Prize of a Lifetime

“Uh?”

He lifted his square chin toward her book. “I should have brought something to read to kill some time.”

“Oh,” was all she could come up with.

“Are you going all the way to Antigua?”

“Yes. You?”

“Yep. First time?”

“Yes. What about you?”

“I’ve been there once. Beautiful place.” He drew in a breath and she gulped as his broad chest spread beneath his fitted black T-shirt. “Perfect weather, incredible beaches and the people are great. They have their share of poverty, but they try to keep that away from the tourists.”

“What brings you back? Business?”

“Something like that. What about you?”

She closed her book and was on the verge of telling him her amazing story, but remembered the clause in her contract. “Vacation.”

“Vacation? All alone?”

She wasn’t sure if his question was just curiosity or an indictment. “I…decided to be adventurous.”

One corner of his full mouth curved upward. “I like that. It takes a lot of courage to travel alone.” He paused. “Mitchell Davenport.” He stuck out his hand.

“Sasha Carrington.” She placed her hand in his and nearly sighed out loud when his warm fingers enveloped her hand, and his soft brown eyes crinkled at the corners.

“I should let you get back to your book. Sorry.”

“It’s fine. Really.” She offered a small smile. Say something, dummy. “Do you live in Savannah?”

“Atlanta. I’ve been thinking of relocating to Savannah. I’ve been here about a month looking at places.”

“It’s a big change from the ATL,” she teased.

He chuckled and the sound shimmied down her spine. She squeezed her knees together.

“That it is. But I like the slower pace.” He paused for a moment. “Tell you what, how about I show you around Antigua, and if we’re still speaking to each other, maybe you can show me around Savannah when we get back.”

Sasha’s mind came to a screeching halt. Were her ears playing tricks on her? Did he actually just tell her he wanted to spend time with her on a Caribbean island?

“Hey, I’m sorry,” he said when he got only a stunned look in lieu of a response. “That was out of line. You don’t know me from the man in the moon.” He suddenly stood up. “I’m going to go grab something to eat. Nice talking to you. Enjoy your trip.”

By the time her mind caught up with what was happening, Mitchell Davenport was three aisles away heading for the food court. She wanted to kick herself and could almost hear April’s cries of disbelief ring in her ears. She felt like a complete fool and wished she could disappear. Thankfully, a young couple and their little boy took up the vacant seats next to her. Now she wouldn’t have to worry about him coming back to pick up where they’d awkwardly left off. She buried her face in her book. Great start to my journey, she silently chided herself and hoped it wasn’t an indication of things to come.

Mitchell inched up on the line at Starbucks. That went well, he groused to himself, a testament to how his relationship life was going lately. What had he been thinking? That’s just it, he hadn’t been. He’d spotted Sasha Carrington the instant she’d materialized in the waiting area, and his good sense and his promise to himself to stay away from women flew out the window. She was gorgeous in an understated way, with a body to die for. She gave off an air of quiet assurance and was apparently unaware of her sensual appeal. He could still smell her soft, alluring scent and hear the way her voice stroked him from the inside out. It was completely out of character for him to trip over himself with a woman he didn’t know. But her rebuff had been a solid kick to his ego. It had reinforced his vow to remain focused on what was important: rebuilding his life and his business. Everything else could take a backseat. His ugly and painful breakup with Regina had taught him a major lesson: women don’t want a man who is down on his luck, who can’t provide for them in the fashion to which they’ve grown accustomed. He’d been devastated when Regina had told him that it was over at a time when he needed her love and support more than anything. He’d lost his restaurant and the bank had foreclosed on his home. He was struggling every day just to hold his head up, and Regina had decided she couldn’t or wouldn’t deal with his “issues,” as she called them. His manhood was attached to his wallet. And at the moment it was running on empty. But that was going to change, he thought as he paid for his purchase. If Regina did nothing else in the three years that they were together, she had taught him an invaluable lesson—no woman would ever again be able to call his manhood into question.

Mitchell returned to the waiting area and spotted Sasha just as she glanced in his direction. He made a point of walking to the other side of the waiting area to find a seat.

Sasha flinched. The warm, inviting look that she’d seen earlier in his eyes was definitely gone. If it was possible to look through someone, that’s exactly what Mitchell just did. Fine, she thought. Although it may have been April’s agenda for her to find a man—even temporarily—it wasn’t hers. Her goal was to win this competition. Period. She settled back in her seat and concentrated on her book. At least she tried to.

Finally the flight was called and boarding began. To Sasha’s dismay, Mitchell was seated in the row across the aisle from her, both of them with aisle seats.

“Need some help with that?” came the voice from behind her as she struggled to get her carry-on into the overhead rack.

She schooled her expression and turned around. Her heart fluttered in her chest. He was so close that she could see the light flecks of brown in his eyes. “Y-yes. Please.”

He took her heavy bag and lifted it like a loaf of bread, pushing it securely into place.

“Thank you.”

“No problem,” he said without inflection. He took his seat and fastened his seatbelt, reached into the pocket in front of him and pulled out one of the in-flight magazines.

Sasha followed suit and settled into her seat. The words of her novel danced a jig on the page. She wanted to say something, apologize for acting like a deer in the headlights, but the words wouldn’t come.

The stewardess made the routine announcements in preparation for takeoff, and moments later they were in the air. Mitchell put on his headphones, adjusted his seat and closed his eyes. Whatever Sasha may have figured out to say by way of an apology was moot now.

Throughout the three-hour flight Sasha stole sidelong glances at Mitchell. For the most part he had completely tuned her out and the world around him, except for when the flight attendant came through the cabin with refreshments. He took off his headphones and for an instant actually looked at Sasha. She offered a small smile, which he didn’t acknowledge. His cold-water-in-the-face dismissal was an unwelcome jolt of reality. It was clear that whatever interest he might have had no longer existed. The flight became unbearably long.

When they disembarked in Puerto Rico to change planes and claim their luggage, Sasha and Mitchell took great pains to stay out of each other’s line of sight as they moved in and out of the crowd. To kill some time, Sasha took a quick stroll through the terminal to hunt for souvenirs. She found a cute T-shirt for April, glass salt-and-pepper shakers for her mother, a baseball cap for her dad and some beautiful hand towels for her sister.

With her stash in hand Sasha returned to the baggage claim area and looked for her bag on the conveyor belt. She felt Mitchell before she actually saw him. With a bit of reluctance she turned to her left, glanced, then looked away. She twisted the plastic bag in her hands and accidentally bumped him when she adjusted her oversize purse on her shoulder.

“Oh, sorry.” Her eyes danced everywhere but on his face.

“No problem.” He craned his neck over the row of passengers in front of him. “Our bags are probably in the corner over there.” He lifted his chin in the direction of a holding area for luggage. “One of the ground crew said the baggage handlers take the bags off and stash them on the side to make room for the next flight. So if you don’t see yours now, it’s probably over there.”

She frowned for an instant at the odd practice. But this wasn’t Georgia, she concluded. “Hmm, thanks for the tip. Guess I’d better take a look.” She started to move away and felt his eyes behind her. Her heart thudded and her body tingled even as she firmly instructed her hips to sway like the willows of Savannah.

Mitchell nearly collided with another passenger as he became mesmerized by the pendulum swing in front of him. He was still smarting from their last conversation, but for the life of him he couldn’t seem to shake Sasha Carrington from his thoughts. Throughout the first leg of the flight, he’d tried to concentrate on the motivational lectures he’d uploaded to his iPod and failed miserably. And, because his ego was bruised, he’d rebuffed her smile—an obvious peace offering—in favor of indifference, a persona that was far from who he really was. But since his breakup with Regina, he wasn’t the same man. He knew it. He felt it in the pit of his stomach. His confidence had been shaken. Although they’d parted ways months ago, the wounds were still felt fresh and his trust in women and relationships would take a long time to heal, if ever. With that bit of reality, he pushed thoughts of Regina, Sasha and women in general to the far corners of his mind.

When they landed at V. C. Bird International Airport in Antigua, Sasha was immediately swept up in a whirlwind of sights, lilting sounds and alluring scents. She, along with the other passengers, were guided through customs and into the waiting area to once again reclaim their luggage. She was amazed at the level of activity at what appeared to be the smallest airport she’d ever seen; customs, baggage claim and the eager drivers who waited outside the airport for would-be fares, were all mere steps from each other.

Amid the throng of moving bodies she’d periodically caught glimpses of Mitchell, but she made it a point not to let her gaze linger. This was probably the last time they would see each other anyway. Gathering her bags, she walked outside into the balmy air of the Caribbean, the heat tempered by the setting sun beyond the horizon. She took the travel information from her purse and looked over the information that had been provided in her letter of agreement. She was staying at the Jolly Beach Resort, and would be a guest there for the duration of her three-week stay, with the actual competition taking place offsite. She tucked the letter back in her purse and followed the crowd toward the waiting vehicles.

Her pulse quickened. Two people ahead of her was Mitchell. The woman who stood between them suddenly began waving at someone who Sasha couldn’t see, before darting off into the waiting arms of a man who wrapped her in a tight embrace before kissing her like a man drunk on desire and deprivation.

Sasha lowered her gaze, suddenly feeling like a voyeur as the intimate scene unfolded. The line inched forward and Sasha made a point of keeping an appropriate distance between her and Mitchell. The last thing she wanted to do was bump into him from behind.

A white van pulled up in front of them. Sasha breathed a sigh of relief. He’d get into the van and be on his way. The driver hopped out, dragged a limp handkerchief across his sweaty forehead and shouted, “Jolly Beach!”

Sasha and Mitchell moved in unison toward the waiting ride, bumping hips and luggage in the process. Mitchell looked over his shoulder. Sasha stopped in her tracks.

“Jolly Beach?” he asked. She nodded her response and was jostled by the couple behind her.

“Are you two getting in?” the man asked, his fat brown face glistening in the waning light.

“Room for all,” the driver called out. He snatched up Mitchell’s bag and loaded it into the back and did the same for Sasha before grabbing the couple’s luggage.

The older couple, spry for their age, hurried right past Sasha and Mitchell and secured the seats in the back. Mitchell stepped aside to let Sasha on, helping her up with a firm hand on her arm. A shiver ran up the line of her back and she almost tripped over her own feet. Real smooth, she thought, thankful for the dark interior of the van. She scooted across the worn upholstered seat and pinned herself against the window, praying for the driver to hurry and turn on the air conditioning.

Mitchell stooped low to get in and, after assessing the seating arrangements, took the only available seat, the one next to Sasha. He adjusted his solid body, inadvertently bumping his hip against hers. “Sorry,” he murmured then folded his arms across the tight expanse of his chest and stared ahead.

Sasha’s heart thumped. Sweat trickled down the valley of her breasts as she tried to gather herself into an invisible knot.

The driver hopped in on the right-hand side of the van, put it in gear and took off into the night. The van banged and bumped along the frighteningly narrow roads at death-defying speeds. Sasha’s heart hammered along with the banging and rattling, and she was sure that they were going to hurtle into a ditch, never to be seen again. She held on to the armrest for dear life. The one perk to the speed was that it stirred up gusts of air which cooled her body.

The only time the driver slowed was to allow two goats to cross the road. She could barely make out the landscape, but what she did see was not what was advertised in the brochures. Clapboard houses leaning left and right, stray dogs and cats, cows, sheep, and a ragtag complement of residents sitting on rickety steps or strolling along dirt roads.

The tug and pitch of the ride put Sasha and Mitchell in constant bodily contact, sending shock waves rippling up and down her thigh even as she pretended not to notice him or the way his leg felt against hers.

The van suddenly swerved around a double-parked car and Sasha tipped over into Mitchell’s lap. For a moment neither one moved or breathed. Alarm lit her eyes and the heat of embarrassment burned her cheeks when she looked up at him staring down at her. And then he smiled and it was sunlight rising over the horizon. She froze at the awesomeness of it.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” he teased, his warm voice taking the sting out of her awkward predicament. The van bumped again and she struggled to sit up. “I am so sorry,” she said, looking every place but at him.

“I’d rather have you fall in my lap than that one back there,” he said in a pseudo whisper with a flick of his head in the direction of the couple behind them.

Sasha giggled.

They were both silent for a moment until Mitchell said, “Hey, why don’t we start over? Mitchell Davenport.” He extended his hand.

Sasha hesitated but a second before placing her hand in his. “Sasha Carrington.” She smiled. “Nice to meet you, Mitchell.”

“Since it looks like we’ll be staying at the same resort, why don’t you call me Mitch? All my friends do.”

“Mitch…”

His dark eyes caught flecks of light as they glided over her. She drew in a breath and held it.

The van swerved again. This time Mitchell caught her. They laughed at the absurdity of what was to be their ordeal until they arrived at their destination.

“Do they all drive this way?” she asked, brushing the loose strands of her windswept hair away from her face.

Mitchell chuckled. “Pretty much. You get used to it after a while.”

“I’m still freaked out about them driving on the wrong side of the road.”

“That does take a bit of getting used to,” he agreed. He peered out the window. “It shouldn’t be much longer.”

Sasha dared to look out the window and noticed that the landscape had decidedly changed. Gone were the ramshackle homes and worn-and weary-looking residents. In their place were rolling green hills, towering palm trees and beautiful mansions tucked into the magnificent mountainsides overlooking sprawling white beaches.

The van turned into a long, winding road, braced on either side by trees and lush greenery surrounded by white gravel and stones. The vehicle slowed as it approached a gate. A guard in a beige uniform stepped out of the small enclosure at the entrance to the gate and approached the driver. He peered inside and asked to see their reservations. Each passenger handed over their documents, which were promptly returned, and the gate slowly swung open.

“They’re pretty serious about their security,” Sasha said under her breath, tucking her documents back in her purse.

“Jolly Beach is a private resort. There are no walk-ins. If you don’t have a confirmed reservation you can’t get into the facility,” Mitchell explained.

They drove down a path that led to the welcome area of the resort, which was outside, much to Sasha’s surprise. The reception desk was couched beneath an archway with seating all around. The area opened out onto paths leading to shops, the bar and the beach.

The driver began unloading bags and Mitchell took out his wallet to give him a tip. Sasha did the same, but Mitchell covered her hand with his. “Don’t worry about it,” he said quietly.

Sasha couldn’t decide whether to reject his courteous gesture or if he saw her as a helpless tourist. When they were out of eyeshot of the others she would repay him. She didn’t want him getting the idea that now “she owed him.”

They walked up to the reception desk and checked in. They were both given wrist bands that would allow them free meals and use of all the facilities while they were at the resort during the next two weeks.

“Here are your keys,” the desk clerk said in a lilting island patois with a hint of a British accent. She gave an actual key to Sasha and Mitchell then handed them a brochure of the resort’s amenities and a map and directions for the sprawling resort. “Your rooms are on Mango Lane. Make a left at the exit sign and they are across the short walkway.” She smiled brightly, not offering an escort.

“Thanks,” Mitchell said then turned to Sasha. “Ready?”

“Sure.” Pulling her bag behind her, she followed Mitchell through the darkness, the only illumination coming from the moonlight on the graveled path.

They crossed a short bridge that spanned a pond and emerged on the other side into a tropical paradise. Palms and brilliantly colored flora greeted them every step of the way, filling the air with a heady aroma. Mitchell looked at the signposts stuck in the gravel. He glanced over his shoulder at Sasha. “It’s right up ahead.”

They came upon a row of white connected cottages and went up a short flight of stone steps that opened onto another row of connecting rooms.

“I’m in 207,” Mitchell said.

Sasha looked at her key tag and was surprised to discover that she was right next door in 206. She swallowed. “206.”

“Neighbors.” He led the way down the corridor and stopped in front of her door first. “Here you are.”

“Here I am,” she said inanely.

“Need any help?”

“No, I’m fine. Thanks. You’ve been very helpful.”

He nodded, but didn’t move. “Are you going in?”

“Oh,” she said, flustered. She stuck the key in the lock, opened the door and flipped on the light.

“Mind if I take a look around? Make sure everything is cool, okay?”

Sasha stepped aside. “Sure.”

“Can’t be too careful,” he said, stepping inside. He walked in, opened the closets, looked in the bathroom and went to the terrace, checking the locks. He turned to her. “Be sure to lock this whenever you leave your room.” He drew in a breath and slowly exhaled. “Well…everything looks fine. Uh, guess I need to get out of here so that you can get settled.” He moved toward the open door.

“Are you always this…helpful?” Sasha asked with a soft smile, her hand on the frame of the door.

“As the oldest with two younger sisters, my father always insisted that I look out for my mother and my sisters and treat women the way I would my own family.” His gaze settled on her for an instant too long. He looked away. “Good night. Rest well.”

“You, too. And thanks again.”

He nodded and walked out. Slowly she closed and locked the door behind him, and suddenly the brightly colored room seemed incredibly dull without him.

She shook her head to dispel thoughts and images of Mitchell Davenport. What she needed to focus on was unpacking her bags, taking a long, hot shower and settling beneath the covers of the queen-sized bed that was calling out to her.

After unpacking, she closed the drapes on the terrace windows and stripped before heading into the bathroom. The moment she walked in she heard the rush of water coming from the opposite side of the shared wall. Mitchell’s room. Her mind flooded with images of his tall, lean, muscular brown body glistening beneath the pulsating flow of the rushing water. The bud between her thighs jerked to attention and began to pulse. A soft moan escaped her lips.

It had been months since she’d had sex, and even longer that her needs had actually been fulfilled. No wonder she got turned on by the first decent-looking,-smelling,-talking man she met.

Get it together, girl, she chided herself, turning on the water and wondering if Mitchell would imagine her the same way she’d just imagined him.

She stepped under the steamy spray and using her shower gel, generously lathered her body. Her nipples grew hard and the beat of the water between her legs only intensified the long drought that she’d endured. She let the water push the scented soap off her body as she caressed the heaviness of her breasts wishing that there were hands other than her own giving her pleasure. Her fingers dipped lower, answering the demanding call.

She closed her eyes and Mitchell stood in front of her, holding her close, hard and thick between her trembling thighs, stroking her, nibbling her wet skin, pushing her closer to the edge of ecstasy.

Her body shook from the balls of her feet, charging like an electric current up her thighs, exploding in her center, the intensity weakening her knees. She shook and moaned as release wound its way through her.

The pounding of her heart echoed above the sound of the water. Her eyes blinked open. She was alone—momentarily satisfied.

Chapter 3

Mitchell rose before the sun. He wished he could say that he’d actually slept. But he didn’t. More than once he’d awakened during the night with a hard-on that could cut glass, and he owed his discomfort to Sasha Carrington. Throughout the night he’d envisioned her lush body naked in his bed, on the beach, in the ocean and him doing things to her and her to him that are only talked about on a 900 call. Her soft scent haunted him like an apparition. He’d found himself reaching for her in the throes of tossing and turning in his bed, only to discover that he’d grabbed the downy-soft pillow.

Bleary-eyed, he made his way to the bathroom and turned on the shower full-blast. Maybe an early-morning jog on the beach would shake off the effects of Sasha he hoped as he stepped under the prickling pellets of icy-cold water.

Donning a sleeveless T-shirt and his jogging shorts, he laced up his sneakers, grabbed a hand towel from the bathroom, draped it around his neck and left for the beach. Walking through the reception area he passed the bar and closed shops and inhaled the aromas of steamed fish, ham, bacon and spices as the kitchen staff prepared to open the breakfast buffet at six.

When he reached the beach, a hint of orange glowed just above the horizon. He had about a half hour before the sun fully rose, and the heat with it. He took off at a slow jog, his only company the seagulls and the ocean that rolled toward the shore.

This was the best time of day, he thought, picking up his pace, those precious moments just before dawn, when stillness and the perfection of nature were at their most beautiful. Nothing was more awesome than watching the magnificence of the sun emerge above the horizon. It was a humbling sight that made you realize how small man really was.