A Yuletide Affair Page 2

  “Talbot women certainly are beautiful,” said Samson.

  She noticed the word Toni etched across his left biceps, and asked herself, Who has the names of their ex-or current girlfriends etched into their skin?

  “Alyson is a real estate broker,” Jackson offered. “Her company is quickly becoming the go-to for real estate on the island and abroad. You mentioned taking a look at some beach homes while you’re here. Maybe she can show you around.”

  Alyson gave Jackson the evil eye and then looked at Samson. “I generally don’t dabble in the competitive market. But I have a lot of connections and would be happy to pair you with one of my associates who could show you around.”

  “I think she just told me that I can’t afford any of the properties in her portfolio but she’d pawn me off on someone who can show me some cheaper ones.” Samson smiled, and the entire room seemed to illuminate.

  “I think she did,” Jackson agreed.

  “What is it that you do for a living, Mister...”

  “Steel.”

  “You steal for a living?” she asked.

  He and Jackson both laughed a hearty laugh.

  “My name is Steel. Samson Steel,” he said.

  “Oh.” She felt silly, but offered a gentle smile. “The most modest home in my portfolio, Mr. Steel, appraised at half a million dollars last week. We’re asking much more than that.”

  “Great! I’d like to see it.”

  He was wasting her time! Between helping to plan a wedding and juggling appointments with clients in Miami and the islands, she didn’t have time to play games with Samson Steel. She pulled a business card from her purse and handed it to him. “My website is on there. Why don’t you peruse the homes on my site and see if there’s anything that you’re interested in? Save us both a lot of time and effort.”

  He studied the card. Flipped it over. “So I can reach you at this number?”

  “If necessary,” she said.

  “Is it your personal cell, or will this take me to voice mail?”

  “I don’t do voice mail, Mr. Steel. My clientele is way too important for that. I have a personal assistant who handles all of my calls.”

  “Ah, I see,” he said thoughtfully. “I’ll give you a call in the morning. Maybe you can fit me in tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Can’t tomorrow. Early afternoon, I have an appointment with a client. And then right after that, I’m scheduled to taste wedding cake with my sister.”

  “Um, Alyson... I meant to tell you that we’d rescheduled that appointment for Friday,” Jasmine chimed in. “The bakery called this morning.”

  “When exactly were you going to tell me?” she attempted to whisper.

  “I called Jules and had her check your schedule, and she penciled you in for the tasting on Friday. So it looks like you’re free tomorrow afternoon...to show Samson some properties...” she caught Alyson’s wicked glance “...or not.”

  “Call my office tomorrow, and I’ll try to fit you in.” There was no way out of this one.

  “I appreciate that, Alyson Talbot.” He smiled widely again. “I’m looking forward to you fitting me in.”

  He shouldn’t get it twisted, she thought. This would be strictly business.

  Chapter 2

  No doubt, he was enigmatic—it kept people at arm’s length. It allowed him to share only what he wanted others to know. He’d come to the Bahamas where the only person he knew was Jackson Conner, his buddy from college. They’d met at Harvard and had kept in touch over the years. Though they hadn’t spoken every day, he considered Jackson to be a good friend. And he was shocked to learn that Jackson had abandoned his hometown of Key West, fallen in love with a Bahamian girl and taken up residence in the Caribbean. His friend had always been a city fellow. A contractor, Jackson had owned a successful business in Florida and had built some of the finest properties that Samson had ever seen. That is, until meeting Jasmine Talbot.

  It was Jackson whom Samson called on the phone that day when life seemed unbearable.

  “I never thought you’d leave Florida. And I’m surprised that some woman has snagged you and taken you toward the altar!” Samson had told Jackson.

  “I never thought I would, either,” said Jackson, “but love has a way of rearranging your entire life.”

  “I wouldn’t know. I’m an eternal bachelor.”

  “Yep, I thought I was, too,” said Jackson. “You just need to bump into that woman who will turn your world upside down.”

  “I’ve had plenty of women turn my world upside down, for a good twenty, maybe thirty minutes.” Samson laughed. “And then I’d roll over and fall asleep.”

  “I’m talking about for life, not just in the bedroom,” Jackson said. “You should come over here for a visit, man! It’s the best place to clear your head after everything that’s happened. Besides, I’d really like for you to be here for the wedding.”

  “Jackson Conner’s getting married,” said Samson. “Wow!”

  “It’s not that far-fetched,” Jackson said. “Now you, on the other hand, you’re afraid of marriage.”

  “I’m not afraid of marriage. I just don’t think it’s necessary. There are too many beautiful women out there to settle down with just one.” Samson sighed. “But that’s just the world according to Samson. Obviously you have a different opinion about it, bro.”

  “I absolutely do. And you will, too, someday. Some little honey is going to snatch your ass up one day, have you making her an omelet wearing nothing more than an apron and your birthday suit.”

  They both laughed. It had been months since Samson had joked like that. There hadn’t been much to laugh about.

  “I can’t live without her. I had to make her my wife.” Jackson was more serious then. “She changed my life.”

  “I’m truly happy for you, Jax man. I wish you the best.”

  “What about you? What’s your next move?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “Come over here for a few weeks,” Jackson had insisted. “Relax a bit. Get a new perspective.”

  “I don’t know, man.”

  “I’ll have Jasmine hook you up with a room at the Grove,” Jackson said emphatically.

  The Grove was a trio of old homes that had been transformed by Jackson’s construction company into beautiful beachfront properties. Each home had its own distinct personality, theme and name. Ironically, Samson had chosen to stay in the home that happened to share his name, Samson Place. It was tranquil and bold, much like him. Decorated in Caribbean colors—pink, blue and yellow—Samson soon found his temporary home there. After settling in at the Grove, he’d resolved to only return to Chicago when his head was clear, and not a day before.

  When he’d first laid eyes on Alyson Talbot, he thought she was beautiful. Her hard exterior was a dead giveaway. She was able to fool everybody else, but he had her figured out from the beginning. She was insecure. He flirted because...hell...he was a flirt. Samson was charismatic and loved women—and they loved him. He knew he’d never settle down with any of them for any significant length of time anyway. So he had fun—enjoyed life. Not because he had a fear of commitment, but because he knew he’d never find everything he wanted in one woman. It was impossible.

  As beautiful as Alyson Talbot was, she wasn’t his type. In his opinion, she was snooty and judgmental—two qualities that he wouldn’t tolerate. He’d already read her, and had met a million other women just like her in his lifetime. And concluded that she’d been hurt by someone in her past, which was why she’d decided to take it out on every man alive. And that, he didn’t have time for. He was too busy healing his own wounds, which was why he was in the Bahamas to begin with.

  He sat on a stool, the acoustic guitar resting on his leg, his fingertips fretting the strings. He closed his eyes for a moment. Listened as the music resonated through the room. It was a beautiful love song, and the band’s lead singer sang the Caribbean ballad with confidence. When Samson opened his eyes, h
e caught Alyson eyeballing him from across the room. Her eyes were focused on him, and his on her. For a brief moment he thought she was feeling him. That is, until she seemed to realize she’d stared too long, and looked away. She began toying with her phone.

  She was dressed in business attire, and he doubted that she even owned a pair of sweatpants or jeans. She probably didn’t dress down very often. Always on guard, always prepared, regimented. A pair of black slacks hugged her ample hips. A gray jacket barely contained her generous bosom. He thought she was sexy as hell, with long flowing hair, high cheekbones and a gorgeous, fleeting smile.

  He wasn’t interested in settling in the Bahamas, but he was interested in getting in between Alyson Talbot’s thighs. If spending time with her meant he had to look at beautiful properties along the island’s coast, then he’d entertain it. Contrary to what she believed, he could own just about any property he wanted on the islands. He’d invested his money well and had built quite the nest egg. He had money and could afford any of Alyson’s properties, but it wasn’t real estate that he was interested in at all. Besides, he was sure that the island life wasn’t for him. After all, he was a big-city man with big-city hopes and dreams. And the thought of living on an island seemed too constricting.

  Chicago had been his home all of his life. He grew up in Hyde Park. His grandfather Conrad Steel had served for many years as a Chicago police officer before retiring. His father, Cecil, had followed in his footsteps, and joined the force at a young age. Becoming a police officer had never been Samson’s dream, and even with the pressure of preserving the family’s tradition, he chose law instead. He’d attended the University of Chicago on a music scholarship, with hopes of becoming an accomplished guitarist. However, an undergraduate law class had changed all of that. Becoming a lawyer was inevitable at that point.

  He hopped down from the stool and handed the acoustic guitar back to its rightful owner. Shook hands with every member of Onyx, the band that had welcomed him like an old friend. He talked music for a few minutes with the band members and exchanged phone numbers. He laughed with them as they all promised to get together again.

  “I’m thinking you should play with us at the wedding,” said Justice, the band’s guitarist. “I have an extra guitar.”

  “I think that would be great,” the lead singer, Kosmo, agreed.

  “I brought my own guitar with me. It’s in my room.” He rarely traveled anywhere without his cherished instrument, affectionately known as Bailey. “But I don’t think I’m quite ready to play at the wedding.”

  “Why not?” asked Kosmo. “You’re no amateur.”

  He looked across the room at the spot where Alyson had stood playing with her phone. She was gone.

  “You were absolutely wonderful,” said Bijou. Her gentle hands caressed his back, as if it was the most natural thing in the world for her to do. The Caribbean beauty had been a beast on the drums. With copper-colored eyes, a petite frame and a head filled with curly tresses, Bijou was drop-dead gorgeous.

  “Thank you. You’re quite the musician yourself. How long have you played?”

  “All my life,” she said, and then changed the subject. “How long will you be on the island?”

  “I haven’t decided yet.” It was an honest answer.

  “Maybe I could take you on a tour of the island. Show you around a bit.”

  “So you live here?” He disregarded her invitation. Needed time to absorb it.

  “I’m here in the Eleuthera temporarily. I’m from Cat Island. Are you staying here—at the Grove?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Good! I can pick you up tomorrow evening. I’ll show you some of the best beaches on the island.” She wasn’t shy at all. “Wear your trunks.”

  He was intrigued by her wickedly sexy smile. A cropped top revealed toned abs; a silver ring pierced her navel. Tight denim shorts hugged her hips, and revealed a set of smooth, cappuccino-colored legs. A heart-shaped tattoo played peekaboo on the inside of her right thigh. Samson couldn’t wait to kiss his way from that heart all the way up to her sweet spot.

  “I’ll wear my trunks,” he flirted. “Will you be wearing yours?”

  She moved closer in, brought her lips to his earlobe and whispered, “I usually don’t wear anything at all when I swim.”

  She walked away, moving her hips from side to side. He watched her, admiring her round ass. She must’ve known he was watching because she turned around and gave him a grin and a wink. He exhaled.

  “Damn,” he whispered to himself.

  “I’m only going to have a small window of time tomorrow.” Alyson startled him as she walked up from behind. “I’ll meet you at the water ferry at three. Not a minute after. Not three fifteen. Not three twenty-five. I don’t like being late, and I will not wait for you to arrive. You have my business card—call if you need to cancel. My time is valuable. Please don’t waste it.”

  She was walking away before he had an opportunity to respond. Her round hips moved to their own music. He thought that watching Bijou walk away was nice, but watching Alyson walk away was downright delightful.

  Chapter 3

  Alyson thought Samson was a musician and a drifter, and couldn’t afford the guesthouse of some of the properties in her portfolio. However, she’d managed to find a few condos and a villa that she thought might be in his price range and fit his tastes. She arrived at the water ferry a few minutes early, stood on the dock and answered a couple emails on her phone.

  Butterflies stirred in her stomach as she waited for him to arrive. She pulled a small compact from her purse and checked her hair and makeup, again. She’d spent too much time preparing for this encounter. Way too much time. And she didn’t like what she was feeling. She was nervous, and for no good reason. As strong and as independent as she was, her knees still felt somewhat weak when she was in the presence of Samson Steel.

  Well, that was yesterday. Today would be better. She’d exhibit more strength. He wouldn’t make her feel vulnerable again. She wasn’t his type anyway. She saw the way he gawked at that young girl in the band—the drummer with the small waistline, skinny legs, exposed flat stomach. He looked all goo-goo eyed. If he liked slight girls, then Bijou was more his type, not her.

  She sent a text message to the owner of one of her listings, Jennifer Madison: I have a strong buyer for Madison House. All cash. Full price offer. Quick closing.

  Jennifer replied after a few moments: Great. Send over the contract and I’ll take a look at it.

  I’m also showing it this afternoon.

  The Madisons weren’t any ordinary family. Jennifer Madison’s father had built a successful real estate development company. They were a prominent family that owned homes on Miami’s Palm and Fisher Islands, as well as properties along the coast in the Bahamas. But of all the houses that they owned, the Madison home was Alyson’s baby. It was her first listing that even came close to a million dollars. Her firm had listed plenty of homes on the islands, but she’d personally nurtured this one. It was by far her most expensive listing yet, and was sure to net her a substantial commission—one that would change the financial face of Alyson Talbot and Associates. A sale of that magnitude would earn her the business of every one of Jennifer Madison’s rich friends and associates. She desperately needed it.

  The pant legs of her linen Armani suit blew in the wind. Her recently pedicured toes peeked through her shoes, and she’d worn a professional-looking blouse but made sure she showed just a little cleavage—just to tease Samson a bit, show him what he couldn’t have.

  He stepped out of a taxi wearing denim shorts, brown leather sandals, a snug gray T-shirt and a gray plaid newsboy cap on his head. He was clearly dressed down, but he even made dress-down look sexy. His perfectly manicured beard caused him to have a strong resemblance to Omari Hardwick. Alyson found it difficult to peel her eyes from his muscular, tattooed arms. She thought it ridiculous for any human being to defile their body in such a way, but there was s
omething tantalizing about Samson’s body art. She looked away. Didn’t want him to catch her staring. He didn’t deserve the satisfaction of knowing that she thought he was one of the sexiest men she’d met.

  He paid the driver and then headed her way.

  “You made it on time,” she said.

  “Better than that. I’m five minutes early,” he boasted.

  She looked at her watch, and then up at him. His arms were folded across his chest, and a smirk danced in the corner of his mouth.

  “That you are.” She avoided eye contact.

  “Good seeing you again, Alyson. I appreciate you fitting me into your busy schedule.”

  She ignored his greeting and instead ran down their plans for the day. “We’re going to take the water taxi over to Governor’s Harbour. There are a few houses I can show you over there. They aren’t as elaborate, but I’m sure they would fit into your price range.”

  “You don’t even know what my price range is. You haven’t asked.”

  “You’re a musician. And not a professional one. I admit I’m being a bit presumptive, but—”

  “I’d say you’re being extremely presumptive,” he said. “Is this how you handle all of your clients, or just the ones you devalue?”

  “Are you telling me that you can afford a property that costs more than two hundred thousand dollars?”

  “I’m telling you that you never gave me the courtesy of asking what my price range was. You assumed that I couldn’t afford the properties in your portfolio,” he mocked her. “Isn’t there a process to this? Shouldn’t there be standard questions that you ask a potential client?”

  “I do have a few questions, Mr. Steel. Like, what are you doing in the Bahamas for an extended period of time? What are you running from? Do you have a woman or a baby mama in the States who’s chasing you for child support?”