Breathless on the Beach

by Wendy Etherington

  Though the warmth of the sun called, he figured he’d better check in with everybody at the house.

  He walked up the dock and along the sidewalk to the back door and found Marion Keegan, the housekeeper, bustling around the kitchen. “How’s the prettiest lady in New York?”

  Her pale face turned red. “You’re a devil,” she said in a musical Irish accent.

  He grinned. “I try, Mrs. K, I try.”

  She straightened an already perfect bowl of fruit that was sitting on the center island, then pulled a pitcher of lemonade from the fridge and poured him a glass. “We have a real chef coming for the weekend.”

  Noting her awed tone, Jared leaned against the counter. “Do we?”

  “Sometimes Lenny’s cousin comes in to help with the cookin’—he works at some chain restaurant in the city.”

  “Lenny?”

  “Mrs. Rutherford’s chauffeur. More usual, it’s me making chicken salad.” She paused and sighed. “Or Master Richard fires the grill.”

  Since Jared had worked for Rose Rutherford several times in the past, he’d gotten a healthy, but not always pleasant, dose of her son, Richard. Wanting to be called “master” while not being one in any way described him entirely. Richard had started Rutherford Securities with his family’s money and influence, and at least had the sense to hire people who knew what they were doing. While he’d been busy decorating his office and having power lunches with his country club golfing buddies, the company became a success—heaven knew how.

  He’d be eaten alive by a slow-moving, milk-producing cow on any ranch worth a damn.

  “Those nights we wind up ordering from a restaurant in town,” Mrs. K finished.

  “But not this weekend.”

  “No.” Her expression brightened. “Shelby’s a caterer in the city, and her supplier brought the most wonderful ingredients. I can’t wait to see what she does with them.”

  “It’ll be a barn burner, I’m sure.”

  Mrs. K swatted his arm. “Oh, go on with ya, Jared dear, I think Mrs. Rutherford was aiming for something more sophisticated. She made it clear she wants the good silver, crystal and china set out each night.”

  “Uh-huh.” Based on the range of high-energy activities he’d been hired to pull off, he thought the guests would be lucky to sit upright at the end of the day, much less enjoy elegant entrées prepared by a city chef. “So this is an adventure weekend for gourmets?”

  “You know Master Richard. He likes his appearances.”

  So why hadn’t the Rutherfords plopped a captain at the wheel of their yacht and taken their guests for cocktail-filled rides along the coast?

  Because Richard was determined to prove his manhood.

  Jared just hoped his insurance rider would cover accident by arrogance.

  “I expect gourmets will be all over,” Mrs. K said, continuing her unnecessary straightening of the kitchen knickknacks. “The chef’s a friend of Victoria Holmes.” She raised her blond-going-gray eyebrows. “Quite the family.”

  Jared knew the influential Holmes crowd. At the direction of Victoria’s mother, Joanne Holmes, and the family’s charity foundation staff, he’d once put on a ranch fantasy weekend for a group of their benefactors. Finding the lady cold and distant, he’d put all his effort into giving the city-born teens the country experience of a lifetime.

  Despite dealing with the occasional difficult client, however, he loved his business—though he didn’t have to work at all. He had assets as solid as his weekend employers’.

  But Mrs. K couldn’t know about that.

  No one save his accountant, his office manager and his immediate family knew he didn’t just work at Flaming Arrow Adventure Tours, he owned it.

  He’d come to the Rutherford estate for the house party because he genuinely liked Rose, and organizing wild weekends for high-powered executives was as good a challenge as any.

  Fighting frustration with city people who looked down on those who worked with their hands had simply become part of the job. His hands, as well as his father’s and grandfather’s, had made them millionaires many times over. Hard work made the results all the more satisfying.

  Maybe that was why Richard annoyed him so much. He always seemed determined to take the easy route.

  “Where are Rose and Richard?” he asked the housekeeper.

  She scrubbed a spot on the marble counter that Jared couldn’t see. “They’re gettin’ ready for the guests. Mrs. Rutherford had a stylist come out to select all her clothes for the weekend. They should be finished soon.”

  A stylist who made house calls on holiday weekends and picked out a grown woman’s clothes for her as his mother had for him. When he was four. It was a strange, strange world sometimes.

  Footsteps sounded on the back stairs, and seconds later Ruthanne, Richard’s wife, strolled in. Dressed in a bright floral dress and gold jewelry, and carrying a wide-brimmed straw hat, she radiated youthful energy and was the perfect contrast to her husband’s overblown self-importance.

  “Isn’t it a beautiful day?” she asked.

  “Yes, Ms. Ruthie.” Mrs. K crossed to the fridge. “I made lemonade this morning. Would you like some?”

  She smiled broadly. “How sweet. Yes, thank you.”

  “The Jet Skis are ready whenever you want to take a ride,” Jared said.

  “We’ll probably wait until after tea.” Ruthie accepted an ice-filled glass from Mrs. K. Pausing before taking a sip, she said, “You remember the guests aren’t actual daredevils like you.”

  Jared snapped his fingers. “Damn. There goes my plan to hang glide off the nearest lighthouse.”

  Lemonade sloshed over the rim of her glass as Ruthane whirled. “Jared, you’re not really—”

  He held up his hand. “I know how to handle tenderfoots.”

  “They’re not all that delicate,” Ruthie said, linking arms with him. “You’ll like…” She stopped as she noticed the housekeeper on her hands and knees. “Mrs. Keegan, what are you doing down there?”

  “The lemonade, Ms. Ruthie.” She rose and tossed the paper towel she held in the trash. “A chef’s kitchen should be spotless.”

  “This kitchen is always spotless, and there’s no need to put on airs for my friends.” Ruthanne’s mouth drew into a thin line. “Though I’m not sure about this last-minute couple my husband invited.”

  Distracted by the sun’s glare through the back window, Jared wished he’d followed his first impulse and laid out on the dock instead of heading for the house. He’d always rather be outside.

  “Jared?” Ruthie said, drawing his attention. “You’ll like my guests. Richard has some business thing going on, as usual, but we’re determined not to let the weekend be boring. Who wants to sit around a stuffy old boardroom all day?”

  “Some do.” He shook his head. “Can’t imagine why.”

  “Naturally, that’s where you come in.”

  “My favorite spot.”

  Ruthie patted his forearm. “You’re looking fit as always. What diet are you on?”

  “The Jet Ski riding, hang gliding one.”

  She sighed, leading him to the small table in the corner of the kitchen. “I have to watch every bite I eat. I must be crazy to invite Shelby out here.”

  The words were barely out of her mouth before the intercom on the wall buzzed. “Rutherford residence,” Mrs. K answered.

  “Victoria Holmes, Shelby Dixon and Calla Tucker at the gate to see Ruthanne
Rutherford.”

  Mrs. K pressed a code on the numbered panel. “Yes, we’re expecting you. Come up the driveway, please.”

  While the housekeeper rushed around the kitchen, wiping spotless counters, Jared rattled off the weekend activities for Ruthie. In addition to a small yacht and Jet Skis, the Rutherfords had a powerboat for pulling water skis and inner tubes. He also had scuba diving and fishing trips planned.

  “It’s Friday, Jared,” Ruthie commented. “We’re going to do all that before Monday?”

  He glanced at his watch. “We could do it all by sunset if you like.”

  As she shook her head ruefully, the doorbell rang.

  “I’ll get it,” Mrs. K exclaimed, wiping her hands on her apron as she shot out of the kitchen.

  “I’ve never seen her like this,” Ruthie said, watching the housekeeper rush down the hall. “It’s like a celebrity coming to the house.”

  Jared hoped the noted chef could cook something hearty. He wasn’t much on complicated sauces and names of dishes nobody but a native-born Parisian could pronounce. Personally, he’d enjoy a nice, thick steak.

  The hallway was soon filled with female voices, and Jared rose as the group approached the kitchen. A blonde, a brunette and a redhead. How diversified.

  Ruthie received hugs; he got curious stares.

  At his height—six foot four in bare feet and no boots—he guessed his towering presence was a bit intimidating.

  To some, anyway.

  He spotted the Holmes heiress immediately. She looked like her mother, but not. Her icy-blue eyes warmed as she talked to her friends, then narrowed when aimed at him. Of the women, she was also the tallest, nearly six feet in the blade-sharp black stiletto heels she wore.

  She was stunning, but not his type at all. Cool perfection wrapped in moneyed NYC sophistication. When Ruthie introduced them, her smile was as distant as a Montana winter.

  She extended her hand. “My idea of adventure is a massage at the spa, so I doubt we’ll be seeing much of each other this weekend.”

  As he took her hand, heat slid through his veins, surprising him. There was something about her…something challenging, interesting. He found himself considering ways to thaw her out.

  “Your mother didn’t like me much when she first met me, either.” He smiled as suspicion flitted through Victoria’s eyes. “She warmed up eventually.”

  2

  VICTORIA PULLED HER HAND AWAY from Jared McKenna and resisted the urge to make a fist to dispel the tingling sensation she’d gotten from touching him. “You know my mother?”

  “I took her and some teens from the foundation on a cowboy adventure weekend last year.”

  Victoria remembered her grandmother mentioning the event, as Nana was determined to get her daughter out of the city and into a wide-open space. Something about fear of dust and a lack of vitamin D. Victoria had been thrilled she hadn’t been recruited.

  Fear of dust was a documented condition that specifically targeted people with a mostly black wardrobe.

  Victoria raised her eyebrows at the man before her. “My mother rode a horse?”

  “No, but the kids and the staff did, and they loved it, so she was happy.”

  How could he tell her mother was happy? Had she actually smiled? Complimented him? Joanne didn’t warm up to people, either.

  Even big, hot outdoorsmen.

  Especially big, hot outdoorsmen.

  He had ridiculously broad shoulders, muscular arms, and a deep tan that could only come from spending endless hours in the sun. No lack of vitamin D there. With his wrinkled T-shirt and khaki shorts, bare feet, windblown dark hair and laughing brown eyes, he seemed the antithesis of any man she’d be interested in.

  And yet he’d survived a weekend with her mother. If there was anything Victoria admired, it was resiliency.

  This guy was the walking, breathing picture of rugged.

  “Hi, Ruthanne,” Shelby said from beside Victoria. “It’s great to finally meet you.”

  “You, too. And call me Ruthie. Everybody does.” Her gaze flicked to Victoria. “Except Vicky, of course.”

  Victoria clenched her jaw. Her name was not Vicky. She, in fact, hated to be called that—as Ruthanne well knew.

  Before she could remind her friend of that detail, Shelby asked a question about her supplies for the weekend, and all the other women followed Mrs. K on her tour of the kitchen and pantry.

  “The pantry requires a tour?” Victoria asked, though only Jared was around to hear her.

  “They used to have a footman haul stuff the full ten feet from the pantry to the counter, but he wasn’t fast enough, so he was let go.”

  Victoria resisted the urge to smile. The house was certainly like something out of the English countryside, and the perfect setting for formal servants. But clearly, Jared the Rugged wasn’t a history major.

  “Footmen don’t work in the kitchen,” she said.

  “You’d know.”

  “How? I live in an apartment in Manhattan. I don’t have a footman.”

  “A maid?”

  “I use a cleaning service.”

  “Every day?”

  “Every week.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Is there a particular reason you’re interested in my domestic situation?”

  That crafty grin appeared. “Long as we’re on the subject…do you have a live-in boyfriend?”

  “No,” Victoria answered, before she thought to tell him her relationships were none of his business.

  “Sleepover boyfriend?”

  “I don’t see how this—”

  “Pretty cranky response, so I’d say no. I bet you kick them out fifteen minutes after sex.”

  “I do not.”

  “After a one-for-the-road drink?”

  “No.”

  She gave her lover a bottle of water before he left. And they all left perfectly satisfied. What was he implying? That she was lousy in bed? That she was cold and methodical like her mother? Not that she knew about her mom in bed, anyway.

  In fact, the whole idea of her in the throes of passion seemed wrong.

  Maybe Victoria had been fertilized in a petri dish. And why, before now, hadn’t she ever thought to ask that question? It made perfect sense. Given her grandfather’s proclivity toward science and brilliant surgical techniques, why hadn’t she wondered—

  Halting her runaway thoughts, it occurred that in less than a minute Jared had more information about her personal life than her assistant had in five years.

  Victoria glared at him. “So I guess those muscles in your biceps don’t cloud your brain power, do they?”

  His eyes softened to a shade of gold. He lifted his arm and flexed the muscle. “You noticed, huh?”

  He had to be kidding with this come-on. “Look here, buddy,” she said, leaning forward, only to continue in an urgent whisper, “I don’t have time for your games. I’m not here to flirt or banter or have sex—which I’m great at, by the way. I’m here to get a promotion. Richard Rutherford’s account is going to secure my future. I don’t know who you think you’re playing—maybe the mealy daughter of the legendary Joanne Holmes—but I’m not her. I’ve got my own success and agenda, and that’s going to take me to the top.”

  “Do you have any idea how hot you are right now?”

  “I…” She stopped, humiliated to realize a heated flush was crawling up her neck. There was no way she was turned on. She was…sur
prised.

  But nobody caught her off guard.

  “You need to take a big step backward, cowboy,” she said, keeping her voice low and firm.

  “Me? You’re the one who moved closer. You step back.”

  “I will not.”

  “So what do you suggest we do, since we’re already this close?”

  “We’re not going to do anything.”

  “No ideas? Fine.” He slid the pad of his thumb across her bottom lip. “I have a few.”

  “Everybody getting settled in?”

  At the sound of Richard Rutherford’s voice, Victoria leaped away from Jared.

  Her heart pounded against her chest. What was she doing? How could she have forgotten even for a minute her reason for coming to the house party?

  She approached Richard as he stood by the kitchen counter. Her professional smile was now in place and all distracting thoughts about Jared McKenna set aside. “Richard, it’s so good to see you. What a lovely spot for a weekend party.”

  “Thank you, Victoria.” Wearing a browny-beige-and-yellow argyle sweater and khaki pants, he looked like the picture of Casual Rich Man on Weekend Golf Outing. “We’re pleased to have you as our guest.”

  His formal speech struck her oddly. It was classic Richard, but it was wrong. That damn Jared. His easy, casual manner had spoiled normalcy.

  “I know we’re all going to have a great time,” she said, “but I was hoping we could find a few minutes to talk about the new campaign.”

  Richard smiled. “I’m sure we will. Business is pleasure, after all.”

  “Exactly.” That was normal. How could she have gotten distracted by some barefoot cowboy wannabe? Correction, adventure tour guide. What kind of job was that, anyway?

  For romantic liaisons, she had more sophisticated men in mind. For professional pursuits, she had a plan, and she was making it work.

  It had to work.

  The intercom buzzed again. “That’s probably our other guests, Mrs. Keegan,” Richard announced, as the housekeeper bustled back into the kitchen. “When they get to the house, bring them into the front parlor. We’ll have tea there and let everyone get acquainted.”