Breathless on the Beach

“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.