It occurred to him that he had no idea what time it was.
Gracie threw open the drapes, about blinding him, so he dropped his head to the back of the couch and closed his eyes. He heard her open the doors that led to the balcony and the humid, ocean breeze drifted into the room.
“Nah. Why would I go where all the hot dudes are when I can spend time with my grumpy-ass brother?”
Asher arched a brow without opening his eyes. “Looks like I’m gonna have to talk to mom about your language. And about dude gawking.” He raised his head to sip the coffee, letting the warmth of the brew soothe his scratchy throat.
“I’m sixteen, Ash. I’m allowed to gawk if I want.”
He squinted at her tight tank top and shorts that showed off too much of her legs. Jesus, when had his baby sister gotten all grown up? She didn’t look sixteen. She looked significantly older, which made him think about Brett and his band of assholes.
“Looking is one thing, but don’t you ever let a guy pressure you into doing something you’re not ready to do. You understand? And while we’re here, you need to stay either with mom or with me. You’re not to go off by yourself.”
Gracie dropped her hands on her hips, reminding him of the way Brooke squared off with him the night before.
“Whatever, Dad. I’m not a naive little girl, you know. And I’m not stupid.”
He ignored her tone, because really, did she have another one?
“Glad to hear it,” he said. “Because—fair warning—I’ll break the fingers of any guy who touches you.” And then he’d move on to his face and legs.
Gracie jumped onto the couch like a gazelle, almost making him spill his coffee. She tucked her skinny legs underneath her and poked him in the arm.
“That one doesn’t look so bad. What happened?”
Asher glanced down at the jagged red mark on the front side of his shoulder. He’d finished up a three-month deployment right before this little trip, the details of which he would never share with his little sister.
“Feral alley cat.” Feline claws, six-inch Cambodian tactical knife. Tomato, tomahto. He grinned when she rolled her eyes. “Just got the stitches out last week.”
“How many?”
“Fifteen.”
His sister got quiet. When she glanced up at him she had tears in her eyes. “You’re okay, though, right, Ash?”
Asher cursed and set his coffee on the table. This, this is what he’d been trying to explain to Brooke last night. It was hard enough knowing his mom and his sister worried about him.
“C’mere, squirt.” He wrapped an arm around her and pulled Gracie against his side. Just like when she was little, she dropped her head onto his shoulder. She glanced up at him, her big doe eyes looking for reassurance.
“I’m fine,” he insisted. “It’s just a little scratch. Nothing to worry about.”
“What about in here?” She pressed a finger against his temple hard enough to tilt his head.
“What do you mean?” Christ. “Have you been on the internet reading about PTSD?”
“Post-traumatic stress is nothing to be ashamed about. It’s a real thing.”
He sat her up and turned to face her. “It is a real thing. You’re absolutely right.” He lifted her chin with his knuckle, forcing her to meet his gaze. “But, I don’t have it. It’s just a scratch, Gracie. I’m fine, really.”
“Are you sure? You seemed kinda off when I first got here. Your eyes are all red and you’re grumpier than usual.”
“Well, if you must know, I was up half the night—”
“Inability to sleep is one of—”
“Stop it, Grace,” he snapped, but damn, she wasn’t doing his head any favors. He only called her Grace when his patience reached its limit, and she wisely clamped her mouth shut. “I’m only gonna say this once, so listen up. I sleep fine. I don’t have nightmares. I don’t get anxious. Yeah, I know the symptoms. I’m a SEAL. I know plenty of guys who struggle, but I’m not one of them. And if sometime down the road I start to have trouble, I give you my word I will deal with it. Okay?”
When Gracie bit her lip and nodded, Asher sank back into the couch and closed his eyes again, wishing he had a painkiller within reach. “And stay off the fucking internet.”
“I’m sixteen.”
Asher hummed. Right. Keeping her off the internet would be equivalent to taking away her cell phone. Not happening.
“You missed dinner last night and you didn’t answer any of your texts. Mom’s not happy.”
Asher sighed and sat up. He wasn’t going to get any more rest as long as Gracie was there, so he might as well give it up. He grabbed the cup and drained what was left of the coffee down his throat.
“I’ll talk to her.”
Gracie followed him to the coffee maker. “We decided that we’re going to grab some lunch at Seafare and then take the boat tour around the islands. Doesn’t that sound like fun?” Gracie bounced on her toes. “Wanna go with us?”
No, he did not. He wanted to sleep off his hangover, and then he had a snorkeling trip to plan.
“Come on, Ash. Please?” Gracie begged. “Mom said we had to be down at the restaurant in thirty minutes.”
Snorkeling. A boat tour around the islands. What was happening to him?
He grabbed the freshly brewed cup and headed toward the shower.
“I’ll meet you there in twenty.”
“Ms. Ramsey, welcome to Midnight Bay Beach Resort. I hope the accommodations are to your liking.” Gregory Meeks, part-owner and general manager of the resort, said with a charming smile and polite handshake.
Gregory’s formal British accent and expensive tailored suit seemed out of place in the land of white sandy beaches. Brooke glanced down at her floral-patterned sundress, worried she might be underdressed.
She did a mental shrug. Nothing she could do about her outfit now, and anyway, she loved the dress. It accentuated her breasts without being gaudy or inappropriate, and the skirt fluttered around her knees like a gentle breeze. She felt pretty and vibrant and ready to dazzle the man with her creative prowess.
“My suite is perfect, Mr. Meeks. Thank you.” Although there was a certain muscle-bound Neanderthal who had some issues—and not just with her suite.
She didn’t know what Asher was up to with his demand to see her that day, but she’d have to stay on her toes or she might lose her heart to him again. She couldn’t let that happen.
“Please, call me Gregory.”
“Only if you call me Brooke.”
Gregory bowed his head in consent. “I thought we could talk over lunch. Seafare is one of our outdoor restaurants.” He started walking and Brooke fell in step next to him. “It’s a favorite among the guests. The menu is a reflection of the rich flavors found in the Caribbean, the seafood found in its waters, and the New England flair of Chef Jonas Rancourt.”
“I’ve heard excellent things about Chef Rancourt from my colleagues in San Diego. He ran a restaurant there for years after leaving Boston.” Brooke wasn’t much of a foodie, but she was excited to eat the local food made by a renowned chef.
“You shall not be disappointed.”
They walked out of the hotel and took a wooden-planked path to the left. They followed the path to a sandy ridge that housed the restaurant and overlooked the ocean and beach below. The view was stunning.
Seafare was a quaint little restaurant. The floor was nothing more than sandy beach. There were no walls, allowing the warm ocean breeze to blow through. Wooden pillars wrapped in thick, marine-style ropes were placed throughout, holding up the large canopy overhead. High-gloss wooden picnic tables were placed at various intervals in the sand. Not all of the tables were the same size. There were a few two seaters mixed in with the tables that sat four, six, and even one off to the side that had seating for eight. And from her vantage point the restaurant appeared to be crowded.
Taken by the quiet charm of the space, Brooke wasn’t paying attention to whe
re she was going and her foot slipped from the edge of the walkway.
“Oh!” Gregory grabbed her elbow to steady her and somehow Brooke ended up flat against the man’s chest. “Oh,” She jerked back with a nervous laugh. Before she could stop herself, she smoothed the wrinkles from his lapel where she’d clutched him. “I’m so sorry.”
Gregory still cupped her elbow. “Are you all right? Did you twist your ankle?”
She readjusted the bag on her shoulder and stepped back, testing her weight on it. She wasn’t even wearing heels, just a cute pair of flat sandals with straps that wrapped around her ankles. “No. I think it’s okay. Thank you.”
Gregory offered her his elbow. “Might I offer some assistance?”
“Oh God.” Brooke laughed again, feeling her cheeks heat. “I’m so embarrassed.” But not stupid. When a handsome British man in a tailored suit offered his arm, a girl took it.
“Don’t be silly. Happens to me all the time.”
“Right. You do seem like the clumsy type,” she teased, glad he didn’t seem to be a stuffy, rigid type of client. Under different circumstances she might even enjoy flirting with the man.
Gregory shot her a wink. “Shall we sit?”
“Please.”
Gregory led her to a table. He waited while she slid onto the bench and got herself situated before removing his jacket and taking the seat across from her. He reached for his tie.
“You don’t mind, do you?” he asked as he slid the tie off. He made quick work of the top few buttons on his shirt and then rolled up the sleeves. “I don’t normally dress so formally here, but I had a meeting this morning.”
Gregory had nice forearms, but Brooke had seen better. Last night, in fact. Attached to a big, handsome, bossy SEAL.
“I admit I was surprised to see you in a suit.”
“What did you expect? More beach bum, less British butler?”
Brooke snickered as she dug into her bag. “Something like that.” She pulled out a notebook and pen and set them on the table beside her. She glanced up and froze. As though she’d conjured him with her forearm musings, Asher was there, sitting two tables behind Gregory, facing her.
Ash’s gaze locked on hers, his expression unreadable. A young girl sat beside him. Same eyes, same hair color. The resemblance was too great for her not to be his sister. That meant the woman at the table with her back to Brooke had to be Ash’s mom.
A funny feeling tickled her stomach at seeing them together, as a family. It should have warmed her heart, but instead, a shock of loneliness stabbed her chest. She’d never had that, not even when her dad had been around.
Brooke had her mom, but they never spent time together. When they did, it always ended the same—with her mom finding fault with everything she did and a reminder that she should be grateful her parents had ‘rescued her,’ as if she were a puppy dumped at the local shelter instead of the product of an unwanted teen pregnancy. Oh yeah, she’d heard that story a few times, too.
Brooke sighed, and for a moment she let herself wonder what it would be like to sit there with them. To talk about girl things with his sister or critique the food with his mom. To be a part of something real.
It doesn’t matter. He’s doesn’t want you to be his girlfriend, remember? He only wants in your panties, and hookups don’t meet family.
Beside him the girl chatted happily, using her hands to express whatever it was she was talking about. Ash nodded a couple of times, but his gaze never left hers.
Brooke’s nerves went into overdrive. His stare was potent and all-consuming, making her feel naked and exposed.
“Brooke?”
She started, Gregory’s voice breaking whatever spell she’d been under. She blinked and refocused on the man in front of her. Her client. She would not allow Asher-freaking-Dillon to distract her from the biggest opportunity of her career.
“I’m sorry.” She smiled apologetically. “I got distracted by the gorgeous view.” Gregory would assume she meant the ocean view, which was also spectacular. “What were you saying?”
“I asked if you’d like to try some of the wine.” He held out a wine list. “We have an excellent selection to choose from.”
Brooke rejected the wine list for fear the nerves at seeing Asher would make it tremble in her hands. “Would you mind choosing? I don’t know anything about wine except how to drink it.”
Gregory tilted his head and laughed. “You’re absolutely delightful. And thank you, I’d be happy to choose. Do you prefer red or white?”
“White, please.” She remembered reading somewhere that white went better with fish.
Gregory placed their drink order and Brooke forced herself to not look over the man’s shoulder at Asher. She could feel his gaze burning into her, could feel the tension from two tables away.
What did he have to be tense about? Did he think she planned to crash his little family outing? That she’d embarrass him by walking over there and making introductions? Well, he could just get over himself. She was there to work.
The waiter stopped by their table. Once their food orders were placed and the wine had been served, Brooke opened her notebook and picked up the pen, ready to get started.
“Tell me your thoughts for the new advertising campaign.”
Gregory folded his hands on top of the table. “As I’m sure you know, Midnight Bay Beach Resort has six properties across the globe. Turks and Caicos will be the flagship resort for the campaign, but I’ll let you in on a little secret. If we’re happy with what you come up with, you will get the business for the others.”
Brooke tried to keep her expression even, but inside her chest her heart rate took off like a shot. The resort was a bigger opportunity that she’d originally thought. If she could nail this campaign, the higher ups would take note and Sandra wouldn’t be able to take credit. It would be all her.
Gregory kept the conversation flowing. He told her the history of the resort, explained that their local sales and marketing team would only implement her ideas, not take part in the creation process, and filled her in on their expansion project. She asked questions here and there, and by the time she’d finished her amazing lobster with jerk-rum butter, Brooke had filled half her notebook and was buzzing with excitement.
“My compliments to the chef. The lobster was delicious.” She wiped her mouth with a napkin and set her plate aside. She wrote down a few notes about the flavors before the essence faded, then got to the heart of the meeting. “Corporate mentioned there might be a specific market you’d like to target with the new campaign, but they didn’t give me any details.”
As if on autopilot, her gaze drifted over Gregory’s shoulder. She was surprised to find Asher and his family gone. She’d been so focused on work, she hadn’t even seen them leave.
“That is correct. We have a large clientele of families at this location, but the new expansion that opens next year will be couple-oriented. The suites will be designed and furnished with romance in mind. There will be a private beach, along with a daily bottle of champagne and tray of strawberries. It will be quite lovely.”
“That sounds wonderful.” Brooke scribbled in her notebook. “And the activities? Will those be couple-centric as well?”
Gregory gave her a sly smile. “Much the same as they are now, only without children. The couples’ section of the resort will have access to the primary resort, but those who stay on this property will not be allowed access into the couple-only areas, such as the pool and private beach.”
Gregory studied her over his steepled hands as Brooke took a sip of the crisp chardonnay. Like the meal, it was also delicious. She jotted down information from the bottle’s label so she could order it another time.
“Dare I say it was a brilliant stroke of luck that you brought your boyfriend along with you. Now you’ll be able to experience the activities and the resort as a couple, which will give you the right inspiration to create the new campaign. You showed great foresight, Broo
ke. I like that.”
Brooke choked on her wine. “I-I’m sorry? W-what?”
“Ah, right. Sorry. You’re probably wondering how I know about him.” He nodded, as if he could possibly understand her confusion … since she didn’t have a him.
“Whenever there’s an issue on resort property, an incident report must be filed by the employee who either is involved or is witness to the event. I received a report on the situation at Cavalier’s yesterday. The bartender indicated you were harassed by another guest, but that no intervention was necessary on his part since your boyfriend handled the situation. Quite expeditiously, too, from what I read.”
Brooke groaned inwardly.
Shit. Shit shit shit.
Don’t panic. They hired your company without knowing if you did or didn’t have a boyfriend.
Right. She could salvage this. All she had to do was come clean about the misunderstanding. He might be disappointed that she wouldn’t be able to experience the resort as one half of a couple, but she was damn good at her job. She would still deliver a kickass campaign for them, regardless.
“And since I brought it up, I’d like to apologize on behalf of the resort. The guest who bothered you has been warned and every employee on site has been informed to keep a sharp eye on the man.” Gregory reached over and put his hand over hers. “Is something wrong?”
Brooke swallowed hard. Sandra would fry her if she heard about the incident at the bar. She’d find a way to make it Brooke’s fault, she just knew it. Not to mention Sandra’s nosy ass knew Brooke was single and had been for months.
“Gregory. That situation about my boyfriend, it’s not—”
“Did I hear someone talking about me?” A deep, rumbling voice fingered its way down her spine.
No. This could not be happening.
She twirled around to find Asher behind her. He was wearing a United States Navy polo shirt, black cargo shorts, and canvas deck shoes.
Gregory slid from the bench seat and reached out his hand. “You must be the boyfriend?”
Hot SEAL, Bourbon Neat (SEALs in Paradise) Page 4