A Yuletide Affair. Monica Richardson

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 something 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