Page 384 of The Black Trilogy

“When was that?”

“A year ago, while you were in Paris. I bought it six months before that.”

“It’s beautiful.” So was his smile.

“The only person I told was Oliver. He helped to organise the building work, even though it was outside his usual remit.”

I snorted at the thought of Oliver picking out sofas. “Bet he loved that. Bradley will be devastated he missed out.”

“Can you imagine what would have happened if I’d told Bradley? You’d have known within a day, and we’d never have managed a quiet getaway. He’d probably have flown a circus troupe out to welcome us.”

I laughed because that was exactly what Bradley would have done.

The house itself was stunning. Part brick, part wood, with airy, open rooms, huge windows, and a wide deck that looked out over the sea. The furniture was sleek and modern, but when I dropped onto the massive bed in the master suite, surprisingly comfortable. Black had decorated this place to my tastes rather than his own. Wow. This man was everything.

“Want to take this mattress for a test run?” I asked.

“Later.” He held out a hand. “First, I want to show you something.”

He led me up a narrow staircase in the corner of the room, and we emerged into the sun on a hidden roof terrace. Waist-high walls hid the double sun lounger at one end from wandering eyes.

“Look at the view.” Black waved an arm at the trees, the swath of white sand, and the crystal blue sea twinkling all the way to the horizon. “This was what made me buy the place. Once I came up here, I knew I had to have it.” He leaned down and kissed me. “A bit like you, really.”

I stepped to the edge and leaned forward, hands on top of the wall. Up here, I felt like the queen of the freaking world, and I had my king by my side. He stared off into the distance, a tiny smile playing across his lips.

“What are you thinking?” I asked.

“That I don’t want to go to Las Vegas. I’ve hit the jackpot here.”

“Nice try, Chuck.”

“How long have you been at Lorelei Cay, Wilson?” I asked over dinner that evening.

Wilson’s wife, Marcie, had cooked us up a feast of rice, vegetables, and grilled snapper. Apparently, Wilson liked to fish in his spare time.

“Ten years, now. We came here under the previous owner, and we don’t ever want to leave.”

“Don’t you get lonely?”

“Spent my twenties in New York, working as a broker. Destroys a man’s soul. One day, I stood at the window to my office, staring out at the lights, and I figured there must be more to life. I quit on the spot and moved to Nassau. Met Marcie and worked as a barber for twenty years before we came here. No, we don’t get lonely. The other islands are just a boat ride away, and friends stop by to visit.”

“You know how to cut hair?”

“Sure I do. Not that I’ve got much left myself.”

“Could you do me a favour?” I pointed at Black. “Fix that?”

“What?” Black asked. “The hippie-surfer look doesn’t suit me?”

“Sorry, honey.”

“She’s right. Can you fix it?”

Wilson laughed. “I’ll just find a pair of scissors.”

An hour later, Black had short hair again, and all was right with the world.

CHAPTER 32

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