Breathless on the Beach

by Wendy Etherington

  Calla’s gaze trailed over him. “Great hair and pretty face, check.”

  When she paused, he finished her thought. “But a 401K and portfolio, not so much.”

  “You don’t have either, I guess?”

  He did. But why should that matter? Why did it always matter? “Do I need them?”

  Calla frowned, and he knew she was thinking of a way to let him down gently, to tell him that Victoria was particular and, being a successful woman herself, only hung out with guys who moved in her same circle.

  He could move in those circles. He simply chose not to.

  Too much artifice. Too many hangers-on. Too many people who clung because he had the means to buy a round for the house.

  Been there. College in L.A. had schooled him in more ways than business management.

  “She needs a regular guy,” Calla announced to Jared’s surprise. “Clearly, her pattern of brief relationships with shallow men isn’t working out. And if she ever stops focusing on her career twenty-four hours a day, she’ll see that.”

  “Would she really? I’m a regular guy,” Jared said confidently, since he was—sort of.

  Calla widened her eyes in mock surprise. “Are you? What an amazing coincidence.” She winked. “You two could make a great couple.” She jogged toward the house, calling her thanks as she left him.

  Smiling, Jared turned for the shore. He hadn’t expected details from Victoria’s friend, especially since he’d had no right to ask about her love life in the first place.

  Rich jerks who don’t hang around long, huh?

  Good thing he usually concealed his ownership of the company. His clients thought he simply worked for the firm, same went for the host and guests this weekend.

  One regular guy at your service, Ms. Holmes.

  * * *

  TWO HOURS LATER, DRESSED FOR dinner, but still missing her usual confidence, Victoria strode into the kitchen. “I need a martini, stat.”

  While Shelby continued to chop vegetables, Calla jumped off the counter where she’d been sitting and headed to the fridge. From the freezer side, she pulled out a filled and frosted glass. Two extra-large olives speared on a toothpick floated inside the liquid.

  Calla handed over the drink. “We figured you’d come asking for this.”

  Victoria took a grateful sip, the harsh bite of the olives and liquor suiting her sour mood perfectly. “Where’s Mrs. Keegan?”

  “In the wine cellar,” Shelby said. “So vent away.”

  “What the hell does Richard think he’s doing?” Victoria asked her friends.

  “Haven’t got a clue,” Calla answered, returning to her perch on the counter.

  Shelby dumped chopped celery into a mixing bowl. “It’s got to be some kind of ego thing. Like having two dates to the prom.”

  “Why would you want to have two dates to the prom?” Calla asked.

  “I wouldn’t.” Shelby shrugged. “But some people would.”

  “This is business,” Victoria reminded them. “Not social hour. And highly unprofessional.”

  Calla shook her head. “Shelby’s got a point. There’s nothing technically wrong with it, apart from being underhanded and sneaky. But that’s business as usual for you.”

  “He invites me and my friends for a relaxing weekend, tells me about his supposedly top secret new safe, then asks my competition to tag along and work directly against me for his contract. How do you figure that’s business as usual?”

  “It’s like an on-the-job interview,” Calla said, her tone matter-of-fact. “Obviously, Coleman’s retirement isn’t the big secret you thought it was, and Richard wants to pick the best person to replace him for the ad campaign.”

  Victoria contemplated the remaining contents of her glass and wondered if downing it in one swallow would make her look as desperate as she felt. “Thanks for your support, best friend.”

  Calla sighed. “You have my support, as always.”

  “Come on, hon,” Shelby added. “A competition between you and Peter hardly seems fair. Maybe you should spot him ten points or something.”

  “Let’s not go that far,” Calla said. “Didn’t you hear him bragging earlier? The sooner he gets knocked out in this bout, the happier we’ll all be. And you…” She waggled her finger at Victoria. “We’re not happy about what Richard did, but you have to admit it makes sense. Frankly, it seems like something you’d do.”

  Victoria’s jaw dropped. “Take that back.”

  “Since when did you get so thin-skinned?” Calla asked.

  “Since my mother called me and wanted to know why I hadn’t been promoted yet. And did I realize she’d been the youngest senior VP in the history of the company, and did I know I hadn’t met that goal, and did I want her to call Coleman Sr. and put in a good word.”

  Silence fell.

  Calla’s face went red, and Shelby paused her dinner prep. “When did this happen?” Shelby asked gently.

  “A few days ago.” Victoria was already regretting her outburst. She wanted to earn her promotions. Wanted to be a success without her mother’s help. “Same old, same old. I don’t know why I let her get to me.” Victoria waved her hand in dismissal. She would never live up to The Legend. But, damn, she wanted to make a respectable race out of it. “How was the Jet Ski?”

  Calla smiled widely. “That is one hot cowboy.”

  The spurt of jealousy that shot through Victoria caught her off guard. “I thought you were crazy about Detective Antonio.”

  “I am sometimes,” Calla said, “but he’s mad at me right now.”

  “Why?” As far as Victoria had been able to tell, the attraction went both ways.

  Calla rolled her eyes. “Who knows? He’s as ornery as a wet cat.” Looking smug, she added, “Anyway, Jared’s interested in somebody besides me.”

  Victoria sipped her drink and said nothing.

  “I’m with Calla on this one,” Shelby stated. “There’s no way you haven’t noticed, V.”

  “Does anybody else think it’s ironic for Richard to be trolling for PR executives for a safe campaign, while at the same time hiring Mr. Adventure to keep us running around like deranged daredevils?”

  Clearly not deterred by Victoria’s attempt to change the subject, Calla slid off the counter and moved toward her. “Come on. Don’t you think he’s cute?”

  “No,” Victoria returned, completely honest. Cute was nowhere in the same hemisphere with Jared McKenna.

  Strong, capable and smokin’ hot? Absolutely.

  Finishing her martini, she set the glass on the counter. “I’m leaving now. Thanks for the drink.”

  “You like him,” Calla insisted, blocking her exit.

  Victoria scooted around her friend. “What is this—middle school?”

  “We were all silly girls once,” Calla called after her.

  Though she paused in the doorway, Victoria didn’t turn back. “I wasn’t.”

  Rolling her shoulders, she moved down the hall to the stairs. The house boasted a variety of decks and sunrooms, and Victoria was intent on reaching the one outside the third-floor game room.

  She really wished she could give in to her friends’ light mood, and before Peter had shown up and spoiled her weekend—along with the near certainty of her promotion—she might have. Now, however, the stakes had been raised, she was knocked off balance and she had to get her stance back in a hurry, or she’d be the one lying on the mat.

 
; As she stepped through the French doors and onto the balcony, she was glad she’d changed into a sleeveless blue dress. The summer heat showed no sign of abating.

  But the crashing waves against the shore helped her state of mind and reminded her of her own strength. Even with the complication of her rival, she’d find a way to win Richard’s business. Failure wasn’t an option.

  “I’m not sure I could ever get used to that view.”

  Nearly jumping out of her skin, she whirled.

  Jared was stretched out on a lounge chair, a beer bottle in his hand. As he rose, the long, strong length of him towering over her, she took a second to calm her runaway pulse, as well as notice he’d changed clothes. A perfectly pressed white dress shirt covered his broad chest, and the tips of scuffed brown boots peeked from beneath his dark jeans.

  “I didn’t realize anybody was up here,” she said, resisting the urge to lick her lips as a breeze ruffled his dark hair and warmth rose in his brown eyes. Why did he have to be so damn appealing?

  “Since you didn’t immediately scowl at me, I kinda figured that.”

  “I don’t scowl at you every minute.”

  “Most minutes.” Setting his beer aside, he joined her at the railing, resting his forearms against the wood. “Calla and I missed you on the Jet Skis earlier.”

  “I had my hair and nails done this morning. I didn’t realize Richard was planning Water Weekend Adventures from Hell. Do you have any idea what a blowout at a top Manhattan salon costs?”

  “Nope.”

  “And you don’t care.”

  “Nope. But I bet your hair and nails are always perfect.”

  “They are. Is there something wrong with a professional appearance?”

  “Not when you’re being professional, I guess. But I think—and maybe this is just me—you’d look great messed up.”

  “Messed up?”

  “Maybe mussed up.” He leaned close. “You know, tousled, disheveled…” He stroked her cheek with the tip of his finger. “Thoroughly pleasured.”

  Heat raced through her body. “Are you always this forward with women you’ve just met?”

  He grinned. “Not always.”

  Despite her earlier anxiety, she found herself smiling back. “Most of the time, I bet you are.”

  She wished she could find a reason to step away from him and not give in to his touch.

  How about your potential contract? Your job? Your promotion? Simple common sense?

  For once she ignored the warning from her conscience. “Did my mother really warm up to you?”

  “Nope.”

  “So why did you say she did?”

  “I was flirting with you.”

  Victoria laid her palm on his chest. “You aren’t my type.”

  “You’re not mine, either.”

  But he wrapped his arm around her and kissed her anyway.

  4

  WITH HIS HANDS FULL OF THE elegant and volatile Victoria, Jared fought to keep his touch soft. Being tentative wasn’t really in his nature, but though his instinct was to press her against the nearest wall and ravage her like some randy cowboy who’d ridden the range for far too long, he didn’t think that impulse would fly.

  He pulled her close, and angling his head, slid his tongue past her lips. He kept his moves slow, steady…enticing. She let a low moan escape, and desire shot through him as if he’d touched a live wire.

  He moved his hands down to her hips, holding her against his erection. The pressure felt both amazing and frustrating.

  Breathing hard, she jerked back.

  He’d pushed too hard, too fast. Shoving his hands in his back pockets, he grappled for composure. Hell.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice strained. “I shouldn’t have—”

  He held up his hands. “I made the first move.”

  “I wanted you to.” Clearly regretful, she shook her head. Her perfect, creamy skin was flushed. Her crystal blue eyes reflected confusion. “We have nothing in common.”

  His gaze met hers. “No, I’d say we have exactly one thing in common.”

  She didn’t flinch. He hadn’t expected her to. “I guess we do.”

  He licked his lips and tasted cotton candy. His palms tingled with the need to touch her again.

  “It’s my lip gloss,” she said, obviously realizing the nature of his struggle. “It’s flavored.”

  “Like candy? I would’ve laid money on you preferring steak au poivre.”

  “Meat-flavored lip gloss?”

  “Right.” He reconsidered. Obviously, he had steak on his mind. Or his stomach. “Champagne?”

  She gave him her first genuine smile. “That’s more like it.”

  He extended his hand, which she took. “I bet we can find you some in this palace.”

  “That’s an adventure I can get excited about.”

  They headed downstairs, and though she let go of his hand when they reached the ground floor, he felt they’d crossed a bridge together. He wouldn’t have bet cotton candy and smiles could come with a single kiss, but he figured if he was going to pursue this attraction—and he was—he ought to get used to surprises.

  In the parlor, most of the other guests were assembled for the cocktail hour.

  The men, with the exception of Peter, were drinking whiskey, while the women, plus Peter, enjoyed champagne. Jared and Victoria exchanged a knowing glance, but he otherwise kept his distance.

  This contract was important to her, and he wasn’t going to be the one to spoil her plans.

  Especially since he had his own ideas for her. And them.

  Bottled-up stress required a release, after all. He’d be happy to provide her plenty of physical activity to burn off the tension. A Jet Ski or boat-related outing would do her wonders.

  Rose, as she was famous for, made a dramatic entrance.

  Wearing a peacock-blue silk gown, completely overdone for both the season and the occasion, she swept into the parlor when everyone was half into their drinks and Mrs. K had already brought a round of hors d’oeuvres.

  “I’m so sorry to be late,” Rose said breathlessly. “I couldn’t seem to get my hair to do anything tonight.”

  Her deep red hair was perfect, as always. But trouble with her style wasn’t likely to be the main topic of conversation, since around her neck lay a stunning diamond-and-sapphire necklace. The fathomless blue center stone was octagonal-shaped and easily the size of an egg.

  As the women stared—Peter’s wife, Emily, let out an actual gasp—Richard smiled indulgently at his mother’s antics and poured her a glass of champagne.

  “You’re not the last to arrive, Mother,” he said, handing her the cut crystal. “Sal isn’t here yet.”

  Rose’s pink-painted mouth moved into a pout. “I can’t imagine what’s keeping him.”

  “He’s probably looking for his sunglasses,” Ruthie said in an uncharacteristic show of bitchiness.

  The necklace was a bit blinding.

  Richard quickly covered his wife’s gaffe by introducing Rose to her guests. Jared got a flirty smile, which he was used to with Rose. He wondered if boyfriend Sal, who could be anywhere from twenty to eighty, given Rose’s predilections, was the possessive type.

  “I trust you have everything you need to give my guests an unforgettable weekend?” she asked.

  “I do.” Jared brushed his lips across her powdered cheek. “But you’ll be the one who’
s remembered.”

  “Jared,” Peter said, his tone teasing, “you can’t have the keys to the boats and the full attention of our beautiful hostess.”

  More smoothly than Jared would have previously given him credit for, the executive led Rose to a settee and launched into a string of compliments about the estate.

  Having already become buddy-buddy with Richard on the golf course, apparently the PR man had decided to move on to bigger, more powerful prey. It was a smart choice. Richard was certainly a momma’s boy. If Rose preferred Peter over Victoria, the Rutherford Securities contract would go to him.

  Victoria didn’t miss a beat and positioned herself next to Richard. “Is it rude to talk about business before dinner?”

  “Not if that’s what you want to do,” he said graciously. Bracketed between his wife and the stunning Victoria, he seemed, in fact, more than pleased. He directed a wink at Calla. “I assume we can count on your discretion about our developing products and strategies.”

  “I’m a reporter at heart,” she said in her twanging Texas accent. “I know how to protect my sources.”

  With three women focused on him, and Jared as a standby to impress, Richard gave a description of his new safe. The words state-of-the-art were used five times and breakthrough technology no less than three. “The digital control panel can be configured for your own four-digit code, voice print or, on the superior model, a retina scan. It’s breakthrough technology.”

  Okay, four.

  “Fascinating,” Victoria said, looking for all the world as if she believed it.

  “Interesting” was Calla’s neutral response, just before she shot her friend a questioning look and took a sip of champagne.

  Ruthie smiled indulgently at her husband. “Isn’t he clever?”

  Actually, a team of engineers and computer techs were clever.

  Twenty years ago.

  The whole fawning business turned Jared’s stomach. Because one of the fawners was the woman he wanted? Probably.

  But not completely.

  Jared’s conscience warned him to sip his whiskey and say nothing. But he couldn’t keep his reservations to himself. Victoria would probably wind up promoting this flawed product. “Don’t many governments, including our own, already use codes with much higher numbers than four, plus voice prints and retina scans for access to sensitive rooms and data?”