Hooked!: A Contemporary, Multicultural Romance Read online

  All she wanted was a Mai Tai – with a pretty flower in it to signal that she truly was on vacation and in chill mode – and a cabana on the beach. The Miami sun could be hot and she wanted to enjoy as much of the outside as possible without running from its rays, so a cabana was a must.

  By the time she got all checked in, the sun would be setting. “Tomorrow,” Kammille whispered to the ocean below. I’ll enjoy you tomorrow, she finished the thought in her head. Tonight, a nice table for one by the sea would be nice. She’d treat herself to a nice dinner in the hotel restaurant, get to bed early, and get up early and spend the day at the beach sipping Mai Tai’s and just relaxing.

  What could be more perfect?

  ###

  Kammille struggled to pull her bag from the overhead luggage bin upon landing. They made these damn things too small these days!, she thought.

  A well-muscled arm reached up and pulled the stuck leather case down with ease.

  Kammille turned to say thank you, and got instantly absorbed into a splendid pair of slate-grey eyes. They could almost – almost – be blue, but had just enough of a clearness to them to remain in the grey zone.

  How could she have missed him she ruminated as he said, “You’re welcome.” He handed the bag to her and she proceeded to de-board, shaking her head at what a stunning specimen he was.

  Kammille almost laughed aloud. Specimen … it made him seem like some kind of science project. But his beauty – and that was the only way to describe him – was a freak of nature, she justified to herself. There just weren’t that many creatures walking God’s green earth who looked like that!

  Unlike most women, Kammille automatically dismissed men in his realm of handsomeness as dating material. She’d learned that lesson her freshman year in college while dating the star basketball player, who happened to be every naïve co-ed’s dream. They only dated for four months and even though they were supposed to be exclusive, she’d found out that he’d been dating her and at least two other girls -- that she knew about. And when she’d confronted him about it, he’d been unapologetic, basically blaming the girls, saying they kept ‘coming for him.’

  Then and there, she’d learned a valuable lesson. ‘Devilishly handsome’ equals big-time player. And a man as good-looking as the ‘luggage stranger’ would command attention everywhere he went. It was just too much trouble. Dreamboats like that were better left in your dreams. In the flesh, they were heartache walking.

  Kammille’s stomach rumbled. It was almost dinner time … and she was hungry.

  Chapter 4

  “Good evening Miss. Will you be joining us for dinner?” the Maître d’ asked as Kammille entered the intimate restaurant. With a direct view of the ocean, it was a beautiful establishment.

  “Yes,” Kammille responded to the splendidly dressed, middle-aged man. Do they custom-fit their staff here, she wondered as she looked at the perfect fit of his tuxedo-like uniform. It didn’t even seem right to refer to it as a uniform. He really could attend an official black-tie function in it. It was that expertly tailored. Her mind always on business, she thought about how she and Liza outfitted their staff. Maybe they needed to upgrade a bit.

  “Very well. We’re glad to have you this evening. How many in your party madam?” the Maître d’ was saying to her. Kammille forced her mind back to the present. “One. Just me,” she said. “And if you have it, a table with an unobstructed view of the ocean.”

  “Unfortunately Miss, we only have one left, and it’s reserved. But I can get you close,” the Maître d’ said with an apologetic smile.

  “It’s my table, and I’m dining alone this evening as well,” a deep-throated baritone said behind her.

  Kammille swiveled around, immediately recognizing the voice from a couple of hours earlier. So deep. So rich. She’d never forget it, even though he’d only uttered two words to her. It was the luggage stranger!

  “I’d be more than willing to share my table … if the lady is amenable,” he said, speaking to the Maître d’, but eyes squarely on her.

  The interruption obviously took the usually unflappable Maître d’ by surprise. He looked from one to the other, before speaking again. “Miss?” he inquired a bit tensely, looking at Kammille.

  Those penetrating grey eyes that were almost blue were the first thing she took in about him – again -- right after his towering height. He was at least 6'3", maybe 6'4". The breadth of his chest and shoulders blocked everything she might have seen behind him, even though there was nothing behind -- or in front or to the sides of him – that could be as attention-grabbing. If he wasn't so broad, she would have pegged him as a model. His arrow-shaped, Roman-inspired nose was a perfect complement to his beautifully dominant cheekbones and flawless lips. A professional athlete, Kammille thought. South Beach was full of them. He could be a baseball player, a basketball player or a football player -- perhaps wide receiver or tight end.

  "Miss?" the Maître d’ inquired again.

  "Would you like to share my table?" the flawless being said to her in that ‘get your juices flowing’ voice.

  Kammille gathered her scattered emotions. Now she knew what it meant to have your world rocked by just looking at another human being. He was too beautiful; too utopian; too unrivalled … too much man. She’d been well schooled for years as to what this meant, which quelled any doubts she had about accepting his invitation. He didn’t have a prayer in hell with her and after all, she was on vacation … why eat alone in such a beautiful environment?

  "If you're sure you wouldn't mind," Kammille said, almost looking forward to the ‘woman will fall into my bed at the end of the evening’ charm he was sure to display. She could see it coming a mile way.

  "It would be my pleasure," he said.

  "Now that that's settled," the Maître d’ said, let me show you and your guest to your table Mr. Shaw."

  "After you," the stranger said, putting one hand out to encourage her to follow the Maître d’.

  Landon’s eyes followed every delectable sway of her picture-perfect backside as she walked in front of him. Tonight was turning out to be a helluva lot better than his day.

  Kammille could feel his eyes on her. They were like an ass-laser, trained to hone in on exactly one spot – her backside. She felt heated, from the swell of her butt to the intimate crease between her thighs. She hadn't decided whether she was flattered or pissed off about where his impossibly gorgeous eyes were focused. She’d decide soon; the answer would come to her soon, she told herself, clutching her black wire-mesh evening bag harder as she fought not to acknowledge her visceral reaction to him.

  I haven't even had a drink yet, and I'm already not acting like myself, she thought. Maybe a drink is just what you need to calm down, she reflected as the Maître d’ pulled the chair out for her and she took her seat. "I'll send your server right over," he said.

  “As this is our second meeting, I suppose the first thing we should do is get introductions out of the way. I’m Landon; Landon Shaw,” he said, extending a large hand across the table for her to shake.

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Shaw. I’m Kammille Howard,” she said, taking his hand, which immediately swallowed hers. She liked the feeling. It made her feel feminine and protected. It’s all part of the game Kammille; don’t you dare forget it.

  “Second thing, do you mind if we drop the formalities? Please call me Landon and I’d love to call you Kammille. It’s such a beautiful name.”

  “Very well … Landon. Thank you. And please, feel free to call me Kammille,” she said with a smile.

  “So soft; so warm,” he said, still holding her hand in his. “Not unlike the woman herself I’d bet,” he returned, smiling back at her.

  Let the mating game begin.

  “And what makes you say that?” Kammille questioned a bit coyly.

  “I shake a lot of hands in my line of work. Let’s just say you can tell a lot about a person by a simple handshake, much more than you’d ever think.”<
br />
  “Really?” she remarked. “And just how long do you have to have a person’s hand in yours before you get all this insight about them?” she asked, her gaze noticeably directed to their still intertwined hands. It had gone a bit beyond a simple, introductory handshake.

  “Not long,” Landon responded. “But some you want to hold on to longer than others – for a host of reasons,” he finished, finally letting her hand go.

  “So just what is it that you do that requires you to shake so many hands – and read so many people?” Kammille asked.

  “Good evening,” the very red-headed, very curly haired server said as she approached their table. She made them aware of the specials, took their orders proficiently, then left.

  “Now that was a head of hair,” Landon said as the perky server left the table.

  “Red heads not your thing?” Kammille said. “She had a beautiful head of hair.”

  “It’s rare that you see hair that color. And I happen to agree with you; it is stunning, which is why I commented on it. And in answer to your question, right this moment, I’m partial to a brunette … with curls … and red lipstick … in a beautiful blue dress. Is a picture starting to emerge?”

  In spite of the game she knew he was playing, Kammille laughed. “You never got around to telling me what you do,” she said, refusing to let his compliments penetrate her on any level deeper than the surface.

  “I’m a sports agent,” Landon said. “I’m in town on a recruiting mission.”

  “Why am I not surprised? I had you pegged as an athlete, so I was close.”

  “I’m a little long in the tooth to still be playing anything,” Landon replied, “at least, effectively.”

  “Long in the tooth. How old are you, 33? 34? Many athletes play close to – and beyond 40. I mean, look at Tim Duncan. Thirty-nine and still schooling the young boys.”

  “All my playing is done recreationally these days. I had a career-ending injury before I even got a chance to play in the majors.”

  “So which sport did you play? You have the kind of build that could put you in any number of sports.”

  “Ahhh, so you’ve taken note of my physique. Interesting …”

  “There is nothing interesting about that, Mr. Shaw,” Kammille rushed to explain. “And I’m sure I’m not the first one to tell you that.”

  “Well you’re not far off. I lettered in three sports in high school, and played two in college – hockey and baseball. I chose baseball. It’s my first love, but in my first year in the minors, I suffered a career-ending knee injury, and that was that.”

  “You must have been devastated,” Kammille said, somewhat fascinated by his life story.

  “I was. I’ve played sports my whole life. It’s the only thing I’d ever wanted to do. But when one dream dies, you learn from it, plant seeds for new ones, and move on.”

  “So just like that,” Kammille remarked, snapping her fingers, “you lose your life’s dream and you’re okay with it.”

  “I didn’t say I was okay with it. I said you learn from it. And believe me, that took a while. Overall, I can’t say I have any complaints about the way things have turned out for me. I’m still involved in sports and I get to help young people attain their dreams. It’s a win, win.”

  “And you truly don’t mourn being that close to stardom? The big-money contracts? Endorsement deals? Women throwing themselves at you wherever you go? All that could’ve come with being a professional athlete?”

  “I’m not the kind of person who dwells on what could have been. I focus on what is. And right now before me is a beautiful woman … whose turn it is to tell me about her. What do you do Miss Kammille?”

  “Miss? A bit formal, don’t you think?” she raised an eyebrow.

  “Oh there’s nothing that I’d like more than to be informal with you Kammille. But for now, please, go on – tell me about yourself.”

  “I have a catering company,” Kammille started.

  The waitress brought their entrée’s and refilled their wine glasses. Kammille had decided to forego her Mai Tai when Landon offered to share a bottle of wine he’d been dying to try -- but only if she would share it with him. Kammille loved wine, and was always up for trying new ones. Now on her second glass, the conversation flowed as easily as the robust vino.

  ###

  “Since you were kind enough to share your table so that I could see that spectacular sunset, please let me pick up the check. It’s the least I can do,” Kammille said.

  “It’s really nice of you to offer, but no thank you. It’s against my personal policy.”

  “What personal policy?” Kammille said.

  “To let a woman pay,” he stated simply, reaching for one of the credit cards in his already-open leather wallet.

  “It is the 21st century Landon. I think you can make an exception to that rule. Besides I really want to. First, you help me with my luggage, then you share your table, then you share your wine. You’ve been so generous… and it’s not like we’re on a date. If I were a man, would you let me pay?” she questioned him.

  “No, because if you were a man, I never would have invited you to join me.”

  “I’m not sure how to respond to that,” Kammille said. “But, I still want to pay.”

  “Feel flattered,” Landon said, ignoring her plea to pick up the bill. “You’re a beautiful, desirable woman. I would have approached you anyway had I noticed you sitting alone. So it worked out just fine.”

  “And why would you have done that?”

  “Because I’ve been thinking about you ever since I pulled your luggage down from the overhead bin. The smell of your perfume lingers, you know.”

  “I’m getting the strange feeling that I might have been stalked had we not run into each other this evening Mr. Shaw,” she teased.

  “No, not stalked. But I definitely was not going to pass up another opportunity to speak to you. I meant to earlier, but you jetted off so fast. I was looking for you in baggage claim, but you never came.”

  “I didn’t check a bag,” Kammille said. “I’m only here for a few days and all I packed were a few swimsuits and some workout gear.”

  “Now that’s a vision I’d like to see … you in a bikini.”

  “Are you always so forward?” Kammille asked. “And who said my swimsuits were bikinis?”

  “When I see something or someone I want, yes. I’m very forward. And as for your swimsuits being anything other than bikinis, what a pity to hide that body behind extra fabric.”

  Kammille blushed. He was good; on the A-list of flirters she’d ever encountered. His compliments almost seemed genuine.

  “Does I make you nervous?” Landon asked.

  “No. I actually find you refreshing. Your type isn’t usually so direct. But you know you don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell, don’t you?”

  Landon leaned his head back and laughed. A few diners peered in their direction.

  “What’s so funny?” she said, as he returned his disturbingly direct gaze to her.

  “And you have the nerve to ask me if I’m always so forward? What type, by the way, am I?” he asked. “I need to know pre-conceived notions I’m up against.”

  “The stereotypical jock. You know, you run a few flattering lines on your target. She swoons. You get what you want. You leave, never to be heard from again. Her heart is broken. She’s left wondering what she did wrong. End of story.”

  “I promise you Kammille, when we’re together, I will be in touch again … and soon. You’re not the kind of woman a man has to have just once,” he said slowly, his eyes turning a smoke-filled grey.

  Kammille swallowed. Hard. Even though she knew he was running lines on her, her body still betrayed her. The husky confidence in his deep, rich voice was the sexiest thing about him. And those eyes … the way he looked at her.

  The waitress came over to pick up the check. Kammille promptly slid his card out of the leather case that included the bill,
slid her credit card in it and handed it to their pretty, red-headed server.

  “Thank you,” she said to the young woman, who smiled and walked away to process the bill.

  “I see I have to keep my eye on you. You’re cunning. I like that in a woman.”

  “What else do you like in a woman?” Kammille asked, not quite believing she’d voiced the question. But since it was out there …

  “I find that every woman is unique. What one does may drive you crazy, but another can do the exact same thing and it doesn’t so much as ruffle a feather. So I try not to have too many set parameters …”