No Regrets Page 2

  “Conrad Malcolm is the most eligible bachelor on this side of the Mississippi,” Reny exclaimed in her fake southern drawl. “You would be a fool not to jump at the chance to marry him.”

  “He’s been my date to a few parties. I hardly know him," Jamie objected.

  “So? With his family name and money he’s destined to be a Senator, and maybe even President one day.”

  God help the country, Jamie thought. She glanced at the photo Reny still clutched in her hand. The contrast to the meticulous, spoiled Conrad was stark. Aidan Brice was rugged, and oh so sexy, dressed in faded jeans and black cowboy boots for the ceremony. Tan and muscular, with dazzling grey eyes hidden behind a sweep of golden hair, Aidan was all man. A curious thought formed in her mind.

  “Maybe I need a fling. A passionate, steamy fling,” Jamie joked. It would be just the thing to erase Conrad from her memory.

  Reny smiled fiendishly and handed the paper back to Jamie. “Tread carefully, my dear. A man like Aidan Brice could become dangerously addictive.”

  “Danni Architecture,” a gruff voice vibrated abruptly in the tiny phone.

  Jamie waved her friend away.

  Reny gave her a wink. “Tell me all later,” she whispered. She sashayed back to the party, putting forth her brightest smile for her next rich and powerful victim.

  Jamie felt butterflies in her stomach. She hadn’t heard Aidan’s voice in about fifteen years. “You sure like to keep a woman waiting.”

  “I apologize, Miss Connolly. How can I be of service to you?”

  The question, disquieting and faintly suggestive, hung in the silent air. She sucked in a quick breath.

  “I understand you are an expert at historical renovations.”

  “Yes, I am.” His voice was low and rough and unmistakably male. It was a far cry from the prim, stuffy voices of the fastidious society men.

  “I purchased one of the old beach cottages in Pirate's Cove, and I'd like you to take a look at it,” she said.

  Silence.

  “Hello?”

  “I’m checking my calendar. I can’t see you till next week. Friday noon. What’s the address?” he asked.

  “Seventeen Bay Drive.” She paused to let him write it down.

  Clearly, he didn’t remember her. She must have been one of many girls he’d forgotten from his Sabina Beach make-out sessions. She would rouse his memory. The thought of truly seducing him with his icy, all business attitude was an intriguing challenge. And Jamie never backed away from a challenge.

  “You can’t meet with me sooner?” she asked.

  “No.” His tone was blunt.

  “You’re a busy man.”

  “So they tell me,” he remarked.

  Jamie couldn’t resist. “You must be very good at what you do."

  His voice turned cool. “I can’t say I’ve had any complaints.”

  She pursed her lips into a smile. Aidan would be the perfect diversion from deranged ex-boyfriends and superficial society parties.

  “Friday it is then,” she said and hung up before he replied.

  It was going to be a long week.

  ~

  Aidan plunked the phone down. What was Jamie Connolly up to? What happened to the shy, quiet girl he’d shared secret kisses with one sultry night in high school? This Jamie bore no resemblance to the sweet girl who’d stolen his teenage heart.

  He shut the lights off in his office, locked the door, and headed down to the garage. The throaty purr of his truck’s engine barely filled the silence as he turned the key in the ignition. He turned on the radio and cranked up the volume, trying to drown out his thoughts with the harsh sounds of an electric guitar. Hell, he didn’t even know if she remembered him.

  Aidan hadn’t seen Jamie in nearly fifteen years. He’d woken up one day and she was gone, vanished from the halls of Seabrook high without a trace. If her family was moving, she’d never told him. In fact, she never talked about her family. One day, she just disappeared. Not a single phone call or even a note of good-bye. Out of the blue, she'd returned. All it took was the sound of her voice and he felt the stirring of a feeling he hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

  And he didn’t like it one bit.

  Chapter Two

  Thursday night Jamie trudged through the door of her office and collapsed on the couch, dropping her purse and satchel at her feet. She kicked off her pumps, stretched out her aching toes, and stifled a yawn. If she didn’t have to pack for her stay in Seabrook, she would have sprawled out on her office sofa in her conservative little suit and fallen fast asleep.

  Her cell phone rang. She dragged her purse into her lap and dug for her phone. She glanced at the screen, not planning to answer, but when she saw the caller’s name, she frantically swished the green button across the screen before it went to voice mail.

  She cleared her throat. "Yes?"

  She shot to her feet as the caller spoke and paced over the colorful rug that accented the white floor, listening to the news she had waited over five years to hear.

  “I’ll be there Monday morning to make a bid. Thank you so much for letting me know,” she said before she hung up. She sank back into the soft down cushion and rubbed the tears away from her cheeks.

  “Finally,” she whispered as she closed her eyes and leaned her head against a silk pillow. Her dream house was finally up for sale. Villa Milagros, her beloved childhood home would finally be hers again. All she needed was the winning bid, not a difficult feat since no one else was interested in buying the house. No matter, she'd willingly pay twice its value just to be able to walk the gardens she had planted with her mother and run down the halls she once ran through into her mother’s loving embrace.

  She cried the day they’d sold it. But the cancer, which claimed her mother’s life had also taken their home and any sense of security Jamie had ever known. Hospital bills needed to be paid and the house was sold, leaving Jamie homeless, bereft and orphaned at the age of sixteen. Losing her mother broke her heart. Leaving Seabrook, the only town she’d ever known, was shattering to a shy teenager who knew nothing of the world. But once she’d gone, she never looked back. She’d finished high school in a depressing city orphanage full of strangers and left the day she turned eighteen. Returning to Seabrook was bittersweet.

  Conrad Malcolm had changed her plans. She’d looked forward to returning to Seabrook, to a simpler life. To genuine people. Now, her beach bungalow wasn’t just for escaping the stress of Palm Beach, her cottage would be a hideout from a powerful, but very disturbed Malcolm heir who wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  She gathered some files, paint chips, and swatches into a box and hurried home. The tires of her sports car screeched as she pulled into the parking garage. She barely managed to carry everything into the lobby without dropping it all in her urgency to pack up and leave. She couldn’t wait to get to Seabrook.

  She stepped into the elevator, balancing the heavy box of files in one hand while she pushed the button to her floor. She had plenty of work to keep her busy while she was in Seabrook, plenty to keep her mind off Conrad’s increasingly manic behavior. Besides, nothing could deter her happiness about Villa Milagros. Nothing. Home would finally be hers again.

  She lumbered down the deserted corridor to her tenth floor condo, balancing her purse, her briefcase, and the box she’d brought from the office. A light flickered on and off above her head in the narrow hallway. Strange that maintenance had not fixed it today. They were usually so prompt about repairs in her building.

  She stopped abruptly. The box slipped out of her hand, and the files dropped in a pile at her feet. The contents of her purse spilled out over the marble floor as it slipped from her shoulder and hit the ground with a shattering slam. She stood just feet from her apartment. Her insides churned as she stared at her condo’s door ajar in the dim light of the hallway. A chill of despair washed over her.

  The living room was pitch-black, but she smelled the cloying scent seeping fai
ntly through the opening of the doorway.

  “Conrad,” she whispered, “You’re crazy.”

  ~

  "So, you didn’t go in?" the police officer asked when he met her outside the doorway of her condo. He scrunched his nose as the nauseating odor hit him.

  "No, I was afraid whoever broke in might still be there."

  “It was smart of you not to go in,” he said, scribbling some notes on a pad of paper. “You should have waited at a neighbor’s apartment though. Would have been safer. Too many crazies out there, even in a fancy place like this.”

  She glanced down the empty hallway. She barely knew most of her neighbors. She was always traveling and working late nights at her office. Until the night Conrad had made an unexpected visit, fully liquored up and shouting obscenities at her.

  She looked at the police officer. He was an older cop, seasoned and street smart. The type of cop who made you feel safe, although she was finding it difficult to feel safe these days. “Yes, a lot of crazies out there,” she agreed.

  He examined the door frame. “No sign of forced entry. Maybe it was someone you know? Does anyone else have the key to your apartment?”

  She contemplated the open doorway. It was easy for Conrad to get inside her condo. He had an intimidating manner with those he contemptuously referred to as service people. He could always resort to a bribe. She was a sitting duck for his twisted games.

  “No,” she said. She didn’t have the heart to mention that maintenance had the key and most likely was the accomplice. No doubt Conrad had met one of the crew as they came to fix the blinking light. She understood he could be charismatic and quite persuasive when he wanted to be. She’d been fooled by him herself.

  "Do you have anyone you think might want to scare you or hurt you? An ex-boyfriend, ex-husband, or someone else?"

  Jamie regarded the officer ruefully. Conrad came from very old, very rich, very well respected Palm Beach stock. If she named him in a police report or tried to place a restraining order against him, she would suffer. She would lose clients and support for her charity fundraisers. No one would believe her against a Malcolm. She had no proof.

  "No," she said. “I can’t imagine who would do this.”

  He helped her gather the files she'd dropped earlier. The door was cracked a few inches. The officer drew his gun and pushed the door open slowly. The overpowering scent of roses hit her like a wave.

  The officer stifled a snort as he drew his gun. “Can you turn on a light?” he asked in a low voice.

  She stepped behind him and followed soundlessly. The drapes were drawn leaving the room in complete darkness. She took a breath as she reached for the wall switch.

  She gasped as light flooded the room. Every table, every chair, every inch of floor space was covered with roses. Long stemmed, black roses wrapped with ebony colored velvet bows. It looked like the funeral of the grim reaper.

  The officer turned and glared at her. "No angry exes, huh? Why don't you tell me the truth?"

  She took a deep breath and swallowed hard. "Because no one would believe me if I did."

  ~

  The dimly lit bathroom of her Seabrook cottage did little to hide Jamie’s exhaustion over last night's ordeal. She patted a second coat of powder over the dark circles under her eyes, resigned to the fact she looked as weary as she felt.

  Last night was long and sleepless. The police had drilled her for a name, but she'd declined, insisting she had no idea who was so crazy as to break into her home and fill it with thousand’s of dollar’s worth of roses. Black, dyed roses. The police continued dusting for fingerprints and searching her condo until well past midnight. They had photographed and packed the flowers away as evidence, but the sickening scent of roses still lingered in her apartment like the unwanted attention of their sender. By six o'clock this morning, she had packed and was ready to escape. Finally, she was safe in Seabrook.

  After the harrowing night, her plan for a romantic diversion had lost some of its appeal. Of course, Aidan Brice was no fleeting interest but a guy whose face still haunted her dreams, long past an acceptable time. High school crushes weren't supposed to last this long, were they? No reason to complicate her life any further.

  Until, she’d opened the door and saw Aidan standing on her front porch, still able to make her speechless after all these years.

  She had dressed for the occasion, sweating inelegantly in snug black jeans and a white embroidered top. South Florida heat was intense. Despite being October, the house felt like a sauna until she’d opened the windows and cranked up the old fashioned ceiling fans. Now, the heat Jamie felt was from watching Aidan Brice in body hugging blue jeans walk through her door.

  Over the years, he had changed. The tall, lean teenager she remembered was now broad-shouldered and sleekly muscled. His face was fuller, his jaw line more defined, and the dimple on his chin more pronounced. She met his grey eyes, and there was a second of awkward silence before he spoke.

  “What are you planning to do?” he asked, surveying the empty living room.

  “Do?”

  A subtle smiled played on his lips. “With the house?”

  She felt the whisper of a grin pull at her mouth. Oh, of course. “As you can see, the house has never been renovated. I would like to keep some of the thirties charm but upgrade the kitchen and baths. And add central air conditioning.”

  He jotted something down on a note board he carried. “Let me do a quick inspection to see what kind of shape the building is in and we’ll go from there.”

  She enjoyed her own private inspection while he worked. He was at least six feet tall with golden tousled hair, bronze skin, and a full, provocative mouth. Lovely. He moved gracefully through the house, opening closets, scraping loose plaster from the walls, checking plugs and plumbing with ardent thoroughness. She wondered briefly if he was so thorough in other aspects of his life.

  “Miss Connolly?”

  She met his gaze and flushed. He smiled at her, a knowing smile. Obviously, he was accustomed to women’s attention. There was a certain unmistakable arrogance about him, which should have offended her but didn’t in the slightest bit. She was a successful, confident woman, not the shy sixteen year old she had been in high school.

  "Please call me Jamie." Did he remember her? She wasn’t so sure.

  He nodded. "The house has good bones,” he said, running his large hand across a rough, plastered wall. “Structure’s intact. Foundation is solid. But the roof needs to be replaced, and you will need a complete electrical overhaul. Wouldn’t be a bad idea to replace the internal plumbing either.”

  His grey eyes roamed discreetly over her body. She fought the urge to flinch. He still unnerved her while instantaneously igniting a yearning she'd never felt for anyone else. He ambled toward her and she could tell he was suppressing a smile. She couldn’t understand why. He was aloof, as if he was conflicted standing near her. Why? She had no idea.

  He stopped just a few feet in front of her. “They don’t make them like this anymore,” he said, patting the graceful archway over his head.

  She remembered the smooth feel of his hands. Remembered clinging to them as they’d walked along the moonlit beach in oddly contented silence, two teenagers lost in the first flush of love. She stared at his hands. Now they were rough and calloused, revealing a man of physical action, not someone who pushed papers all day in a designer suit. This man took charge. This man got things done.

  “No, they certainly don’t make them like this anymore,” she agreed, a smile skittering across her face.

  He raised an eyebrow, guardedly.

  “Which is why I bought the house,” she added.

  Aidan Brice had grown up nicely. He was even more ruggedly handsome than he’d looked in the photo. The years melted away as he stood towering in her tiny, forlorn cottage, and an old, familiar feeling awakened within her. She inhaled a deep, slow breath as last night's horror vanished for the moment.

  If s
he wanted a steamy fling with a man of temptation, Aidan Brice was definitely the man. Magnetism and allure emanated from him. With one glimpse of him, she knew all the waiting, all the frustration, all the passionless years of living were going to end for one night. Maybe then she would be free of this lingering adolescent crush.

  Afterwards she would return to her conservative, predictable life. She wanted no emotional dependence, no attachments to anyone. Especially to a man whose very presence unnerved her. Despite his cool arrogance, she sensed another side to him, a warm, gentle, and carefree one. The part she’d had the barest glimpse of years ago. The part she’d have to resist.

  She looked up into Aidan’s grey eyes. “So, when can we start?”

  And Jamie Connolly, sensible, prudent career woman began to envision a plan of seduction for the unsuspecting Aidan Brice.

  ~

  Aidan Brice eyed the slender vixen with all the prudence of a fox in a hen house. He wasn’t sure if he was the fox.

  The magazine photo of Jamie had not done her justice. Glossy, dark hair fell loosely around her face, emphasizing its delicate heart shape. Her shiny pink lips were parted in a cross between a smirk and a smile, but her face was pale, and the makeup she was wearing didn't completely hide the dark circles under her eyes. Clearly, she had a restless night or maybe just a few too many martinis at some glitzy, Palm Beach party.

  She wasn't his concern. Besides, her night hadn't been rough enough to keep her from using her feminine charms on him. She was executing her plan. He had heard her on the phone last week before she realized he had picked up. She was looking for a steamy fling, she’d said. He’d had all week to think about her little comment.

  Maybe she wanted to sample more of what she’d tasted on the balmy night so long ago. More than likely, she was trying to seduce Villa Milagros out from under him. Yeah, he’d found out about her secret, but he wasn’t going to fall into her trap. He would never let her win.

  He'd been trying for years to buy the abandoned home. Now, it was finally in his grasp. Now, he could destroy the symbol of the worst experience of his life. He had to purge the memories that still haunted him and threatened to poison his son's future. He had to stop the silent gossip and the pitying glances of neighbors. The terrible crime that took place within those walls was something Seabrook couldn't forget, not with a constant reminder.