Sex on Flamingo Beach

by Marcia King-Gamble

  “That sounds like a pat answer to me, bro,” another caller shouted. “The problem is the northerners moving to Flamingo Beach and bringing their bad city ways with them.”

  “Northerners bring money,” Stephen Priddy, not to be ignored, quickly interjected. “I would think you’d be happy to see us here.”

  The moment he said that, all the phone lines lit up.

  “Let’s hear from the mayor,” Tre said, putting Solomon on the spot.

  A bright red Mayor Rabinowitz tried his best to smooth things over. “What Mr. Priddy means is that this town has never enjoyed such prosperity. Look at the improvements to properties, the jobs that have opened up.”

  “All I know,” one of the homeboys who’d gotten through bellowed, “is my rent’s through the roof and I’m gonna have to move. My own home’s gotten too pricey for me.”

  Jen cleverly steered the conversation back to the jam session.

  “Let’s talk about the Saturday jam and what the Flamingo Beach Spa and Resort is proposing. I’ll let Emilie Woodward, the resort’s sales director, speak to the idea of moving the jam session to her hotel, and then we’ll open the lines for questions.”

  Emilie shared the ideas she’d proposed to Larry Moorehouse. She was at her most persuasive explaining how the resort would be a much more comfortable location for the jam, and that by putting structure to it, the session would become even more popular. She talked about the positive cash flow to be gained and the benefits to the town.

  “The only one who stands to gain money is the Flamingo Beach Resort,” another caller said, cutting to the chase. “Right now the jam’s free. We pack a cooler and find a space on the beach. We listen to tunes and when we’re ready we leave.”

  “And you’d still be able to listen to tunes and get down,” Rowan interjected, supporting her. “What Emilie forgot to mention was that in nice weather the performers will be outdoors at poolside or on the boardwalk. When it rains the show still goes on inside. Right now if the weather is inclement it’s canceled. Am I right?”

  “We’ve always been on the beach and we like it that way,” another caller groused. “I can bring my kids and dress any old way. Where’s Larry? He’s the guy who got this started. Let him have his say.”

  Put on the spot, Larry began to waffle. “You can still bring your kids and dress comfortably even if the jam gets moved to the hotel. The hotel is giving ten percent of the profits from its food and beverage sales back to the town. But if you’re saying ten percent don’t mean much, well…”

  “That money will go right into the mayor’s pocket,” another resident boldly added.

  The mayor’s face, already the color of his ridiculous raspberry suit, turned even darker. He began to sputter.

  “This town can certainly use the money,” Stephen Priddy said, trying to bail the mayor out but making things worse. “If you get off the ocean a bit there are blocks that can still be classified as slums.”

  “Who the hell are you to judge us, you obnoxious piece of—” The call got dropped and another call taken.

  “Put on the Flip-flop Momma.”

  Miriam said her piece. As always she was the voice of reason. She suggested a test run during the summer and fall season, with a possible return to the beach in the winter if things didn’t work out.

  Finally the questions wound down and the broadcast was over.

  “That went rather well,” Mayor Rabinowitz said, puffing out his chest. “Stephen, my boy, you should consider running for office.”

  Emilie and Rowan exchanged looks over both men’s heads. Priddy and the mayor were two of a kind.

  Outside again, Rowan said, “I don’t know about you, but I sure as heck could use a drink. What about a nightcap before we head home?”

  Emily hesitated because it really had been a long, stressful day. But overall the broadcast had gone much better than she’d expected and Rowan had been very supportive of her. It wasn’t as if he was asking her to go home with him.

  “Sure. If you want to follow me we can go to the Pink Flamingo. It’s probably one of the few places open this late tonight.”

  “Honey, I’d follow you to the ends of the earth.”

  Twenty minutes later they were seated outside at the tikki bar of the Pink Flamingo. At that hour, and on a weekday night, there were only a handful of people seated outdoors. Sheena Grace was among them working the few men in the bar. Emilie ignored her and concentrated on the flamingos fluttering from the thatched ceiling while Rowan ordered their drinks.

  “What’s this?” Emilie asked as he handed her a drink the color of Pepto-Bismol.

  “The daily special. It’s called a flamingotini.”

  “Hmm, I live here and I’ve never had one of these before.”

  “Obviously you don’t know the right people. Cheers!”

  “Salud.” Emilie clinked her glass against Rowan’s then took a sip. “This is good. What’s in it?”

  “Same concept as a cosmo. Cranberry, lemon juice instead of lime, a touch of triple sec, vodka or gin, and fruit coloring makes it the flamingo shade. Are you all packed?”

  She shook her head. “No, I’ll do it tomorrow. I don’t need much. Shorts, a bathing suit, maybe a sundress or two, sandals.”

  “Jammies?”

  “Who needs them?” The moment it popped out of her mouth she could have slapped herself. What had prompted her to say that?

  “I’d think you were the type who helped Vicky’s Secret pay its rent.”

  “You’ll never know.”

  “How do you think tonight went?” Rowan asked, taking the conversation in a totally different direction.

  “It could have been worse.”

  “Your mayor’s a trip.”

  “That’s putting it eloquently. His buddy Priddy’s in about the same league.” She sipped her flamingotini. “Just what the doctor ordered.”

  “Want to hear what the doctor ordered for me?” Rowan leaned over to whisper in her ear.

  She slapped his arm. “With another flamingotini in me, I just might say yes.”

  “Coming up, baby.”

  The alcohol was creeping up on her fast, too fast. What in the world had possessed her to say that?

  Rowan was already signaling to the bartender for another drink. One drink led to another. She was starting to relax and enjoy herself, even getting tipsy. But Rowan wasn’t keeping up with her.

  “I have to drive,” he explained when she questioned him. “You can walk to your condo if you have to. All I need is Greg Santana and that overzealous partner of his, Lionel, pulling me over.”

  “Greg’s cool. Joya went to high school with him. Didn’t she tell you?”

  “I remember Derek mentioning something like that. What’s happening with you buying Quen’s place?”

  Emilie groaned. “Nada. Financially I can’t swing it right now. Quen decided to take the offer on the condominium. It’s hard to turn down that kind of money.”

  “How soon before you have to move?”

  “A couple of months, maybe.”

  Rowan wiggled his eyebrows at her. “You could reconsider my invitation and move into the town house.”

  “On that note we probably should call it a night.” Emilie slid off her stool and squinted at the overhead lights moving back and forth.

  Rowan clamped an arm around her elbow.

  “You okay?”

  “Just feeling the effects of too many flamingotinis.”

  Rowan paid the bartender and, holding her arm, walked her toward the exit. Emilie was still sober enough to have her guard up. No way was he coming home with her.

  Sheena Grace’s raised voice floated over as they were leaving.

  “That woman loves white men.”

  “Ignore her,” Rowan said close to Emilie’s ear. “She’s an angry person and very unhappy about where she is in life.”

  “I’m going to leave my car here and walk home,” Emilie said when they were in the parking lo
t.

  “I’ll drive you.”

  “Thanks, but I need the fresh air.”

  Rowan placed his arm around her waist. “In that case I’ll walk you over.”

  He could walk her to her building but he wasn’t coming in. She trusted him as much as she trusted herself. But next to him she felt petite, and she liked his clean manly smell. No cologne for this big guy.

  “When are you breaking ground on the casino?” she asked as they got closer to the condo.

  “Probably after we get back from Harbour Island. By then more contract workers should have arrived and we’ll have enough laborers to get started. I’m meeting with Lightfoot and Priddy right before we leave so I should know something then.”

  “You think you’ll make your six-month deadline?”

  “No choice. A lot of money hinges on it.”

  “It’s all about money, isn’t it?” She gave him a sideways glance.

  Rowan’s grip on her elbow tightened. He turned her slightly toward him.

  “No, it’s not all about money, although money can be a motivator, especially when you grow up without two red cents to rub together. For me it’s about meeting an obligation and honoring my word. Once I’ve done what I came to do I’m moving on.”

  He’d just given her another reason not to get involved with him. She was looking to put down roots here, while he was itching to go chasing after the next big deal.

  They’d reached the entrance of 411 Flamingo Place.

  “Good night,” Emilie said, offering up her cheek for his kiss. But Rowan would have none of it. He spun her around and gave her a proper kiss. It went on much longer than she expected and with every movement of his suave tongue she felt herself relenting. When Rowan released her, her legs were actually trembling.

  “I just might change my mind about Flamingo Beach,” he said. “Give me a little more encouragement like that. Invite me in for a cup of coffee and we can talk about my staying.”

  Emilie’s fingers outlined lips that still tingled.

  “Not a good idea, but the guard at the front desk can call you a taxi if you don’t want to drive.”

  He laughed. “You’re a hard woman. Lucky for you I’m a patient man. I’ll wait for Harbour Island for our second go round.”

  “Don’t get your hopes up,” Emilie called over her shoulder as she swung through the frosted double doors. “You promised me separate bedrooms and I expect you to honor your word.”

  Chapter 11

  “Plan on breaking ground late next week,” Keith Lightfoot announced. “By then the crew we need to get started should be here.”

  “What about permits? Those could take some time,” Mack Allen, the engineer brought in from out of town, asked.

  “We’ve got that covered.” Priddy seemed confident. His arms were folded across his chest. “Permits are the least of our problems.”

  Rowan, who was part of the meeting at the resort, recalled Emilie’s interest in Mack Allen. He didn’t think anything had come of it, at least nothing he was aware of. Gossip being what it was in Flamingo Beach, he would have heard about it.

  Mack Allen was no one’s fool. In the brief time he’d been in town he seemed to already have figured out both the players and the politics. Rowan had seen the way he operated; the engineer was, if nothing else, politically astute.

  “There are still some permits that haven’t come through,” Rowan reminded the people who had gathered. None of their offices had been big enough to accommodate the participants, and a decision had been made to rent a meeting room.

  “They’ll come through,” a confident Stephen Priddy said, preening. “No need to lose sleep over any of this. The mayor’s on our side. He knows the importance of bringing this project in on schedule.”

  One of the top executives Landsdale International had flown in from their headquarters, and who had earlier voiced his concerns, seemed mollified by Stephen’s assurances.

  “It’s good the mayor and city council are on our side,” he said. “It makes things so much easier when we have political backing.”

  Yes, it did make things easier, but Rowan couldn’t help having reservations about Solomon Rabinowitz. The mayor already had controversy surrounding him. Those rumors about him taking kickbacks were more than a little disconcerting. Rowan hoped the pompous fool didn’t let his arrogance cloud his good judgment. More than one politician had taken a fall for being unethical. Flamingo Beach was too small a town to pull anything shady and it would only be a matter of time before he got caught.

  According to the buzz, the mayor’s last election had been rigged, though no one had concrete proof. But many were just sitting around waiting to find something else they could pin on him. Rowan tried again focusing on the conversation. His responsibility was to get the project in on time. He didn’t have to like any of these people. Once he’d accomplished that he would be well on his way.

  Yet his concentration was way off today. In his mind he was already on Harbour Island in the company of a woman he’d had erotic dreams about. Try as he might, Emilie kept popping into his fantasies at the most inconvenient moments. He’d planned a memorable weekend for them. First he’d meet Brian Lanterman as agreed, maybe even go fishing with him. While pretending to reel in a big one, they could discuss the plans to develop his land. The rest of the time would be spent with Emilie.

  A man of his word, he’d made reservations for two rooms, but he hoped that the sleeping situation would change as the weekend progressed. He was counting on it.

  “Did I hear you weren’t available this weekend?” Keith Lightfoot asked, jolting Rowan back to the present. “I was about to suggest we all get together for a round of golf.”

  “Normally I’d be jumping at that offer but I already have a commitment out of town,” Rowan answered.

  “And we’re catching early morning flights tomorrow,” the other Landsdale executive said. “You gentlemen have it well in hand and there’s no real reason to stick around.”

  Rowan glanced at his watch. He agreed. There was nothing more to be accomplished here. Things had gone much smoother than on many other projects he’d worked on. There were no citizens picketing the casino site or squawking loudly for the city council to intervene. Sure, the newspapers continued to have a field day, and Tre and Jen had enough material for several more lively broadcasts, but overall everything was a go.

  “I’m going to have to leave,” Rowan said. “My plane’s already here.”

  “Keep your cell phone on in case we need to reach you,” Priddy instructed.

  “I’ll have my BlackBerry with me.” What Rowan didn’t say was that he hoped his BlackBerry didn’t work on Harbour Island.

  “I can handle anything that comes up,” Derek assured them. “In fact, Mack, if you want to have coffee or a drink afterward I can bring you up to speed as to where we are.”

  “I’m going to take off, then.” Mentally, Rowan had already left.

  Keith Lightfoot ended the meeting and the men filed out.

  Rowan had his garment bag stashed in the front seat of his truck. It was now just a case of picking up Emilie. Brian Lanterman’s pilot was already at the airport waiting. An interesting long weekend lay ahead.

  What a crappy day it had been so far. Emilie couldn’t wait for it to end. An incentive sales group hadn’t shown up and now everyone was finger-pointing. The corporate agent claimed the hotel’s reservation agent had made a mistake, and that it was the following week she’d said. Obviously she hadn’t looked at her written confirmation or the e-mails the Flamingo Beach Spa and Resort had sent as a follow-up. But she was the customer and that couldn’t be pointed out.

  Even worse, the hotel could not accommodate the two-hundred-plus people who were in the incentive group’s Winners Circle. And there was no five-star hotel in the vicinity to walk them to.

  Regardless of who was wrong, Emilie just couldn’t afford to lose the business. She was driving the hotel’s group sales manager craz
y, pushing her hard to figure out a way to make this happen. She’d also gotten on the individual reservations manager asking her to double-check to make sure all guests that were currently booked for that time planned on showing up. She just knew they all wanted to kill her.

  On top of all that, a guest had left the water in one of the sinks running causing one of the rooms to flood. When the ceiling in the bathroom below caved in, it created additional problems. Normally that would not be Emilie’s area, but housekeeping already had their hands full with backed-up toilets and a few trashed rooms. Two housekeepers had called in sick so she’d had no choice but to pitch in.

  Emilie had hoped to be able to run home and take a quick shower before heading off for Harbour Island. Now it didn’t look like that would happen. She’d coaxed Joya into looking in on Big Red just to make sure the cat didn’t eat all of the food she’d left out the first time around. Thankfully she’d brought her luggage with her.

  When Emilie’s cell phone rang she grimaced. In her business she had to be flexible, but she was so looking forward to her minivacation and anything could be coming at her over that phone.

  Rowan’s sexy drawl filled her ear. “Hey, babe, you ready to go?”

  Was she ever. It didn’t pay to sound too excited though. He might get the false impression that her excitement had something to do with him.

  “I’ll be in the lobby in ten minutes,” she said.

  Those minutes would give her time to scramble out of her business suit, run a brush through her hair and touch up her makeup. She had no intention of arriving at Harbour Island looking as if she’d just left a boardroom. When she got back hopefully there would be good news about moving the jam session to the resort. Lord knew she needed good news.

  Emilie used the bathroom to quickly change into shorts and a strapless top then shoved her feet into sandals. The humidity had turned her hair into an uncontrollable frizzy mess so on went a baseball cap. Grabbing her bag, she headed down to the lobby.

  When she got off the elevator she spotted Rowan talking to Derek and Mack Allen. Mack she hadn’t seen since the Passion Party and given their flirtatious conversation she actually felt guilty going away for the weekend with one of the men he was talking to.