Page 106 of The Nanny and the Nerd
He glanced at her finger, then lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her palm. “This is my first trip to St. Barts, too. I have a vacation home in the British Virgin Islands. That’s where I keep the boat.”
She stared at him. “Why did you pick St. Barts, then? Did Phoebe ask to come here?”
She couldn’t imagine the six-year-old requesting the French-speaking paradise. Then again, Phoebe did attend a school where a decent number of her classmates traveled on private planes, owned personal helicopters, and employed fancy stylists.
“No, Phoebe simply requested a trip on the big boat,” he answered matter-of-factly.
“Then what are we doing here?” she pressed. There was more to it. She felt it in her bones.
“I told you. We’re having drinks.”
She pinned him with her gaze. “That’s it? Just drinks?”
He did that lip zip thing again, and she released a heavy sigh. It was no use. When the man had his mind set on something, there was no stopping him. He was like this at work. There would be days when she’d walk into his office to find him with his headphones on, completely engrossed in a task. He wouldn’t even register her presence. The man simply disappeared into the gaming code, his fingers hammering out lines of what looked like complete gibberish. It was as if he’d left his body and had been transported into whatever world he was creating.
She’d need to tweak her line of questioning if there was even an iota of hope of figuring out where they were headed. But before she could land on a strategy, he pressed the key fob, and a shiny red convertible BMW chimed.
“That’s our ride,” he said with a grin.
“Fancy,” she commented as he opened her door. She settled herself inside, then opened the glove box.
“Are you looking for anything in particular?” he asked, making his way to his side.
“Clues. I’ve decided to go full-on Nancy Drew to try to solve this mystery.”
He shook his head as he got in the car.
“Do you have directions to this mystery location?” she asked with a wave of her hand. She might as well go all-in on the supersleuth angle.
“I do,” he answered, biting back a grin.
She glanced around the marina, teeming with restaurants and couples strolling down the beach. “Are we going to a resort?”
“No, Penelope! And you can put the Nancy Drew act on ice. This is a surprise. I’m not giving anything away,” he chided, adjusting the settings on the driver’s seat to accommodate his large frame.
She sat back and watched him closely. “You seem to be full of surprises these days.”
“You’ll enjoy this one. And you don’t have long to wait. The island is barely ten square miles. We’ll be at our destination before you know it. It takes longer to get from our place to Phoebe’s school,” he answered as he buckled his seat belt. But she couldn’t help but focus on his pronoun choice.
Ourplace.
The word sent a tantalizing shiver down her spine.
Rowen started the sports car, and she sat back, taking in the scenery and allowing it to slow her down and feed her soul. Relaxing into the rhythm of the Caribbean, it was as if she was living in a tropical paradise cut scene. With her hair blowing in the wind, they left the row of glittering resorts and followed a narrow road away from the coastline—or at least as far as one could get on a tiny island. But for such a small place, the island packed a magnificent, mountainous terrain dotted with thick green foliage and flourishing palm trees. The setting sun lit the rolling land in a golden pink hue as Rowen turned down a desolate gravel road. The path twisted, hugging the side of the high embankment as they continued up a steep grade, when a single orange roof caught her eye, and a quaint tropical cottage emerged from a sea of green.
“Are we here?” she asked, staring at the structure that seemed strangely familiar.
He pulled into the circle drive and cut the engine. “Yes.”
Her gaze bounced from the house to the man sitting beside her. “Do you know the people who live here?”
“Not really. But you do. It’s why I chose St. Barts.”
He wasn’t making any sense.
“I can promise you that I don’t know anyone on this island,” she replied as she studied his muted expression. He was nervous. She’d picked up on his sensory coping strategies. When he felt intense emotions, he went dark and shut down. It had been happening less and less over the last few weeks. But she sensed his anxiety.
“That’s not entirely true,” he answered with the hint of a grin.
