Where Love Unfolds

By Rachelle Ayala

An avid romance fan discovers her favorite author isn't the woman she imagined but a mysterious man with secrets to protect.

 

Phylis Carpenter, a die-hard romance reader, arrives at the Unexpected Paradise resort, eager to meet her cherished author and online confidante, Maxine Foster. Dreaming of sunny days and deep discussions about passionate heroes and enticing plot twists, she's in for a shock.

 

Max Donovan, the man behind Maxine Foster's tales, isn't just any man—he's the embodiment of the alpha heroes he pens. Preferring to remain in the shadows, he disguises his identity, letting his ex-lover, Joanna Jenkins, bask in the limelight of his success.

 

Sparks fly and chemistry ignites when Max and Phylis are inexplicably drawn by their shared love of story and intrigue. Max reminds Phylis of every romance hero she loves, and Phylis's enthusiasm and infectious charm is irresistible for both the author and the man. From thrilling scavenger hunts to unraveling a ghost's ill-fated love story, their bond grows stronger over shared tales, furtive kisses, and stolen moments. But as Phylis draws Max towards the allure of romance, his hidden identity becomes a looming threat to their unfolding love.

 

Joanna, desperate to hold on to her position as the face of Maxine Foster, schemes to keep them apart. The island, with its enchanting locales and spirited inhabitants, tries to play matchmaker, but the impending masquerade ball threatens to shatter the illusion. As Phylis inches closer to unmasking Max's true self, she grapples with a heart-wrenching question: Is Max the genuine article or just another fictional hero?

 

Dive into this sweet contemporary romance, where love stories aren't just written but lived.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rachelle Ayala
• Release date: Apr 6, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224761258

Rachelle Ayala

Rachelle Ayala is the author of dramatic romantic suspense and humor-laden, sexy contemporary romances. Her heroines are feisty, her heroes hot. Needless to say, she's very happy with her job.Rachelle is an active member of online critique group, Critique Circle, and a volunteer for the World Literary Cafe. She is a very happy woman and lives in California with her husband. She has three children and has taught violin and made mountain dulcimers.Visit her at: http://www.rachelleayala.net and download free books at http://rachelleayala.net/free-books

Book preview

Chapter One

Phylis Carpenter clutched her cell phone as she stood on the deck of the ferry boat taking her to the Unexpected Paradise Resort, where she was going to meet her favorite romance author: the incredible Maxine Foster. As the boat chugged toward its dock, she tapped a message to her beloved author and online best friend.

Dear Maxine, I can’t believe I’ll be meeting you soon. Your Bruno Brothers series has stolen my heart, as has every single one of your novels. Oh, if only real men were like the Brunos. Strong, silent types seem extinct in the world today. Any hope for me, a hopeless romantic?

She hesitated for a fraction of a second before she hit send. She couldn’t believe that she was about to meet her favorite author in person. Inhaling the scent of salt and tropical breeze, she sighed at the beauty surrounding her. In all her twenty-eight years, she’d never taken a dream vacation on her own. After years of saving every spare penny from her receptionist job—one that gave her time to read—her pulse quickened as the picture-postcard view of the resort came into view. Edged by a ribbon of white sand, the green landscape was dotted by colorful bungalows strung like Mardi Gras beads along the tranquil bay. A lone black-and-white-striped lighthouse stood off a rocky point, and graceful palm trees swayed out over the sea, their fronds greeting her like giant fans.

The faint ding of her phone gave her a momentary jolt of happiness. Maxine’s reply was a wink emoji, a playful acknowledgment suggesting a secret pact between the world-renowned author and her humble and unassuming fan. They’d conversed by email and text, and even though she could recognize Maxine anywhere from her author’s picture, she’d never been brave enough to send her own picture. After all, she didn’t want Maxine to form opinions about her before meeting her in person.

Phylis scrolled upward to previous texts where they’d shared ideas and gossiped about the characters as if they were real people. It was hard to believe Maxine would become real to her so soon. What if the world-famous author was disappointed to meet her? Maybe she shouldn’t have been so buttery.

A swell rolled under the ferry, pitching the deck. Phylis lost her footing and stumbled into a solid wall of muscle—then yelped as her phone flew from her hands, arcing over the railing and into the deep blue Caribbean.

No! All her book reviews, plot ideas, and memos—her life was on that phone. Tears pricked her eyes as she peered over the edge, watching the neon case bob into oblivion.

Easy there, a gruff voice cautioned, belonging to a mountain of a man who could have walked out of the pages of her beloved Bruno Brothers series. He was ruggedly handsome, with a stubble of a beard, tanned skin, and mesmerizing blue eyes guarded by a prominent brow.

Before she could take another breath, the Bruno-lookalike stripped off his shirt, revealing a broad, muscular chest and arms rippling with power. He dove into the water with a splash, leaving a stunned silence on deck.

Everyone peered overboard. A staff member tossed a life ring, but for several long moments, nothing stirred the water.

Just when she began to despair that she’d caused a stranger’s death, the man surfaced with a shake of his dark hair from his eyes. He climbed aboard and tossed the phone at her feet. A crew member offered him a towel, and he draped it over his broad shoulders.

He was staring—or was it glaring—right at her. As her heartbeat raced, she caught herself: Could it be? Was the universe serving her a ‘meet-cute’ along with the chance to meet her favorite author? She quashed the thought—she was hallucinating from too much sun and excitement. Men like this didn’t exist outside the pages of a romance novel.

Th-thank you. I can’t believe you …

His eyes met hers, intense and unreadable. He seemed to size her up in an instant. For a moment, just a moment, she thought she saw a flicker of … something.

You shouldn’t text so close to the rail. He walked away.

Stunned, she stared at his retreating back, her phone dripping in her hand. Her cheeks burned. So much for her imagination—her brooding hero was not only real but a sarcastic jerk to boot!

The ferry glided into the dock, bumpers creaking as it came to a stop. Secret romance author Max Donovan pushed his way to the gangway and was among the first to disembark. He was still toweling off from the soaking and scolding himself for jumping into the water to retrieve a cell phone for that pretty, doe-eyed woman he couldn’t take his eyes off.

Whatever had made him go all Bruno and save that woman’s phone? Now, he’d drawn attention to himself when he didn’t need anyone to suspect that he was the pen behind Maxine Foster’s romances. The contract was airtight. Both his publisher and the reading public demanded female writers for romance.

He couldn’t afford to be distracted by her, even if every fiber of his being screamed otherwise. She was the embodiment of the characters he crafted—effortlessly attractive, capturing his imagination with just a glance. Her willowy frame didn’t just beg to be held; it sent a quiver down his spine, sparking visions of a life he’d only penned in his novels but never lived. Her straight, silky hair wasn’t merely beautiful; it was a tactile daydream, making his fingers itch to get lost in its length. And her eyes, those large, inquisitive windows to her soul, spoke of a passion he could match with his own, a fever that beckoned him like an unwritten book begging to be penned.

As his feet touched solid ground, an unsettling emptiness filled his chest. He scanned the bustling crowd, hunting for her captivating face among the anonymous sea of tourists. With each moment she remained out of sight, the emptiness grew, filled with a torrent of questions and what-ifs. Could he—should he—allow himself to experience the love and passion he so vividly crafted for his fictional characters? What would it be like to live, not just write, a love story?

The sight of his ex-girlfriend, Joanna Jenkins, waving from a rental car quickly disabused him of any romantic notions. She was the public face of Maxine Foster, and it was her image that graced the back covers of his books. Long ago, they’d struck a deal. She would act as Maxine Foster to shield him from his fans and readers, thus allowing him to focus on writing.

Being a world-renowned author meant book signings and reader conferences. Joanna relished the role of being recognized and admired. She drank up the adulation that should have been his—except he could never let his father know he was one of those silly romance writers. Hiding behind his professorial image as an erudite literary critic who disdained the romance genre allowed him to sit in the back of the Maxine Foster reader gatherings and listen in without seeming to be interested.

What happened to you? Joanna’s strident voice set his teeth on edge. I waited long enough for the ferry to dock without having you delay it with that jump into the water. What made you draw attention to yourself?

I … never mind. He threw his backpack in the back seat and took the passenger’s seat. Did you secure two separate bungalows for us? I need complete privacy if I’m going to be able to write.

Joanna, who bore a disconcerting but superficial resemblance to the woman who dropped her phone, cast a sidelong glance with her dark-brown eyes. You’re in a secluded cabana, far from conference events and other guests. Nobody will find us.

Us? Max speared his ex with a glare as she pulled away from the curb, barely missing being hit by the bus that had scraped to a stop to pick up the rest of the travelers. I told you to book two rooms. We can’t be seen together, or those pesky nosy fans will put two and two together.

Of course, Max, Joanna said, her tone curt with too much emphasis on his name. You’ve made it clear that I should keep the ‘pesky fans’ away. You do realize they’re the reason we’re successful, right?

Ensure that your portrayal of Maxine Foster is foolproof. Have you been prepping with the questions and answers I gave you? Do you know exactly how many books I’ve written? Every detail matters no matter how small.

I’m well aware of your teeny-tiny requirements. Joanna’s lips twisted in a wry smile. When have I ever failed to safeguard your precious solitude?

A fair point. His ex-girlfriend had many faults, but she was nothing if not efficient.

Let’s get settled in before the welcome reception, he said. I have a book to finish, and the sooner I dive into it, the sooner we can both get out of here.

As you wish. Joanna grabbed her oversized sunglasses and a floppy sun hat from the dashboard as she parked behind a bamboo screen. Your isolation chamber awaits, sire.

Dragging her luggage filled with books, Phylis entered the air-conditioned lobby of the Unexpected Paradise Resort. Her eyes danced across the vibrant photographs adorning the walls, images capturing the plant life and vantage points of the island. The décor was artistic without giving off airs and filled with lush plants and native crafts.

She joined the queue behind a gaggle of women chattering excitedly about meeting Maxine Foster, clutching copies of her books close to their chests. Craning her neck, she searched the crowd for any sign of the burly stranger. The thought that she might bump into him filled her with hope and a tiny stab of fear.

When she couldn’t find him, she scolded herself for her foolish hope, her heart sinking as reality set in. What did she expect, that he would sweep her off her feet like some romance novel hero? She was here for the conference, not to moon over a man who wanted nothing to do with her.

Just then, a man in a dazzling peacock-patterned shirt, Bermuda shorts, and a Panama hat grinned at her. He was hugging the latest Maxine Foster novel. As the man sauntered closer, his gaze met Phylis’s. She caught a whiff of a floral cologne and saw the excitement in his eyes as he took his place in line next to her.

Is this your first Maxine Foster reader conference? he asked.

Yes. How about you?

Darling, I’ve been coming to her conferences for years, the man purred, doing a quick twirl to show his lithe and trim physique. Name’s Vincent Devereaux. This time’s the charm. I’m going to win the writing contest and get her to put me in as a hero for a new series—the Valorous Viscount of Vaudon.

Phylis was hoping to enter the writing contest, too, but she kept that tidbit to herself. No doubt, Maxine had plenty of talented and devoted readers. Being a first-timer, it was better for her to observe.

I’m Phylis Carpenter, she replied. Are you as thrilled about the Bruno Brothers as I am?

Alas, I’m more of a Darcy than a Bruno. But do tell me, how did you get that hunky Adonis on the ferry to jump into the water for you?

She gave this self-styled Darcy a sidelong glance. You think Maxine modeled Buck Bruno after him?

Vincent drew close and cupped his hand. You didn’t hear it from me, but that mystery man has been spotted at her signings. I’d keep an eye out if I were you—he might just be the hidden scandal of our favorite author.

Really? Phylis’s shoulders drooped, and she scolded herself for her wishful foolishness. Fairy-tale rescues were reserved for the pages of romance novels, not her life. Why would you say that?

Girl, have you looked in the mirror? Vincent put his hands on his hips and inspected her like the devil who wore Prada. You’re the spitting image of Maxine Foster—at least from a distance.

I’m not sure if that’s true, she wondered aloud, although she was secretly pleased by the thought. She’s so polished. Makeup always in place. Not a flyaway or frizz in her hair. And that stern, commanding, businesslike look as she signs books? That woman is a machine. It’s a wonder how she puts out all that gush but controls her emotions so well.

Vincent wagged his eyebrows. They say truth is stranger than fiction. Let’s dig a little deeper; the resort has ears, you know.

Reading romance novels doesn’t exactly qualify me for detective work.

Vincent pointed at himself and then at her. Darling, we could be amateur sleuths, Nick and Nora Charles of the romance world. Imagine the gossip.

I’d rather stick to the pages. She sighed, her thoughts drifting to the handsome stranger who had saved her phone. The idea of him being taken dimmed her fantasies.

Awesome. Let’s keep an eye out for our Bruno. He can’t hide from us if he’s at all associated with our favorite author. They might be secret lovers. Imagine—she ties him to a bed while penning her steamy scenes.

I, gulp, always skim those. Whatever curiosity she felt for her handsome phone diver was lost in the awkwardness of Vincent’s idle speculation.

Phylis approached the check-in desk, where a silver-haired older woman wearing a colorful tropical caftan greeted her with a warm smile.

Hello, I’m Rosa Baptiste. Welcome to the Unexpected Paradise Resort. I see you’re a fan of Maxine Foster. She gestured toward Phylis’s book bag. You’re in for a treat, my dear. She writes about love almost as beautifully as it happens in our resort.

Phylis beamed with a slight bounce on her toes. I can’t wait to meet her. Her books have touched my heart in ways I can’t describe.

Rosa’s eyes twinkled mysteriously. Your journey here may be filled with more than just literary thrills, my dear. May I have the QR code for your reservation?

Oh, I … I dropped my phone in the water, but I’m sure I have a reservation. I’m Phylis Carpenter, and I have a discount coupon for being one of Maxine’s finest readers. She shook her wet phone just as a mischievous monkey leaped onto Rosa’s keyboard.

Mango, you trickster, you just killed the computer, Rosa scolded the monkey, who skittered over a candy jar, knocking it to the floor. Before Rosa could scoop up the little guy, he snatched a book from Phylis’s tote bag.

Hey, looks like Mango has great tastes in books, too, Rosa said, taking the book from Mango and returning to Phylis. Don’t worry, honey. I’m sure we have a room for you.

That’s great. I can’t wait to get to put my feet up. A wave of exhaustion hit her, especially since she’d woken up in the wee hours to allow plenty of time to catch her flight.

I can help you, a handsome dark-skinned man with bright blue eyes said, picking up her luggage. I happen to know exactly where you’re staying. We received a long list of accommodations to ensure your stay is comfortable.

Really? Phylis hadn’t realized she’d asked for anything special. That’s awfully kind of you.

We aim to please. The man grabbed her luggage. You’ll have the utmost privacy with no distractions. I promise.

Oh, well, then, I’m looking forward to it, she said, although she wondered if she was being shunted to the cheapest side of the resort, away from the fancy crowd. Still, she was lucky to be here, so she grinned and followed the man, who introduced himself as Diego, down a long, winding trail.

Her breath caught as they emerged from behind a bamboo grove. The bungalow before her was more significant than the rest, with its private cabana tucked amidst vibrant hibiscus flowers. A delightful fountain trickled in the clearing, and birds frolicked in the colorful birdbath near a large bay window.

The local artisans have crafted every piece of furniture you see, and the bamboo grove is said to house the spirit of Kala, the goddess of love. Diego swiped the keycard and opened the door.

This is lovely. Why, thank you. She gave Diego a generous tip as he handed her the keycard and brought in her luggage.

You’ll love it here, he assured her, taking his leave. The island is full of surprises, some of which you won’t find in any guidebook.

The inside of the bungalow was festive, decorated with the vibe of the Caribbean. The rattan furniture and wicker ceiling fans contrasted with the live-edge tropical wooden counters and tabletops. The floor was a deep-colored koa, and the rugs and window treatments screamed with luxury.

Phylis made herself at home, arranging her favorite books on the coffee table. As she settled onto the couch, a pang of disappointment hit her. Her cell phone was ruined, and she hadn’t received Maxine’s reply about the Bruno Brothers series.

Then again, she would get to speak to her friend in person. From her earliest days as a blogger, she had been Maxine’s most loyal reader, even reviewing her debut book. Humming a cheerful tune, she pulled out her notebook, running her finger over the list of questions she had for her idol.

She was deep in thought, scribbling new suggestions, when a door creaked open from somewhere inside the bungalow. Her head snapped up, and her eyes widened as she recognized the phone-saving Adonis from the ferry. Then she froze.

He was clad in nothing but a towel, water droplets clinging to his muscular frame like morning dew on blades of grass. The beard stubble on his strong face and cleft chin only added to his rugged attractiveness, while thick, dark-brown hair framed a brooding, grim expression.

His eyes flickered over her, widening briefly before darkening into a scowl.

She averted her eyes. Her cheeks flushed, and her pulse quickened, a foreign yet deeply familiar sensation, as if her body had been waiting for him.

Um, hi there. I’m Phylis. Phylis Carpenter, she introduced herself.

This is my room. What are you doing here? His voice was gravelly but softened for a moment as if regretting the sharpness of his tone.

I … I didn’t know … I mean, I was given this room … Phylis stammered, her mind a whirlwind of confusion and embarrassment. While she stammered, her body heated, and sweat tingled on her face. Her lips moistened, and she had the strange urge to … kiss him.

I retrieved your phone. I didn’t sign up for an uninvited guest. His voice was cutting and cold, drenching whatever attraction she felt.

Looks like we’ve both been set up—there must be a mix-up with the reservation. She showed her keycard as proof.

Go back to the front desk and get it straightened out, the man ordered, still glaring at her and grimacing as if her presence pained him. He opened the front door, pointing to the romance novels she’d spread on the coffee table. And clear out those trashy books.

Chapter Two

The wicker ceiling fan was less a cooling device than an ornament, lazily stirring the humid air in Max’s bungalow. Sweat trickled down his neck as he fought the urge to hurl his laptop across the room. Outside, the white sand beach serenaded him with waves and sea breezes. Yet, he was stuck—paralyzed by the image of Phylis Carpenter.

He’d envisioned his favorite book reviewer as a white-haired librarian, not an attractive young woman with large, observant eyes, a faint blush, and soft lips. All that, combined with her story intuition, insightful brain, and a genuine heart for his characters—understanding and loving them no matter how flawed they were—made her beyond irresistible.

How the fates conspired against him by dishing up such a lovely goddess as his devoted fan—one he could never acknowledge since the world believed Joanna Jenkins was Maxine Foster.

He shoved away from his writing table and began to pace, his bare feet slapping against the wooden floor. He wished he could take back his harsh words and apologize for his brusqueness.

And yet, he couldn’t stop picturing how she’d looked at him as if he was some hero. As if the surly, cynical man he was on the outside didn’t exist. As if she could—gasp? Love him no matter how barbaric he’d been.

And then, it hit him. He didn’t want her to stop looking at him like that. He wanted to be the man she seemed to see inside him, even if he wasn’t sure such a man existed.

Somewhere between criticizing Phylis for her taste in books and watching her trip over her own feet, the tantalizing romance fan had crawled under his skin, soaking him with longing and obsession—a thirst that could never be slaked until they were heart to heart, face to face, lips locked and loaded.

His phone buzzed, snapping him back to reality. It was Joanna.

You do remember you owe me a chapter for the welcome dinner tonight, right?

Of course, how could I forget.

He dragged himself away from the window, where he’d hoped to see his sweet fangirl return. By the way, there was a mix-up with the room. Phylis Carpenter ended up in my bungalow, thinking it was hers. Check with the front desk and make sure my room is not given away to anyone else.

I’ll take care of it. Joanna sounded put upon.

You did book two rooms, right? Where are you staying?

Relax, they gave me a room on the other side of the resort. Does Phylis suspect anything?

No, she’s clueless. I called her precious romance novels trash and sent her packing.

Nice touch, Joanna snorted. Don’t worry about her. I’ll make sure she stays far away from you.

With that, she ended the call.

Max stared at the phone for a moment before tossing it onto the plush sofa. He tried to refocus on his work, but Phylis’s image, her grace, her sweet voice, and her curious eyes seeped into every thought. Unable to help himself, he saw himself rescuing her from a raging waterfall, pulling her from a burning building, and shielding her from the fierce wind of a hurricane—all distractions from the novel he needed to work on.

A romance with an avid reader would never work. She’d expect roses every day and a hero who walked on water. He could never meet the overinflated expectations borne from the fantasies he fed to his audience.

He had no choice but to stay away from