Worth the Risk by Crystal Lynn & Iain Shaw

Author:Crystal Lynn & Iain Shaw [Lynn, Crystal & Shaw, Iain]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-02-13T16:00:00+00:00

A strong North-Easterly wind had roared in during the night. It was lashing angrily against the rear of the cottage, shaking the cottage's windows in their frames. Vaughn–a cup of tepid coffee nestled in his hand–reclined lazily in the mama-san chair that dominated the cottage’s covered front porch. He’d opened the front windows, expanding the living room out onto the porch and allowing the jazz-infused interior to seep out into the rain-soaked world. He’d lost track of how long he’d sat there, nursing a cup of coffee.

He couldn’t help but smile as he watched the palm trees that covered most of the resort dancing angrily in the wind. His amusement was in the cold rain that it carried; New York would wake up to several inches of snow. The rain was usually less than conducive to being out and about, but at least you don’t have to shovel it.

Here’s to tropical islands.

He wasn’t sure what time Leslie had left. She’d gone when he woke. And if he were honest with himself, maybe he was happy she hadn’t stayed. Not that he hadn’t enjoyed her company, nor appreciated her tastes for sex. Everything about her from her education to her family background to where she lived–Staten Island–should have made her a good fit for him. He’d have to remember to thank Lance for making the introduction.

So, why was he thinking about Angela? Vaughn frowned silently until heavy footsteps drew him from his reverie.

Lance — dressed in white linen and a red Hawaiian shirt that looked to scraps from the Magnum P.I. wardrobe — rushed up onto the porch. He shook slightly once he was out of the rain.

“Well, speak of the devil.” Vaughn shifted, acknowledged his cousin, but only just.

“How’s this now?” Lance smiled, ignorant of the two waitresses who brushed past him.

With near military precision, the two women hurriedly laid out the spread. Plates, cups, flatware, and even tiny little packets of costly jam, with all of it seeming to materialize within reach as the trays set in place, the covers vanishing in the swirl of movement as the pair evaporated from the porch. Only the sound of a golf cart backing away from the house spoke to their departure.

“I was just thinking I needed to thank you.”

“Well, you’ll have plenty of time.” Lance shrugged out of his jacket and hung it over the back of one chair. “I seem to recall you are a breakfast-eater,” he continued. “And I know that heavy evening meals are less than conducive to play, which makes a hearty breakfast just the thing to start your morning. “

Vaughn hauled himself from the mama-san chair, placed his cold coffee on the railing and approached the service as Lance reviewed the offerings.

“We have pancakes — buttermilk, fluffy–eggs benedict, sausage, bacon, ham–because I know you’re ever the carnivore – toast, and coffee.” Lance beamed as if he were presenting his first born.

“Smells great,” Vaughn moved food onto his plate.

“Your turn,” Lance loaded his plate, “Why are you thanking me?”

Vaughn sat his plate on the glass-topped patio table and collected his coffee cup.

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