by Alison Kent
Much as she sat talking with Lauren, Anton sat talking with Ray, legs dangling in the water, hands gripping the edges of the boards. Both men wore sunglasses secured with a rubber lanyard and knee-length board shorts. Their shoulders and their backs both gleamed with a healthy tan, perspiration and sunscreen.
The air, in fact, carried the distinct aroma of coconut oil, in addition to the wonderfully salty scent of the sea. Sydney took a deep breath, braced her hands on the pier behind her and leaned back, enjoying the breathtaking view of the waves and the spectacular scenery Ray Coffey offered.
He'd already left the kitchen by the time she'd finally made it downstairs this morning. In fact, Lauren and Auralie had been the only two still around. After a quick cup of coffee, Sydney and Lauren had let Auralie shoo them out of the kitchen. The efficient, sturdily built woman had refused to let them help prepare the rest of the day's meals.
Sydney had headed back to the bedroom she shared with Poe, showered and decided on a copper-colored maillot. The suit plunged low in the front, even lower in the back and was certain to snag Ray's attention. After last night, she refused to be caught looking any way but her best.
She also refused to let Ray draw her into a deep exploration of their shared past. They both knew it existed. They both knew they remained connected because of that one long-ago night. But Sydney did not want to revisit the rhyme or the reason for the things they'd done.
She wanted to revisit the passion, if it existed anywhere but her memory, and burn it out of her system once and for all, so she could let the entire episode go. She had to let it go. She had to maintain her professional focus, had to separate business from pleasure. If not, she'd fail in the first and ultimately lose out on the second.
And even worse, she'd have learned absolutely nothing from the mistakes of her mother and father.
"So what's going on with you and Ray?" Lauren asked, breaking into Sydney's thoughts.
She cast a glance over the rims of her sunglasses at her friend. "What about Ray?"
"Not Ray. You and Ray." Lauren returned Sydney's over-the-rims-of-her-sunglasses glare. "He totally avoided looking at you during your truth-or-dare answer. Like, as soon as Jess asked the question, Ray couldn't study his plate hard enough."
Pushing her sunglasses back into place, Sydney gave a shrug. "Who knows? Maybe the idea of female orgasms makes him nervous."
Lauren laughed. "Ray Coffey? The man who rushes into collapsed tunnels and burning buildings for a living? Nervous about anything? Try again."
"Sure, he's a big tough guy. That doesn't mean he's comfortable talking about sex." Sydney really did not want to go here, and had a feeling she wasn't pulling the wool over Lauren's eyes, anyway.
"Uh-huh, right. He barely flinched when Jess kissed Poe, but the minute the conversation turned to your sexual experience, he was squirming like he was the one in the hot seat." Lauren swiveled around on her towel so that she was facing Sydney. The sun glinted off the dark surface of her glasses. "Why would Ray feel like he was the one in the hot seat, Sydney?"
Well, hell, Sydney mused. Why shouldn't she share what she was thinking? She'd definitely be interested in Lauren's reaction. As a friend and as a woman with a different perspective on Ray. "The truth? I was thinking of having a vacation fling."
"With Ray Coffey?"
"No, with Anton." Sydney rolled her eyes. "Of course, with Ray. Who are we talking about, silly?"
"Hmm," was all that Lauren said.
Sydney huffed. "What is that supposed to mean?
Lauren shrugged, then turned back to face the wild bunch cutting up the waves. "I guess I can see you and Ray having a fling. He's definitely a hunk. Perfect fling material."
"True," Sydney said. "Even though you have to admit he's more than a hunk."
For a moment Lauren didn't reply. Then softly and slyly she said, "You don't need a man to be anything more than a hunk if you're only going to have a fling."
When put that way, Sydney didn't like the way her plan sounded, which was cheap and sleazy, when what she'd envisioned was definitely hot and sexy. She hated to ask, because the possibility was so farfetched. Still, she was curious.
Casually she turned toward Lauren. "What if it turns out to be more than a fling?"
"Why? Are you thinking long-term? With Ray?" Lauren leaned back on her elbows and lifted her chin to the sun. "I could've seen you with Leo Redding. A corporate attorney is more your type. I'm not sure I can see you with Ray."
Lauren's added comments made Sydney sound as if she cared what Ray did for a living. She was in awe of what he did for a living. "I think Ray's profession is totally noble and honorable. Did you know he spent time in New York last year?"
"Give me some credit, Sydney. I don't think what Leo does makes him any better than Ray. I just don't see Ray putting up with the fund-raisers for long. He's way too physical." Lauren shook back her hair; the ends dragged over her beach towel. "He could hardly sit still at the Wild Winter Woman fashion show last month."
True, Sydney thought, watching as Ray paddled his surfboard out toward Doug's Jet Ski, both managing to trade places without dumping either men or machines into the sea. "Physical" was definitely an adjective that described Ray Coffey. Both in his appearance—his body was amazingly fit and firm—and in the way he moved. Sydney so enjoyed watching the way he moved.
"By the way," Lauren said, cutting into Sydney's musings, "I did notice after the fashion show that he and your father certainly were chummy. You have any idea what's going on with them?"
Sydney lifted one shoulder in a perfunctory shrug. "My first guess would have to be money. With Nolan, it's usually about money."
"You think he'd try to buy Ray somehow?"
"No way," she said, shaking her head sharply. "Nothing like that. I was thinking more along the lines of a donation. Especially in light of all the funds raised for firefighters this past year."
"Oh." Lauren squirreled around to lie flat on her belly while still facing the sea. "I thought maybe he was buying him for you."
"For me?" The thought had never even crossed Sydney's mind. "Why would Nolan buy a man, buy Ray, for me?"
"I don't know. To make sure he gets the son-in-law he wants, I guess. But I doubt that's the case. It doesn't seem Nolan's style, even though I don't know him the way you do."
"Son-in-law? Like I have time in my life for dating, much less for a husband?" Sydney shook back her hair. "Right now, I barely have time to take a vacation. And I wouldn't be here if I didn't have faith in Macy, Chloe and Melanie not to let things at gIRL-gEAR go to hell."
And that was the thing. Until this past year, Sydney would've agreed with Lauren about what was and wasn't Nolan's style. But during the past twelve months, Sydney's father had done a lot of things with his money she never would've expected, as well as not doing the things he'd promised to do.
But buying Ray Coffey? Sydney found a transaction of that nature hard to believe of either man. Even harder to believe, however, was the irony of the entire suggestion.
Her father possibly buying her the very man to whom she'd lost her virginity? Not to mention the fact that she'd done so in the heat of anger at her mother's daring her to "get the stick out of your ass, have some fun and, for God's sake, get laid?"
Inevitably, inexorably, Sydney's gaze moved back to Ray. How would an honorable and noble man react after learning he was a convenient body at the right place and the right time? Despite the tropical heat, she shivered. That was one skeleton best left in her closet.
This conversation wasn't headed in any direction Sydney wanted to go. Why couldn't she have her fling and enjoy it, without having to take trip after trip down memory lane?
She got to her feet and handed Lauren her head-hugging metallic sunshades. "Hang on to these, will you? I'm going to have a swim."
"I'll put them in here with mine," Lauren said, tucking both pairs down into her woven carryall. "I think I'll join you and see if I can talk Anton in
to some underwater hanky-panky."
Sydney stared at the other woman. "I thought you and Anton still had a lot to talk about."
"We do." Lauren stood and made quick work of putting her long hair into a single braid and securing it with a scrunchie. "But I can talk with my hands as well as I can with my mouth. And I don't need words to do any of it."
"You're impossible," Sydney said, more than a bit jealous as she watched Lauren execute a shallow dive off the pier. Sydney followed, welcoming the refreshing feel of the water.
Coming up for air, she shook drops of salty spray from her face, wishing it was as easy for her to "damn the torpedoes—full speed ahead" as it seemed to be for Lauren. But it wasn't. And it probably never would be. Which meant a vacation fling was just not her style.
But Sydney Ford worked in fashion. And as anyone who had anything to do with the industry knew, styles changed.
By the time the dinner hour rolled around, the vacationers were exhausted. A day spent in the sun and the surf guaranteed that none of them had the strength or the energy to do more than sprawl across the braided rug covering the main room's floor or across the sectional sofa.
Having spent less time than the others battling the waves and the powerful Jet Skis, Sydney and Lauren, both freshly showered and smelling like herbal soap and coconut shampoo, headed to the kitchen to help Auralie prepare a light meal of salad and roast-chicken sandwiches.
Ray's stomach was rumbling. He was absolutely starved. But he was also totally beat and knew that a heavy meal would put him out. He wanted to stay awake as long as he could. He wanted Sydney to finish up in the kitchen, bring the sandwiches as she'd promised and sit in his lap while he ate.
If she wanted to feed him while she was there, he wouldn't object. He wouldn't turn down a woman's offer of personal service. Like most guys, he enjoyed and could get used to being waited on. But all he really wanted was to have her close.
Funny how his needs had grown simpler over the years and how he'd learned that a woman's companionship, even her quiet presence in the same room, brought a pleasure all its own. Funnier still, how he'd never put Sydney into that category until now, watching her with Lauren in the kitchen.
Sydney had a touch of sunburn on her nose and had pulled the layers of her shoulder-skimming blond hair into a careless ponytail. She'd changed out of that metallic-looking swimsuit that showed off her body in ways her bikini had never managed and now wore a plain yellow T-shirt and a pair of plaid pastel walking shorts.
She was laughing with Lauren as they worked, totally at home in the kitchen and looking nothing like gIRL-gEAR's CEO. Instead of her usual onehundred-percent immersion in business, she was having one-hundred-percent pure fun. She wore minimal makeup, only enough to highlight her bright blue eyes and accentuate a complexion that Ray knew had the feel of the smoothest silk.
Great. Now he was waxing poetic about a woman's eyes and skin. Yep, big tough guy, all right, he groused, pulling his gaze from the kitchen and back to the movie. After rifling through the extensive collection of DVDs stored in the main room's bamboo étagère, Jess had grabbed two of the sectional's throw pillows and made himself at home on the floor.
Ray and Anton sat at opposite ends of the sofa, and Doug had commandeered the one and only recliner. He now sat feet up with his head back, half-asleep while the twenty-five-inch screen played Tom Hanks's Apollo 13. Poe sat in the center of the sofa putting tiny braids into Kinsey's hair while Kinsey sat cross-legged on the floor.
The scene was almost surreal and resembled nothing from any vacation Ray had taken before. Of course, it had been years since he'd enjoyed a real vacation. The last one had been a bust, a total disaster from which he'd never recovered, taken three years ago with two of his fraternity buddies and his only brother, Patrick.
Having completed his master's thesis while working as a firefighter in College Station, Texas, Ray had been ready to let loose. The four men had flown out of Houston and into Barbados, ready to party their backsides off with tropical drinks and tropical women. Hot days and hotter nights and late, lazy mornings spent sleeping off the deadly combination of sex and rum. Paradise and heaven rolled up in a big fat cigar.
What none of them had counted on was the reality of the myth of modern-day Caribbean pirates. Drug runners with no care for property and even less for human life. Buccaneers in golf shirts and cargo shorts, baseball caps and deck shoes, automatic weapons slung across their backs.
Ray shifted on the sofa, glanced across the room toward the kitchen and Sydney, then back to the movie, which was nothing but a big blur. Suddenly he couldn't sit still and wait for Sydney, sandwiches or not. He pushed off the sectional and headed for the circular staircase that led to the sundeck on the villa's roof.
The evening breeze, which hit him full in the face, was welcome. He shook off his stale musings and drew a deck chair close to the waist-high safety railing, propped his feet on top and, through slats that reminded him of prison bars, stared out across the tops of the coconut palms toward the sea.
He hated thinking of his brother. Patrick was never far from his mind, but he'd learned to keep his thoughts put away. He'd also learned not to let random events shoot the lock he kept on that particular emotional trigger. Even now he didn't know why, except for the vacation comparison, he'd let his thoughts drift to Patrick.
Ray really did know better. What had happened three years ago wasn't his fault, wasn't anyone's fault. But the guilt remained. And guilt was something he couldn't have hanging over his head. Not if he expected to do his job with any level of competence and detachment.
Right now, the last thing he felt was detached. Not from his memories of Patrick, the brother he'd sworn to protect, the brother who would've turned twenty-five last month if he'd been around to have a birthday.
And not from Sydney Ford.
He was supposed to be here on vacation, and she was supposed to be his good-time girl. She'd grown up in a big way, while he hadn't been around to keep track. And his good-time plans were now X-rated and very, very adult.
The thought of Sydney, the woman, naked beneath him or, better yet, naked on top, where he could watch her body move and see the expressions she couldn't keep from her face, had him squirming in the cedar deck chair. He couldn't imagine how he'd be squirming when he had her there above him, holding her hips while she rode him.
As if he'd conjured her up, she appeared, her bare feet slapping lightly on the boards of the deck. Handing him a plate with two huge sandwiches, she set a bottle of water down by his chair before she leaned back against the railing and dusted her hands together.
He grinned his thanks.
"Don't get used to the personal service," she said as he bit into the homemade bread and tender chunks of chicken. Her mouth twisted with amusement when she added, "And that's all I have to say about that."
The personal service he wanted from her had nothing to do with food. It was a good thing he had his mouth full, because he might have said so.
"You're not in the mood for Tom Hanks?" she asked, glancing up at the gorgeous night sky.
He looked at her long neck, at the curve of her throat, her smile, the fullness of her breasts. He swallowed—first his sandwich, then a hard knot of desire. Finally he shook his head. "Sorry, no. And if you're in the mood for company, I'm not sure I'm your best choice."
Looking at him, she cocked her head to one side and drew her brows into a thoughtful V. "Why the bad mood?"
What exactly was he supposed to tell her but the truth? he thought, then took a deep breath, blew it out. "I didn't know it would be so rough coming here."
She frowned. "Why would it be rough coming here?"
He'd taken another bite and had his mouth full of sandwich. It made for a good excuse not to have to talk until he'd figured out exactly what he wanted to say, what he wanted to tell her, what he wanted her to know.
Her hands braced on the deck railing, Sydney went on, "Are you sorry you brought all o
f us with you? Or is it about the Indiscreet? I hate that you didn't get to finish the cruise you were promised. Nolan's been looking to sell the boat for a while. I guess it's a good thing."
Ray took a slug of water from the bottle to clear his throat and down the rest of his sandwich. "Don't worry about the boat. It's not that at all. And I'm glad everyone's here. I'm especially glad you're here."
"Then why are you hiding on the deck?"
"I've been thinking about Patrick," he answered before second thoughts had a chance to stop him.
"Oh, Ray." Sydney closed her eyes, rubbed a hand over her forehead as if wondering how best to ease his pain. Then she swiftly looked back up. "I'm so sorry. I haven't thought about Patrick in so long. I never knew exactly what happened. I knew he'd disappeared, but have you never heard a word?"
He really didn't want to get into Patrick's disappearance with Sydney. At least not now, not when it weighed so heavily on his mind, not when he was really more interested in using her body in ways that would keep him from thinking about anything at all.
But he knew he needed to talk. Until now, he'd never wanted to. Until now, he hadn't had Sydney to listen. "Patrick and I and two of my frat brothers had gone to Barbados. We were celebrating—or at least I was celebrating—finishing my master's."
Sydney's eyes widened. "Wow. I didn't know you'd done your master's."
He nodded, gave a half-hearted shrug of one shoulder. His degree hardly seemed to matter anymore. "I didn't have much of a life from eighteen to twenty-four, if you want to know the truth. What life I did have was all books and study and a lot of brushfires gone out of control."
"How did you manage grad school and fighting fires? Didn't you ever sleep?"
"Sure." It seemed so long ago now that it probably had been a bigger deal than he was making it out to be. "But long shifts at the firehouse make for perfect study time. And most of my professors were big believers in the Internet. I attended more than a few lectures via videocam."