Conquering King's Heart

by Maureen Child

  He was making “improvements” right and left and would soon be raising the rents to pay for them. Which meant that Bella would have to look for another shop to rent. She’d have to leave Main Street and relocate farther inland, losing at least a quarter of her business, since many of her customers were drop-ins off the beach.

  Jesse King was going to ruin everything. Just as he had three years ago.

  Not that he remembered. The bastard.

  Bella really wanted to kick something. Preferably her new landlord. Which was so far out of her character, she blamed that notion on him, too. Jesse King was the kind of man who expected the world to roll over and beg whenever he crooked his finger. The trouble was, it usually did.

  He looked over his shoulder at her and grinned. “I really irritate you on a personal level, don’t I? I mean, this is more than me buying up Main Street, isn’t it?”

  Yes, it really was. Bella stiffened instinctively. The fact that he didn’t even know why she loathed him was just infuriating. She couldn’t tell him what he’d so obviously and embarrassingly forgotten.

  “What do you want, Mr. King?”

  He frowned a little. “Bella, we’ve known each other too long to stand on ceremony.”

  “We don’t know each other at all,” she corrected. He was going to call her Bella whether she wanted him to or not, it seemed.

  “I know you love your shop,” Jesse said, moving back to the counter. And her.

  Why did he have to smell so good? And did his eyes really have to be the deep, dark blue of the ocean? Did his smile have to cause dimples in his cheeks? And why had the sun bleached out lighter-colored streaks in his dark blond hair? Wasn’t he gorgeous enough?

  “You’ve got some nice stuff in here,” he said, looking down into the glass display case at the sunglasses, flip-flops and tote bags. “Good eye for color, too. We’re a lot alike, you and I. My company makes swimwear. So do you.”

  She laughed.

  He scowled. “What’s so funny?”

  “Oh, nothing,” she said, bracing her hands on the glass countertop. “It’s just that my suits are handmade by local women from custom-woven organically sound fabrics and yours are stitched together by children hunched over dirty tables in sweatshops somewhere.”

  “I don’t run sweatshops,” he snapped.

  “Are you so sure?”

  “Yeah, I am. I’m not some Viking here to pillage and burn,” he reminded her.

  “Might as well be,” she muttered. “You’ve changed the whole face of downtown in less than a year.”

  “And retail shopping is up 22 percent. I should be shot.”

  She simmered like a pot about to boil over. “There’s more to life than profit.”

  “Yes, there’s surfing. And there’s great sex.” He grinned again, clearly waiting to see if she’d be affected.

  Bella would never let him know just how much that smile and his dimples did affect her. Or the casual mention of great sex. Women came too easily to Jesse King. She’d learned that lesson three years ago, when she’d been a card-carrying member of that adoring throng.

  The World Surf competition had been in town and Morgan Beach partied for a week. Bella had been on the pier, watching the waves, when Jesse King had strolled up. He’d smiled then, too. And flirted. And teased. He’d kissed her in the moonlight, then taken her to the small bar at the end of the pier where they’d toasted each other with too many margaritas.

  She could admit now that she’d been flattered by his attention. He was gorgeous. Famous. And, she’d thought back then, really a very nice guy underneath all the glamour.

  That night, they’d wandered together along the sand, until the crowded pier and beach were far behind them. Then they stood at the ocean’s edge and watched moonlight dance on the waves.

  When Jesse kissed her, Bella was swept away by the magic of the moment and the heat and the delirious sensation of being wanted. They’d made love on the sand, with the sea wind rushing over them and the pulsing throb of the ocean whispering in the background.

  Bella had seen stars.

  Jesse had seen just one of the crowd.

  She’d actually gone to see him the following day, in the harsh glare of sunlight. She’d wanted to talk to him about what had happened.

  He’d said, “Good to see ya, babe,” and walked right past her. He hadn’t even remembered having sex with her. She was too stunned to even shout at him. She’d simply stared after him as he walked out of her life.

  Bella looked at him now, and remembered every minute of their night together and the humiliation of the day after. But even that hadn’t been enough to take away the luscious memory of lying in his arms in the moonlight.

  She hated knowing that one night with Jesse had pretty much ruined her for other men. And she really hated knowing that he still didn’t remember her. But then, why would he?

  But not her.

  At least, not again.

  Everyone made mistakes, but only an idiot made the same mistake repeatedly.

  Inhaling sharply, Bella told him, “Look, there’s no point in arguing anymore. You’ve already won and I have a business to run. So if you’re not here to tell me you’re evicting me, I really have to get back to work.”

  “Evicting you? Why would I do that?”

  “You own the building and I’ve done nothing but try to get rid of you for months.”

  “Yeah,” he said, “but as you pointed out already, I’ve won that battle. What would be the point of evicting you?”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “To let you know about the coming rehab.”

  “Fine,” Bella said. “Now I know. Thanks a bunch. Goodbye.”

  He grinned again and Bella’s stomach pitched wildly.

  “You know,” Jesse said, “when a woman doesn’t like me, I’ve just got to find out why.”

  “I’ve already told you why.”

  “There’s more to it than that,” he said, his gaze fixed on her. “Trust me when I say I will figure it out.”

  Two

  Jesse couldn’t figure out why he was still thinking about Bella. Why the scent of her still clung to him. Why one badly dressed woman with magic eyes was haunting him hours later. Clearly, he told himself, he’d been working too hard.

  “According to research, women’s beachwear outsells comparable styles for men two to one,” Dave said.

  Jesse’s train of thought cut off as he leaned back in his desk chair. The fact that he actually had a desk chair hardly bothered him anymore.

  “Dave,” Jesse said, as patiently as he could, “I’ve told you already. I don’t have any interest in catering to women—in the stores at least,” he added with a smile.

  “You’re missing out on a gold mine, Mr. King,” the short, balding man said hurriedly. “And if you’ll just give me one more moment of your time, I could show you what I mean.”

  Dave Michaels was the head buyer for King Beach and was constantly trying to push Jesse into expansion. But Jesse had a firm policy. He only sold products he knew and used personally. Products he believed in. Growing up as a King, he’d learned early on that success meant loving what you did. Knowing your business better than anyone else.

  But he realized that Dave wouldn’t give up until he’d had his chance to make a pitch.

  “Fine, let’s hear it.” Jesse stood up, though, hating the feeling of being trapped behind a desk. Even though his desk was a sleek combination of chrome and glass, it always called up memories of his dad behind a mahogany desk the size of an aircraft carrier, waving at his sons, telling them to go and play, that he was too busy to join them.

  Irritated at the memory, he turned his back on Dave to wander the perimeter of his office. Absently, he noticed the shelves filled with the trophies he’d won over the years. On the dark blue walls, there were framed photos of him in competitions, seascapes of some of his favorite beaches and assorted shots of his family. His lucky surfboard was propped up i
n one corner and the windows behind his desk offered a view of Main Street and the ocean beyond.

  As if he needed that connection with the ocean he loved, Jesse moved to the windows and fixed his gaze on the water. Sunlight glinted off the surface of the sea and seemed to spotlight the lucky bastards waiting for the next ride atop their boards. That’s where he should be, he thought wryly. How had he come to this, he wondered, not for the first time. How had he ended up exactly in his father’s place?

  His brothers were probably laughing their asses off just thinking about it.

  “There’s a store here in town with the kind of products we should be carrying,” Dave was saying.

  Jesse hardly heard the man. He was willing to do the job that he’d created for himself, but that didn’t mean it would ever be his life’s blood. Unlike the rest of his family, Jesse considered himself the anti-King, he thought with a half smile. He liked the money, liked the way he lived his life, liked the perks that being successful gave him. So he did the job, but it wasn’t who he was. The job was simply that.

  Work.

  He did what he had to do so that he could do what he wanted to do. Enjoy life. Surf. Date gorgeous women. He wasn’t going to end up like his dad—a man who’d devoted everything to the King family dynasty and never really lived.

  “If you’ll only look at these photos, I’m sure you’ll see that her products would be a perfect fit to King Beach’s apparel line.”

  “Her products?”

  “I know, I know,” Dave countered quickly, holding up one hand to forestall Jesse’s objections. “You don’t want to add women’s sportswear to the line, but if you’ll just look…”

  Jesse laughed shortly. “You just don’t give up, do you Dave?”

  “Not when I’m right.”

  “You should have been born a King,” Jesse told him and reluctantly took the photos Dave was holding out to him. The sooner he finished work, the sooner he was out there in the sunlight.

  “What am I looking at here?” Jesse asked, flipping through the stack of color photos. Bikinis. Sarongs. Beach cover-ups. All pretty, he supposed, but he didn’t understand Dave’s excitement. Nice enough swimsuits, Jesse thought, though he preferred his bikinis wrapped around gorgeous blondes.

  “These suits,” Dave said, “are growing in popularity. They’re custom-designed, handcrafted with all ‘green’ fabrics, and the women who buy them swear there’s nothing else like them.”

  Jesse suddenly had a bad feeling.

  “There was a write-up in the Sunday magazine section of the newspaper last month and from the reports I’m getting, her sales are going through the roof.”

  Oh, yeah. That bad feeling kept getting…worse.

  Jesse studied the photos more carefully. Some of them looked familiar. As in, he’d seen one of them just yesterday, tacked up to a wall in a crumbling shop on Main Street. “Bella’s Beachwear?”

  “Yes!” Dave grinned, pointed at one of the photos and said, “That one?” A cherry-red bikini. “My wife bought that one last week. Said it’s the most flattering, comfortable suit she’s ever owned and she wondered why we didn’t offer something like it.”

  “It’s nice that your wife’s happy with her purchase,” Jesse started.

  “It’s not just my wife, Mr. King,” Dave interrupted, his eyes shining with enthusiasm. “Since we moved the business to Morgan Beach, all we’ve heard about is Bella’s. She’s got women coming in from all over the state to buy her suits.”

  Dave kept talking. “One of our guys in accounting did a projection. If we added her line to ours, the sky would literally be the limit on how well she’d do. That’s not even saying how her line would influence King Beach sales.”

  Jesse shook his head. Though he was King enough to appreciate the thought of higher profit margins and headier success, he had his own plan for his business and when he branded women’s wear, he would do it his way.

  Dave told him flatly, “She’s carved out a slice of the consumer pie that no one had really touched on before. We’ve checked into her and she’s had other offers from major sportswear companies to buy her out, but she’s turned them all down.”

  Intrigued in spite of himself, Jesse leaned back against the edge of his desk, folded his arms over his chest and said simply, “Explain.”

  Warming to his theme, Dave did. “Most swimsuits in this country and, hell, everywhere else, are designed and created for the so-called ‘ideal’ woman. A skinny one.”

  Jesse smiled. Skinny women in bikinis. What’s not to smile about? Although he usually preferred a little more meat on his women.

  As if he could read Jesse’s mind, Dave said, “The majority of American women don’t meet that standard. And thank God for it. Most women are curvy. They eat more than a lettuce leaf. And thanks to most designers, their needs are overlooked.”

  “You know, Dave, I like curves on a woman as much as the next guy,” Jesse told him, “but not all women should wear a bikini. If Bella wants to sell to women who probably shouldn’t be wearing suits anyway, let her do it. It’s not for us.”

  Dave grimaced, then reached into his pocket for another photo. “I thought that would be your reaction,” he said tightly. “So I came prepared. Look at this.”

  Jesse took the photo and his eyebrows lifted. “This is your wife.”

  “Yeah,” Dave said, grinning now. “Normally Connie bans all cameras when we go swimming. Since she bought this suit, I couldn’t get her to stop posing.”

  Jesse could understand why. Connie Michaels had given birth to three children over the last six years. She wasn’t skinny, but she wasn’t fat, either. And in the swimsuit she had purchased from Bella, she looked…great.

  “She’s really beautiful,” Jesse mused.

  Instantly, Dave plucked the photo from his hand. “Yeah, I think so. But my point is, if Bella’s suits look this good on a normal-size woman, they’d look great on the skinny ones, too. I’m telling you, Mr. King, this is something you should think about.”

  “Fine. I’ll think about it,” Jesse told him, more to get Dave to drop the subject than anything else.

  “Her sales are building steadily and I think she’d be a great asset to King Beach.”

  “Asset.” Jesse murmured the word, remembering the look on Bella’s face that morning during their “conversation.” Oh, yeah. She’d already turned down offers from other companies. He could just see how pleased she’d be with his offer to buy out her business. Hell, she’d probably run him down with her car.

  Not that it was going to be an issue because, “We don’t sell women’s wear yet.”

  Dave took a breath and said, “Word is Pipeline is looking to court Bella’s Beachwear.”

  “Pipeline?” Jesse’s major competitor, Nick Acona, ran Pipeline clothing and the fact that neither of them surfed anymore didn’t get rid of the rivalry. If Nick was interested in Bella—that was almost enough to get Jesse involved.

  “He says the way to increased sales is through women,” Dave told him.

  Jesse gave his assistant a hard look. He knew exactly what Dave was up to. And it was working. “I’ll consider it.”

  “But—”

  “Dave,” he asked, “do you like your job?”

  Dave grinned. He’d heard that threat before and didn’t put much stock in it. “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Let’s keep it that way.”

  “Right.” The man gathered up his notes, his research and the photos and headed for the door. “You did say you’d think about it, though.”

  “And I will.” The truth was he knew he should expand into women’s beachwear. He just hadn’t found any he’d believed in enough to stock. Until now. The challenge would be in convincing Bella to come on board—before Pipeline got their hooks in her.

  When Dave was gone, a spot of color caught his eye and Jesse bent down to pick up off the floor a photo Dave had left behind. A sea-green bikini with narrow straps on the halter top and silver ri
ngs at the hips, holding the bottom together.

  Jesse caught himself trying to imagine Bella wearing that suit. He couldn’t quite bring it off, though, and that was irritating, too. She wore those big, blousy tops and shapeless skirts, deliberately hiding her figure. Was it a studied plan to drive a man nuts?

  Smiling to himself, Jesse tossed the photo onto his desk, turned around and looked down Main Street to Bella’s place. He couldn’t seem to get her out of his head. He kept remembering the battle-ready glint in her eye. Even if she dressed like a disaster refugee, there was something about her that…

  Nope, forget it. He wasn’t interested in Bella Cruz.

  But there was a certain woman in Morgan Beach he was looking for. His mystery woman.

  Narrowing his gaze on the sea, Jesse thought back to one night three years ago. He didn’t remember much about that night or her… He’d won a huge competition that day and he’d been doing a lot of celebrating before he ran into her. Then there was more celebrating and finally, there was sex on the beach. Amazing, completely staggering, sex.

  She’d been at the edges of his mind ever since. He couldn’t recall her face, but he knew the sizzle of her touch. He couldn’t remember the sound of her voice, but he knew the taste of her.

  Oh, it was more than the waves that had brought him to Morgan Beach. His mystery woman was here. Somewhere. At least, he hoped so. She could have been in town for the competition, he supposed, but he liked to think that she lived here. That sooner or later, he’d run across her again.

  And this time, when he got his hands on her, he wouldn’t let her go.

  His phone rang, thankfully silencing his thoughts. Automatically, he turned to snatch it up. “King.”

  “Jesse, it’s Tom Harold. Just checking with you on the photo shoot scheduled for tomorrow.”

  “Right.” More photos. But this was for a national campaign advertising King Beach and its end-of-summer sale. He might not have wanted to become a businessman, but now that he was, the King blood in his veins refused to let him be anything but a success.

  “Yeah, we’re set, Tom.” He turned back to the window and stared out at the ocean. “The models will arrive first thing in the morning, and you can do the shoot on the beach. The mayor’s cleared it for us to rope a section off.”