By Invitation Only

by Wilde, Lori; Etherington, Wendy; Burns, Jillian

  Damn, his fingers itched to knead them for her.

  “So what are we betting?” she asked.

  “Meet me back here in an hour. We’ll compare notes. Whoever has the most intel on Honey wins.”

  “Wins what?”

  Olivia tossed a gaze at the bed, and for one glorious minute he thought she was going to tell him he’d get one night of pure sexual pleasure with her. His cock got harder.

  “Winner takes the bed, loser has to sleep on the terrace chaise lounge,” she proposed.

  “We could share the bed,” he teased, mostly out of habit. He’d known bedding her was a long shot.

  “In your dreams and my nightmares.”

  “Hands to myself, I promise.” He raised his palms.

  “Do I look like a complete idiot?”

  “Not at all.”

  “If you want to take the bet, that’s as good as my offer is going to get. You win, you get the bed. You lose, it’s the chaise. Take it or leave it.”

  “I’ll take it,” he said hastily, even as disappointment tasted like day-old mutton on the back of his tongue.

  Why was he so disappointed? He’d been shot down before. Granted not a lot, but it had happened and when it did, the rejections had rolled right off his back and he’d happily moved on to a more willing woman. Life was too short to waste time with someone who wasn’t interested.

  Except suddenly, the philosophy that had dominated his love life seemed short-sighted. What if she really was interested, but just didn’t want to be? Maybe if he pushed a little he could knock down some of her resistance.

  “Honey,” he said. “You’ve got yourself a bet.”

  4

  THE SECOND NICK LEFT the bungalow, Olivia heaved out a long-held sigh. She was alarmed to discover her hand was trembling. To stop it she sat on her hands.

  Okay, calm down. Do some yoga breathing.

  She’d taken yoga for years and it never failed to calm her down, but this time it didn’t work. She tried to concentrate and search the web, but feeling restless, she flipped off her computer after a few minutes, got to her feet and decided to take a walk on the beach. Never mind that she was going to lose her bet with Nick. The chaise looked comfortable enough, even though it grated against her competitive nature to throw in the towel.

  She kicked off her shoes, slid open the glass door and stepped out onto the warm sand. The sound of the lulling ocean calmed her. She started out across the beach when she spied Nick swinging in a hammock just a few feet from the bungalow. His eyes were closed, his hands clasped together over his chest. Beside him hung an empty hammock.

  Olivia walked over. “I take it that you failed on your mission and have already accepted defeat.”

  Lazily, Nick opened one eye and used it to send a lingering gaze down her legs. She had to go find a longer skirt. Better yet, pants.

  “Not at all,” he murmured in a voice so perfect it sounded manufactured. “I’ve already accomplished my mission, and I was merely waiting for the full hour to give you a fighting chance.”

  “Sure you were.”

  “Have a seat, Miss Sarcasm.” He waved a hand at the hammock beside him.

  Olivia had never been able to swing idly in a hammock. For one thing, she didn’t do idle. She was a multitasker of the highest order. She listened to audio books while on the treadmill, ate her meals at her desk, made verbal notes on her recorder while driving back and forth from interviews. She’d even written her articles on her laptop while sitting beside her mother during her chemo treatments.

  For another thing, she’d never learned the art of how to slide gracefully into and out of a hammock.

  “I’ll just stand. What did you find out about Honey?”

  “I’m not talking until you take a load off.”

  “There’s no need for me to ‘take a load off’ as you so eloquently put it.”

  He said nothing, just closed that one eye and rocked back and forth, the ropes of the hammock creaking softly against the bark of the palm trees.

  She gave an exaggerated sigh. “Fine,” she muttered, “I’ll sit in the damned hammock.”

  “You need to learn to relax, Honey.”

  “Stop calling me that.”

  “What do you want me to call you? Sweet Cheeks? Can’t very well call you Olivia.”

  “Don’t give me any dopey monikers. Don’t call me anything.”

  “Whatever you want.”

  “Don’t patronize me, either.”

  “I’m never going to win with you, am I?”

  “Not likely.”

  “You know, I would have expected an objective journalist to be…oh, I don’t know, more objective. You’ve already got me tucked into a nice little box in your head and you’re not letting me out of it.”

  “I’ve read your blog, I’ve talked to people and I’ve formed an intelligent opinion about your exploits.”

  “My blog persona is not who I really am. I’m surprised that you don’t get that.”

  “Gee, so you’re not a gadabout playboy? My bad. You really are out there saving the world, feeding starving orphans and such.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with pure entertainment. It helps people get through the day.”

  “Numbs their brains in other words.” Even as she said it, Olivia didn’t really believe it. Entertainment did help people decompress. What was it about him that rubbed her the wrong way? How could he make her feel like a dullard with just a few laconic words and one of his knowing glances?

  “You’re right,” she admitted, which was as much of an apology as she was prepared to give. “I’m not objective when it comes to you.”

  Both eyes popped open and a sly smile edged up the corners of his mouth. “Excuse me, I thought I heard an apology in there somewhere.”

  “Don’t make me regret saying it.”

  “Okay,” he said and shut up.

  “So about Honey…”

  “You want what I’ve got, then park your fanny in the hammy.”

  “That’s too cute.” She eyed the hammock, tried to figure out how she was going to get into it without her short skirt flipping up. “It’s nauseating.”

  “I get it now.”

  “Get what?” She eased down, testing her weight on the flimsy sling.

  “You.”

  “What about me?”

  “You enjoy being contentious.”

  “I do not.” Did she?

  “You’re contentious right now.”

  “I—” She snapped her mouth closed. She was being contentious.

  “What makes you so scrappy?” he asked.

  “I like to win,” she confessed.

  “Let me guess. Debate team in high school.”

  “And college.”

  “You gonna perch on the edge of that hammock all afternoon or are you going to stretch out?”

  “Do I have to?”

  “Yes.”

  Okay, she supposed it wouldn’t kill her. What’s the worst that could happen? That she would flip over, fall on the ground and Nick would get a terrific view of her pink boy-short panties. Undignified yes, but it could be worse. She could be wearing a thong.

  With her fingers laced through the webbing of the hammock, she shifted, swinging her legs around, trying to keep her knees pressed together. The hammock wobbled precariously. She was off balance and didn’t know how to right herself.

  She shifted, trying to correct the tilt, but only managed to make things worse. The hammock buckled. She was going down. She could feel herself losing control and the loss of control always panicked her. Scrambling, she tried to snatch at anything she could to stay level, but she could not find salvation. She braced for a fall.

  Suddenly the hammock steadied.

  “Easy does it.”

  She glanced over to see Nick had placed a hand on the hammock, holding it secure. His knuckles were lightly resting against her hip bone. Only the thin material of her clothes separated his bare skin from hers.r />
  “Much as I’d love a glimpse under that skirt, I don’t want to see you hurt yourself,” he murmured.

  “Short drop like that onto sand? Not much pain involved.”

  “I could take my hand away. Let you and the hammock fight it out.” He smirked. His dark hair had flopped over his forehead and made him look all Jane Austen hero-y.

  “No, no.”

  His rich, deep laugh curled around her. “You’re a lot of fun, you know that?”

  Olivia wrinkled her nose. She’d been called a lot of things, but fun wasn’t one of them. Why did his comment feel so refreshing?

  She peeked over at him. His gaze rested on her face, warm and inquisitive. He really was a good-looking guy. “So,” she said, getting back to business. “I think an agreement is in order.”

  “An agreement,” he echoed.

  “That we don’t scoop each other. I guess that your slant is on J.D. since you write about single men in Texas, and my slant is on Holly. We can both get our stories without upstaging the other as long as we release them at the same time.”

  “What’s in it for me?” he drawled.

  “Do you always have to be so difficult?”

  “Only with you.”

  Olivia gritted her teeth. “Fine, what do you want?”

  He didn’t say anything for such a long time that Olivia thought he might have fallen asleep. “Go out with me when we get back home.”

  “No.”

  He shrugged. “All I have to do to publish my story is write it up, get my secretary to proofread it and hit Send. You, however, have to go through an editor. Scooping you is a no-brainer.”

  “I’ll let you have the bed.”

  “I’ve already won the bed.”

  “What did you find out about Honey?”

  “She’s Holly’s first cousin, but I suppose you discovered that on the internet.” His hand was still beside her hip, distracting, and yet it was the only thing keeping her balanced.

  “Uh-huh,” Olivia lied.

  “They were really close when they were little kids, but then Honey’s parents—that is her real name by the way, apparently her mother was a beekeeper’s daughter—became missionaries and took an assignment on an impoverished island in the South Pacific. It’s an isolated place without the internet or even television. Honey went to college in Australia, but went back to the island to teach school. Honey and Holly haven’t seen each other in twenty years, although they’ve occasionally written letters back and forth. Which explains why Holly mistook you for Honey since they haven’t seen each other since they were seven.”

  “Surely they must have exchanged pictures over the years.”

  “They did, but apparently you’re a dead ringer for Honey.”

  Olivia was impressed with Nick’s research, but she didn’t want him to know that. “How did you find all this out?”

  “J. D. Maynard was just in that hammock.”

  “You didn’t give yourself away, did you?”

  Nick made a derisive noise. “Oh, ye of little faith. I know what I’m doing. I told him that you swept me off my feet when we met in Hawaii while we both were attending a teachers’ conference and we’d gotten engaged after only knowing each other a couple of weeks.”

  “I’ve got to hand it to you—you’re good.”

  “What’s that? A compliment?” Nick cupped his free hand around his ear as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Does this mean I get the bed?”

  “You get the bed,” she grudgingly conceded.

  “Told ya. People research always trumps internet research,” he boasted.

  “For you, maybe. Bloggers have the luxury of using gossip. Print journalists can’t be so cavalier. We have to triple-check our facts.”

  “You’re insinuating that I never check my facts. That’s elitist bullshit,” Nick said. “Internet journalists aren’t any less valid than print journalists. In fact, we’re the wave of the future. You can’t fight the tsunami. One day, you’re going to be an internet journalist yourself or be dead in the water.”

  “You’re not a journalist,” she said. “You’re a blogger. Big difference. Mostly you’ve been lucky all your life. Things just seem to fall into your lap.”

  The minute the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them. Nick’s face fell and she could tell she’d hit a nerve. She knew he didn’t have a degree in journalism, that he’d dropped out of college. What she hadn’t known was how much that bothered him, but the expression in his eyes told the story.

  “So about this no scooping each other thing,” she said, backtracking. “Here’s what’s in it for you. Holding back will prove your journalistic integrity. It will show me that bloggers are as good as print journalists.”

  “I don’t have to prove a damn thing to you.” He let go of her hammock and got out of his, coming to his feet to tower over her. He looked down and she felt her heart leap into her throat.

  “Listen,” she said, “I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean—”

  “Don’t worry,” he cut her off. “The bed is yours. I wouldn’t share a room with you if you paid me.”

  Olivia bailed out of her hammock, surprised at how easily she got up without tripping herself. She moved to block his way, hemming him in with the hammocks on either side of him, a palm tree at his back, and sank her hands on her hips. “Oh, no, buster. You won the bet, you take the bed.”

  “Get out of my way, Honey.”

  “I don’t know why you’re getting so testy, I’m the one who got hijacked to this island.”

  “Don’t start blaming me again. You’re a big girl. Accept responsibility for your actions. Now please step aside before I do something I’ll regret.”

  Olivia raised her chin, pushing him, daring him. “Go ahead, do it.”

  He stalked forward. Olivia stood her ground.

  “For the record, I won’t scoop you because I pity you. Being a print journalist in this day and age has reduced you to pathetic insults. Keep on clinging to that journalistic integrity crap. It’s all you’ve got to keep you afloat.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  He peered into her eyes. She absorbed the punishing stare. All moisture drained from her mouth. The next thing she knew, he had snugged her up tight in his arms, yanked her off her feet and kissed her with a power that sucked every ounce of air from her lungs.

  Her head whirled. Her heart thundered. Her lips dissolved into the masculine maelstrom. He kissed her until she couldn’t breathe and her world tilted upside down.

  “There,” he said, pulling his lips away and setting her on her feet. “Let that be a lesson to you.”

  YOU ACTED LIKE A BIG JERK. Nick scolded himself. Olivia didn’t say a word that wasn’t true, then you kissed her for no damned good reason and stormed off like a sensitive tit.

  Which wasn’t like him at all—insults usually rolled right off his back—but when Olivia spoke the truth, it hurt. Not because he hadn’t finished college. He could go back anytime he wanted. No, what stung was Olivia’s disregard because he hadn’t followed the traditional channels. He hated that she didn’t take him seriously.

  Come on, can you really blame her? You work hard at getting people not to take you seriously. Even the name of your blog, Man About Texas, is all tongue-in-cheek. She’s taking you at face value. Why are you so upset?

  Yeah? Why was he letting her get to him? Who the heck was Olivia Carmichael?

  Just the heir apparent to one of the most respected families in journalism, that’s all.

  Annoying, that’s what she was. Never mind that things had been going well between them until he’d gotten all defensive. She’d even apologized, and he sensed that was not something Olivia did lightly.

  “Hey, Nick!” J. D. Maynard called to him from a group of guys playing beach volleyball. “We’re about to leave for the bachelor party. Wanna ride with me on my last night of freedom?”

  “Absolutely.” Nick had to agr
ee with Olivia. Things did seem to fall into his lap. Take this whole situation for instance. He’d lucked into an all-expenses-paid vacation that stood to net him a book contract.

  Half an hour later, J.D., Nick, a half dozen of his buddies and a couple of muscle-bound bodyguards jammed into the limo that took them to an entertainment compound in the middle of Rapture Island. Nightclubs and bars and restaurants ringed a big open-air pavilion packed with wealthy vacationers in festive clothing.

  The air smelled of coconut, fried fish and buttered rum. Lantern lights strung from wires, winked on in the gathering dusk. Along a man-made lake, tiki torches were being lit. A cacophony of various musical venues clashed in a berserk duel of sound—reggae, calypso, zydeco, Latin rhythm.

  J.D. led the way through the throng, headed for a gentleman’s club situated in the back corner of the compound.

  Ah, the ubiquitous strip joint. Just once, Nick would like to attend a bachelor party that wasn’t in a strip club. He’d been going to a lot of them lately as one by one his friends had gotten hitched.

  He realized he was the lone holdout among his group of friends. He was thirty now and everyone he hung with was engaged or married. When and how had that happened?

  “So.” Nick asked J.D. the question he’d been dying to ask him as they clambered up onto the boardwalk leading to the strip club. “How did you know, out of all the women in the world, that Holly was the one?”

  J.D., who’d clearly already had a couple of beers during the volleyball game, wrapped an arm around Nick’s shoulder and pulled him close as if they were best buddies from kindergarten. “Honestly, man, I love her like I’ve never loved another.”

  “Really? Never? But you’ve been with so many women and you could have any of them you wanted. Why Holly? How do you know she’s really The One?”

  And then J.D. shrugged, grinned and said the words Nick loathed hearing. “C’mon, you’re in love. You just know.”

  5

  HOLLY TOOK OLIVIA AND HER five other bridesmaids to a private luau where they were escorted through a big open-air pavilion surrounded by clubs and restaurants to a secluded beach area ringed with flaming tiki torches. Swarthy young men handed them mai tais, placed flower leis around their necks and kissed their cheeks. Olivia took a sip from her drink and puckered her mouth at the sweet potency. The bartender had been very liberal with the rum. The scent of roasted meats mingled with the fresh aroma of pineapple and plumeria blossoms. A trio of bongo players sat beneath palm trees pounding out a seductive rhythm.