The Trouble With Paradise Read online

  He took them all in, including the fact that there was no boat anywhere near them, and raised his hands as if to say what happened?

  “We limped in after the storm,” Denny called out. “And lost our boat.”

  “Ah.” The man handed his helm over to the man standing at his right, and hopped down into the water without regard to his clearly expensive pants. Water splashed up to his knees as he stepped onto the shore, holding out his hand to Denny. “Michael Phillips.”

  “Denny McDonald,” Denny said, and the two shook hands.

  “So you’re in a bit of a bind,” Michael said in that expensive British voice.

  “You could say so.”

  Ethan and Christian were behind him, tense and very watchful.

  “Men,” Brandy whispered in Dorie’s ear. “They’re playing the who has the biggest dick game.” The Vegas dancer stepped closer. “How did you happen on us?” she asked.

  Michael turned his head and looked at her. “I didn’t just happen on you.”

  Denny and Ethan went very, very still.

  Christian didn’t move either, and Dorie could almost see him mentally wielding the knife she knew he held.

  “I own this island.” Michael studied each of them in turn. “We saw smoke from your fire yesterday and figured a boat had stopped for some beach fun. When we saw the smoke again today, I decided to come check it out.”

  “You own the island,” Brandy said in a holy shit voice.

  He smiled. “Along with a very exclusive getaway on the north side. You didn’t see that, apparently.”

  “No,” Denny muttered. “We didn’t.”

  “We tried,” Ethan said, “but we couldn’t get over there.”

  “Which is what makes it exclusive. We don’t usually have more than a single guest at a time, for privacy’s sake.”

  Uh-oh.Dorie knew what that meant. Either he was catering to the rich and famous, or he was a drug runner. God, she hoped it was the rich and famous.

  “So you’re stranded,” Michael said calmly. “Stuck here.”

  “The guy’s a genius,” Denny muttered, and Dorie wondered if he was put out because he was no longer the only captain on the island, or if it was because he was the only captain on the island without a boat.

  Michael didn’t seem concerned with either possibility, or with the fact that the men still hadn’t relaxed. He walked up the beach like he did indeed own the place, and smiled at the women. “Are there any injuries?”

  Their matching smiles faded in unison as they remembered.

  Bobby.

  “What is it?” he asked, his voice low with obvious concern as he took in each and every one of them. “Who’s hurt?”

  “Not hurt,” Denny said. “Missing. We lost one of our crew.”

  “In the storm?”

  They all looked at each other, and Dorie was right there with them. What to say now? Yes, in the storm, but one of us might have assisted that loss? The ramifications of saying anything close to that hit her like a one-two punch. The authorities would be called, and each of them who’d been on the Sun Song, including herself, would be held for questioning.

  They’d be suspects, one and all. And worse, suspects outside of the United States and its authority, which meant they’d be held in a foreign prison.

  “It’s complicated,” Christian said calmly. “But we’ll need the authorities.”

  Michael lifted a brow. “Is there a crime scene?”

  The silence became weighted until Christian spoke. “The crime scene was on the boat.”

  Michael just looked at them. “So there are . . .” He counted. “Seven of you.”

  “Yes,” Christian said.

  “Been a rough few days, I imagine?”

  “Actually,” Brandy said. “If it hadn’t been for poor Bobby, I wouldn’t have minded any of it.”

  “A noncomplaining woman.” He gave her a second look. “What a refreshing surprise in a guest. I have radio communications and a telephone line. You can call whoever else you need to. Consider yourself rescued. You could be out of here by nightfall.”

  His boat, aptly named Elegance, was every bit as beautiful as the Sun Song had been. Even more so, if that was possible. The ride wasn’t long, but Dorie took in the crystal chandeliers, the brass fixtures, the wealth and sophistication in every inch of the yacht and felt bowled over by all it represented. “Do you sail often?”

  “Used to.” Michael served them all champagne. “But then I built my place, and...” He lifted a shoulder. “Now I’d rather be on the island, if I’m not working.”

  “Working?”

  “Writing scripts. Producing.”

  Cadence blinked.

  Brandy gasped.

  So did Dorie. “Are you . . . that Michael Phillips?”

  Michael smiled.

  “Oh my God,” Cadence said. “I saw you get your third Oscar this year. I love you. I mean—” she stuttered when everyone laughed. “I love your work.”

  “The elusive, hermitlike Hollywood big shot,” Andy said slowly, sitting forward, flashing his million-dollar smile. “Hey. Someone more famous than me.”

  Michael laughed and topped off their flutes. “I don’t know about that. Ah, here we go. Up ahead.”

  His place was quite simply the most amazing thing Dorie had ever seen. The mansion was cut into the mountainside as if a part of it, all wood and various levels with walls of windows and so many decks she couldn’t count, shaded by lush growth and flowers in every hue.

  Michael’s crew maneuvered them to the dock with hardly a bump, and when they tied off, they all stepped onto the wood and stared up the grassy cliffs with amazement.

  “Wow,” Cadence said, speaking for all of them.

  “Let’s go inside.” There were two sets of rock stairs cut into the mountainside, leading straight up the cliff to the house. Michael gestured for them to take the left route. At the top, Dorie turned in a half circle and realized she could see nearly half the island, and what looked like the entire ocean and horizon. She’d had her breath taken away before but this cut right through all that and stole her heart.

  Completely.

  She stood at the top of the world it seemed, the house behind her, the entire ocean in front of her, and simply couldn’t breathe.

  “There’s a phone just inside,” Michael said.

  Right. Back to the real world. She looked at Christian and realized the truth. She wasn’t ready to go.

  Christian walked through the room he’d been given, stripping as he headed to the bathroom. It was done. The authorities called, loved ones notified, nightmare over.

  The only negative—and it was a big one—Bobby’s body had been found, so the rescue had turned into a retrieval.

  Christian hated that.

  Given the situation, he knew there’d be a circus of authorities descending on the island as quickly as possible.

  They all had mixed feelings about what would happen next, him most of all. Naked, he stepped into the shower and stood beneath the spray of the water, letting it pummel his exhausted body.

  Lifting his hands to the wall, he bent his head, letting the water beat down on his shoulders, working at the tension knotted there. His home, for what it was worth, was gone. He had no idea what that meant for his life in general, but at least he still had a life, and was breathing, which he doubted could be said for Bobby.

  From the time they’d shipwrecked until this very moment, Christian’s own survival had taken precedence over Bobby’s disappearance. He hadn’t really had the time to get past the surface of what had happened, but he did now. One of the people he’d just spent four days with, eating, talking, working, surviving . . . one of them had done this to Bobby.

  Denny could be a first-class asshole but when it came to violence, he always backed down. It was why Christian had had to hold the knife when Michael’s boat had first shown up. Besides, Denny needed crew members around him. It made him feel important. It was why he