north end of the property, but you couldn’t drive all the way up there from here; they’d take the back road around the property.
He paused at the passenger door, pulling it open to grab the cup of coffee he’d picked up at the Super Min on his way to the site. As he unwedged the cup from the holder, a drop of hot black liquid splashed through the plastic top, dribbling onto the seat.
Well, not the seat. Onto the newspaper he’d left there. And not exactly a newspaper, either, unless the National Enquirer qualified.
The headline taunted him.
Coco Cries on Set: “I Was Blind to the Affair!”
Why the hell did he buy that shit, anyway? To revel in someone else’s misery? To get the dirt on a woman he’d once thought was perfect?
Well, hell, people change. Who knew that better than Will?
Holding the coffee in his right hand, he used the other to lift the front page to see the blurry shot of a woman with long dark hair, big brown eyes, and features so burned in his memory that he didn’t need a wide-angle lens to capture them.
She had only changed for the better, at least physically. The years had been kind, even if the media wasn’t. The memory that had haunted him for almost half his life nearly swallowed him whole when he looked at her picture.
Then don’t look, you idiot.
Closing the page, he nudged the door closed with his hip and finished his coffee, intrigued enough by the tire prints to follow them after he tossed the empty cup in the trash. He strode along what would eventually be the resort’s scenic walkway, canopied by green and lined with exotic flowers from Africa. Each villa was named for a different bloom found on this path.
He passed the partially built villas, mentally reviewing each construction schedule, but his thoughts stopped the instant he rounded the foliage that blocked Rockrose, the only fully finished villa.
That’s what was different.
He squinted into the sun that backlit the vanilla-colored structure, highlighting the fact that the french doors along the side were wide open, the sheer curtains Lacey had installed fluttering like ghosts. There was no breeze, so someone had to have the overhead fan on in there.
Shit. Vandals? Squatters? Maybe Lacey’s teenage daughter or one of her friends taking advantage of the place?
There was no other explanation. Rockrose had been given a CO two weeks ago. But a certificate of occupancy didn’t mean actual occupancy, and Lacey kept the secluded villa locked tight so that none of the construction workers traipsed through or decided to use the facilities.
He took a few steps closer, instinctively flexing his muscles, ready to fight for the turf of a building that somehow had become “his.”
He took cover behind an oleander bush, slipping around to get a better view into the bedroom. He could see the sheer film of netting Lacey had hung from the bed’s canopy, the decor as romantic as Morocco itself.
If anyone defiled one inch of that villa there’d be hell to pay. He’d laid the marble in the bath, shaved the oak wood crown molding, and hand-carved the columns on the fireplace mantel from one solid piece of rosewood. The whole job had given him more satisfaction than picking off a runner trying to steal second ever had.
Irritation pushed him closer to the deck, another damn thing he’d made with his own two hands. If some stupid kid had—
The filmy gauze around the bed quivered, then suddenly whisked open. Holy hell, someone was sleeping in that bed. He bounded closer, sucking in a breath to yell, then one long, bare, shapely leg emerged from the clouds of white.
His voice trapped in his throat and his steps slammed to a stop. The sun beamed on pale skin, spotlighting pink-tipped toes that flexed and stretched like a ballerina preparing to hit the barre.
The other leg slid into view, followed by an audible yawn and sigh that drifted over the tropical air to make the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He took a few stealthy steps, wanting to keep the advantage of surprise but, man, he didn’t want to miss what came out of that bed next.
The feet touched the floor and a woman emerged from the netting, naked from head to toe, dark hair falling over most of her face. Not that he’d have looked at her face.
No, his gaze was locked on long limbs, a narrow waist, and subtle curves that