glossy wood floors. With a thoroughness bordering on
reverence, Donny walked through the many rooms of the grand
old house, inhaling the lemony smell of the polish he'd used on the
banisters, checking to see all was in order as he had so many times
before. Fairview was as silent and still as a mill pond at dusk.
Once satisfied that the house was shipshape, Donny headed
onto the vast back deck to inspect the rest of the property. He
paused for a moment to listen to the waves breaking against the
jagged cliffs, a sound he never tired of hearing. It seemed odd that
the BMW's owner was not inside the house, but the weather was
fine and the grounds lovely. No doubt she was strolling through
the orchard or admiring the dramatic view.
Donny walked across the deck, noticing that the finish was
looking a little dull. Normally he re-varnished the entire thing at
the end of June, and it was looking like it needed it. That's something I can offer to do right away, he thought. Show her I know this
place inside and out.
He took the steps down to the lawn and glanced toward the
ocean. Nothing. He looked at the orchard, noticing the grass was
getting ready for a trim, when he spotted an unusual sight: both
doors to the garden cottage were wide open. That was strange. The
building looked like a charming little home, but it was used as a
shed for lawn and garden equipment. No one but the landscapers
ever opened the building.
Donny walked slowly across the green expanse and toward the
outbuilding. In the air over the cottage were two black ravens, fly ing in slow arcs around the cottage doors. That, too, was unusual.
He felt a growing sense of uneasiness. Something was wrong.
The garden cottage was flanked by several old trees that marked
the end of the manicured lawn and the beginning of a thickly
wooded section of the property. The sun was still very low in the
sky so the trees cast dark shadows. Donny heard a rustling in the
bushes and jumped. Probably just a squirrel, he thought. Then the
shape of a man seemed to dart through the gloom.
"Hey," he called out as he approached the building. Had he really seen a person, or was his mind playing tricks on him? "Who's
there?" he cried hoarsely.
A blue jay shrieked from a tall pine, just as a thudding blow
felled Donny Pease from behind and he crumpled, like a dead leaf,
onto the dew-soaked ground.
Peyton Mayerson could no longer ignore the sun streaming through
the Hurricane Harbor inn's thin curtains. She frowned and opened
her eyes, willing the slight headache just beginning behind her eyes
to go away. She glanced at the sleeping man beside her and felt a
curious mixture of lust and revulsion. Emilio Landi was gorgeous:
there was no denying that. His soft curly brown hair framed a face
that was classically Roman: long aquiline nose, strong chin, and full,
sensuous lips. His body was flawlessly muscled and proportioned
and he knew how to show it off. Too bad he can't speak a damn word
of English, Peyton thought. Then he'd be just about perfect.
She stretched languidly and climbed out of the rumpled kingsized bed, being careful not to wake him. Peyton had some business
with her partners to attend to on this sunny Monday morning, then the silly town meeting at ten A.M., and then the little howdy-do
with the caretaker at eleven. Given everything she needed to accomplish, it was certainly easier to let sleeping Italians lay than to pantomime every single thing on her agenda. She shook her head with
mild frustration. Despite her best efforts to teach Emilio even rudimentary English phrases, he remained unable to communicate except through gestures or his native tongue. In the month since they
met, she'd picked up more Italian than he had English, despite the
fact that they were in America! She arched an eyebrow as he rolled
over, revealing tight abs of which Michelangelo's David would have
been envious. Maybe this Roman God of a man-however well
reverence, Donny walked through the many rooms of the grand
old house, inhaling the lemony smell of the polish he'd used on the
banisters, checking to see all was in order as he had so many times
before. Fairview was as silent and still as a mill pond at dusk.
Once satisfied that the house was shipshape, Donny headed
onto the vast back deck to inspect the rest of the property. He
paused for a moment to listen to the waves breaking against the
jagged cliffs, a sound he never tired of hearing. It seemed odd that
the BMW's owner was not inside the house, but the weather was
fine and the grounds lovely. No doubt she was strolling through
the orchard or admiring the dramatic view.
Donny walked across the deck, noticing that the finish was
looking a little dull. Normally he re-varnished the entire thing at
the end of June, and it was looking like it needed it. That's something I can offer to do right away, he thought. Show her I know this
place inside and out.
He took the steps down to the lawn and glanced toward the
ocean. Nothing. He looked at the orchard, noticing the grass was
getting ready for a trim, when he spotted an unusual sight: both
doors to the garden cottage were wide open. That was strange. The
building looked like a charming little home, but it was used as a
shed for lawn and garden equipment. No one but the landscapers
ever opened the building.
Donny walked slowly across the green expanse and toward the
outbuilding. In the air over the cottage were two black ravens, fly ing in slow arcs around the cottage doors. That, too, was unusual.
He felt a growing sense of uneasiness. Something was wrong.
The garden cottage was flanked by several old trees that marked
the end of the manicured lawn and the beginning of a thickly
wooded section of the property. The sun was still very low in the
sky so the trees cast dark shadows. Donny heard a rustling in the
bushes and jumped. Probably just a squirrel, he thought. Then the
shape of a man seemed to dart through the gloom.
"Hey," he called out as he approached the building. Had he really seen a person, or was his mind playing tricks on him? "Who's
there?" he cried hoarsely.
A blue jay shrieked from a tall pine, just as a thudding blow
felled Donny Pease from behind and he crumpled, like a dead leaf,
onto the dew-soaked ground.
Peyton Mayerson could no longer ignore the sun streaming through
the Hurricane Harbor inn's thin curtains. She frowned and opened
her eyes, willing the slight headache just beginning behind her eyes
to go away. She glanced at the sleeping man beside her and felt a
curious mixture of lust and revulsion. Emilio Landi was gorgeous:
there was no denying that. His soft curly brown hair framed a face
that was classically Roman: long aquiline nose, strong chin, and full,
sensuous lips. His body was flawlessly muscled and proportioned
and he knew how to show it off. Too bad he can't speak a damn word
of English, Peyton thought. Then he'd be just about perfect.
She stretched languidly and climbed out of the rumpled kingsized bed, being careful not to wake him. Peyton had some business
with her partners to attend to on this sunny Monday morning, then the silly town meeting at ten A.M., and then the little howdy-do
with the caretaker at eleven. Given everything she needed to accomplish, it was certainly easier to let sleeping Italians lay than to pantomime every single thing on her agenda. She shook her head with
mild frustration. Despite her best efforts to teach Emilio even rudimentary English phrases, he remained unable to communicate except through gestures or his native tongue. In the month since they
met, she'd picked up more Italian than he had English, despite the
fact that they were in America! She arched an eyebrow as he rolled
over, revealing tight abs of which Michelangelo's David would have
been envious. Maybe this Roman God of a man-however well
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