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

by Pamela Browning

  "You think not?" he returned grimly, and she froze to hear the torment beneath his words. "I've tried," he went on. "Oh, how I've tried, but with no success. The people I've attempted to paint don't seem real at all once I get them on canvas. They look wooden, like ventriloquists' dolls or store-window mannequins. I don't have the talent to portray them as living beings."

  "Maybe you haven't really looked beneath the surface," Cara said softly. Her words carried a double meaning that she wasn't sure Alec would understand. She was trying to convey that he hadn't looked beyond what he expected to see of her.

  Alec regarded her for a moment, his blue eyes boring into her soul. "Perhaps you're right," he said, and she knew that he understood what she was trying to say.

  She expected him to back away now that she'd brought up this uncomfortable subject, but he said nothing. She was piercingly aware of his nearness and thought of what he had termed "unfinished business" on Kubla Khan; to hide her confusion she roamed around the room, running her fingers over the uncompleted wood carving on the table, returning to the living room and examining several intricate shells on the mantel.

  "How about a beer? Or a glass of wine?" he suggested, surprising her.

  She felt greatly relieved at not being dismissed. "Beer. If there's any left after your guests."

  He opened the refrigerator and handed her a bottle, getting one for himself as well. She sat on a bar stool and regarded him thoughtfully when he came to sit beside her. "Tell me, Alec," she said. "How did you grow up? Surely you didn't live in Palm Beach the whole time you were a child?" She wanted a better understanding of the lonely life he had described to her on the boat.

  Alec shook his head. "Xanadu was for spring vacations from boarding school and occasionally Christmas. I spent most of my youth in various schools, one after another."

  "No wonder you didn't have anyone to tend to your emotional needs after your father died," Cara said. She'd lost her mother early too, when she was ten. The loss had made her even closer to her father, who would never have shunted her off to schools or relatives.

  "Blake and I were incidental to our mother, and there wasn't anyone else. We had Ingrid and Otto, and they were wonderful. There was a succession of nannies, all of them nice, but growing up was an unhappy time."

  "I always think of wealthy families as giving their children everything."

  "I had every material thing I ever wanted. Toys, the fanciest and the best. Clothes, when I got old enough to appreciate them. Fast cars of every make and description. It got so that none of those things meant anything to me anymore. All I really wanted was for my mother to spend time with me." Alec shrugged. "It never happened. I finally gave away all those things that I didn't need and moved into the cabana. I became completely absorbed in my painting, and, as you can see, my wants are simple now."

  "Now that you're an adult and can control your own life, things are better for you, aren't they?"

  "I'm still bound by the dictates of society, but less and less as time goes on." He shot her a keen look. "You're coming to the ball tomorrow night, aren't you?"

  "I found out about it today when the Princess said I was to be there. Tandy mentioned that you aren't going. Is that true?"

  Alec's face clouded, and he stood up and walked to the window, gazing pensively out at the dark night before turning to answer her. "Oh, I'll be there," he said softly. "The Princess has seen to it."

  "She's promised you an appointment with the governor if you'll attend the ball."

  "You know about that?"

  "The Princess told Tandy this afternoon when they were here to look at the ballroom. I didn't know it was a secret."

  "It's impossible to have secrets around here." Alec's words stung like whiplashes.

  "I'm not the one who is spreading the news," Cara retorted. "Tandy is out with Blake tonight, and one of the last things I heard her say was that she wanted to tell him about your appointment with the governor. Blake was quite interested."

  "He would be," Alec said bitterly. "And I might have guessed that Tandy would play me against Blake. Poor, foolish Tandy..."

  "I thought she was your friend." Cara delivered the words into a silence that had become awkward.

  "You don't understand, Cara. I've known Tandy since she was a child, helped her with her problems, and now she has this sudden crazy idea that she's in love with me. She has no more idea of what love is than the Princess does, and she goes off on these tangents—oh, there's no hope of explaining Tandy to you. I just hope she doesn't hurt Xanadu's chances."

  Cara thought suddenly of something she could do to counteract whatever harm Tandy was doing to Alec's cause. Alec evidently didn't know that Winston Caylor had injured himself in a ski accident and had not signed the contract for the sale of Xanadu.

  Could she tell Alec? Should she? Or then would she too be guilty of pitting one brother against the other? She was still Blake's employee, she reminded herself, and should have an employee's loyalty to him. But what about her own personal feelings, her desire to see Xanadu preserved? Didn't they count for anything?

  Her thoughts in a tumult, she turned to Alec. It would be so easy to tell him about Winston Caylor; just a few words and Alec could make use of the delay brought about by the man's ski injury.

  But Alec was still talking, the words sounding confident and determined. "There's nothing Blake can do about my appointment with the governor, even though it's not until next week. And Blake's not the only one who can talk to people at the Marquis Corporation. I spoke with Larry Algren today, and he wouldn't confirm or deny that his partner, Winston Caylor, had signed the contract. I've been trying to get a call through to Caylor on his cell phone, and I'll keep trying until I reach him."

  Cara breathed a sigh of relief. At least Alec was on the right track. She decided to hold her silence, at least for the moment. But the next thing Alec said made no sense.

  "So if you are one of Blake's groupies, Cara, go ahead and tell him that, too. I can assure you it will make no difference."

  "What did you call me?" she said, taken aback at the sudden hostility in his face. "A groupie?"

  "Yes, that's what I call the girls who come here to meet my brother."

  "Do they really do that? The girls chase Blake, I mean."

  "Yes, Blake's prominent in the society columns, and the house is famous. Every so often a woman, or sometimes two or three, will try a scheme to get inside the house to meet him. He's seldom at home, so I'm usually the one who fends them off."

  "Surely you don't think I'd try to drown myself just to get inside Xanadu," said Cara in consternation as she began to realize what Alec was driving at.

  "Who knows?" He shrugged, a little too casually. "It would have been an ingenious plan. I figured you saw me walking on the beach, thought I was Blake, and pretended that you were drowning. I stood watching you until something inside me said, 'Hey, what if she's really going under?' Then I jumped in the boat and came after you."

  "So you've never trusted my motives?" Cara was both stunned and hurt by Alec's accusation.

  "After I pulled you out of the ocean, I realized that you'd been in serious trouble and your near-drowning was the real thing. Also, your grief about your dad was genuine enough. I began to think that if you weren't trying to meet Blake for social-climbing, you wanted to ensure that you got the job you'd lost when your father died. Bingo–as soon as he met you, Blake swallowed the bait and hired you on the spot."

  "Good grief," Cara said. "I was going for what was supposed to be a simple swim in the ocean." Indignation began to replace her hurt feelings, and she marshaled her defenses. She'd never encountered a situation before where no matter what she did, she was suspected by someone of an ulterior motive.

  Alec's irritation flickered under his calm exterior, and he went on talking. "Blake might have planted you so that we could become friends and you could report back to him on all the little tricks I have up my sleeve to save Xanadu. Is that it, Cara?"r />
  "I can't believe I'm hearing this." Suddenly she felt deflated and emotionally flattened. She'd begun to believe that they'd reached a new level of communication by confiding in each other about significant happenings in their lives, but any closeness she'd felt earlier was gone.

  "You didn't answer the question."

  "It wasn't a question. It was an insult, and I'm out of here. Where are my sandals?" She slid off the bar stool.

  Alec adopted an aloof expression. "Your shoes, my dear." He scooped them off the floor and handed them to her with flourish that could only be described as mocking.

  Cara glared at him and fumbled with the leather straps as she tried to jam a shoe on her right foot. It wasn't working, however, and in order to put them on she'd have to sit down and buckle them properly. She looked around wildly and decided on the chaise longue she'd occupied after her rescue. She balanced precariously on the edge and slipped the sandals on her feet.

  Alec watched her with his arms folded across his chest. A complexity of emotions chased across face, but this wasn't the time to interpret what she saw. Before she could rise and run from the cabana he was sitting beside her, and the gleam in his eyes betrayed his intentions.

  "Unfinished business, Cara, remember?" he said under his breath. She tried to glower at him, failing completely. He laughed softly, but his attempt at humor seemed undermined by sadness. "You just gave a convincing performance. I don't know what your real motive was in coming here. You don't seem the type to be a groupie. But how am I to be sure?" He stopped talking long enough to brush his lips across her temple, where she felt her pulse surge and knew that he felt it, too.

  "I'm only me, Alec. Not a schemer, not a spy, not anything but myself." She understood why he suspected her. Alec had been surrounded by falseness, disloyalty, envy, and greed all his life. It was what he expected from other people, and she was at a loss how to convince him that she wasn't anything like them.

  Alec reached for her hand and placed it on his shoulder, slipping his arm around her waist. Then he pressed his mouth to her ear and whispered against it, "How am I to be sure about you, Cara? How?"

  In that moment, thinking about Alec and his past hurts, Cara's anger dissolved. She closed her eyes and let herself be swirled away into the whirlpool of emotions unleashed by his kiss. Whatever else was between the two of them, it could be forgotten when she was in his arms.

  As her embrace tightened around him she was disconcerted to feel his hold on her relax. She was perplexed when he separated himself from her and pulled her to her feet.

  "I haven't made up my mind about you yet, Cara," he said quietly, without rancor.

  She opened her mouth to protest, but he placed his index finger over her parted lips and shook his head in warning. "Let's leave it at that, okay?"

  Cara wrenched away from him and stood with one hand on the doorknob. "I'm going now," she said.

  "Yes, Cara, go," he said softly. "But don't go too far."

  With tears in her eyes, she gently closed the door behind her. There didn't seem to be anything she could say to make things right between them, and even if there was, she probably wouldn't say it.

  Chapter 6

  Worth Avenue, the posh street of exclusive stores and shops, was even more elegant than Cara had expected. Lingering before one of the tastefully decorated boutique windows, she admired the delicate handmade lace peignoir draped artistically over an antique brass headboard. The price of the peignoir was astronomical.

  She'd already visited several high-priced salons where she'd been decorously approached by matronly saleswomen with well-modulated voices. But so far she'd found no dress that was entirely to her taste or, more important, in her price range.

  She looked around, wondering where to try next. Ahead was one of the alcoves that branched off the avenue, a narrow corridor bordered with shops. Feeling adventurous, Cara decided to explore it. She ducked between drooping yellow allamanda blossoms to find herself in front of Cabrera, a tiny store featuring copies of gold and silver jewelry salvaged from sunken Spanish galleons off the Florida coast by treasure hunters Ponce and Alix Cabrera. If she ever had the money, Cara would like to own one of the exquisite pieces someday. As an art historian, the beautiful and historic designs appealed to her.

  Next to it was a store, Paige Forward, that featured custom needlework designs, and a pretty dark-haired woman was arranging needlepoint pictures in the window. She lifted her head when she saw Cara watching and beckoned her inside.

  "I need your unbiased opinion," she said. "Should I put that framed heron on the easel, or do you like it better propped against the column?"

  Cara considered. "It works well with the column," she said. "The veining in the marble picks up the shades of gray in the heron."

  "You're right." The woman smiled and held out her hand. "I'm Paige Smith, by the way."

  "Cara Demorest." As she glanced around the store, she realized that Paige must be just setting up shop.

  "We're in a mess right now, but we'll be open for business soon. My husband and I have a ball to attend tonight, and getting ready for it has delayed my plans. I've dreamed of having a shop like this since I started creating my own needlepoint designs, and, well, if you could let people know about it, I'd appreciate it."

  "I'll be at the ball too," Cara said, delighted to meet a fellow attendee. "I work for Blake Martyn and have been helping with preparations."

  Paige leaned closer and spoke confidentially. "Between you and me, it's a bit daunting. I've never been to a ball like this one. My husband Chad knew Blake at school and insists we go. It's exciting, but." She lifted her eyes to the heavens.

  Cara laughed. "I need something to wear," she said, relieved to find someone who seemed as reluctant as she was to go to the ball. "My budget is limited, and I don't know where to shop."

  "Try the boutique across the way." Paige indicated a doorway opposite them. It was almost obscured from view by a huge potted palm. Behind the little store's small pane of glass was a heap of fabric. Cara could pick out brocades, satins, velvets, and silks in the jumble.

  "I will," Cara said, taking heart. "May I mention to Blake and Alec that I met you? Your husband's name?"

  "Chad Smith, also known as W. Chadbourne Smith III." Paige grimaced. "It's a mouthful, isn't it?"

  Cara grinned. "I hope to see you both tonight. Thanks for the pointer." She left Paige adding a colorful display of yarns to her window display.

  As Cara was frowning at the rolls and wads of fabric in the window of the shop on the opposite side of the courtyard, a woman's head poked up out of the disorder and said, "Did you want to see something?" The head belonged to a petite Oriental woman with almond-shaped eyes and a peach-blossom complexion. She smiled in welcome.

  "Well, I—well, yes, I suppose so," Cara said, feeling sorry for her. Obviously she was trying to create order out of the chaos in the window and having little success. She entered the gloom of the shop. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light she found that the boutique gave an exotic impression. Japanese lanterns hung here and there, glowing dimly with low-watt light bulbs. A rickshaw—it looked real—stood in a corner and was draped with silk scarves. The heady scent of sandalwood hung in the air.

  "We've just opened," said the Oriental girl in an apologetic tone. "You're only our third customer." She glanced toward the window. "I'm sorry about the window display. Things keep happening this morning to keep me from it."

  Cara nodded and tried to look understanding. "I'm looking for a dress to wear to a very elegant ball. Do you have anything?"

  The shopkeeper wrinkled her smooth forehead. "We're calling ourselves Worldwide Boutique, and our specialty is authentic clothing from all over the world. We don't carry what you would ordinarily think of as ball gowns, but then again, we might have something." She thought a moment, sweeping her eyes over Cara's figure. "You know, I may have just the thing. Come with me."

  Cara followed her past a row of boxes stacked almos
t to the ceiling and found herself in a small dressing room. The woman was tugging at a large piece of folded cloth hung carefully over a clothes rod.

  "This," she told Cara, "is an Indian sari. Not just anyone could wear it, but with your slim figure—well, let's try it."

  Cara fingered the material. It was a soft gauzy silk with a light sheen, brilliant magenta in color and bordered in an elaborate silver key design. "It's beautiful," Cara said.

  "I think so, too. An Indian sari isn't a dress, at least not as we think of one. It's a strip of cloth about twenty feet long and three feet wide. The way the sari is draped around the body makes it an article of clothing."

  Cara removed her street clothes and let the shopkeeper wind her in the length of silk. "Won't you need pins or buttons?" Cara said anxiously, watching her work.

  She shook her head." No, Indians use no fastenings. Needless to say, they have very few dressmaking problems." She finished by draping a loose end of the bright silk over Cara's head. "There. What do you think?"

  Cara was enchanted by her image in the mirror. The magenta color accentuated the darkness of her hair, and the artfully draped folds of fabric emphasized the curves of her waist and hips. "I like it!" she exclaimed. And then, remembering her budget, she said, "But how much is it?"

  "For you, one of our first customers, a discount." She quoted a price that Cara could easily afford.

  The decision was simple. The sari was different from what most of the women at the ball would be wearing, but it was truly elegant and appropriate. "I'll take it," she said at once, "only I'll need to learn how to drape it."

  A short lesson followed, and after practicing a few times Cara felt confident that she could recreate the complicated loops and folds.

  As her purchase was being wrapped carefully in tissue paper, Cara inquired where she might eat lunch.

  "I recommend an open-air restaurant at the end of the alcove. Turn right when you leave my shop and look for a fountain. You'll see the restaurant tables nearby." She handed Cara the package.