Private 02 - Private Paradise

realization that the only woman he'd ever loved found it impossible to take his feelings seriously.
    Impossible to take him seriously.
    Just like his father predicted.
    He brought his fist down on the desk, but stopped it there. Not only would trashing the place not bring any relief, it would only give Carla more evidence that Sam was still the immature, impulsive fuckup who was too charming for anyone's good.
    It would be so easy to leave now, leave her high and dry and scrambling for a new security director as the board of directors breathed down her neck.
    But contrary to Carla's lower than dirt opinion of him, Sam had changed. And despite the devastation he'd wrought his conscience wouldn't allow him to do this any way but the right way.
    ###
    The next morning Carla was groggy and gritty eyed, her body aching with exhaustion. She hid her eyes behind over size sunglasses as she stepped outside. She was greeted by the low rumble of the generators they'd brought in to power the repairs. She went to first to the main building where the repairs were starting. Sam wasn't there, she noted, with equal parts disappointment and relief.
    She wasn't quite ready to face him after last night, yet she craved the mere sight of him like a junkie craves a drug.
    She grabbed a latte from the bar―now that the generators were online the espresso machine worked―and did a walk around the resort property. There was no sign of Sam anywhere. Finally, she went to his office.
    It was empty. She started to get a panicky tightness in her chest. Sam hadn't put out much in the way of personal items, and the office looked much as it had the last time she'd been inside. No reason to think he'd bolted on the first boat he could catch over to St. Thomas.
    Besides, she chided herself, Sam wouldn't be so upset about last night that he'd take off like a thief in the night. He'd been angry, sure, that she'd called his bluff, but it didn't go any deeper than that.
    Did it?
    Still, as she worked through the morning and into the afternoon with no sight of him, she couldn't shake the feeling that something was very wrong. And even as she told herself it was a good thing he was keeping his distance―God knew she'd shown herself incapable of controlling herself around him―she found she missed his constant presence, the closeness of the last two days.
    That was the exception, not the norm, she reminded herself. For this to work, she was going to have to find a way to work with Sam without giving in to his constant seduction and her own uncontrollable urges to jump his bones every ten seconds. To do that, she needed to maintain as much space as one small island would allow.
    She ate a quick lunch and consulted with the contractor over the cost to replace the damaged floor in the restaurant. Afterwards, she went back outside to the deck overlooking the beach. Off in the distance she saw two large, male figures. Breath she didn't realize she was holding whooshed from her lungs as she recognized the outline of Sam's powerful shoulders.
    Then se felt a spark of curiosity as she recognized the other man―her cousin Chris. Who wasn't scheduled to come back to Holley Cay for several days as he had to manage the minor repairs needed at the other resort.
    As they got closer, Carla could see the grim lines on both men’s faces. Her stomach clenched. Whatever they were talking about, it wasn't good.
    They caught sight of her as they approached the stairs leading up to the deck, exchanging a look as they jogged up the steps to join her.
    Carla's smile of greeting withered as Sam hit her with a look so icy she shivered in the hot tropical air. She turned to her cousin, but what she saw in his eyes didn't offer any comfort.
    His dark blue eyes, usually sparkling with humor, regarded her with something she'd never seen, not directed at her anyway.
    Disappointment.
    She swallowed hard. “What's going on?”
    Sam cocked an eyebrow at Chris. “You want to tell her, or should I?”
    Chris held up his hands. “You handle it. I've had enough stress for the week. I'm going to grab a drink.” He motioned with his thumb to the bar on the other side of the restaurant's French doors.
    “ I'm leaving,” Sam said curtly.
    Carla felt the words like a punch to the gut. So her first instinct had been right. He was bailing on her. “You're just going to leave me high and dry?” She threw her hands up in the air. “You decided screwing me in the bedroom isn't enough? You