Breathless on the Beach

“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 … surprised.

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.”

Jared started toward the back door. “I’ll make sure all the equipment is ready to go.”

“No, no.” Richard waved his hand. “Join us for tea. It’ll be easier to introduce everyone at the same time.”

Jared looked as if he’d rather handle a live rattlesnake.

Victoria had to agree with his foreboding. She couldn’t imagine that big body perched on one of Rose’s antique settees or holding a dainty china cup.

But the rough-and-tumble Mr. McKenna, thankfully, wasn’t Victoria’s problem. “Who else is coming?” she asked Richard. “Anybody I know?”

Maybe he’d invited some executives from his company. Wouldn’t it be convenient if she got to meet the vice president of operations? Or even marketing? She could impress all the decision makers in one fell swoop and have the contract ready by the time she got back to the office on Tuesday, the day Coleman Sr. announced his retirement. She could almost hear the champagne cork pop.

She was so caught up in her fantasy, she almost didn’t catch the name Richard said.

And when she did, she was sure she was hallucinating.

“Did you just say Peter Standish?” she managed to query around the lump in her throat.