Immortal Billionaire, page 26
* * *
Months passed with no further mention of the curse. The Calusa braves helped Máximo start to build a house and Cariña had very precise ideas for how it should look.
“You, my Cariña, are amazing,” he told her one evening as they sat on the sand outside their tent, finishing their evening meal beside the fire.
“Be specific.” She leaned her head against his shoulder with a contented sigh.
He waved a hand around the little camp. “You traveled back in time from a world where everything was easy, endured every hardship possible to find me. We had a pleasant home in Valladolid and I snatched it away from you to bring you back here to an island where we both know danger lurks. Yet you have faced every challenge with a smile. Now, we are living in a tent and you have made this into our home.”
She laughed. Her Spanish had improved to the point where they could converse in that language now, even when they were alone together. “Máximo, you are forgetting what my life was like before I met you. I was running from a madman, dodging shadows, not knowing where my next meal was coming from. You are my home.”
The kiss they shared was long and lingering. “There is no curse.” His voice was filled with wonder.
“No. And to think all it took was a dress.”
“That’s not it, is it? It wasn’t about a dress or a handful of coins.” His eyes scanned the darkening horizon. “It’s different this time.”
“You feel it, too? I thought it was just me. Corazón is somehow quieter, less troubled.” Cariña turned her head to study his profile. She drew a breath. “Do you think the ancient spirits have been appeased? Maybe even that your immortality is no longer needed?”
He sighed. “I wish that could be true. But who knows?”
“We found Corazón a worthy heir,” Cariña said. “Five hundred years from now, Jonathan is sitting in this very spot, looking out at these waters. Maybe your job is done. Our chapter is complete and a new one is beginning.”
Máximo dropped a kiss onto her head. “Maybe. For now, I intend to forget about curses and immortality and celebrate my life with you, my love, my Cariña.”
They had many celebrations during their life together. They celebrated the building of their house. The births of their other children. The building of the de León dynasty. But none of their celebrations was quite as poignant as the day Máximo found his first gray hair.
Epilogue
Jonathan Carter studied the view from the open glass doors, marveling at the ever-shifting colors of the Florida sunlight. This peace, warmth and tranquility, all in direct contrast to the horrors of the last month, were beginning to soothe his mind as well as his body. What was it Sylvester had said? That Corazón had a way of making you forget? Jonathan didn’t think he would ever forget, but maybe, just maybe, he was beginning to make sense of it all.
He glanced up with a smile of thanks as Juan placed a cup of coffee on the desk beside him. He should speak to Arthur Reynolds about getting some more staff. It was early days, and there were so many things about being a billionaire with his own private island that were new to him.
It still amazed him that Sylvester had tied up every loose end so neatly. Within a fantastic story, the man who had been forced to deal with so much had still found time for the details. Alongside a new copy of his will, Sylvester had left a confidential letter addressed to Jonathan. In it he explained everything. If that explanation initially made Jonathan’s eyes start from his head, as he reread it time after time, it gradually made sense in a way nothing else on this strange island had.
In his will, Sylvester had left Corazón to Jonathan with the rest of his vast fortune evenly divided between his four heirs. Guthrie and Lucinda had been glad of the money and wanted nothing further to do with the island. As for Connie...well, who knew what she thought? She wasn’t here to ask. Jonathan suspected that, wherever Sylvester might be, Connie would be with him. He hoped so. He hoped they had found their happy ending at last.
On a practical level, Jonathan supposed that, at some point, if Connie couldn’t be found, her share of the inheritance would be distributed among the three of them. Since the amounts were so huge anyway, they were unlikely to concern themselves about this.
Following some legal formalities, Arthur Reynolds had pronounced the will sound. Sylvester had left a letter for Arthur. In it, he had made up the story that he was terminally ill and decided to end his life while he was still healthy rather than waiting for illness to destroy him. Sylvester went on to say he knew he could trust Arthur to keep the details of his death private. If Arthur was skeptical about Sylvester’s reason for taking his life, he never said so to Jonathan. But Arthur had had other things on his mind. They all did.
Guthrie and Lucinda had wished Jonathan well, although, from their dubious expressions, he doubted whether they believed he would find happiness on Corazón. Juan and Nicolás had agreed to stay on and work for him, even though Sylvester had left them each a comfortable sum of money. And that had been that. Almost.
Once the police arrived, the whole island had temporarily become a crime scene. With Sylvester and Connie gone, only the four of them remained as witnesses. It had taken time, but the forensic evidence supported their stories. Although they had only just met, Jonathan had felt a pang of sympathy for proud Arthur Reynolds. It couldn’t have been easy to hear your son was the person responsible for this killing spree, and had also committed a vicious knife attack and murder four years ago. Did it make it easier or harder to learn Matt had also killed himself by jumping into the Salto de Fe? Arthur was not the sort of man to share confidences, so Jonathan would never know the answer to that question.
“Are you quite sure you want to stay here?” Everyone else had gone and Arthur had been preparing to depart. That had been a week ago. “The memories can’t be happy ones. I could arrange to put the island on the market.”
Jonathan had glanced back at the house, feeling the now-familiar pull. “No, I want to make this my home.” He had smiled. “It’s the perfect place for a reclusive, would-be writer.”
The memory reminded him of what he had been doing before the view distracted him, and he finished his coffee before turning back to his laptop. The words flowed easily here on Corazón. Based loosely on what had happened here, he started writing a toned-down version of the story of Corazón from the day he arrived. Toned down because no one would believe the truth, not even in a work of fiction. He reread his opening paragraph.
It is easy enough to list in advance, and with absolute certainty, those things for which we are prepared to die. Family, country, religion, the one we love, a valued way of life. Until we are faced with a situation that puts our convictions to the test, we can never know for sure which of these will hold true. There were many lessons to be learned during those strange weeks on the island of Corazón, but, for Connie Lacey, this would prove to be the most important.
It was early days, but his first draft was almost finished.
“Is that what you think, my darling?” He turned his head, seeking the owner of that musical voice, even though he knew she wouldn’t show herself. He had heard her for the first time on the day Arthur left. Her voice was faint here in the house, becoming stronger on the beach. Almost as if she called to him from across the turquoise waves. “For you, this story is just beginning.”
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from ALL IS BRIGHT by Addison Fox,
book one in the anthology A HUNTER UNDER THE MISTLETOE
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All Is Bright
Book One in the anthology A Hunter Under the Mistletoe
by Addison Fox
Prologue
Evangeline Kennedy was superstitious enough not to tempt fate and practical enough not to care when she did. So after firing two team members who’d taken it upon themselves to give some friends restricted access to the employee entrance of the Archangel Casino where she worked, she’d estimated it was safe to assume her day couldn’t get worse.
Until that night when she saw a man consumed in a ball of orange flame.
She wasn’t even supposed to be working, but the holiday installations needed to be finalized and there was simply no way she could go home and leave them unfinished. Which was how she found herself on her knees in the dirt, on the grounds beside the infinity pool that served as the property’s lone—and wildly popular—topless destination.
The sun worshippers had long vanished for the day, trading their golden glow for an evening among the restaurants, bars and gaming tables the Archangel prided itself on. Evangeline sat back on her heels and took in the mix of ivy, poinsettia and lights she’d spent the better part of eight hours planting, irrigating and arranging. She’d been cultivating the poinsettia on her own in the property’s large greenhouse, unwilling to miss out on the color palate she wanted by the possibility of someone else’s carelessness. Poinsettia color was a tricky thing, after all.
And oh, wow, did it pop.
Even in the nighttime lighting that flooded the grounds, she could see the reds, creams and marbled pinks she’d been aiming for, with a well-placed burst of orange mixed in. The wash of vibrant hues would catch the eye, just as she planned. Even better, the installation—a layered structure guests would pass from their rooms near the pool and on into the casino—would match the look, feel and tone she’d built across the property.
As the Archangel’s horticultural architect, Evangeline had full range of the grounds, the only mandate that she continue to use wild explosions of color and unexpected installations of flowers to resemble a walk through an artist’s canvas more so than a Las Vegas casino. And damn it, she thought with no small measure of pride, she did it well.
She wiped a bead of sweat that worked its way down her temple toward her cheek and admired her handiwork. Those two slackers, Troy and Victor, could bite her. Even if it was three in the morning, she hadn’t eaten since noon and she was due in for a presentation with the casino brass in another five hours, she could sit for a minute and admire her handiwork.
The poinsettias had been a gamble. The plant was fairly hardy in the subtropical climates that had been its origin, but the Nevada soil was tricky, the desert climate something that required continued overcompensation.
Sort of like you.
Evangeline shook off the strange thought and stood. While she didn’t regret her earlier choice in firing two members of her team, the harsh words she’d had with Troy and Victor had left an unpleasant aftertaste that had tinged the edges of her thoughts while she worked.
Loosen up. What’s the big deal? No one cheated or anything after we let them in.
The big boss is so busy earning money and overcharging people for food and liquor he’s not going to notice a few guys in the back door.
You’re a bitch of a boss, anyway. Who wants to spend all day with some compulsive, anal need to plant some stupid flowers?
It had been the last that had struck with surprisingly sharp claws. She’d believed herself in tune with her employees, enjoying a relatively easy camaraderie and kinship over their work. From Troy and Victor’s abrupt exit interview, it sounded like she needed to rethink that perspective.
Perhaps she needed to rethink a lot of things.
With one final look at her handiwork, Evangeline resolved to shake off the malaise and the unpleasant memory. Careless employees didn’t matter. Her work spoke for itself. And if she needed to think about getting a hobby or find a way to spend more of her personal time off the Archangel’s grounds, then she would think about that in the New Year.
She wrapped her tools in the oversize canvas bag she carried everywhere, the heavy, jangling weight a comfort and reassurance as she walked down a small, nearly hidden curved pathway toward the greenhouse. She’d stow her things, grab her purse and would be home and asleep in less than half an hour.
The late November air wafted over her skin, a cool breeze that refreshed more than it chilled. Although the season was limited, Las Vegas did experience winter. The sunny days usually compensated for any cold, but the desert lost its warmth at night, here on the floor of the Mojave. Evangeline slipped into the button-down shirt she’d tied haphazardly at her waist, juggling the thick canvas holding her tools.
It was only when she came around the last corner, the hothouse in sight, that she came to a sudden halt. A wall of heat washed over her, the blaze searing in its intensity as it reflected off the floor-to-ceiling windows of the greenhouse.
Fire!
She instinctively stepped back, the heat blanketing her in another wave as she searched for the source of the blaze. Bright orange flames rose toward the sky, the heat immense even as she tried to focus on the source. The fire seemed...contained. Oddly still, even.
Was it possible?
The lawn appeared untouched, as did the building. Standing her ground and forcing herself to take stock of the blaze in order to understand how to fight it, Evangeline’s gaze swept the wide-open lawn, the two-story greenhouse, the rolling flower beds that edged toward the rim of the property.
It was only when she turned her attention once more toward the fire that a scream rose up in her throat.
As the orange and red snapped their fangs, forming and reforming in that strange, isolated blaze, she finally understood its shape.
And saw a man trapped in the flames.
* * *
Shit, hell and damn.
Those and several other, more inventive curses floated through Rafael Stavros’s mind in the few seconds before he lost consciousness, an image of the lovely Evangeline Kennedy imprinted in his thoughts.
He’d pushed it tonight, allowing a meeting to run long. Which meant he hadn’t made it to his rooms before the fire came upon him.
Before that lone moment in his pristinely ordered world when he lost control.
Chapter 1
She’d nearly called in sick the next day. Even with a frantic scramble to find hotel security and a solid belt or two of whiskey when she got home, Evangeline couldn’t shake what she’d seen.
A man on fire.
She’d been unable to move, shocked when the flames that had warmed her all over suddenly vanished as if they’d never been, the air and grounds once again still. It was only once she’d moved closer to the sight of the blaze, the grass untouched and still cooled by the night air, that she’d run for help.
Security had come with her to the site, then reassured her over and over there wasn’t anything wrong. It had only been her insistence to watch the security feed that had finally sent her home in a puzzled haze.
Mac, the lead on duty, had replayed the tapes of that quadrant of the grounds. She’d watched herself come around the corner. Had even seen the look of shock paint her face. But when she stared at the space where the burning man should be, the grounds looked as calm and peaceful as a baby sleeping.
But damn it, she’d seen him. His long, powerful form had been consumed by the fire, and the wall of heat shot off by the flames had felt like the combined power of ten furnaces. She’d never felt anything like it.
How could something so strong and powerful remain so contained? How hadn’t it spread? And why the hell wasn’t it showing up on the security cameras or in the spot where the fire had been?
“Miss Kennedy.” The office admin nodded to her. “They will see you now.”
Evangeline smiled at the woman, a perfect complement to the powerful outer office she found herself in. Thick, plush carpet muffled the noise of her steps and a soft, gentle hum of elegance pervaded the air.
Had she ever looked that perfect? From the artful makeup, to the stylish hair, to the trim jacket that stopped at the woman’s hips, the admin to the great and powerful Stavros family was perfection and grace personified.
“Thank you.” Evangeline scrambled to her feet, inwardly acknowledging that, no, she’d never managed that look. She was a woman who preferred dirt to pearls and comfortable, baggy cargo pants to a skirt any day. The outfit she’d managed for her meeting—a plum silk shirt and a trim pair of black slacks—was about as dressy as she got.
