She swallowed hard and made herself turn back to Josie and Matt. “But enough about us—how are things with you two? How’s the business, Matt? Are you still planning to start that new magazine we discussed?” She considered tossing a few visual daggers his way, but realized the effort would be wasted when her words alone caused him to choke on a bite of lobster.

  Josie pounded his back until he regained his equilibrium and wiped a dribble of drawn butter from his chin. He looked like he wanted to go back in time and take the conversation in another direction, but Monica didn’t let him.

  “I know you were looking for investors. Did you find the money anywhere?”

  By now, Matt’s mouth was hanging open, his lips as white as his face. “I, um…um…”

  He was back to stuttering.

  “I’d still be interested in being head photographer if you go through with the project. I love my current job, don’t get me wrong, but I think it would be wonderful to work with my brother-in-law.”

  “Well…um…”

  “I’m sure you’d be much more understanding about my wanting to stay close to home, too.” She stroked Ryder’s arm and shoulder before adding the coup de grâce. “Being a newlywed yourself and all.”

  Josie appeared genuinely charmed while Matt looked like he was coughing up a furball. He sputtered and choked. Then he reached for his scotch only to choke on that, too.

  “Darling, what’s wrong with you tonight?” Josie patted his back.

  He swallowed hard several times, clearing his throat and gazing anywhere but at Monica. “Nothing, I’m fine. I just swallowed a little funny is all.”

  “Don’t you just hate it when things go wrong like that?” Monica remarked innocently.

  And finally Matt met her gaze. “Yes,” he said roughly. “I do.”

  Something told Monica he wasn’t referring to her rhetorical question. He still looked slightly stunned by her presence, but through that she detected a modicum of genuine fear and more than a hint of annoyance.

  Matt was very self-assured and didn’t like being questioned, as his angry glare attested. Sitting across from him now, Monica suspected she wasn’t the first “investor” to be bilked by him, and that having people poke around, asking for details, threatened his fragile house of cards. She’d often heard him use the term “OPM,” but hadn’t made the connection before. Now she knew it was an acronym for one of his favorite things: Other People’s Money. The bastard.

  From his reaction, she doubted many of the folks who’d been taken for a ride had bothered to confront him, either. Or maybe they just hadn’t been able to find him.

  Lucky for her, she’d ended up tying the knot with someone who knew exactly where he’d be. But what about the others? Because she felt sure there were others. For the first time, she wondered if anything could be done for them. To help them recover what they’d lost or at least attain some type of retaliation against Matt.

  One thing at a time, and she had to tread carefully, but maybe after she’d gotten her money back, she’d try to find out who else he’d hurt and see if there was a way to aid them, as well.

  Of course, what she most wanted was to ask him point-blank where the hell her money was, but knew he wouldn’t give her a straight answer. Besides, she didn’t want to drag Josie into this if at all possible.

  They were just finishing dessert, and before Monica had a chance to put him even more on the spot, Matt stretched dramatically and placed his arm around Josie’s shoulders. “Boy, it’s been a long day. I’m exhausted. What do you say we go back to the room early, sweetheart?”

  “Oh, but I thought we could all take a walk on the beach,” Josie said with a frown.

  “What room are you in, by the way?” Monica put in blithely, seeing an opportunity to gather more information about Matt.

  “We’re on the tenth floor, Suite 1052.”

  Monica’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding! We’re right next door, then, in Suite 1054.”

  “That’s wonderful!” Josie exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “Mama said she was going to try to find you a room near ours, but I had no idea she’d manage to get you so close.” She laughed. “That means we share a lanai, too. I wondered who we’d meet out there, or if it would pose a privacy problem.”

  Monica smiled. Not so much because she was excited about sharing a lanai with her new sister- and brother-in-law, but because having a room right beside theirs might make her plan of searching through Matt’s things easier to pull off.

  “I have an idea,” Monica suggested. “Why don’t we call it a night but meet back here first thing in the morning for breakfast?”

  Josie tugged on the strap of her one-piece suit. “That sounds like a great idea. What do you think, Matt?”

  Matt swallowed hard and Monica suspected he’d be pulling nervously at his tie by now if he were wearing one. Instead, he only worried one of the buttons of his Hawaiian shirt. “Fine with me.”

  “And you simply must leave the balcony doors open in the morning,” Monica added quickly, before they could run off. “When you come back from breakfast, your room will have the most heavenly ocean scent you’ve ever smelled. You’ll want to bottle it and take it home with you.” The corners of her mouth lifted in what she hoped was a trustworthy expression.

  “Great idea, thanks,” Matt said quickly and stood. He took Josie’s arm, all but lifting her out of the chair. “We’ll see you in the morning, then.”

  Monica grinned and waved and gave herself a mental standing ovation for her spark of last-minute genius. If they followed her advice, it would make getting into their room to snoop around so much easier.

  “What was that about?”

  Still smiling, she turned to Ryder—who wasn’t smiling at all. He didn’t look angry, but he didn’t look particularly pleased, either. “What was what about?”

  “That crap about the room smelling like the beach.” He picked up his Stetson from the extra chair and leveled it on top of his head.

  “It wasn’t crap, it’s true. Doesn’t it smell beautiful out here?” She took a deep breath to prove the point. “I just thought they might enjoy it if their room smelled like something other than stale air conditioning.”

  “Yeah, right. And if I believe that one, I’ll bet you have a prime piece of swampland you’d sell me, too.”

  “You’re so cynical.” She rolled her eyes at him. “I’m implementing our plan, here, Ryder. Do try to work with me.”

  He shifted on the patio chair to face her. “It’s not our plan, it’s your plan. And I was working with you until you went off-script. Care to clue me in on this fresh twist to your operation, Agent Zero?”

  “I’d be happy to.” Ignoring his sarcasm, she bounced forward on her own seat, her breasts coming dangerously close to touching the side of his arm as it draped over the side of his chair. “You see, if they leave the lanai door open in the morning, I’ll be able to sneak into their room and go through Matt’s briefcase while you keep them occupied down here.”

  He snorted and looked at her like she’d just grown a second head. “This is your brilliant plan?” he asked. “Why not call hotel security tonight and turn yourself in for breaking and entering? Save them the trouble of coming for you tomorrow.”

  Biting her tongue to keep from sticking it out at him, she plopped back in the chair and crossed her arms over her chest. “I am not going to get caught. And even if I did, Matt and Josie aren’t going to press charges. Not against their new sister-in-law. I just have to get in there, find some proof of the money I lent him, and get out.”

  He seemed to think that over for a minute. “Well, you’re not doing it by yourself,” he said finally. “You’d probably fall off the balcony or get your little muumuu caught on a doorknob and end up naked.” He gestured toward her outfit in disgust.

  “For your information,” she returned in a tone so haughty, it put his to shame, “this is not a muumuu, it’s a sarong. You’d know the difference if you ever left your precious farm. And I have no intention of pulling a Lucy-and-Ethel. I can handle this without you.”

  She expected him to say “yeah, right” again—in which case she planned to slug him, husband or no husband. Let him report her for spousal abuse; she’d press a few charges of her own for his hostage-keeping, stall-mucking, indentured servant stunt.

  Instead, he snorted. A sound she was getting really tired of. She almost wanted to hand him a lozenge to help fight off the cold he seemed to be catching.

  She kicked back her chair and stood, for once towering over him, hands on hips. “I don’t need your help or your approval, Ryder Winthrop Nash. And take off that stupid hat!” She tore the offending article off his head, slapped it on her own, and stormed away.

  Chapter Fourteen

  About half your troubles come from wantin’ your way; the other half come from gettin’ it.

  “Monica!” Ryder watched his wife storm off the patio and down to the beach, tossing sand up behind her with every step. Granted, she had a great behind—especially in that tight little peek-a-boo skirt number—and watching it sway back and forth would be high on his Dying Wish list. But she also had his hat and that just plain ticked him off.

  He drained the last of his Michelob, pushed his chair back, and headed after her.

  Boots, he quickly learned, weren’t ideal footwear for the beach. The heels sank into the damp sand with every step, slowing his progress. He could still see Monica ahead of him, having much less trouble in her flappy little sandals. Cursing her every time he yanked his foot up and nearly disconnected his ankle bone from his shin bone, he continued following her, letting his anger build to a nice, slow boil. When he caught up with her, he’d tan her creamy white hide. That’d teach her.

  Moving into a bit of a jog, Monica abandoned the beach and started onto a sidewalk that led to a side entrance of the hotel.

  He swore. He really would tan her hide if she led him right back to the hotel after making him chase her all this way. If he’d known she was headed back to their room, he could have just cut her off at the pass.

  Ryder increased his pace to keep up, glad when he could put good, old-fashioned pavement under him again instead of blasted quicksand.

  Inside the hotel, he caught sight of Monica in front of a set of elevators. He called her name and tried to catch up. If she heard, she was definitely ignoring him. She stepped into the first available car and left him standing there.

  His hand slapped the metal doors in frustration and then he punched the Up button like it would launch enough missiles to defend against all enemies, foreign and domestic. He rode the elevator up to the tenth floor and stomped down the hall to their suite. He knocked, but got no answer, so he got out his key card and opened the door himself, grumbling the whole time.

  “Monica,” he said as soon as the door closed behind him. She was nowhere to be seen. Neither was his hat. “Monica,” he said again, a little louder.

  “I can’t hear you, Ryder,” she called from behind the closed bathroom door. “I’m in the shower.” And then the water kicked on and he heard her humming.

  He looked around the room, hoping she’d thrown his hat on the bed or dresser before going into the bathroom. He even looked in the closet and on the lanai. No hat.

  And she’d just taken a shower before dinner. How dirty could she be? Unless she wanted to wash off all that fake tan gunk before crawling into bed.

  “Monica,” he ground out, rapping a fist against the door. “Is my hat in there with you?”

  “I told you, I can’t hear you, darling. I’m in the shower.”

  “Monica,” he bit out, grinding his teeth together to keep from bawling her out. “Open this damn door!”

  No answer.

  “Do you have any idea what steam will do to that hat?”

  Still no answer.

  Dammit. He wouldn’t mind so much if it were his work hat. His work hat had been through worse things than a little bathroom steam—like thunderstorms, tornadoes, and being dropped in the muck. But this was his good hat. His Sunday-go-to-meetin’ hat, and being in the bathroom while she stood under a spray of hot water was liable to warp the material. He’d have a hell of a time working it back into shape, if it could be worked back into shape at all.

  With a curse, Ryder considered pounding on the door until she opened it. Or kicking it off its hinges so he could talk to her face-to-face and get his damn hat before she ruined it. Of course, if he kicked the door down, he would end up confronting her while she was wet and naked.

  He closed his eyes, trying to blot out the mental picture that thought conjured. No, kicking the door down was definitely not a smart idea. Waiting for her to finish, dry off, and dress was a better one. And while he waited, he wouldn’t think of her naked. He wouldn’t.

  He’d seen her in her little gold triangle bikini and handkerchief-size sarong; naked wasn’t more than a stone’s throw from that. So he didn’t need to picture anything else. No high, pert breasts with dusky raspberry nipples. No smooth, curving hips that led to long, lithe thighs. No ugly frog tattoo that was…no, not on her butt.

  It was the tattoo that did it. The belly button ring, he was almost getting used to. He still wanted to drop to his knees and lick tiny circles around her navel every time the light created a sparkling glint off the tiny hoop, but he’d seen it before—hell, he could see it always, considering how many times it peeped from beneath the hem of her tops.

  But the tattoo…the tattoo intrigued him. He knew she had one because she’d mentioned it, but he’d never set eyes on it. He was curious to see just how ugly a frog could be, and where, it was, exactly, since she’d made a point of saying it was…no, not on her butt.

  Ryder put the heels of both hands to his eye sockets and pressed until little red, green, blue, and white stars sprang to life behind the lids. Pain and blindness was better than picturing Monica wearing nothing but her belly button ring, her frog tattoo…and his Stetson.

  Lord have mercy.

  He had to get out of here. Had to get off this roller coaster that had been speeding out of control and threatening to send him flying ever since this woman had stumbled her way into his life. Running his hands up from his eyes, through his hair, he made his way to the lanai and sank gratefully into one of the white metal lawn chairs facing the now-black ocean.

  A moment later, the sliding door to the next suite opened and Matt stepped out onto the balcony. He turned to close the door and spotted Ryder. For a second, Ryder thought Matt looked as though he wanted to bolt back inside. But he slid the door all the way closed and moved to lean a hip casually against the railing.

  “Hi, there,” he greeted.

  “Hey.” Ryder inclined his head, not feeling much up to a conversation, especially with a man who may or may not have stolen Monica’s money, and who may or may not be taking his sister for a ride.

  “I thought you and Monica would be inside. Or out on the beach.” He gave Ryder a leering grin, suggesting he knew exactly what they’d be doing if they were inside or on the beach. Ryder tightened his fingers around the arms of the chair and told himself it wouldn’t be polite to bloody his brother-in-law’s nose outside their honeymoon suites.

  “Monica’s in the shower,” he said simply, hoping Matt would take the hint and let it drop. And then Ryder speared him with a stare that he expected was appropriately intimidating.

  “So, Matt,” he began.

  “Yeah.” Matt pulled a second chair a few feet from Ryder’s and sat.

  Out of reach. Smart man. “Monica tells me she lent you some money a while back.”

  It was dark out, but in the light cast through the curtained glass door, Ryder saw Matt blanch. His face drained of color and left him looking like a Halloween ghost costume.

  “She said that?” he asked, his voice rising a bit with the last word.

  “Yeah. For that fashion magazine the two of you planned to start. Of course, she hasn’t seen any signs of that happening and is beginning to wonder what’s going on. I think she may want her money back.”

  If Matt’s face had blanched before, it went deathly pale this time around. For a minute, Ryder thought the other man might pass out from lack of oxygen. Add that to how he’d acted at dinner, and Ryder knew without a shadow of a doubt that Monica had been telling the truth all along. However it had come about, Matt did indeed have her money.

  Although he was glad to know Monica hadn’t lied to him, Ryder wasn’t sure what to think of Matt now. He’d thought Matt was a pretty decent guy, a good husband for Josie. But if he’d taken Monica’s money under false pretenses, then he clearly wasn’t as upstanding as Ryder had first thought. That didn’t sit real well with him. And he had to wonder—if Matt wasn’t all he seemed to be—what did his sister have that the man might want?

  When Matt didn’t say anything, he repeated his last comment. “Think you could get her money back to her anytime soon? Just to clear the air,” he added in a friendly, brother-in-law fashion.

  “I…I don’t have any money,” Matt stuttered nervously.

  Ryder sat forward in his chair, causing Matt to sit back in his. Ryder hoped the look on his face was enough to warn Matt not to try lying.

  “I mean, I have it, but I don’t have it…handy.” He shifted again, getting to his feet by all but leaping over the arm of his lawn chair rather than getting too close to Ryder to stand up. “Like Monica told you, it was for a new magazine. I already invested it. There’s no way I can pull the funding now.”

  With his back against the balcony railing, Matt edged closer and closer to the door of his suite, trying to act casual, Ryder was sure. Except he looked anything but. He looked scared. And guilty as hell.

  “I hope you understand. The money’s being put to good use, and Monica is behind me one hundred percent on this venture. I’m sure she told you that. It’s going to make us both very rich.”

  Ryder didn’t say anything, just kept a steady bead on the other man. Which seemed to make Matt most nervous of all.