by Lynda Curnyn
Serves him right, I thought, settling myself comfortably across from Vince at the patio table, turning my gaze from the door as I resolved to ignore my so-called friends. Not so hard to do, I thought, studying Vince’s profile as he stared out at the ocean.
Feeling my gaze on him, he turned to me and smiled. “You know, when I look out at the ocean on a night like this, it almost reminds me of the Amalfi Coast.“
I smiled back. “Do you miss Italy?”
He shook his head. “It’s a beautiful country. But I’m glad to be home.” He reached for the glass of wine he had brought out with him. “Ever been?” he asked, his dark gaze falling on me once more.
“Not yet,” I said, meeting his eyes.
“Oh, you should go. Every young woman needs to see Italy. It’s magnificent. Good food. Good people.”
“Good romance,” I said, my smile widening.
He nodded his head, as if he thought there might be some truth to that but wasn’t willing to verify it.
“Maybe I’ll get Tom to send me,” I continued.
“That would make sense,” he said, “seeing as you are now sales manager for the company’s first leather division.” He lifted his glass. “To you,” he said.
I picked up my glass, savoring this toast even more in light of the way the evening had gone. Or maybe it was in light of the man making it, I thought, clinking my glass with his and studying his beautiful mouth as I raised my glass to my lips.
I got the feeling Vince might have been savoring the moment, too, when I saw the way he looked at me as he drank. Even more so when he said, “Maybe I’ll travel with you. Give you a personalized tour.”
“Sounds like a plan to me,” I said, an image filling my mind of me and Vince on a beach in Italy. God, what I would give to be alone with this man right now.
Then he went on to talk a bit about the tanneries, and I saw a light come into those dark eyes I had not seen until now. I recognized it for what it was. Ambition.
Now that was a turn-on. I never realized how much until I saw the way it animated Vince’s handsome features and sent his big hands into the air as he talked about the various skins he’d lined up for the fall collection, which were just going into production.
Maybe I still felt a need to prove myself. Or maybe I was hoping he would admire my own ambition, but I offered my opinions. After all, I hadn’t gotten this promotion for nothing. I wanted to be sure everyone knew that after all the blood and sweat I’d put into the start-up of Edge, I had learned a little something about skin, too.
“I wouldn’t put the 5012 model in the lamb,” I said, when he suggested that we might upgrade the leather on one of our more youthful styles. “In fact, I probably wouldn’t put it on the 5025 or the 5032, either,” I said, naming two other styles. “Those styles are too rugged. They’re spawned by hip-hop culture, you know? You don’t want your leather so soft it can’t take a tumble on the street.” Then I smiled. “Or a bullet. Not that we’re designing for gang fights or anything, but you get the idea. It’s how this demographic likes to think of itself.”
He smiled somewhat mysteriously, and I wondered if maybe my ambition might have turned him off completely. Because despite that flash of teeth, his eyes seemed annoyed. “I guess you would know better what the younger set wants than I would.”
I laughed now, softening the blow, and, I hoped, closing the age gap he’d just opened up between us. “Hey, I’m about a decade older than that crowd, Vince.”
His eyebrows raised. “How old are you, Sage?”
For the first time in my life, I wanted to lie. And lie up. Because I was suddenly getting the feeling that it might matter to Vince Trifelli that I was young enough to be his…kid sister.“I’m thirty-one,” I said finally, deciding to go for honesty.
“Thirty-one.” His dark eyes went ponderous, as if he were lost in some memory of what thirty-one felt like, and suddenly he did look younger to me, almost carefree. Not that it mattered. I liked him the way he was. Weathered. Older. Experienced.
Hot. What had I’d been thinking, chasing all those boys around for so long?
When he came back from wherever he had gone mentally and saw the way I was feasting on him, Vince’s face seemed to harden. I wondered at that.
“So I assume it was you ”who suggested the remerchandising on those samples that came back?“
His tone was accusing. As if maybe he shared Shari’s opinion that I had taken control of the reins before they’d been given to me. Hoping to put that thought quickly to rest, I met his gaze. “Yes, it was me. I couldn’t, in good conscience, represent merchandise I wouldn’t even consider wearing myself.”
I saw his gaze flicker briefly over my tight tank top, my cargo skirt. “Is that right?”
“That’s right. Those buttons were too heavy. And the shoulder flaps were an abomination. Those jackets looked like costumes for Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. And though I have nothing against returning to the sixties from a fashion point of view, I didn’t think we should ever go there for that design. It was Maggie’s idea—” I stopped, stumbling over her name. Even I couldn’t avoid talking about the woman tonight. I wondered how long she was going to haunt me.
I saw him frown, and I feared he sensed some of my freshly stirred ire at my former boss. Though Tom hadn’t seemed to blink an eye about giving me the position within weeks of his wife’s death, I wasn’t sure what Vince thought of the fact that I had, before she was even cold in the ground, not only taken over her job but undone all the changes she had made to the designs before you could utter, “May she rest in peace.”
I guess you could say it was a little odd. And, yes, even cold.
I hoped he wouldn’t notice.
He stared at me for a moment and then treated me to what seemed like genuine laughter.“That Maggie. She wasn’t much for this sort of thing, was she? But she tried. Lord knows she tried.” He sighed. “She was a good kid.”
“The best,” I said, though the words felt like rubber in my mouth.
“Well, Sage, I can see why Tom hired you. You know your skin.”
I smiled, releasing that breath I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding. I felt like I had passed some test I had no way to study for. With flying colors, too.
Because Vince Trifelli was looking at me with something that seemed like admiration.
And maybe, I thought, seeing that glint in his dark eyes, maybe even something more.
But I didn’t get a chance to find out. Because suddenly there was a commotion on the front deck, and I saw Tom abandon Zoe at the sink as a woman I recognized from a neighboring house yanked open the sliding door. “Tom, come quick. There’s a guy outside caught in the tide. I think he’s in trouble!”
* * *
Chapter Twenty-five
Nick
Occupational Hazards
I’ve never seen anything like that,“ I said, shaking my head.
“You said that already,” Sage reminded me, for the third time.
We were standing on the beach—me, Sage, Zoe and Francesca— watching as Tom leaned over Les, who was at least sitting up now, near the shoreline. JoBeth, the neighbor who had come running to the house when she spotted Les tumbling in the waves, stood beside them, arms folded, as if standing guard over the situation.
“I guess I’m in awe,” I said now, still studying Tom as he put a hand on Less shoulder while he spoke to him.
“I know I am,” Zoe said. “Though I don’t know if I’d call it awe so much as shock.”
“Yeah, well, just chalk it up to that good instinct you have for people,” Sage said, shooting a look at Zoe.
Up until five minutes ago, Sage had been pretty quiet. Now she seemed damned pissed. Maybe she was just as disgusted with Les as I was. Or maybe—and this was probably more likely—she was in a snit that her little tete-a-tete with Vince was disturbed by Les’s shenanigans.
Speak of the devil, I thought, as Vince blew past us, carr
ying a blanket. I saw Sage’s face visibly soften as he jogged to the shoreline and dropped the blanket around Les’s shivering shoulders.
“I told you Tom was good in an emergency,” Sage told Zoe.
“So the guy knows CPR,” Zoe muttered, “that doesn’t absolve him from everything.” She didn’t say this with much conviction, though she did have the good grace to cringe when she realized Francesca was out here with us. Not that it mattered. Francesca hadn’t said a word since we’d run out here. Now she continued to remain quiet, not moving a muscle as she stood there, arms folded, staring at her father as he leaned over Les.
Francesca and Zoe aside, I was fucking impressed.“CPR? That was more than just CPR. You saw the way Tom ran into that water, cutting through it like a knife. Then he pulled Les out like Les was nothing more than a rag doll. It was like watching live fucking Baywatch.䄬
Now Sage turned to look at me, an eyebrow raised.“Don’t you think you ought to do something useful? Like go down there and see if your friend needs anything?”
“Tom told us to clear the area!” I protested. In truth, I didn’t mind standing at a distance. This way, I didn’t have to look at Les’s pale, snot-nosed face. I’m telling you, that dude was a big disappointment. Wandering off by himself, then practically drowning in the ocean. If that was some lame-ass suicide attempt, I’m gonna kick his sorry butt. I just invested almost twenty grand in this guy, and he goes and gets himself all fucking worked up and depressed over a chick he’s known for, like, five minutes? Hello?
JoBeth approached us, along with Vince, who was looking a bit shaken himself. Bunch of wimps. Now, Tom, he was the man. The man. The way he just took charge, dove in like that. It was something to see. I only wish Zoe had gotten it on camera, but I guess she had been just as surprised as the rest of us and too stunned to do anything.
“How is he?” Sage asked Vince.
“He seems to be okay. Tom’s got it under control. I’m going to go up to the house, call Good Samaritan Hospital, see if we can get an ambulance to meet the ferry. Tom thinks Les should go to the hospital, just to get checked out, before he goes home.”
“I’ll go with you,” Sage said, stepping up next to him as he headed toward the house once more.
I looked at JoBeth, her gaze roaming back and forth between me and Zoe and Francesca, her expression grim. Or maybe she always looked like that. I didn’t know her well, despite the fact that she lived in the house across the way, but she seemed like one of those serious types, with the short hair and that permanent worry line between her brows. Or maybe that was an age line. She was probably in her forties or so, though she could have been sixty, for all I know.
“So, JoBeth, how did you know Les was staying at our house?” Zoe asked now.
JoBeth shrugged.“I didn’t. But I did know that Tom was a lifeguard for a couple of years down in North Carolina where he grew up. I think he told me once he saved something like ten lives.”
“Seven,” Francesca corrected, startling us all.“It was only seven.” Then her eyes widened, as if she were surprised at the shock we were all exhibiting at her somewhat resentful tone. “What? I’ve only heard the stories, like, a million times.” And with that, she pulled the throw she had wrapped around herself more tightly and stomped off toward the house.
Yep, I can call ‘em. That chick’s a psycho.
“Well,”JoBeth said,“Tom seems to have everything under control, so I’m gonna head home. I’m beat!”
Zoe thanked her for coming, though I was having a harder time showing any gratitude. I was starting to think we should have left the fucking guy in the ocean. Come to think of it, I need to check with my dad to see if there’s anything in Les’s contract that covers us in the event of his death. Not to be insensitive or anything, but the guy’s a fucking walking hazard.
It always amazes me how much better a bed and a pillow feel when you spend half an evening standing before the specter of death. Not that this was a usual night for me, but I’ve had my moments. Damn, I was tired. Almost tired enough to shrug off the guilt Sage heaped on me for not taking the ferry back with Les. Not that Les needed me. Tom was more than willing to go, which I found surprising. He must have been on some adrenaline rush, because he came back to the house, packed Les up (I did help with that—I’m not that bad a guy) and shuffled him off to the ferry. Sage took me to task for that one, that was for sure. She was probably just pissed because Vince took off just as soon as Tom left with Les. I, of course, had to bear the brunt of Sage’s misguided anger, since Zoe had departed for parts unknown, and Francesca— well, she was probably still in her bedroom, pouting over God knows what. If she could earn money with that pout, she’d be a fucking millionaire.
I blew out a breath, sinking down farther into the mattress as I did. God, this was nice. Breeze blowing in, ocean roaring in the background. Pretty awesome being in the master’s suite. Especially without the master around. Nothing against Tom, but he snored like a chainsaw. In fact, I was hoping Tom didn’t hurry back from his little paramedic duty there, because maybe I could get to sleep before he came back and started up the nasal symphony.
I heard a door shut. Shit. Just my luck.
But when I heard my own bedroom door creak open in the darkness, I looked up and found not Tom, but none other than Francesca.
“What are you do—” I stopped, mostly because I had my answer the minute Francesca’s silky little robe hit the floor.
“Francesca—” I began, not sure if I was protesting or begging or what. Because if I thought Francesca was hot in those bikini tops and short little skirts, Francesca completely naked, with the moonlight spilling across her golden-tan skin, was astounding.
So astounding that whatever I was planning on saying to her never even got past my lips. Because suddenly she was on top of me, her sweet little mouth on mine as her hands went to my boxers, yanking them down. In fact, I thought she might rip them off, so I helped by kicking them off myself.
Then she was at me like a wildcat, her luscious chest pressed against mine, her teeth biting at me, practically devouring me whole as she pressed herself against my now impossibly huge erection. The minute I felt the warm heat of her slip over the tip of me, I came to my senses.
“Wait—Francesca, what are you doing?”
She sat back on her heels, a flash of annoyance on her face that I almost missed, so caught up was I in the sight of her smooth skin, her rosy brown nipples. “What the fuck do you think I’m doing?” she barked, then lifted her bottom up and proceeded to slide herself on me again.
The heat almost did me in. Almost.“Wait—don’t you think we should, like, use a condom?”
She shook her head furiously. “My father’s had me on the pill since I was, like, twelve.” She slid farther down, and though stopping her now was pure torture, stop her I did. Because the mention of Daddy Dear reminded me of something else.
“We can’t do it here. Your father could be back any minute!”
She looked at me then, eyes narrowing as a small smile creased her mouth. “Don’t you think I know that?”
And then, before I could utter another protest, she slid down the rest of the way. Ahhhhhh… So tight…so fucking tight.
Okay, we’ll make this a quick one.
That was probably the last sensible thought I had. Because everything else flew out of my head at the sight of Francesca, rising up and down above me, her round breasts jiggling, her pink lips parted and she let out the sweetest, softest little moans, her bangs falling gently over her eyes, which were shut. God, I would have given anything for her to open them just then, to look at me. But it seemed to me the closer Francesca got to that power-gasm she clearly was moving toward, the farther I felt from her.
Which I suppose if this were, like, a movie or something, I should have taken as foreshadowing.
Because the minute Francesca rattled out a groan that made clear she had peaked, I heard the shush of the sliding door. “I’m home!” ca
me Tom’s cheerful voice, and suddenly she was off me like a shot, grabbing up her robe and darting from the room, leaving me to come—probably out of shock more than anything else—all over myself.
But I suppose things could have been worse.
The door creaked open again, and I pulled the comforter over myself, trying not to visibly cringe as I felt it come into contact with the stickier parts of my stomach.
Tom popped his head in. “Oh, you’re up.”
Umm, not quite. At least not anymore. “Uh, yeah, I’m up. Sorta.” I blinked, as if perhaps he had woken me from a dream rather than the fantasy I’d just been living in. “I think everyone’s pretty much in bed. Asleep, that is. Except maybe Zoe. I think I heard her go out a little while ago.”
He frowned. “That’s strange. I thought I heard Francesca.” Then he shrugged. “Well, Les is on his way to the hospital. I’m sure you’ll sleep better tonight knowing your friend is all right.” Then he smiled, his expression satisfied.
“Yeah, I’ll be sleeping well tonight,” I said quickly. Just as soon as I cleaned up the evidence.
God, I was gonna sleep like a baby. As long as I forgot about the fact that I had just boned Tom’s baby, right in his fucking bedroom.
Hazardous. Jesus, I must be crazy.
Just as crazy as Francesca was, apparently.
* * *
Chapter Twenty-six
Zoe
Inside I’m screaming. And not for ice cream, either.
I had found Myles’s beach house easily enough, now that I had an address. But once I stood outside Daydream Believer, I wasn’t sure what I was doing there. Or if he was even home yet from his dinner date. All I knew was that I needed to see him. In fact, I was just contemplating throwing a rock at his window— assuming I could figure out which window belonged to Myles—when Myles himself came out the front door, looking positively adorable in a khaki green T-shirt and dark blue surfer shorts.
