said it, Connie tried to remember the last time she’d trusted anyone enough to say those words. It was no good. Whenever it had been, it was far enough in the past for her to have forgotten it. Trust and friendship were words that had been missing from her vocabulary for a long time. It was too soon to say if the younger Mr. Reynolds would restore them but she experienced a tiny flare of hope that he might. She didn’t feel anything other than friendship toward him, but even that was much more than she’d experienced for a long time.
“Mine call me lots of things, most of them unrepeatable. I hope you’ll settle for Matt.” It was said with an ironic smile that Connie couldn’t help returning.
* * *
Of course Connie had known that Corazón was an island. And of course she’d known it was remote, part of a far-flung, jeweled string on Florida’s westernmost edge. Through media coverage of his lifestyle and daring exploits, didn’t the whole world know that Sylvester—one of the wealthiest and most well-known men on the planet—protected his privacy by disappearing off to his privately owned little heart-shaped paradise whenever it suited him? She just hadn’t added the anxiety induced by a boat journey into this already stressful venture.
Connie had never been fond of boats and, after the fuss of ensuring Lucinda’s luggage was safely stowed had died down, she stepped nervously onto the elegant launch. This was unlike any other boat she had ever been on. It was piloted by a man in an impeccable uniform—also bearing the de León logo—who introduced himself as Roberto. In his capable hands, the vessel skimmed the water with barely a sound from its powerful engines and only the faintest suggestion of movement. You’re in de León territory now. You sold out. Connie could almost feel her mother’s disapproving gaze. As always, the bright shard of pain triggered by the memory of her drove itself deep into her chest.
Once clear of the marina, the waters were as smooth as a sheet of shimmering blue silk spread before them. Overhead the sky was an unrelenting, uninterrupted shade of azure and they passed tiny green islands ringed with sea grasses and golden sands.
“You look like you’re on a white-knuckle ride rather than a leisurely boat journey.” Matt lounged against the rail at her side.
“I’m not