by P. J. Mellor
How could she possibly throw up again? Everything had already made a reappearance.
The flight from Houston had been fairly uneventful. It gave her false confidence. The flight from hell in the little plane, which she could have sworn was held together with baling wire, shot said confidence all to heck. She wouldn’t have been surprised to see her shoes come up into the paper bag they gave her. That they hadn’t done cartwheels down the runway on landing was nothing short of a miracle.
“It’s all behind you,” she muttered, picking up her bag and heading for the exit. “Just find the limo and get on down to business.”
Benjamin Adams fanned the piece of cardboard and watched the passengers ignore his sign as they hurried past.
“Where the hell could she be?” He visually searched both gates again. How in the hell could he have missed her? The airport wasn’t that big.
If he wasn’t desperate for money, he’d leave.
But he was, so he waved the sign again as he turned, looking for anyone who looked like they might be expecting to be picked up.
That’s when he saw her.
Built like a Barbie doll, she wobbled on too-high heels, her gaze darting around. Short, baby-fine–looking blond hair fringed her face in a messy sort of way.
He knew the moment she spotted him. Her small body drew more upright, her little face taking on a look of disdainful horror.
Oh, yeah, he still had a definite effect on women. True, it wasn’t the effect he would have preferred, but at least they still noticed him. Just not necessarily in a good way.
“I’m Reese Parker,” she said in a hesitant voice as she walked toward him.
Of course, she was. Just his luck.
“Is that all your luggage?”
“Yes. I pack light. Besides,” she added in a breathless voice as she trotted along next to him, “I don’t plan to stay long.”
Good. He had a bad feeling about Miss Reese Parker. From her attire, she obviously wasn’t in Sand Dollar for a vacation. That left only one other logical reason: she’d come for the auction of his grandmother’s island.
Shit-fire-spit, as his grandmother used to say. Could his day get any worse?
The exit door whooshed closed behind them.
“Where is the limo?” his annoying passenger asked, shielding her eyes against the sunshine.
“Don’t you have any sunglasses?” Her face was all scrunched up.
“Huh?” Beneath her palm, pale eyes looked dumbfounded.
“Sunglasses. You’re on the Gulf Coast. Sunglasses are basic necessities here. Did you bring any?” Was he going to have to lead her around? Wait. Maybe that might not be a bad thing.
“Of course, I brought sunglasses.” Her mouth pulled down in a very annoying way. “We have sun in Houston too, you know.”
“Good. Put ‘em on. You’re going to get all wrinkled from squinting. Not to mention getting a headache from the glare.”
“I can’t. I lost them.” When she had her head over the trash can in the restroom, but she wasn’t about to tell that to the scruffy, overaged surfer/limo driver.
“We can stop somewhere for you to pick up another pair.” Hell, why was he persisting? What did he care? But he just couldn’t seem to let go of the sunglasses topic. It was just such a dumb-ass city woman thing to do, losing sunglasses.
Her jaw tight, she said, “Fine. Thanks. Now, where is the limousine?”
“You’re standing in front of it.”
“No, this is a truck.” And not a very nice one, at that. “I was distinctly told there would be a limo waiting for me at the airport.”
The man towered over her. If he thought he could intimidate her, he was sadly mistaken. She hadn’t worked for the Dragon Lady for the last two years for nothing.
Instead of stepping back or cowering the way she was sure he’d hoped, she straightened to her full five-foot-one-and-a-half-inch height. Her gaze rose from his broad, faded T-shirt–covered chest, over a stubborn jaw, with its stubble glistening in the sunshine, past the hard line of his lips, to blue eyes framed with a thick row of golden lashes. Fine lines radiated from the corners of his eyes, making her wonder if he practiced what he preached when it came to wearing sunglasses.
He pointed to a hand-printed cardboard sign taped to the back window of the pickup with what looked like duct tape. It read: B.A. LIMO AND CAB CO.
She blinked at the sign, then looked back up at him. “What does the B.A. stand for?”
He took her suitcase and tossed it into the bed of the truck, then opened the passenger door.
“Bad Ass.” Turning on his heel, he rounded the hood and slid behind the wheel. “Are you coming or not?”
4
Reese clutched her shoulder bag to her chest and breathed through her nose. The knot holding together her seat belt dug into her hip bone.
Across the cracked seat, her chauffeur chuckled.
“Don’t look so worried, Reese Parker. I’m not going to charge you for the seat belt.”
“I did not break your seat belt! It fell off when I went to buckle it.”
His grin flashed white in his tanned face. “All I know, it was fine before you got in.”
Her throat worked convulsively.
“Cat got your tongue? Or don’t you have any biting sarcasm to toss at me? Aw, don’t be like that. Talk to me.”
“Could you pull over? Please?” She clawed at the knotted seat belt. “Pull over! Now!”
Ben winced at the sound of his passenger losing her lunch on the gravel shoulder next to the truck. He tried not to gag. Hell, how much could a skinny chick like that have in her stomach?
The retching stopped. Reese crawled back into the seat of the truck and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
He quickly lowered his window to dissipate the vomit smell. “There’re some breath mints in the glove box, if you want some.” As an afterthought, he added, “And there’s bottled water in the cooler behind the seat.”
After a curt nod, she dug around in the console, paused, then dug a little faster.
That was when he remembered the old box of condoms. He opened his mouth to explain, to tell her they weren’t his, then thought better of it. Let her think he was a player. It might help. The bigger the distance they maintained, the easier it would be to do whatever he had to do to prevent her from bidding on the island. “I said the glove box, not the console.”
Heat seared Reese’s cheeks. She obviously saw the box of condoms in the console. “Sorry.” The old door to the glove box flopped down and smacked her on the knees. “Crap!” She shot a self-conscious look at him. “Sorry. I was just surprised. I didn’t mean to blurt that out.”
Great. Little Miss Puke Queen thought crap was a bad word. He swallowed a chuckle. They might just have some fun this weekend, after all.
Beside him, her crunching told him she’d found the stale mints. He glanced over to see her relaxed against the seat, mopping the sweat from her forehead with a wad of tissues. “Feel better?”
One thin shoulder shrugged. “I guess. I’ll be fine, once we stop.” She met his gaze. “How much longer until we get to the hotel?”
“A while.” Reaching behind the seat, he hoisted the cooler to set between them. “Why don’t you drink some water? It might help. Get me one too, will you?”
After a moment of hesitation, she opened the lid and dug around in the ice. “All I see are bottles of beer.”
“I’ll take one of those, then.”
“You can’t do that! It’s illegal to drink while you’re driving.”
Promptly pulling over again, he braked as a plume of dust enveloped the truck. “Okay. You drive, then.”
She blinked. “You’re kidding, right? What do the words open container mean to you?”
“If you’d hand me the damn beer, it would soon be an empty container.” He jerked his hand away just as she slammed the cooler lid. “Watch it, lady! I need that hand.”
Instead of r
eplying, she dug around in the big purse she wore like a shield and pulled out a pocket-size spiral notebook and a pen and began furiously scribbling.
“Now what are you doing?”
“Making a note of things to report when I get to the hotel.”
“Does this mean I’m going to have to get my own beer?” He didn’t want one, but he found he really enjoyed teasing her.
In answer, she slammed her bony hand on top of the cooler and glared at him. “No one is having any beer until we reach our destination and are not in a moving vehicle.”
“Oh, so you changed your mind and are going to join me?” Damn, it was fun to watch her get all flustered.
Her blue eyes shot daggers at him. “I don’t drink beer. And, even if I did, I wouldn’t drink with you.”
“Watch it, you’re apt to hurt my tender feelings.”
Ice rattled against the side of the cooler. A cold, wet bottle of water hit him square in the chest.
“Here. Now drive.”
“Yes, ma’am.” After taking a long swallow, he dropped the truck into gear and pulled back out onto the road.
“So,” he said after a few minutes of silence, “did you come to Sand Dollar for a vacation?”
Her cool gaze shot his way before she returned to watching the asphalt. “Hardly.”
“Well, no offense, but you seem like you could use one. Sand Dollar may not be a resort-type place, but it has its amenities.”
“Like what?” Never taking her eyes off the road, she tilted the bottle to her lips.
He knew he should watch the road, but he couldn’t stop looking at her mouth and the way her elegant neck rippled with each swallow.
It shouldn’t have gotten to him. And it sure as hell shouldn’t have turned him on.
“W-well, the beach is nice. The marina is pretty well-equipped for just about any sport fishing you’d care to do.”
“I don’t fish.”
Of course, she didn’t. The woman would probably be bored to tears if he took her out on his boat. Of course, there was always the cabin belowdecks. Maybe he could help her see the allure of the open water.
“Why are you smiling like that? What’s so funny about me not fishing?”
“Nothing. Not a damn thing. In fact, I wasn’t even thinking about you,” he lied. “I like my boat. I was thinking about going out on it after I drop you off.” “Oh.”
“Yeah, oh. Not everything is about you.”
“I, well, I—”
“Duck!” Grasping the back of her head, he slammed her forehead into the cooler as he pressed her to bend in half on the seat. “State trooper up ahead,” he explained. “He knows the passenger seat belt doesn’t work. I don’t want another ticket.”
“Ah-hah!” She struggled against his hand.
“Stay down! I’ll let you up after he’s down the road a piece.”
Twisted in order to glare at him, she ground out, “I knew that seat belt was broken before I touched it.”
“Yeah.” He released her. “You’re a regular genius.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She sat up and rubbed her forehead.
“Nothing. There’s the hotel, up ahead on the right.”
Reese didn’t know what she’d expected, but the large structure squatting on the far end of the sandy parking lot wasn’t it. The Sand Dollar Inn looked, well, almost homey, with its pale blue clapboard siding and the brilliant white of its gingerbread trim. White colums supported a wraparound porch, complete with porch swings and rocking chairs. Between each column hung a fat pot of riotous blooming plants.
As she stepped from the truck, her stiletto heels sank into the sand. In the distance, waves made a distinctive sound as they slapped the shore. Reese took a bracing breath of sea air and felt her tenseness ease.
Her suitcase plopped on her foot. Aging surfer dude grinned down at her.
“C’mon,” he said, walking toward the hotel without waiting to see if she followed. “I’ll introduce you to Rick and Rita. They run the hotel.”
Suitcase wheels were not meant to roll on sand. Half rolling, half dragging her burden, Reese finally made it to the bottom step of the hotel.
“Having fun?” Her driver smirked down at her from his perch on the porch rail.
“Screw you,” she muttered as her suitcase bumped its way up the wooden stairs.
“Tsk-tsk, such language.” He stood when she approached. “Ow! Why’d you hit me?” He rubbed his shoulder.
“If you have to ask, you’re dumber than I thought. Get out of my way.”
“Here, let me help you with that.” He reached for her suitcase, but she only tightened her grip. “What is your problem?”
“You! You’re my problem. You’re lazy and rude and condescending and—”
“I resent being called lazy.” He jerked on the handle again. “I prefer it as conserving my energy.”
“Conserve away! I’m perfectly capable of carrying my own luggage.”
“Couldn’t prove it by the way you hobbled and stumbled across the parking lot.”
“Well, if you’d just—”
“Hey, hey, what’s going on out here? We can’t hardly hear our TV program for all your hollering.” A thin middle-aged man with a receding hairline stood in the doorway, fists propped on lean hips. He looked from her driver to Reese. “You Ms. Parker? We were fixin’ to get worried about you. You missed your check-in time.”
Chastised, Reese hurried forward, hand outstretched.
“I’m sorry. Yes, I’m Reese Parker.”
They shook hands. “Rick Weaver. C’mon in and relax a spell. Ben, you may as well drag your sorry carcass in too.”
“Ben?” She frowned.
“Ben Adams, you know, the feller who drove you from the airport?” Rick indicated the overaged surfer leaning against the door frame.
Reese bared her teeth in a smile. “Of course. I just think of him differently.” Following Rick into the lobby, she looked at Ben with narrowed eyes and muttered, “Bad Ass.”
“Since you’re preregistered,” Rick said, his back to them as he made his way to the front desk, “all I need is for you to sign in and then I’ll show you to your room.”
She’d scarcely finished signing the charge slip before Ben plucked the card key from Rick’s hand and smiled.
“I know your knee’s been acting up lately, Rick. I can show her to her room.”
“Thanks, Ben, appreciate it.” Oblivious to the charged looks, Rick turned to Reese. “Rita’s fixin’ cube steak for supper.
We eat at six sharp.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “You don’t want to be late. It makes Rita mean.”
“Thank you, but I—”
“We’ll make sure to be on time, Rick,” Ben chimed in.
“Excuse me?” In what universe did Ben Adams speak for her?
Arm around her shoulders, Ben turned her toward the grand staircase. He looked back at Rick with a smile and a wink. “The woman just can’t get enough of me.”
5
Before Reese could open her mouth to protest, Ben swept her halfway up the wide, curved staircase. Despite stiffening her back, his momentum kept them moving upward.
“Will you stop? Let go of me!” At the top of the stairs, she wrenched away from his grasp. “You heard Rick, Rita gets mad if guests don’t get to eat the food she prepared. That means you need to eat elsewhere.”
“I’m practically a guest here,” he countered, steering her down the floral-print runner on the polished hardwood floor. “I eat here almost every night.”
“Are you homeless?” A hop still kept the card key he held aloft out of her grasp. “Give me that!”
“No, I’m not homeless,” he said, swiping the key in the door of room seven. “I just eat here because, well, I like Rita’s cooking. And Rick’s company.” He motioned for her to enter the room, then looked pointedly at the suitcase she’d dropped in the hall.
“A gentleman would carry my bag in
for me, especially since I brought it up the stairs.”
“Never said I was a gentleman.”
With a huff, she picked up her suitcase and tossed it into the room, making sure it hit Ben on its way in.
“Ow! Hey, where do you think you’re going?” He followed her back down the hall after she’d plucked the key from his fingers and walked away.
At the newel post, she turned and glared. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I thought I’d go to the courthouse before dinner.”
“You don’t have a car. How did you plan to get there?”
“Walk?”
“You don’t even know which way to go.”
“The ocean is that way.” She pointed. “Ergo, it doesn’t take much deductive reasoning to figure the town is in the other direction.”
“Yeah?” He trotted next to her as she descended the stairs. “Well, smart-ass, there are three other possible directions left. Ergo, I still say you have no idea where to head.”
“Come on! The town isn’t that big. I can probably see the courthouse from the porch.”
She probably could, but he wasn’t ready to stop arguing. Besides being the most fun he’d had in a while, if he stalled long enough, the courthouse would be closed for the weekend. The way he saw it, the more roadblocks he threw in her way, the better. He refused to feel guilty.
“Fine. You can drive me.” She stepped down into the lobby and turned back to him.
“Why would I do that?”
“I dunno … money?” She smiled sweetly.
“My seat belt doesn’t work properly. I’m not supposed to haul passengers until it’s fixed.” He bared his teeth to smile back at her.
“And yet, that didn’t stop you earlier, did it?”
“Teatime!” A brightly dressed woman in her mid-thirties came through the swinging door next to the desk, bearing a large tray with a platter of assorted cookies and a pitcher of iced tea.
Ben hurried to her. “Hey, Rita! Let me take that for you.”
“Why, thank you, Ben, that’s so sweet of you.”
Reese made a gagging motion when Ben’s gaze met hers.
