Life Is A Beach (Mills & Boon Silhouette): Life Is A Beach / A Real-thing Fling

by Pamela Browning

  “Uh, Lee,” Fleck said, sounding wary. “Your father is here. He arrived late last night.”

  “My father?” Lee was stunned. He hadn’t seen Joseph Santori in over a year.

  “Yes. Don’t ask me why. And does he always look so annoyed?”

  “Only with me,” Lee said.

  “He’s already on Miguel’s case for not bringing him clean towels. You’d better get back here as soon as you can.”

  Lee’s mind raced. He couldn’t take Azure to the Samoa until he’d calmed Joe down. He didn’t want his courtship of Azure to be subjected to any disastrous explosions. With any luck, perhaps he could convince his dad to leave.

  “Look, Fleck, keep things as normal as you can until I get there.”

  “All right,” Fleck said doubtfully. “You still want me to tell the cook you’re having company for dinner? And overnight?”

  “Sure, go ahead.”

  “Right-o,” Fleck said.

  Lee quickly wrote a note and propped it on the bedside table only inches from where Azure lay. Then, resisting the temptation to kiss her goodbye, he dressed and left, thinking that maybe he could wind up this errand and be back in time to climb back in bed before she woke up.

  The launch, with Mario at the helm, was waiting for him at the marina. “Your father you were not expecting?”

  “Not at all,” Lee told him as he prepared to board the yacht.

  “He’s in his usual stateroom,” was all Mario said.

  Joe Santori had only visited the Samoa once before, but as soon as they reached the boat, Lee set his lips in a grim line and went to see why his father had decided to honor him with his presence now.

  AZURE, WAKING FROM A DEEP SLEEP, groped on the other side of the bed, thinking she would encounter warm flesh and a willing participant in certain delights. Her hand encountered only empty space.

  “Lee?” She opened her eyes, which seemed to have razor blades embedded in the eyelids this morning, and closed them again. The light from the window pierced through her brain like a red-hot dagger. She recalled drinking all those Mango Tango Surprises last night and realized that she had been overtaken by the Hangover from Hell.

  “Lee?”

  Still no answer, so she raised her heavy head along with the hammer that seemed to be pounding on it and looked around. He was gone. Or was he? He might be in the kitchen, making coffee, or he might be in the bathroom.

  She hoped not. She needed to use it herself, and immediately. Her brain sloshed around inside her head as she carefully dragged herself in that direction, her stomach now getting into the act with its own queasy version of a wakeup call.

  The bathroom door hung wide-open, and the only live thing in evidence was a spider that scampered down the sink drain when her shadow fell across the room. (Pound, pound, pound.) She took care of necessities, swallowed three aspirin tablets, splashed water on her hot face, and went back into the bedroom to grab the sheet off the bed. Hoping that the whole world wasn’t spinning like this apartment, she wrapped the sheet around her and tried not to stumble as she made her way into the living room. (Pound, pound, pound.) On the floor was her black dress, shapelessly puddled near the couch. Lee’s clothes, which should have been close by, were gone.

  Gone! Had he left? (Pound, pound, pound.)

  He certainly had. She stood indecisively in the middle of the living room for a long moment, wishing her head would stop hurting. She hadn’t had a hangover since she was a college student, and this one was ten times worse than any of those.

  She tried to think past the pounding, but the only thought that seemed solid enough to contemplate was that Lee had taken what he wanted last night and then split. If what Paulette said was true, perhaps he had found her lacking in the fine points of making love. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to see her again today, as he’d suggested last night. Maybe once with her was enough.

  Azure made her torturous way back into the bedroom and sat dejectedly on the side of the bed. After her experience with Paco, she hadn’t wanted to subject herself to any more jerks. She hadn’t wanted to kiss any more frogs, and she had tried not to like Lee at first. She had attempted to frost him from the very beginning. Now she was sorry that she had given in to his persuasions, which, she thought with a surge of longing, were quite extensive. She might not have measured up to his standards, but he had certainly measured up to hers.

  She felt tears welling in her eyes. She didn’t want to cry over another dumb guy. She didn’t want to hate him.

  The problem was, she thought with brilliant clarity, that she didn’t hate Lee nearly as much as she hated herself for being stupid, stupid, stupid.

  Before she could break down and sob her heart out, she got up and turned on the shower. She’d wash all traces of him from her body, and she’d excise all pleasant thoughts of him from her brain. Which was now not throbbing so hard, thanks to the aspirin, but had settled into an annoying reggae beat, which might not be her brain at all but music from the street below.

  But still, there was enough noise inside her head so that she didn’t hear the faint rustle of paper as the corner of the sheet she wore caught on Lee’s note, which fell unheeded and unread to the floor.

  “I THINK,” SAID JOE SANTORI, “that this has gone on long enough.”

  Lee leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, cradling a cup of coffee in his hands. “You want to clarify that?” he suggested cautiously.

  His father, looking like an older, heavier version of himself, managed a tentative smile. “I want to bury the hatchet. I was wrong, son. I don’t care that you didn’t finish college. I don’t care that you went into a form of business that I don’t understand. What I care about is that you’re smart enough to have made a success out of yourself even though you didn’t do it the way I wanted you to.”

  Slowly Lee straightened. He stared at his father. “Dad—”

  His father interrupted. “I haven’t been much of a father to you, Lee. I hope you can forgive me and we can get past it.”

  “Any reason why you’ve had this change of heart?” Lee’s own heart was in his mouth; he had never expected his father to make peace with him.

  Joe Santori got up and walked to the rail of the deck. He stood staring at the greenery on Fisher Island, his eyes squinted against the sun. Lee looked more closely and saw that Joe’s eyes were suspiciously damp.

  “My friend Benny died last week, Lee. It happened suddenly, and he didn’t have a chance to say goodbye to anyone. It made me think how short our lives are and how silly it is to hold grudges.” He wheeled around and came to Lee, who stood up and smiled.

  His father clapped a strong hand upon his shoulder, and then, before Lee could say anything, he was caught up in his father’s big bear hug. It was the first time he could remember being hugged by his father since he was a small child.

  “Okay, Dad,” Lee said unsteadily. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  His father grinned at him. “So am I. Now what do you say you and I sit down and you can tell me what you’ve been up to lately?”

  Lee thought about Azure, realizing that he’d better call her and let her know he wouldn’t be back any time soon. As far as he was concerned, they were still on for tonight. He couldn’t wait to show her off to Joe, a businessman of the old school who would appreciate her career credentials, her beauty, and her charm.

  But if he called Azure now, he might wake her up. And he’d left a note telling her that he’d talk to her later about tonight.

  “Let’s go in the main salon,” he suggested to his father. “There’s a lot to tell.”

  He’d check with Azure in a little while. He could hardly wait to let her know about this new development in his life.

  “A.J.?”

  Dorrie sounded entirely too pert when she picked up her extension at Wixler Consultants.

  “Yes, it’s me, and don’t talk too loudly or my head will split open like a ripe watermelon.”

  There was a sound of a do
or closing, and then Dorrie said cautiously, “What’s wrong?”

  “Hangover of the tenth magnitude. And it looks like I’ve been seduced and abandoned by this guy.”

  “The one you liked so much?”

  “The same. We went out, came home, made love like we were demented, and in the morning when I woke up, he was gone.”

  “Oh, no, not another frog. What happened?”

  Azure blinked back sudden tears. She might be talking about the situation as if it were of little importance, but the fact was that she was crushed. She was hurt. She couldn’t even think straight, which was why she had called Dorrie in hopes of solace.

  “I don’t know what happened. I—I was beginning to really care about him. Oh, hell, I think I’ve fallen madly in love with him.” She swallowed, trying to keep this on track. “Anyway, I thought everything was fine. He pursued me until I caught him, and then—well, like I said, he was gone this morning when I woke up.”

  “Are you going to call him? Considering that it’s love and everything?” Dorrie sounded slightly sarcastic.

  “I don’t even know where he lives,” Azure said unhappily as she sank down onto a lounge chair on the balcony. She could see a sliver of ocean from here, and it was a deep sapphire blue this morning. As blue as she felt.

  “I’m sorry, A.J.”

  “Maybe it’s like Paulette said. Guys are interested until they get what they want, and then you never hear from them again. She says they disappear mostly because the sex isn’t good enough. What makes sex good enough for a man? That’s what I want to know.”

  “A.J.!” Dorrie sounded shocked.

  “Well, it seemed fantastic to me. He’s good at it.”

  “You make sex sound like a sport. Skiing or swimming or bowling or something.”

  “Yes, and if it’s a sport, Lee is an Olympic champion. Besides, Dorrie, there are certain learned skills involved. Kissing, for instance. I thought we kissed perfectly. You know how sometimes the tongues don’t—”

  Dorrie let out a scandalized gasp. “A.J., I’m at work. What if Harry Wixler happens to pick up the phone? I can’t wait to hear your expert critique of—what’s his name again?”

  “Lee,” Azure said miserably.

  “—your expert critique of Lee’s sexual skills, but not while I’m here. Call me at home later. Or I’ll call you.”

  “No, I’m not answering the phone. I’m going to conclude my business here in Miami Beach right away and come home to Boston.”

  “I wouldn’t come back without the Santori account, A.J., if I were you.”

  Azure’s antennae went on alert. “Why? Is Harry pitching a fit?”

  “Worse than that. He’s threatening to downsize, and you don’t want to get the boot.”

  Things, Azure reflected, were going from bad to worse.

  “When will you be here?”

  Azure pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger, ignoring the pain in her head. “As soon as I can see Leonardo Santori, I’ll wrap things up with him and hop on a flight.”

  “All right, A.J. I’m so sorry you’ve had a bad time.”

  “Well,” Azure said, blotting at her eyes, “I shouldn’t have been so stupid. He was a Lust Puppy, not my type. I didn’t want a fling. So what did I do? I went ahead and had the fling, and he’s still not my type.”

  “Live and learn,” Dorrie replied.

  “Yup. Maybe I’d better have my tarot read after all. At least then I’d know what to look out for.”

  “Tarot? You never said anything about the tarot.”

  “I’ll explain later. ’Bye, Dor.”

  She hung up, and then, full of self-righteous anger, she snatched the yellow crochet bikini off the back of the lounge chair on the balcony where she had hung it to dry yesterday. Then she tossed it over the railing, scoring a bullseye on the Dumpster in the parking lot below.

  The gesture didn’t help matters any, but it certainly made her feel better.

  FLECK, WHO WAS WAITING nervously beside the phone in the media room on the Samoa, where he wasted a lot of his time viewing salacious music videos and waiting for girls to call, jumped when the phone actually rang. He dared to hope that the caller was Mandi, the chick from the juiceteria, who had been totally impressed when he told her he was Leonardo Santori.

  But it wasn’t Mandi. He recognized the voice right away as that of Azure O’Connor, with whom, he was fairly certain, Lee had spent last night.

  “Mr. Santori?” she said.

  Uh-oh. It sounded like Lee hadn’t told her The Big Secret yet. Fleck looked around to see if Lee was in the corridor or anywhere nearby. He needed some direction here.

  No Lee. No direction. As far as Fleck knew, Lee was still huddled with his father in the main salon, and Fleck had no idea how that was going.

  When he didn’t answer, Azure went right on talking. “Mr. Santori, I’m sorry but I must meet with you right away. I’m going back to Boston due to unforeseen circumstances, and I’d like to move our dinner to this evening.”

  This evening, which was one day earlier than planned? What should he say? And did Lee know that Azure was planning to go back to Boston?

  “I, um, don’t know if that will work,” he said, trying to think.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I mean, I can’t.” This seemed safe enough.

  “You can’t.”

  “No. It’s impossible.”

  “Impossible.”

  Damn! This was like talking with the playback function on a tape recorder. “That’s right. I can’t possibly meet with you this evening. I’ll call you later, how about that?”

  “Perhaps another associate from Wixler could serve you better. I can arrange—”

  “No!” he said, almost yelling. “I mean, you came highly recommended by Harry Wixler himself.”

  “Nevertheless, I can’t wait until tomorrow evening to see you.”

  “You have to!” Fleck yelped. “You can’t leave!” Not only because of the consulting job but because it occurred to Fleck that Lee probably didn’t know that Azure was leaving. This was the woman he had claimed to love, after all. If he knew she were leaving, he would be with her up to the last minute, father or no father. Lee would have to be told what Azure had in mind, the sooner the better.

  Azure’s tone became very chilly. “I certainly can leave,” she said. “You don’t control me, Mr. Santori.”

  And then she hung up.

  Fleck ran as fast as he could to the main salon, but a nervous Miguel barred his way to the door.

  “You cannot go in there!” the steward hissed. “Mr. Santori and Mr. Santori—they left orders not to be disturbed.”

  Fleck, discouraged, decided to go back to the media room. He’d watch a couple more music videos, and then he’d try again.

  THAT SANTORI! Who did he think he was, anyway? Azure bolted down a couple more aspirin, grabbed her gray gabardine suit off its hanger, and got dressed. While she was pinning her hair into a knot at the back of her head, the phone in the kitchen rang, but she ignored it. There wasn’t anyone in the world she felt like talking to at the moment.

  She hauled her briefcase down off the shelf where she had stowed it. A glance in the mirror confirmed that she looked like the wrath of God, but at this point, she didn’t care. She wasn’t trying to impress anyone. Her only goal at present was to hold body and soul together, and, incidentally, hang on to her job.

  She stormed downstairs, hoping that it would not be necessary to make polite small talk with Goldy, who would be overly inquisitive about her date last night. Fortunately she realized as she rounded the corner from the staircase, Goldy had a visitor who was hanging over her desk and rapidly firing questions.

  “What’s the apartment number? What’s the phone number? Can you at least tell me what floor she’s on?”

  That voice, that unctuous voice, that sonorous Argentinianly accented voice that Azure wanted to forget. She halted in midstep, taking in
the visitor’s rumpled suit, his bloodshot eyes, the air of exhaustion.

  “Paco?” she said, stunned.

  His head shot up. “A.J.! Where the hell have you been? You look awful.” He strode forward, but she made her feet move toward Goldy.

  “You don’t look so great yourself,” she pointed out, thinking that she had never seen him looking so unkempt or oozing so little charm.

  “You wouldn’t look wonderful either if you’d slept in a succession of airports since yesterday. I had to move heaven and earth to get here, A.J. I hope you appreciate it.”

  “Don’t count on that,” Azure said. And to Goldy, “Can’t you make him leave?”

  “He hasn’t done anything wrong,” Goldy said doubtfully. “He only wanted to see you.”

  “Hasn’t done anything wrong? How about breathing?” Azure said.

  “Come on, A.J., get off it. I’m through with Tiffany. I want you back, mi cariña.”

  He was calling her his darling? Ha! “The problem here is that I don’t want you back,” Azure said scornfully.

  “Come back to Boston and we’ll discuss it.” Paco made a conciliatory move in her direction.

  She held up a hand to ward him off. “That’s far enough. I’m not going back to Boston with you.”

  He grabbed her hand and pulled her to him. Goldy let out a little squeal of dismay. They heard a few interested clucks, and Fricassee the chicken peeked around the counter.

  Azure tried to free herself from Paco’s grasp, but he held on with angry determination. On top of the remnants of her hangover and the burgeoning of her anger, the fact that he was trying to impede her progress out the door spawned a new determination to let him know that he was no longer of any importance.

  With a foot whose strength, thanks to Paco, had been well-honed on flamenco moves, she stomped on his shoe, hard. At the same moment, the chicken let out an earsplitting screech and went into attack mode. Paco released Azure’s hand, and she stomped on his other foot for good measure. Then, without a backward glance, marching in time to the pounding rhythm in her head, she proceeded smartly out the door, thankful that Old Spice was Paco’s favorite aftershave.