Pleasure Beach

by P. J. Mellor

  She paused at the steps to her deck, smiling at his confident swagger as he closed the distance between them. He stopped directly in front of her, hands braced on lean, khaki-covered hips, tropical print shirt flapping in the breeze. His bare toes dug into the sand. Even his toes were sexy.

  Toes. “Jack! We left our shoes by the hammock.”

  His arms went around her as though he’d held her like that for a lifetime. She wished.

  “Forget the shoes,” he said in a husky voice. “I have more important things on my mind.”

  “Oh?” She looped her arms around his neck, loving the way they fit together, despite the height difference. Loving him.

  “Yep.” He nodded and backed her against the hard wood of her deck pier, his hands busy walking the back of her skirt up around her bare hips. “I developed a major hard-on watching you run down the beach, knowing you were plumb nekkid under that pretty little dress.”

  She rotated her hips, grinding against the ridge on the front of his shorts. When their interlude was over—and she knew it would be, eventually—she knew she might regret her wanton behavior. But she would rather have regrets about what they’d done than regrets over having done nothing.

  She moved her breasts against him in flagrant invitation. “Spend the night with me and we’ll see if we can’t remedy your condition.”

  He stiffened within her embrace, then stepped back, breaking physical contact. Emotional contact was obviously long gone.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Royce.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his cargo shorts and took another step back. “I’m still kind of sore and I have a lot to do tomorrow to begin getting the house ready for the next renters.”

  Suddenly cold, she folded her arms over her chest, rubbing her hands up and down her upper arms in an effort to stave off the feeling of rejection.

  She refused to beg.

  He turned and walked to his deck. She watched his back, waiting. Without a backward glance, he climbed the steps. Within seconds, the whoosh and click of his door drifted down to her, bringing home the fact that she was, indeed, alone.

  Royce turned over on the chaise and checked the travel alarm clock she used while sunning. According to the dial, it had been exactly fourteen minutes. She took a sip of water and closed her eyes, willing the stiffness out of her body.

  Next door, classic rock blasted, punctuated by hammering and assorted tool sounds. How much could he really have to do before the next renters arrived?

  She yawned. Sleep had eluded her for most of the night. Damn Jack.

  Admitting defeat, she gathered her towel, clock and water and padded into the cool dimness of her house.

  After a quick shower, she dressed in a loose-fitting purple print sundress she’d found wadded in the bottom of her box of towels, then turned on the fan in her room and settled at her desk to go over her notes.

  The afternoon passed. When the phone next to her rang, she was surprised to see it was almost sunset.

  Willing her heart to slow, knowing it wasn’t Jack but praying it was, she answered.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, beach bunny, how’s it going?”

  Wendy. Royce exhaled and slumped back in her padded office chair. “Great,” she answered with more enthusiasm than she felt. “Did you get my fax?”

  “Sure did. That’s why I’m calling you, even though you made me promise not to disturb you.”

  Royce laughed and walked over to the chaise to curl up and talk to her friend. “I should’ve known you wouldn’t keep a promise like that.”

  “Hey! I haven’t been bugging you, have I? I just wanted to touch base and tell you I loved your idea for the book so much that I passed on your notes and preliminary premise to a friend who works for U of H. And guess what? He found a publisher who wants to read it!” At her silence, Wendy said, “Hello? Are you there? Don’t you think that’s fantastic? Royce?”

  She closed her eyes and counted to ten. “Wendy, what have you done? I have no intention of writing a book from those research notes! At least not in the foreseeable future. They’re more of a personal journal than research, anyway. Tell him thanks, but I’m not interested.”

  “Why not!” Wendy’s strident voice all but shrieked in Royce’s ear. “You told me you had too much spare time on your hands, now that you’ve gone to summer schedule at the station. I assumed that was why you began your notes.”

  “It was.” Royce raked a hand through her hair and looked out over the water. Even with the door closed, she could hear the faint whisper of the surf lapping the shore. “I don’t know, Wen. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea, buying a beach house. Makes me restless.”

  Wendy snorted. “From your notes, I’d say it also makes you horny. So…who’s the studly beach bum who’s got you so hot and bothered? I know all those notes on your test subject didn’t come from your vivid imagination.” When Royce didn’t answer right away, she added, “Strictly off the record, of course.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “Well, at first I thought it was Jack, but then I remembered how much you two detested each other. So I began wondering…oh, no! Didn’t you watch and learn anything these last six years? Royce, please tell me it isn’t Jack-the-ripper!”

  “Believe me, I’d love to tell you that.”

  Silence.

  “Is it serious?” Wendy asked in a small, hopeful voice.

  Life-threatening. At least, for her. She thought of the last time she’d seen Jack, striding away, his back stiff and straight. “Of course not. Remember, this is Jack. I just wanted to see what all the hype was about.”

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  “And was it just that, hype? Or is he as good as his reputation?”

  Better. And it was killing her not to be with him.

  She hoped her laugh didn’t sound as fake to Wendy as it did to her. “Please. No one could live up to that reputation.”

  Wendy agreed and they talked of mundane things for a few minutes.

  “Well,” Wendy said, “I’d better let you get back to whatever you were doing when I called. Think about the offer, Royce. I think you could turn it into a blockbuster self-help book. If you won’t do it for me, do it for the millions of women out there who are stuck in dead-end relationships with guys who aren’t willing or able to commit. Just think about it, okay?”

  “Okay, I’ll think about it.” Wendy didn’t need to know that the book, even if she wrote it, would never see the light of day.

  After a few more pleasantries, they hung up.

  The sun set low as Jack stepped out onto his deck. Against his will, he glanced over at Royce’s deserted deck. What did he expect? He’d heard her drive away a little while ago. Probably had to work.

  With slow steps, he walked to the Purple Crab and nursed a beer at the bar before sitting at his table for one and eating a fisherman’s platter he couldn’t taste.

  “Dining alone tonight, Dr. McMillan?” Mike stood next to the table, smoothing a nonexistent wrinkle from the starched white tablecloth. “Where’s your lady friend?”

  “She had to work.” The lie flowed smoothly from his mouth. As though he and Royce were an old married couple, comfortable with each other’s schedules.

  Mike nodded. “Would you care for wine with your dinner?”

  Jack held up his half-empty glass of warm beer. “No, thanks, I can’t even seem to finish this.”

  “Would you like something else?”

  Jack thought a moment. “Yes, I think I would. Iced tea would be great.”

  Within minutes he had a sweating glass of tea before him. He watched the droplets of condensation dribble down to form a wet spot on the tablecloth, then tossed a wad of bills on the table and left by way of the patio beach gate. Keeping his eyes trained forward, he avoided the sight of “their” hammock. Funny, just the sight of it in his peripheral vision caused a slight ache in his heart.

  Of course there cou
ld never be anything between him and Royce. They both knew that. It was that knowledge that made him walk away the night before. That same knowledge was the reason he would not return to her bed.

  It was fun, but past time to be over.

  And no amount of wishing would change it.

  12

  Laughter erupted from Jack’s deck, cutting Royce to the bone. Nonchalantly, she strolled to her kitchen window and peeked through the curtain. Not that she cared, but she didn’t recognize anyone in the crowd. Not even Jack.

  A few minutes later, she stepped out onto her own deck for her morning sunbath, frowning at the sound of children.

  “Hey, neighbor!” A portly older gentleman called from the hot tub just as she got settled. “How long you here for? Want to join us?”

  Renters. “Hi. No, thanks. I live here. Which is why I have to go to work in a little while.” It wouldn’t hurt to be polite. “How long are you staying?”

  “We’re only here for today and tomorrow. Our kids and grandkids will be here until the weekend. They wanted it through Monday, but the owner had it rented already.”

  “Well,” Royce said, getting up again and wrapping her towel tightly around her, “have a nice vacation. Bye.”

  She spent the time until she had to go to the station adding to her growing pile of notes. Jack displayed textbook aversion by running back to Houston. She wiped away a tear. She knew the type. Knew he’d run if she came on too strong.

  But the knowledge didn’t ease the pain.

  After three weeks of strangers traipsing in and out of Jack’s house, invading her privacy with their boisterous activities, making her miss Jack so much she ached with it, Royce came to an irrefutable conclusion: She had to sell the beach house. Jack’s aversion tactics had won.

  It was painfully obvious that the good doctor would not return as long as she was in residence. She could do her syndicated program from any affiliate. And face it, the beach no longer held anything but pain for her.

  With a heavy heart, she called the Realtor who’d sold her the property.

  Kelly Williams, the perky to the point of being obnoxious Realtor, was there within the hour with the paperwork.

  “I can’t believe you’re letting this piece of prime property go!” Kelly shoved the listing contract toward her. “Do you have any idea how scarce houses are in this area? Are you sure you want to do this? I need your initial here.” She tapped the paper with a long, crimson nail.

  Royce initialed, willing her lunch to stay down. “Yes, I realize it. I just can’t keep making the commute every night.” Boisterous laughter sounded from Jack’s deck. Royce winced, a tight smile on her face. “And I hadn’t counted on living next to rental property.”

  Kelly raised her perfect-shaped eyebrows and inclined her head in the direction of Jack’s deck.

  Royce nodded. “It’s getting worse.”

  “From what I hear, it’s just as bad when the owner is in residence!” Kelly laughed, then gathered all the papers and stuffed them in her briefcase. “I hate to see you go. I know if you’d give Pleasure Beach a chance, you’d love it every bit as much as the other owners. It’s truly a paradise.” She let out a little sigh and looked out at the water. Perkiness firmly back in place, she said, “I just know I’ll have this place sold in a jiffy! How about we go down the beach to the Purple Crab and have a drink on the agency? The Crab makes killer margaritas and piña coladas.”

  Swallowing around the sudden lump in her throat, Royce shook her head and choked out, “No, thanks, I need to get some of these boxes out of here if I want it to show well.”

  “All righty, then! I’ll just get the sign up and head back to the office to put the listing in the computer.”

  Royce held out her hand. The Realtor grabbed her in a gardenia-scented hug. “Oh, we’re too informal for handshakes down here!” She stepped back and patted Royce’s arm. “I’ll be in touch!”

  Closing the door and her thoughts, Royce made her way to her desk. Maybe some kind of work would help ease the pain.

  Jack sat back in the booth at his favorite Houston bar and regarded his friend. Just back from his honeymoon, Marc radiated happiness.

  “I hope Kinsey knows what a lucky gal she is to land the most eligible bachelor in Houston,” he told Marc, wiping the sweat from his untouched Manhattan.

  Marc grinned, teeth flashing white in his tanned face. “I guess I have been talking nonstop about my wedded bliss, haven’t I?” He took a sip of his drink. “So, have you heard from Mardee since you’ve been back?”

  Jack shook his head. Not only had he not seen or spoken to his ex, he hadn’t so much as thought about her. “Naw, that’s history. Whatever we had was dead long before we buried it.”

  “That why you’re not drinking?”

  “Nope.” He shoved his glass to the edge of the table and motioned for the waitress. “Just not in the mood, I guess.”

  “Thanks for taking my rotation, by the way. Now that I’m back, you may as well use up the rest of your leave time.”

  “Trying to get rid of me?” He picked at the sodden cocktail napkin.

  “You know better.”

  They sat in silence for a beat.

  “When did you realize you were in love with Kinsey?”

  Marc smiled and wiped the edge of his glass with his thumb. “I’d like to say the moment she stepped onto the elevator, but it was probably when she grabbed my cock.” He met Jack’s interested gaze. “The way I see it, a woman’s got to know what she wants and go after it to have the guts to do something like that to a complete stranger.”

  “Good point.”

  “True point, my friend.”

  “But what if, strictly hypothetically speaking, a woman went after what she wanted with someone she knew?”

  “Hypothetically speaking, huh?” Marc shrugged. “I’d guess she knows what she wants even more. Takes even more balls to risk getting shot down by a friend.” He leaned forward. “Anyone I know?”

  Jack snorted and leaned back. “Not likely. Like I said, strictly hypothetical.”

  “Right.” Marc stood and threw a few bills onto the polished tabletop. “Well, hypothetically speaking, a guy who was so lucky shouldn’t tempt fate by letting a woman like that slide through his fingers.” He gave a two-fingered salute and left.

  Jack sat long after his friend left. Shouldn’t tempt fate. Did fate bring Royce to him just when he’d needed her most? Maybe he’d always needed her and now was just their time.

  Time. He’d wasted a lot of it lately. He threw down his money.

  No more. Whether fate or Royce had brought her into his life, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that she stay in it. Until death did they part.

  “Royce?” Kelly’s concerned pixie face swam through the tears filling Royce’s eyes. “Are you okay?” She leaned close, her peppermint-scented breath mingling with her perfume. “If you’re not well, we can postpone the closing.”

  Royce wiped her eyes with the wadded-up damp tissue clutched in her fist. “No, I’m fine. Allergies. Where do I need to sign?”

  Her house had sold in record time, even for Pleasure Beach. Less than twenty-four hours after it was listed, an offer was made.

  During the closing, she smiled and said all the appropriate things, all the while dying inside.

  It was for the best. She and Jack had no future. He wanted nothing more to do with her. He’d made it abundantly clear.

  Jack frowned at the SOLD sign posted on Royce’s deck, then brightened. She wouldn’t need the house after they were married. Not a problem.

  It took feeling around two of the three fat ceramic frogs on her deck before he found her spare key. He picked up the champagne and roses and stepped inside.

  The comfort that was Royce surrounded him like a balm. He loved her. She was his soul mate. His home. Why had he taken so long to realize it? Now he just needed to convince Royce.

  He headed upstairs. Turnabout was fair play. The r
oses would look better scattered over her sheets and delectable body than in a vase, anyway.

  Inside her bedroom door, he reached across her desk to flip on the lamp. Several papers fluttered to the ground. He smiled. The intelligent woman he hoped to wed had obviously been busy during their separation. He stooped to pick up the papers and stopped, his numb brain struggling to absorb what he read.

  Sexual mores and the modern male’s inability to commit? What the hell was that? It didn’t take long to realize who her first “test subject” was. Everything they’d done over the past few weeks was chronicled in black and white. And to think he’d been about to beg her forgiveness and pledge his undying love. When pigs flew!

  Two hours after signing away her hopes and dreams, Royce trudged up the deck. Jack’s house was quiet and dark for a change. She’d be glad to be away from him and the constant reminder of what could never be, she thought.

  She let herself in with the spare key she always kept hidden in her frog trio. She’d promised the new owners to be out by the end of the week, and given them her key so they could begin moving in right away.

  A light glowed from her room. Cautious steps took her up the stairs toward the steady beacon.

  Her heart tripped at the sight of Jack, standing at the patio door, looking out across the Gulf. Hungry eyes devoured every gorgeous inch of him. She was afraid to hope. “Jack?”

  He turned. Fierce and unreadable, he advanced on her.

  Her joy evaporated like so many of her dreams when she saw the papers clutched in his fist.

  “Jack, I can explain. I—”

  “Forget it. You got what you wanted. Tell me, Royce, did you enjoy all the “research” we did?” He stomped to the top of the stairs before looking back. “You had a fax. Good offer. I think you should take it. I hope it keeps you warm at night. Good-bye, Royce.”