Free The Wedding Fling by Meg Maguire Page B

I got the plane secured.” He opened Leigh’s side of the truck, the courtesy seeming surreal in such violent weather. She climbed inside and he joined her shortly in the cab.
    “Where are the other workers?” she asked.
    “I suspect the slumber party’s already begun,” he said, starting the engine. “This happens a few times a year. The workers’ village is on the quietest inlet, but they still evacuate us, set us up with cots and amenities in the main complex, around the pool. But don’t worry. You’ll be treated very well.” His tone was warm, but a touch false. He sounded as though he was speaking to any old guest, not the one whose body he’d held tight two nights before. She missed the real Will, the shameless one, and worried she’d scared him away.
    “Sorry about the inconvenience,” he added politely as he got them onto the road.
    She found the balls to turn and stare until he met her eyes during a straight stretch. “I sort of liked you better when you were a jerk, Captain.”
    Will faced forward and his smile arrived slowly, lit by the light of dashboard gauges. “Apologies. What about the other night? Is that off-limits or do I get to harangue you for trying to take advantage of me?”
    She relaxed, pleased she hadn’t ruined their rapport. “Just don’t treat me like some delicate visitor flower. That’s all I ask.”
    “Never been sexually assaulted by a guest before,” Will said, facing forward. “Just trying to be polite, lest you manhandle me again.”
    “Womanhandle, you mean.”
    Another grin.
    “You can get away with a lot,” Leigh said, “since you’re the only man who can get me off this island.”
    “If we’re being indiscreet again, I’m going to go ahead and delete the last two words of that sentence.”
    She replayed her remark and rolled her eyes at him. “That sounds more like the Will Burgess I know.”
    “First class, all the way.”
    “Indeed.”
    “But never fear, we shan’t cross paths tonight. You’ll be put up in the emergency suite, away from us commoners.”
    “Emergency suite?”
    “It’s nicer than it sounds. It’s on hand to placate guests when there’s a malfunction, or if they’re feeling ill and need to be near the medical staff. Or most often, if their marriage breaks down and the husband gets the boot from the love nest. The workers call it ‘the doghouse.’”
    “Oh dear.”
    Will steered around a trash bin that had been blown into the road. “Doghouse or not, it’s lovely. You’ll be spoiled rotten. They always bend over backward when anything goes wrong.”
    “I don’t need spoiling. Just shelter.”
    They lapsed into silence for the rest of the trip, and Will got them safely to the parking lot outside the reception building. “I’d hold an umbrella for you, but I’d rather not get swept out to sea.” He opened his door and pulled her case from behind the seat. Leigh saved him the trouble of opening her side, and hurried behind him through the punishing wind and into the warm, dry calm of the lobby.
    The manager hurried forward with a broad smile. “So sorry about this, Miss Bailey.”
    Leigh smoothed her wind-whipped hair and offered a smile of her own. “I don’t mind. I just hope the room isn’t wrecked.”
    “Shall I show her the temporary suite?” Will asked. He took the key card and led her to the left, past the fountain.
    “If there’s anything you need,” the manager called after them.
    “I’ll ring, thank you,” Leigh said.
    “No charge!”
    Will showed her up a flight of stairs and down a hall to a beautiful suite that overlooked the dock and The Passport . It was nowhere near as spacious as her villa, but just as tastefully decorated, hardly an afterthought. She wondered exactly how often this space did get used for the crises Will had mentioned, both medical and marital.
    He set her suitcase beside a desk.
    “Thanks.”
    “You’re very welcome.” He paused before adding, “Sorry this trip’s