Private Pleasures

by Jami Alden

  Wendy held out until the toasts were given, but when couples made their way to the square of linoleum laid out on the sand to serve as a dance floor, she knew she'd reached her limit. As she watched Chris and Julie sway, and Chris's cousin Carla press hip to hip with her smiling hunk of fiancé, it was too easy for Wendy to imagine curling into Drew's arms, pressing herself up against the hard wall of his chest until the hard tips of her breasts pressed into hard muscle.

  Too easy to imagine finally giving into the desire she'd kept so secret for so long.

  Chapter 2

  Drew watched as Wendy disappeared into the darkness that lay beyond the torches set up on the beach for the party. Even after she was gone, he still stared at that one spot as though he could conjure her back.

  He didn't know what it was about her that drove him crazy, had since the second he'd laid eyes on her at Chris and Julie's rehearsal dinner the night before their wedding five years ago. Sure, she was beautiful, with her wide brown eyes, long dark hair, and full red mouth that made him immediately think of all the places on his body he'd like to feel it. Combined with a body that was all long legs and full breasts there was no question Wendy Carmichael was a knock out.

  But Drew had been with a lot of beautiful women—more beautiful than Wendy even—so he knew it wasn't that. There was a spark in her. A fierce intelligence that rivaled his own, offering a challenge most of the women he ran around with didn't.

  A little too challenging, it turned out. When Wendy had made it clear she wanted nothing to do with him, Drew hadn't pushed it too hard. It wasn't like he was lacking in female companionship, and back when he'd met Wendy he didn't see the point in working overtime to get laid when he didn't have to.

  But a couple years ago he'd realized, that in life, as in business, the things that were the most valuable were the things he worked hardest for. He never would have made past his working class roots and gotten a scholarship to UC Berkeley if he hadn't busted his ass. Nor would he have managed to take a germ of a product from a research lab at Cal Tech and turn it into a half a billion dollar business in a little over five years.

  Busting his ass and pouring all of his energy into work hadn't left much leftover to devote to his love life, such as it was. Not that he was interested in pairing off - he liked the freedom to do what he wanted, and until his company was really established he'd liked the idea that if it didn't work out, he could move anywhere, any time.

  No ties keeping him any particular place. As it always had been, just the way he liked it.

  After he sold the company two years ago and was given a polite but unmistakable don't let the door hit you on the ass by the new management, work went from all consuming to nearly non-existent. Suddenly, for the first time in over five years, he had actual time for more than a quick, compulsory dinner and shallow conversation that would earn him a decent fuck from whatever woman he was dating that month.

  And he realized he was spending his time with women who, though undoubtedly gorgeous, bored him shitless.

  The itchy restlessness had hit him again full force, the need to move to a new place, to start a new venture, overwhelming him as it did every few years or so. The only reason he'd lasted as long in Austin as he had was because getting his company, Visitel, off the ground was so goddamn hard he didn't have time to get bored.

  As soon as he was free of Visitel, opportunities were thrown at him left and right, and when he'd received an offer to move to San Francisco to be an entrepreneur in residence at a venture capital firm, he had jumped at the chance.

  And he'd be lying if he said the chance that he might run across Wendy Carmichael on the streets of San Francisco—cold shoulder or no—wasn't a tick in the pro column that weighed into his decision to move to northern California.

  And lucky him, he thought, washing away the faint taste of bitterness with a taste of the rum and fruit concoction Chris had pressed into his hand, Wendy had walked back into his life shortly after he'd started at Paradigm Venture Capital.

  Too bad it was on the arm of Alan Parker, a managing director at Paradigm. A nice enough guy, above average intelligence if not a walking brain trust, decent looking in a clean cut, preppy kind of way.

  When Alan had introduced her as his fiancée, Drew couldn't hold back the wave of scorn.

  Apparently it showed and Wendy thought it was directed at her because her eyes narrowed into an icy glare, one that became her default expression anytime she got within ten feet of Drew.

  But in truth, the only thing running through Drew's mind in that moment had been Her? With him? It would never work. No way did Alan have the cojones to take on a woman like Wendy.

  Nice as he was, successful as he was, Alan was a bit of a putz. He might like the idea of the caché a woman like Wendy—as high powered in her career as she was beautiful—might give him, but in the end he was the kind of guy who would need a woman who pandered to his ego. Who put his career before her own.

  Even if Drew hadn't heard bits and pieces from Chris about Wendy's success—top of her class at Stanford Law school, a clerkship with a Federal Supreme Court justice before she came on board at one of San Francisco's most prominent law firms—he wasn't in his new office more than a week before he heard her referenced as a rising star in a very complicated area of corporate law.

  No way would Alan, who made sure within the first five minutes of conversation that you knew he'd been the one to convince the partners to invest in Google, sit back and watch in pride while his wife's career matched—or even eclipsed—his own.

  No, Alan was in the market for the ultimate trophy wife. Not merely beautiful, but smart and successful in her own right, well on her way to her own high-powered not to mention financially lucrative career.

  That is, until she put it all aside to support his career. Channeling all that intellect and energy to stay home to have kids and run the household while he continued to make his millions. The ranks of spouses of the partners at Paradigm were full of such women. Hell, the senior partner's wife was a former transplant surgeon, but she'd stopped working when her husband had taken an interim CEO position that required him to travel five days a week.

  When Drew had asked him if maybe he should have handed the position to one of the other partners so his wife could continue her lifesaving work, he'd looked at Drew as though he'd grown horns.

  For Alan, being with Wendy would eventually become about telling the world everything his wife had been willing to give up —intellectually, financially—to support him and his career.

  But he only had to look at Wendy to know she wouldn't be one to put her hard won career up on the shelf to collect dust. At the handful of social gatherings that included spouses and significant others, Drew had often found himself ignoring his own date as he watched her interact with the other wives, hiding his smile as she blithely ignored their looks of disapproval when she announced her intention to continue to work as much as was necessary to make partner.

  As for children? "We haven't planned that far ahead," she'd said with a soft laugh. "But I'm sure Paradigm has some kind of paternity leave program."

  If the writing on the wall hadn't been on the wall then—to Drew at least—it became apparent when Alan and his admin, Tina, started having a few too many closed door meetings after hours, ostensibly to discuss wedding details Wendy was too busy to go over.

  But if Drew had to guess based on the sounds coming from Alan's office, he'd say Alan was working out the kinks on his honeymoon moves instead of discussing flower arrangements or cake flavors.

  Alan had gotten what he needed when he chose Tina.

  And Wendy... she might not realize it, but she'd dodged a bullet. Alan didn't have what she needed. She needed someone strong, someone who would go toe to toe with her, challenge her when she needed it. Someone who didn't have anything to prove so he could step back and support her own rise to the top.

  Someone who would recognize the sexual spark glowing under that professional
, composed surface. Bring it flaring to life until its white hot heat threatened to burn the place down.

  Someone a lot like him, he thought, his mouth curving into a smile as he kept his gaze trained on the spot where she'd disappeared.

  Not that Drew could be her one and only, in it for the long haul. Not with his innate restlessness and need to pull up stakes every so often.

  But he was damn willing to help her pick up the pieces, give her a taste of what she needed. If only to get her back on the right track.

  And people thought he wasn't charitable.

  He set down his drink, his mouth curled into a smile as he went to find Chris and get him to divulge where Wendy was staying. She might protest at first, but Drew didn't have any doubt she'd cave.

  She was a smart girl. She might try to deny it, but deep down Wendy knew exactly what she needed tonight.

  ##

  Please God, make it stop. this is the last thing I need tonight.

  Wendy turned up the volume on the TV in her room and tried to focus on the repeat of Law and Order, SVU playing on the flatscreen of her room in Holley Cay's main building. But tonight even detective Stabler and the twists and turns of whatever sexually charged murder case he and Benson were trying to solve weren't enough to help her shut out the sounds of the sexual marathon going on upstairs.

  As if she didn't feel enough like a loser, she thought as she poured herself another glass of wine from the bottle she'd sweet-talked out of one of the servers she'd run into on her way back to the room. Not only was she the only single person—her thoughts strayed momentarily to Drew—okay, the only single woman on the island, she was already back in her room, sexy halter dress exchanged for a tank top and shorts, plopped on the couch in front of her TV at ten o'clock while everyone else was still partying on the beach.

  Now she had to listen to the only other people who'd left the party carry on as though they were auditioning for American Porn Idol.

  Oh, God, yes! Yes! Yes! Well, not everyone else was partying, Wendy thought with a grimace as the harsh feminine voice cried out so loudly it was as though she was in the same room with Wendy instead of upstairs.

  Oh, yeah, oh yeah, the woman's partner groaned in concert with the rhythmic thumping sounds that made the fan on the ceiling of Wendy's room tremble so hard she was afraid it was going to come crashing down on her head.

  She could just see her obituary. Up and coming attorney dies in freak accident as couple upstairs inadvertently fucks her to death. But not in a good way.

  Jeez you'd think for the steep price they charged for people to stay at a a swanky place like Holley Cay the rooms would be a little more soundproof. Not that Wendy was paying for the room—Chris and Julie were comping all the party guests, but still.

  Wendy kicked herself for the moment of martyrdom mingled with self pity that had made her turn down Julie's offer to stay in one of the resort's detached—not to mention much more private—villas. "Oh, no," Wendy had said. "It'll just be me, and I'm sure there's a couple that would really enjoy the extra space and privacy."

  Like the couple above, she thought sourly. Now there was a couple that needed one of the villas. Preferably on the far side of the island where someone like Wendy wouldn't have to listen to their incessant caterwauling, reminding her with every cry of pleasure and slam of the headboard that she hadn't been laid in over six months.

  The cries increased in speed and volume, and there was a thump so loud she expected the ceiling to cave in. Then a high-pitched scream, followed by a roar, and finally, blessed silence.

  Wendy breathed a sigh of relief, took a sip of her sauvignon blanc, and settled back in the overstuffed armchair to refocus on Stabler and Benson's efforts to track down this week's killer.

  But she barely made it through the next commercial break before she heard the unmistakable rumble of her male neighbor's voice.

  Ooh, yeah, baby. Suck it. Just like that, yeah, harder. Oh, yeah, tug on my balls. Tug 'em. Yeah, harder.

  "You've got to be fucking kidding me," Wendy snapped and shoved herself up from the chair. This was her cue to leave. She knew if she stayed she'd have an aneurysm while the couple upstairs fucked each other into a coma.

  She slid her feet into flip flops and grabbed her room key. Though she didn't have a destination in mind, she marched purposely down the hall and down the stairs of the resort's main building, her only goal to get the sounds of the other couple's loud, raunchy sex out of her head.

  Wendy cut through the main lobby and out onto the pool deck. She could hear the party going strong down the beach. Avoiding the brightly lit path that lid back to the party, she cut right and went down to the beach using the stairs at the other end of the pool.

  She kicked off her shoes and walked up the beach, felt the muscles of her shoulders relax as her feet sank into the sugar white sand, still warm from the day's sun. She walked up the beach, relaxing by degrees as the sound of the party faded, until it was barely audible over the sound of waves lapping against the beach and the wind rustling through the palms.

  Wendy plopped down on the sand and looked up at the star-studded sky, and despite the beauty of the paradise surrounding her, she felt her throat get tight. For all that it purported to cater to singles as well as couples, Holley Cay was the kind of place she'd always imagined coming with someone special.

  She'd wanted to come here for her honeymoon, but Alan had nixed it on the grounds it didn't have a golf course. I should have known then, Wendy thought with a rueful smile and a twist in her gut. What kind of guy would rather spend his honeymoon playing golf rather than hanging around with a wife who planned to spend most of the honeymoon dressed in an endless array of bikinis, each one skimpier than the last?

  In all fairness, she couldn't blame Alan for the breakup. She was a type A workaholic, determined to make partner and unwilling to let anything—-even a fiancé—get in her way.

  But Alan had known that, and, she thought, understood that from the very beginning. She was driven, and as dedicated—more dedicated—to her career than he was to his. She needed a partner who not only understood that but embraced that part of her.

  When they'd first started dating, and through the early part of their engagement, she'd really believed he was that man. Unlike some of the guys she’d dated, he didn't seem threatened by her success. Didn't take it personally if she couldn't be on his arm at every dinner or cocktail party he went to. Openly bragged about her accomplishments to his friends and colleagues.

  Despite what Drew claimed, Alan was what she needed. Or he seemed to be anyway. Kind. Supportive, and so what if the sex wasn't off the charts? Great sex could only get you so far. Real friendship and appreciation of who the other person was - that was the key to a long lasting marriage, her mother said.

  Wendy had been so convinced she'd had that with Alan.

  When did it change, she wondered, as her fingers traced a random pattern in the sand. She couldn't pin it down. But slowly, inevitably, things had started to erode. Alan started making little comments when she had to work late. Then when they were out, he'd cut her off in conversation to talk about his latest triumphs in the office.

  He'd started to display a passive aggressive side that she hadn't realized existed. A side she quickly came to despise.

  He wasn't what you needed. Drew's low, raspy voice echoed in her ear, and though she was loath to admit it even to herself, Wendy knew it was true. She'd known it even before Alan broke their engagement off, but she'd shoved it aside, hoping that if they could just make it through the stress of the wedding everything would go back to being fine.

  Though her pride had been stung and her heart bruised, Wendy realized now that it was better to be alone than to be with someone who would make her feel guilty for working hard and striving to get ahead in a career she loved. She and Alan might have made it through a few years of marriage, but better to nip it in the bud, she told herself now as she had so many times in the past six months, than
to put themselves through an even more painful breakup down the road.

  It had all worked out the way it needed to. Yet even knowing that didn't make being here any easier, with all the happy couples with their googly eyes and PDA, not to mention Tarzan and Jane swinging from the rafters in the room above hers.

  Alone might be better than with the wrong man, but right now alone sucked.

  "So this is where you snuck off to."

  Wendy gave a startled cry and jumped clumsily to her feet at the sound of the deep, familiar voice coming from behind her. "Christ, you scared me," she gasped, flattening her hand as though to slow her heart's galloping pace.

  Drew reached out to steady her, and the feel of his palm on the bare skin of her forearm sent heat licking to her core. "What are you doing all the way out here?"

  "It was too noisy in my room." She snapped, flustered as she yanked her arm from his hold.

  Even in the faint light of the half moon, she could see the flash of white teeth as he smiled. "Yeah. Sounded like someone was trying skin a cat when I came looking for you."

  Wendy gulped and felt her stomach do a little backflip. "Why were you looking for me?"

  "You know why," he said, the low rumble of his voice, the heat of his gaze devouring her in the darkness making every nerve ending pull tight.

  You have no idea what I need.

  I have a pretty good idea.

  No, she told herself, her muscles poised to flee, she could not give in. No matter how vulnerable she was, she couldn't let her pity party make her lose sight of her common sense. She could not get involved with a player like Drew.

  He stepped closer, close enough for her to feel the warmth radiating off of him and catch his spicy, soapy scent on the salty breeze. "Come on Wendy. Don't play coy. You know you've thought about it and how good we would be together."