The Beach Bachelors Boxset (Three Complete Contemporary Romance Novels in One) (The Beach Bachelors Series)

by Pamela Browning

  "Is the money so important?" asked Cara. The Martyn family was famously wealthy from its textile operations in several countries.

  Alec traced the design on his saucer with a fingertip. "We can't continue to maintain Xanadu as we have in the past. Blake and I agree on that. As for our living expenses, they're provided for—richly—by trust funds. Unfortunately, there's no special fund to provide for Xanadu. I'm willing to donate most of my income to support the property, but Blake isn't. We need help from the outside to preserve it."

  "Aren't there foundations, grants, something?"

  "The state's Committee of Historic Trusts is eager to buy Xanadu and operate it as a museum. It hasn't happened so far because funding has been a problem even though the Committee is one of the governor's pet projects. The Committee relies on private donations. So Blake went out and made a deal with Marquis, one of the world's largest development companies."

  "How'd he manage that? It seems as if it wouldn't be that easy."

  "Blake's well-connected and has business interests all over the country. Pulling off the deal with Marquis would enhance his ability to get financing for some other things he's working on. All those points aside, Blake would see Xanadu destroyed just to build up his colossal ego. I'll be damned if I'll let that happen without a fight."

  Suddenly, Cara saw Alec in a new, revealing light. Why hadn't she guessed that Alec's apparent insensitivity to the beauty of Xanadu was only the armor with which he protected himself? He was hurting inside, knowing that Xanadu was doomed. Impulsively she put out her hand and covered his.

  He looked at her in surprise.

  "Alec, I know how you feel. I felt it, too, yesterday when I was standing in the tower. I saw it all stretching from the lake to the sea, and I mourned for the day when Xanadu would no longer exist."

  Impatiently Alec shook her hand away. "How can you say that, Cara? You're helping him. If you weren't here, there would be a delay—Blake can't sell the house before the contents are inventoried and sent away to be sold. Every day you work here brings the bulldozers closer to Xanadu." He threw down his napkin and stood up. Without another look at her, he strode away.

  Cara admitted to herself that what Alec said was undoubtedly true. It troubled her that she had taken this job, even though it had been in the interest of self-preservation. Now that she knew the true state of affairs, could she in all conscience stay? Yet where could she go?

  In her telephone conversations with her dad's lawyers after his death, she'd learned that her inheritance was small and that her father had left considerable debt. If additional creditors emerged, her father may have owed more than she knew. Though she didn't regret resigning from the appraisal company and the dead-end desk job she would have hated, Cara had been counting on the money she earned at Xanadu. This job provided an unexpected windfall to help her deal with her father's debt and her own financial needs as she adjusted to life alone. It didn't seem prudent to leave this job without depositing a few more pay checks in her bank account.

  Sighing, her appetite dulled, she left her unfinished breakfast and reluctantly began the day's work. It was midmorning before she remembered that Blake had asked her to come to his office.

  She rose from her place on the floor and brushed the clinging dust from her slacks. She had mixed feelings about seeing Blake now that she knew more about the source of his friction with Alec. She wondered again if it was true that the sale to the development company could not be stopped, and she made up her mind to find out.

  Blake was reclining in his chair behind his desk with his back to the door as he talked on the phone. Cara, seeing that he was busy, paused outside the door.

  "Skiing?" Blake said, sounding exasperated. "Caylor broke his leg skiing? He's in traction? That's inconvenient... he can't return to New York? Well, overnight mail those documents to him in Aspen."

  Blake paused, apparently listening. "I don't care what Caylor wants. Tell him to fly his lawyer to Aspen if he needs his approval. His lawyer is where? Right. I've known sea slugs that moved faster than that guy."

  More listening, and then Blake continued, "Caylor needs to sign. I can't hold off Alec much longer." He clicked off the phone abruptly.

  After waiting for a moment, Cara entered his office. Blake looked surprised and momentarily disconcerted to see her before regaining his composure and motioning for her to sit down.

  "Blake, I forgot to tell you—I answered a strange phone call while you were in New York."

  "Strange?" Blake wrinkled his brow, at the same time running his eyes over her approvingly.

  "It was a woman, I think, and she seemed to be talking to someone named Coco. She broke the connection before I got her name."

  Blake gave a little laugh. "That would be the Princess. She expects everyone to know who she is."

  "The Princess?"

  "She isn't really a princess. She was born Dolly Finkley, and one of the string of husbands she collected was a deposed Romanian prince. In between husbands she always reverts to the title she enjoyed when she was married to him. Unfortunately, she determines who's who socially in Palm Beach."

  "And Coco?"

  "Coco is her pet monkey." At Cara's astonished look, he nodded. "Coco travels everywhere with her. He's an abominable little creature with beady black eyes and an infuriating superiority complex."

  While Cara, taken aback, was still digesting that information, the phone rang. Blake answered it, and after a few seconds during which Cara could hear a harsh, nonstop voice blaring, he covered the mouthpiece with his hand. "Speak of the devil," he stage-whispered. "It's the Princess."

  When he was able to hang up, Blake ran his fingers across his hair in annoyance. "Now, what did I want to see you about? Oh, yes, a florist will be arriving to inspect the grand ballroom today in order to determine what decorations are necessary for the Animal Aid Society Ball. Ingrid will be out this afternoon, so I'd like you to let him in when he comes."

  "Anything else?"

  Blake slid a file card across the desk. "These are phone numbers you may need while you work here. Cell phones for all of us, landlines that belong to the house and the cabana. You may need to be in touch with anyone at any time, so store them in your own phone for use. You're part of the Xanadu family now." He smiled, and it was Cara's cue to leave.

  Cara slipped the card into her pocket. She stood and started to walk out of the room, but Blake's warmth and welcoming manner encouraged her to pose the question that she'd wanted to ask since her talk with Alec at breakfast.

  "Blake, is it true that Xanadu can still be saved? Or is it too late?"

  Blake seemed taken aback. He leaned back in his chair and gazed out the window. When at last his eyes met hers, his smile was disarming. "Why, has Alec been getting to you? Telling you I'd sell my own grandmother to make a dollar?"

  "Well—"

  "I know, I know. He tells everyone that. Believe me, Cara, nothing can be done to save Xanadu. Larry Algren, one of the co-owners of Marquis, has already signed the contract. Winston Caylor will sign as soon as he returns from his ski vacation in Aspen."

  Blake's tone was too hearty, his manner too bluff. And skiing... Aspen... why, she had just heard him say on the phone that Winston Caylor had broken his leg skiing and couldn't return to New York. The rest of the conversation had made it seem as if there was some other problem, maybe with the lawyer. And something else—what was it? Yes! Blake had said, "I can't hold off Alec much longer."

  "I heard you say that Winston Caylor broke his leg!" she blurted, and she immediately reproached herself for being unable to hold her tongue.

  "You heard that?" Blake asked sharply.

  Color rushed to Cara's cheeks. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop. I was standing outside the door waiting for you to finish your phone call."

  Blake walked around the desk and placed a hand on Cara's shoulder. "It's not important," he said. "As I told you, the sale of Xanadu will proceed as planned. There's nothing Alec or anyone
can do to prevent it." She looked into his eyes, assessing his sincerity. His expression was affable, but why did she think his voice had a hard edge and that the soft gray of his eyes masked the glint of steel?

  "Anyway," continued Blake, "you and I have more important things to talk about. If you're free, we could discuss them over dinner tonight. Is seven o'clock satisfactory?"

  Cara nodded, relieved that the subject had changed.

  "Good. I'll ask Ingrid to serve us in the loggia. And of course we'll dress." Blake moved to the credenza behind his desk and busied himself with stacking papers. Cara realized she had been dismissed.

  As she approached the stone staircase descending to the first floor, Alec surprised her by walking out of the study below. He threw her a look of scornful contempt and she recoiled instinctively, hugging the banister so that he could pass.

  "You and my brother having a conference to plan another swing of the wrecker's ball?" he snarled over his shoulder. He was gone before she had a chance to reply, which was just as well. She couldn't have defended herself anyway. Nor would it be wise under the circumstances.

  She let in the florist as directed, and after he left, Cara decided that she'd accomplished enough for one day. Wanting nothing so much as fresh air after the long hours of confinement in the storage closets, she walked for half an hour in the peaceful sculpture garden. The modernistic sculptures appeared different each time she saw them, seeming to change shapes as the sun passed from east to west. She stopped to watch a lone peacock swagger across her path, his magnificent tail feathers fanned out to catch the slanting rays of the sun.

  At the edge of the grass was a tall hibiscus hedge, and the bushes were full of red blossoms. She plucked a particularly vibrant double flower to fasten behind her ear. The hibiscus would complement the flowing dress she planned to wear that evening.

  She lingered in her bath, luxuriating in the oversized green marble tub. The faucet was a gilded swan, water streaming from its bill, and its golden wings were the handles. Cara reclined amid billowing bubbles and wondered how many real-life princesses—or perhaps first ladies—had bathed in this tub.

  The gown she had chosen for that evening was draped crimson chiffon with a matching scarf that circled her neck and flowed gracefully down her back to the floor. She swept her hair off her neck and secured it with a silver clip, leaving a few light wisps free around her face. She tucked the glorious red hibiscus behind her left ear.

  Twirling for her own inspection in front of the full-length mirror, she was pleased with the result. Somehow, back in Chicago, this dress had seemed too flamboyant, at odds with the cold gray surroundings. Here, where color ran rampant and all but assaulted the senses, it was perfect.

  The only problem was her shoes, a pair of strappy platform sandals that she'd bought because they were the latest style, but they hurt her feet. However, she'd long ago made up her mind after she saw how well they completed her outfit that suffering in the name of fashion was justified.

  Her heels clicked smartly as she descended to the first floor of the mansion, and she forgot how much her feet hurt when she came upon the courtyard scene. Soft jets of water arched in graceful symmetry toward the center of the reflecting pool, which was illuminated from underneath. The lights transformed each water droplet into a dazzling diamond.

  At first she thought she was alone. She peered beyond the flickering torches that cast the outer reaches of the courtyard in shadows. Then she saw a silhouette detach itself from the curve of an arch. It was Blake.

  He stepped forward to welcome her, and for the first time she noticed that his smile was too perfect. Veneers, she thought, and from a really good dentist.

  "You're lovely tonight, Cara. Turn around and let me see!"

  Cara pirouetted, stopping in time to catch the appreciation in Blake's eyes.

  "Something to drink?"

  She asked for a glass of white wine, and Blake presented it with a flourish. Slowly she took her first sip, welcoming its warmth as it slid down her throat.

  Ingrid brought a large tray from the kitchen and lit the candles in crystal holders on the small table, which was laid with a monogrammed linen cloth and set for two.

  As the housekeeper started to return to the kitchen, Blake called to her. "Ingrid, I'm expecting an important phone call on the house phone this evening. Please let me know as soon as it comes through."

  "Of course, Blake," Ingrid murmured, leaving the two of them alone.

  Blake held Cara's chair for her, his manner solicitous, and seated himself across from her.

  The meal was a split Florida lobster, broiled and stuffed with crabmeat. The atmosphere was festive, and she scarcely noticed that Blake kept refilling her glass with wine.

  "Tell me about yourself," Blake said once they'd progressed past small talk. "Where you came from, where you're going."

  The wine had loosened her tongue, and she found herself telling him about her life in Chicago, her work with her father, her studies at the Institute.

  "And after you've finished here, what then?"

  "I don't know yet. Return to Chicago, I suppose, and pick up where I left off. Although it will be difficult without Dad. I miss him so much." The familiar bleak feeling washed over her again.

  Blake sensed the turning of her mood and suggested an after-dinner walk through the garden. The night air was scented with the heady fragrance of jasmine, a night-blooming variety, according to Blake.

  They walked slowly, not touching, but when they reached the wide expanse of lawn lying blue-green before them he twined his fingers through hers. I wish his hands weren't so soft, Cara thought irrationally, and she stifled a sudden urge to giggle at her own silliness. Perhaps she shouldn't have been so free with the wine at dinner.

  Blake led her past the pool to the pavilion where, in the dappled shadows under the awning, the lounge furniture was stored for the night. Cara averted her eyes from the swimming pool, the same pool where Alec had awakened her sudden, burning desire with his kiss. And now it was Blake who was drawing her toward him and who would kiss her if she didn't stop him.

  But she was still experiencing the dizzying effects of too much wine, and instead of evading him she clutched at him for support. Before she knew it she was cradled against his chest and he was talking to her in a way that left no doubt about his intentions.

  "Cara," he was saying, "my Cara. Cara mia—do you know what those words mean in Italian? Cara mia—my dear."

  Cara lifted her head and caught a blurred movement out of the corner of her eye. She turned slightly to see a form rise from its reclining position on one of the nearby lounges.

  "I give up," fumed the familiar voice, and Cara gasped. She leaped guiltily away from Blake, color rushing to her cheeks. There was no doubt that the moment was completely destroyed.

  "Alec!" she and Blake cried simultaneously. And then angrily from Cara: "You should have let us know you were here!"

  "How could I?" Alec emerged from the shadows, stretching languidly. "I'd just finished my moonlight swim and stretched out for a snooze. I didn't wake up until the play was in progress. At that point, it seemed better to remain in the audience. Until"—and he turned to his brother with a wicked grin—"I heard you talking that 'Cara mia' drivel. Even you, Blake, should be able to do better than that. I had no thought but to save the lady from more of the same."

  The brothers faced each other, Blake glaring at Alec and Alec standing with his hands resting nonchalantly on his hips. Cara's mind reversed and went over the scene like a video replay: she and Blake entering the moon-dappled pavilion; Alec trapped there, awakening to the romantic vaporings of another man; and finally the comic ending when she and Blake jumped apart like two surprised teenagers. Then she did the unforgivable, as far as Blake was concerned. She giggled.

  It might have been the wine or it might have been the unexpected humor of the situation, but once she felt the mirth begin to bubble up inside her she couldn't stop it from overflo
wing. She laughed until tears came to her eyes, and then she laughed some more. Blake stared at her stonily, finding nothing funny in the situation, but Alec began to smile and surprised Cara by joining her laughter.

  When Cara finally began to regain control of herself, she tried to excuse her lapse to Blake, but her explanation was ineffective. "It's just that I... and you... and the whole thing..." she gasped in a feeble attempt to set things right, but Blake's face was hard.

  Just when she was wishing she could disappear without a trace, they heard Ingrid calling from the loggia. "Blake! Telephone!"

  Blake shot Alec a look of pure venom. "This time you've gone too far, Alec." And to Cara he said stiffly, "I'm afraid the evening is over. Perhaps you'll see this incident in a different light tomorrow." He wheeled and walked briskly away.

  She was alone with Alec. She blinked at him uncertainly.

  "So," Alec said with something akin to amusement. "My brother doesn't have much of a sense of humor, does he?"

  "It surprises me that you do," she retorted, amazed at her own quick comeback. "I've never seen you laugh before. In fact, I thought you were incapable of humor. You're always so... so disapproving."

  "Not always."

  "Well, mostly. Usually mostly. And it's confusing."

  "Like what you just said?"

  "Mostly."

  Alec, though his eyes lit with humor, was silent for a moment. "As I told you, you're helping Blake deal the death blow to Xanadu. I dislike you for that, yet there's something about you..."

  He didn't finish the sentence and Cara felt her cheeks warm under his scrutiny. She knew that in the dusky light of the pavilion her red gown emphasized her dark hair, and she felt the sea breeze flutter the ends of the long scarf around her neck. She shivered, but her trembling was not caused by the cool night air.

  "Something about my what?" she said boldly, not caring if he interpreted that in the wrong way, whatever that might be.

  "About everything about you, usually." Alec spoke softly, but there was no mistaking the passion behind his words.