Hamptons Heartbreak: A Sizzling Summer Romance (A New York City Romance Book 4)

by Tara Leigh

  Maybe even love me.

  I don’t actually answer him. My throat is too tight for that. But I keep pace with him and we cross the street together, our hands finding each other before we reach the opposite side. My skin tingles from Lance’s touch, my bare arm registering the heat coming off his body.

  “So, now that you know everything about me, tell me more about you.”

  I clear my throat, resisting the urge to pull away from his grasp. “I hardly think one conversation about your past qualifies as everything.”

  As if Lance can feel the turmoil inside me, his fingers squeeze mine. “Maybe not. But I wouldn’t mind knowing more.”

  “You already know plenty. I’m boring, remember?”

  He doesn’t say anything for a minute. “What would your boyfriend know about you?”

  I sigh, telling myself that this is just a team-building event. And, like it or not, for the rest of the summer, Lance is my teammate. “I hate the taste of milk, but I love cheese. I can spend hours painting a canvas, but I’m terrible at painting my own nails. As a kid, I would stay up hours past my bedtime reading my mom’s romance novels, but I hated reading for school.” I pause. “Except maybe The Outsiders. S.E. Hinton made homework feel like a pleasure.”

  “Nothing gold can stay,” he murmurs.

  I glance up, pleasantly surprised he remembers the book. “Do you think it pisses Susan off that the most memorable line quoted from her book was from a poem written by Robert Frost?”

  “Susan? You’re on a first name basis with S.E. Hinton now?”

  I shrug. “I’ve read all her books at least three times. I feel like we’re friends.”

  He doesn’t say anything for a moment, though I catch his grin from the corner of my eye. “Maybe,” he says, finally answering my question. “But if all she included was the quote, no one would have paid it much attention. It’s because Susan made the poem relevant that people can still recall it, even years later.”

  “Now you’re on a first name basis with her, too?”

  He turns the full blaze of his smile on me. “Any friend of yours is a friend of mine.”

  I can’t help but laugh, thinking about introducing him to Savannah. “Be careful what you wish for.”

  His grin fades, as if I’ve struck a chord, but he rallies. “Coffee or wine?”

  “Wine.”

  “French fries or chocolate?”

  “Fries—all day, every day.”

  “Pool or beach.”

  “Hmm. Your pool or a public pool?”

  “For argument’s sake, a private pool.”

  “And the beach—like Jones Beach where you have to park a mile from the actual beach and lug all your stuff only to hang out with half of Long Island? Or one of the local beaches around here?”

  “Let’s compare apple to apples: local beach vs private pool.”

  “Pool in the morning. Beach in the afternoon. Or vice versa. I like both. But public pools or crowded beaches, no thanks.”

  He raises his eyebrows. “Look who’s being snobby.”

  “Nope. Just a girl who used to babysit a lot. Do you want to know how much poop is left in a kid’s swimmy diaper after—”

  Lance groans. “Never mind, I don’t need—”

  “Not a lot,” I finish. “If you see something that looks like a Tootsie Roll floating in the water, it’s definitely not candy.”

  “Thanks. I probably could have lived my whole life without that tidbit of information.”

  “You know what they say, the more you know . . .”

  The sun is drooping toward the horizon, tired after a long day. But not so tired that she doesn’t give us a show, painting the endless blue shoreline in streaks of neon pink and fiery orange, highlighting the white-capped waves dancing along the water’s surface. “Any more this or that questions?”

  “No. You’ve ruined it for me.”

  When I sneak a glance at him, I feel almost guilty for the frown on his face. “Plane tickets or road trip?”

  “Plane.”

  “TV or movie?”

  “Movie.”

  “Morning sex or night sex?”

  Lance’s head spins like it’s on a swivel, and I look away, hiding my blush. “If we’re dating, we should probably know these things about each other,” I mumble.

  A few seconds pass, just long enough that I’m beginning to wonder if he’ll give me an answer. “Not that sex isn’t great every time of day, but morning sex is my favorite way to wake up. How about you?”

  “I’m more of a nighttime girl.” My favorite part about sex, at least with Richard, had been the cuddling afterward. It was the most intimate part of our evenings together.

  “Shower sex or bed sex?”

  My stomach flips a little. “Bed.”

  He elbows me gently. “What was that?”

  “What?”

  “The answer you aimed at the sand.”

  “It was still an answer, and I’m sure you heard me.”

  “Wait—” His eyes widen. “Have you never had shower sex?”

  “I don’t want to play this game anymore.”

  Mostly because now I very much want to have shower sex . . . with Lance.

  As if he’s reading my mind, Lance squeezes my hand. “I’d be more than happy to give you a very thorough—”

  “No. Definitely not.”

  “If you change your mind . . .”

  “I won’t.”

  I can’t.

  I shouldn’t.

  But not for the same reasons I gave Lance when he first suggested our arrangement. Yesterday, I told him sex was off the table because I didn’t want to feel like a liar and a whore for accepting his money.

  But right now, I’m just as worried about protecting my heart as I am about my self-respect.

  Saying goodbye at the end of the summer will be so much easier if I still think of Lance as the cocky ass I first believed him to me. As the cold-hearted businessman who destroyed any chance at a genuine relationship, or even a fun summer fling, in favor of his bottom line.

  In my soul, I know nothing about this summer will be easy.

  Not the lying.

  Not the truth.

  And definitely not goodbye.

  Chapter 27

  Lance

  44 DAYS UNTIL LABOR DAY

  “Lance?”

  I look up from my laptop to find Vivienne silhouetted in the doorway, wearing a white dress that somehow manages to be both sexy and sweet. Her red hair cascades over her shoulders in soft waves, drawing attention to her curves. And on her feet, she’s wearing peep-toe stilettos that tie at the back of her ankle with a bow I immediately want to untie with my teeth.

  “Hi. Um, is this okay?” She does a slow spin, her arms outstretched.

  I have to bite down on a groan. In those shoes and with her coloring offset by the flouncy white dress, all I want to do is fall to my knees and bury my face between her thighs.

  Once Vivienne is standing still again, she sets her hands on her hips. “You don’t look pleased. I can go change—”

  If my face reflects my feelings, what she’s seeing is lust. This no sex restriction of hers is killing me. “No, you look fine. Let’s go.”

  “Fine,” she repeats. “That’s exactly the look I was going for. Thanks.”

  I close my eyes for a moment, inhaling a breath. And when I stand up, I shove my hands in my pockets so that I don’t show Vivienne exactly how fine I think she is. “Sorry,” I nod at my open laptop, “my head was still on work. You look beautiful. Perfect.”

  She holds my gaze, a shallow frown appearing between her brows as she scrutinizes my expression. Apparently satisfied, she spins on her heel and walks out.

  Following her, I pass by the glass doors that now frame the backyard oasis Vivienne created. There are lounge chairs around the pool, a gazebo shading a corner of the patio, a fire pit at the edge of the yard, a teak dining table and plenty of seating. My sole contribution
, an enormous grill, was delivered just this morning.

  I never did get around to buying a hammock. The way things are going, there’s no need.

  Our lobster date was a week ago, and last weekend’s event that prompted my girlfriend-for-hire scheme was canceled when the remnants of a tropical storm that battered the Caribbean rolled in, drenching the East End of Long Island for almost thirty-six hours and causing widespread flooding and power outages.

  But while sunny skies have returned, the vibe between Vivienne and I is still bleak. She’s been sleeping in the bedroom at the end of the hall and spending as much time away from the house as possible.

  Today is our first outing as an official couple. Once we’re in my car, she says, “Let’s go over this one more time. We met through our real estate agent and decided—”

  I stop at the end of the driveway and look over at her. She’s wound tighter than my Rolex Submariner. “There’s such a thing as over preparing, you know.”

  “Maybe for you, but you’re not the one who’s acting here.”

  I am. My entire life has been an act, just trying not to be exposed as the imposter I am. This car, this house, these clothes, this girl—is this really my life? I’ve created an incredibly successful business, but in my head, I’ll always be the poorest kid in a shitty town, with a dad who could barely take care of himself, let alone a child, and a mom who took off.

  Vivienne has no idea how much acting I do just to get through the day. Trying to figure out what the right thing to do is in every situation. The most profitable. The least harmful.

  I’ve seen what happens when good people make bad decisions. When they lose focus for a split second, and stop paying attention at the exact moment it matters most. They lose their jobs. They leave their kids. They get into the wrong car and their broken body becomes an exhibit in a murder trial.

  “Look, all you need to do is smile, nod, and—”

  “—look pretty,” she finishes. “Maybe you should have hired a Barbie doll.”

  “I was going to say, have a nice afternoon.”

  “Oh.”

  I reach over to squeeze her hand, the tips of my fingers grazing the inside of her sleek thighs. Vivienne jumps, a hissing sound emerging from her throat.

  I pull back immediately, my jaw clenching. “And maybe don’t do that when I touch you.”

  She squirms in her seat, looking flustered and a little embarrassed. “You took me by surprise.”

  “I’ll be sure to give my girlfriend fair warning next time.”

  “We’re not in public yet, I don’t have my guard up.”

  Her rebuke lands like a fist in my gut. Vivienne has to steel herself against recoiling at my touch?

  Pulling off the road at the next intersection, I edge the car onto the grass and run my hands through my hair, massaging the tense muscles at the base of my neck. “You know what . . . I think this is a mistake. Just say the word and I’ll take you back to the house right now.”

  I’d rather feel like a perpetual third wheel among all my friends and have to deal with women like Kitty Kendrick for the entire summer than force myself on Vivienne.

  Her eyes widen in surprise. “You’re giving up, just like that?”

  “I’ll manage.”

  “And what about me? I gave my notice at work for you.”

  “Keep the cash that’s already in your account, I’ll wire you the rest. The clothes too, of course. It’s all yours.”

  I wait for Vivienne’s answer, expecting her to agree. I’m giving her a sweetheart deal worth a shit ton of money—for nothing. No strings attached.

  But that’s not what happens. Instead, Vivienne’s eyes turn glassy. “That’s it—you won’t even give me a chance? I’m that easy to throw away, huh?”

  I blink at her, trying to wrap my head around this unexpected reaction. “That’s not what I meant,” I say slowly, cautiously. I wasn’t raised by my mother, I don’t have a sister anymore, and my previous girlfriends would never allow tears to ruin their eyelash extensions.

  “Oh, really?” She unzips her purse and retrieves a mini pack of tissues, picking unsuccessfully at the plastic wrapper. “Because that’s what it seems like.”

  I tug the tissues from her hands, unseal the foil, and hand it back to her. “I don’t want to force you into something that makes you uncomfortable.” I wait for her to wipe beneath her eyes. “Life’s too short.”

  “I agreed to help you out this summer, and that’s what I’m going to do. I keep my promises.” Wiping at the adorably pinkened tip of her nose, she faces forward again with a ragged exhale. “Now drive. We have a party to get to.”

  Chapter 28

  Lance

  Frustration and relief churn inside my gut at Vivienne’s refusal to accept my offer. I was trying to do the right thing, the unselfish thing. I didn’t mean to insult her or devalue her usefulness to me.

  Frankly, I don’t know what’s right anymore.

  But I certainly can’t dwell on it today. This party is being hosted by Jacob Chambers, another potential board member I’d like to speak with. I’ve actually met him a few times before on the West Coast. He’s older and semi-retired. But from what I understand, he enjoys taking on interesting side projects. His pockets are deep and his influence is wide.

  We pull up to his address, and I hand my keys to the valet before taking Vivienne’s hand. “Ready?”

  She manages a faint smile. “Nervous.”

  “Don’t be.” My other hand glides to the small of her back as we walk inside. “It’s just a party. Cocktails and small talk.”

  “I hate small talk.”

  “Now you tell me.” Lowering my voice to a whisper, I incline my head to her ear. “Shit, I should have hired a different girlfriend.”

  My teasing has the intended effect. Vivienne’s laugh is an amused chime. “Sorry. You’re stuck with me for the night.”

  “Longer than that, I hope.”

  “Right. Until Labor Day.”

  Our eyes lock for a long moment, breaths stilling. The end of summer suddenly seems very close.

  When the front door swings open, I think we both jump a little. But for the next hour, we mix and mingle. Like the Kendrick’s barbecue, this one also takes advantage of the outdoor space, and eventually, we find ourselves on the patio. A band is playing, and illuminated spheres float on the surface of the pool.

  I catch Vivienne looking in that direction, and from the way color rises on her cheeks, I know exactly what she’s thinking.

  When the breeze blows a piece of her hair across her face, I give in to the urge to tuck it behind her ear, my fingers lingering on Vivienne’s smooth skin as my gut clenches from wishing we were alone right now. Just the two of us, beneath a gorgeous starry sky.

  No pressure to make small talk with strangers.

  No need to pretend to be anything we’re not.

  “Lance Welles, right?” I turn toward the man in a pink polo shirt, swallowing my irritation at the interruption. “Good to see you again, I’m . . .”

  Vivienne whispers in my ear, something about going to find the powder room. It takes herculean effort not to chase her as she slips away. My hand tightens around my glass as I make casual conversation. I just want to get a few minutes with Jacob Chambers and then go back to the house with Vivienne.

  Maybe I can convince her that this arrangement doesn’t have to turn us into adversaries. That we can still be . . . whatever we were before. It didn’t have a label and it was fucking great.

  “Excuse me.” The voice at my ear lands with the weight of a sledgehammer.

  I spin to my left, the guy I was talking to already forgotten. “Missy. This is a surprise.”

  “For you, maybe.” There’s a flicker of movement in her brow, but it doesn’t actually lift. “Who do you think sent you the invitation?”

  “I don’t . . . ” My voice trails off as I notice the diamond on Missy’s finger.

  “I guess you haven’t
heard. Jacob and I are engaged.”

  It doesn’t surprise me that my ex is marrying a man more than twice her age. Missy is just as driven as I ever was, in her own way. If she wanted to, she could be so much more than a rich man’s trophy wife. She’s smart and determined. And she was the one I turned to after Krista died, getting me through the worst stages of a grief so all-consuming, I thought I would drown in it.

  But while Krista’s death brought us back together, it was also the reason we broke up. Losing the person I loved most in the world, and realizing that my millions could do absolutely nothing to bring her back, was a wake-up call for me. Until then, I thought money was everything. It represented success and security, two things I grew up craving. The day Krista’s casket was lowered into the ground, I realized that money is a tool, nothing more. Money buys houses and cars, food and clothing. Not happiness or health or love. Nothing that truly matters can be bought.

  “Congratulations,” I offer dryly.

  “So,” she looks around, “it almost feels like we’re back to where we began.”

  “Almost.”

  “But not quite.”

  “No,” I admit.

  “We made it, Lance. We have everything we said we wanted.”

  “It would seem so.” And yet, somehow, having everything isn’t quite enough.

  The polished veneer Missy has worked so hard to create cracks a bit. “Except that we were supposed to have it together.”

  “Missy . . .” I don’t want to rehash all the reasons we didn’t work, all the reasons we will never work. Missy is a valuable commodity in this crowd. Beautiful, ambitious, artfully manipulative. But her stock crashed and burned with me a long time ago.

  “I know, I know. I’ve moved on, but—”

  “As have I,” I interrupt before she can finish her sentence. “And where is your lucky future husband?”

  Her expression regains its icy demeanor in the span of a blink. “You want to talk to Jacob about that charity you started, don’t you? God, Lance, didn’t you have enough of being poor when you actually were?”