SUNLOUNGER 2: Beach Read Bliss (Sunlounger Stories)

by Belinda Jones

  To say there’d been a buzz of excitement when Nathan Scott swaggered into the office that morning was a serious understatement. He’d entered in a blaze of paparazzi shots, his Ray Ban aviators pulled down to hide his eyes, as Charles Mahoney – Emily’s boss – quickly ushered him through to the back office where the paps’ lenses wouldn’t reach.

  Agnieszka, the receptionist, suppressed a squeal and eagerly set about fixing him a coffee – ‘Latte, decaf, made with soy milk if you have it, sweetheart’ – while Charles rushed around like a dog on heat, shaking Nathan’s hand and kissing his boots.

  Emily watched the nauseating display from behind her computer screen, completely entranced by Nathan Scott, but feeling nothing but contempt for Charles’ over-the-top behaviour. She couldn’t stand the man at the best of times – he was in his late fifties, balding and overweight, with a florid complexion that hinted at too many long, boozy lunches on the company expense account.

  He was also notoriously sexist, thinking nothing of patting Emily on the backside when he passed her in the corridor, or brushing up against her in the narrow kitchen, openly leering at the merest hint of cleavage. Emily was well aware that Charles had tried to block her for promotion on numerous occasions, that he took credit for her work when presenting to the board, and that she was on a lower commission than her male colleagues – for no other reason than what was hanging between their legs. It was pure, old-school sexual harassment.

  The truth was that Emily Elton was young, successful and extremely attractive. Men like Charles Mahoney – outdated dinosaurs from a different generation – couldn’t get their head around it. Any protest from her was met with a reference to her gender – ‘Time of the month is it, dear?’ – and Emily hated him with a passion. But for now, she kept her mouth shut, worked hard and proved herself. Charles would get his comeuppance once day, she felt sure of it.

  ‘Mr Scott… or may I call you Nathan? To what do we owe the pleasure – and it is an undisputed pleasure – of your visit here today?’

  Emily rolled her eyes. Charles Mahoney had his tongue so far up Nathan Scott’s backside it was a miracle his tonsils weren’t brown.

  ‘Well, Charlie,’ Nathan leant back in his chair, propping his feet up on Charles’ antique walnut desk. ‘I need your help finding me a new house. You may have heard that bitc– Ashley,’ he checked himself, ‘got the last place as part of the divorce settlement. So now I’m looking for somewhere new.’

  It was true that last year Charles Mahoney had found Nathan and his then-wife a beautiful 16th century, twenty-four-bedroomed manor house in the Sussex countryside. Complete with traditional kitchen garden, stables and even a trout-fishing lake, it had the property supplements drooling, as Nathan and Ashley shot ‘at home’ features for Country Life and The World of Interiors.

  Nathan was a Brit-done-good. The product of upper-middle class parents and a private education, he’d headed out to Hollywood in his twenties and a decade later was an undisputed success story, landing a string of blockbuster movie roles and marrying Ashley Rodriguez, an equally famous and famously tempestuous American actress. It soon transpired that Ashley rather fancied herself as an English Lady of the Manor, and persuaded Nathan to move back to his native UK, where she promptly began dressing in tweed and affecting a ‘British’ accent.

  But the fairytale hadn’t lasted, and the pair had divorced acrimoniously in a well-publicised and extremely bitter split. There’d been rumours of infidelity on both sides, coupled with gambling debts and a spiralling drug dependency on his, an eating disorder and extreme shopping habit on hers. Ashley filed for divorce under Californian law, and walked away with the country mansion and the LA house, leaving Nathan with the much smaller New York apartment and London pied-à-terre.

  ‘What kind of property were you thinking of?’ Charles enquired, and Emily could practically see him salivating as he calculated his commission. ‘Country bolthole in the Cotswolds? Scottish castle in the Highlands?’

  ‘No, nothing like that,’ Nathan explained, his accent a curious mix of well-spoken Brit with a hint of transatlantic twang. ‘I’m looking for a new place in LA, somewhere up in the hills. Pool, city views, gated estate – the works.’

  ‘I’m afraid Los Angeles doesn’t fall within the remit of the UK office,’ Charles explained, with a condescending chuckle. ‘But I’d be delighted to put you in touch with our Beverly Hills branch—’

  Charles broke off, as Nathan began shaking his head once again.

  ‘Look, I’m sure I can speak freely with you,’ he began, clearly aware that the entire office was listening in to their conversation. ‘And I’m tired of all that American bullshit. All that ‘Have a nice day’ and ‘This place would be just perfect for you’ while they’re showing me round some overpriced fleapit. So I want someone from this office to show me around out there. Someone who speaks my language.’

  Emily thought Charles might pee himself with excitement. ‘Well, of course, I’d be more than happy to accompany you – although I am very busy,’ he added quickly, trying not to look too eager. ‘I may have to move a few appointments around, but—’

  ‘Chuck, don’t worry about it,’ Nathan replied easily, and Emily saw Charles visibly wince at the over-familiarity. ‘I’m sure someone else can help me. Someone like…’ For the first time, Nathan pushed his sunglasses up on top of his head and stared around the office with those dazzling aquamarine eyes.

  His gaze landed on Emily and stopped dead. Her pulse rate tripled, adrenaline pumping through her body as Nathan stared at her, just a hint of a smile playing on those famous lips. Then as Emily, and indeed the whole office, watched, he stood up and walked towards her with that sexy swagger, coming to a stop in front of her desk.

  ‘Someone like you,’ he finished softly.

  Before Emily even had chance to respond, Charles was out of his seat and blustering his way across the room, protesting vigorously.

  ‘But Miss Elton doesn’t have the necessary experience. She doesn’t know the market out there. Perhaps one of my other assistants or, indeed, myself—’

  ‘I want her,’ Nathan insisted, cutting him off.

  ‘But—’

  ‘It’s Miss Elton or no one,’ Nathan repeated.

  Emily hardly dared to breathe. She looked at Charles, his face clearly betraying his internal struggle as his expressions ranged from anger to confusion to frustration before he finally forced a rictus grin and managed to spit, ‘Of course. That won’t be a problem at all, Mr Scott.’

  ‘Good.’ Nathan’s eyes crinkled as he broke into a dazzling Hollywood smile and extended his hand across the desk. ‘Nice to meet you…?’

  ‘Emily,’ she supplied, her skin fizzing with a thousand tiny electric shocks as their palms met.

  ‘Emily,’ Nathan repeated, savouring the sound of her name on his tongue. His eyes ran over her, taking in the sleek brunette hair, the hazel eyes and flawless skin. She was wearing a stylish two-tone shift dress that highlighted the swell of her breasts and her hand-span waist, her slim legs tapering down to cherry-red heels. The atmosphere between them was electric, and Emily wondered whether her colleagues could sense it.

  ‘I’m looking forward to being partners in crime,’ Nathan finished, and as Emily looked up and met that intense gaze, she realised he was still holding onto her hand.

  *

  Los Angeles couldn’t have looked more inviting as the jet began its descent into LAX. Emily stared out of the window with undisguised fascination at the towering mountains and the sprawling mansions clinging to their slopes. To the west, a cluster of skyscrapers thrust upwards to the heavens, whilst winding, gridlocked freeways snaked like arteries through the heart of the city.

  The pilot flew out over the Pacific before circling back to face the airport, and Emily almost gasped at the perfect blue of the ocean below, white waves cresting onto powder-soft sand and the palm-lined streets beyond.

  ‘First time in LA?’ Nathan asked
knowingly, and Emily confessed that yes, it was, and it looked incredible.

  ‘It is incredible,’ Nathan assured her. ‘If you’re one of the lucky ones. And you and I, Emily Elton, are the lucky ones.’

  He flashed her a grin that made her stomach flip as the plane touched down, the wheels landing smoothly on Californian soil. Within minutes, they were comfortably ensconced in the limo she’d booked to pick them up from the airport, speeding north on the San Diego Freeway.

  ‘So, I thought we’d head here first,’ Emily began in her most professional tone, trying to ignore the fact that one of the hottest men on the planet was sitting just inches away from her, their knees almost touching as she leant over to show him the images on her iPad. ‘Tami in the LA office has already sent through some suggestions, and I thought you might like this place. It has a thirty-seater screening room, koi pond, gym with steam room and sauna, its own nightclub, and superb views of the Bel Air Country Club,’ she continued, scrolling through the high-res photos. ‘Plus it’s in the Holmby Hills, which is one of your preferred areas…’

  Emily trailed off, as she realised Nathan was checking his phone distractedly.

  ‘Yeah, looks great,’ he commented vaguely. ‘But how about we put off the house hunting for a little while, hmm?’

  ‘But I thought—’

  ‘Emily, Emily, Emily…’ Nathan shushed her. ‘You clearly work far too hard, darling, and need to relax. As it’s your first time in this glorious city, how about I show you the sights?’ he murmured, managing to make it sound vaguely suggestive. ‘There’ll be time for all that boring business stuff tomorrow.’

  ‘That sounds… amazing,’ Emily finished, realising that it did. The sun was beating down outside the tinted windows, and she was suddenly overcome by the urge to explore. After all, when Nathan Scott was encouraging her to take a break, offering her a personal tour of one of the most exciting cities in the world, how could she refuse?

  She remembered Charles’ parting words as she’d skipped out of the office: ‘Keep him sweet – give him whatever he wants,’ her boss had whispered urgently, as he handed over his credit card and imparted the pin number. ‘Anything! Just make sure you close the sale.’

  If Nathan wanted to put off house hunting for now, Emily was more than happy to oblige.

  ‘Let’s do it,’ she told him firmly, feeling the first stirrings of excitement deep in her belly.

  Nathan grinned then leaned forward to tap on the smoked-glass partition separating them from the driver. ‘Change of plan. Take us to the Beverly Wilshire.’

  *

  Urgh.

  Emily’s head was thumping.

  Somewhere, loudly, a phone was ringing.

  Tentatively, she opened one eye. It felt heavy and sticky, and Emily realised she hadn’t taken off her make-up before she’d crawled into bed… last night? This morning?

  The phone was still shrilling, and Emily rolled over – and kept rolling until she finally found herself at the other side of the enormous bed, groping on the side table for the receiver.

  ‘Hello?’ Her voice came out as a croak.

  ‘This is your eight am alarm call, ma’am.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Emily managed, before dropping the receiver and collapsing once again onto the cool, white, cotton bed sheets. Her head was pounding, and her mouth felt as though something had crawled inside and died.

  Slowly, snippets of last night began to come back to her. They’d come directly to the hotel from the airport, with Nathan barely giving her time to freshen up before he was knocking on her door, eager for her to get ready and go. The sun was setting by the time they emerged into the sultry, smoggy Los Angeles evening, and Nathan had taken her to Mr Chow’s, the legendary Chinese restaurant, for dinner.

  Emily had barely tasted the food, she was so star struck. Seated across the room from them was Eva Longoria, with a handsome, young Hispanic guy; Idris Elba came over to say hello, while autograph hunters queued up to speak to Nathan. He took his time to chat to all of them, positively revelling in the attention as he posed for photographs and signed napkins.

  As they left, they’d been besieged by paparazzi. Emily couldn’t help wondering whether she’d turn up in the tabloids as ‘Nathan Scott’s mystery companion’. She wondered if Charles Mahoney would see it. She hoped he did.

  From there, they’d gone on to the infamous Chateau Marmont, where Nathan had bought her shot after shot of Patrón tequila. Actually, Emily had the alarming feeling that she’d paid for the tequila, and that Charles’ credit card had taken a severe battering last night. It had paid for the meal at Mr Chow’s too, come to think of it. Oh well, it served the sexist old pig right.

  She remembered squealing out loud when she’d spotted James Franco across the bar, then having nothing to say when Nathan introduced them, her power of speech deserting her. Everything got a little hazy after that. They’d rolled back in at God only knew what time, but Emily had insisted that the front desk give her a wake-up call because…

  Oh, bollocks, Emily thought, realisation dawning. Today was the day she was trying to sell a multi-million dollar mansion to Nathan Scott. And she had the hangover from hell. Emily Elton, the epitome of sophistication and professionalism, had partied so hard she put Paris Hilton to shame, and this morning she was paying for it.

  Moving as swiftly as her aching body would allow, Emily dragged herself out of bed, catching sight of her reflection on the way to the bathroom. Great. Not only did she feel like shit, she looked it too, her hair matted and tangled, the remains of her mascara smeared across her cheeks.

  Coffee, Emily decided. Coffee would make everything better.

  She showered quickly, dressing in a smart tan skirt and sleeveless blouse, before blow-drying her hair so that it hung sleek and shiny in her usual style. Conscious of the heat outside, she added just a light touch of make-up, and was pleased to discover that she was now looking almost human, even if she didn’t quite feel it yet. She snatched up the iPad from the desk and stashed it in her bag, before catching the elevator down to the lobby.

  ‘Is there a Starbucks nearby?’ she asked the guy on reception with the model good looks.

  ‘Of course, ma’am. Two blocks down, on the right hand side.’

  By the time Emily had strolled the short distance in the fresh air and dazzling sunshine, she was beginning to feel better. She returned to the hotel with two coffees – decaf latte with soy milk for Nathan – and two skinny muffins in case they needed a carb fix.

  She headed straight for Nathan’s suite, and had to knock twice before he answered. When the door eventually swung open, Emily almost dropped the coffees. Nathan Scott was standing there wearing nothing but a low-slung towel, droplets of water clinging to his skin, his blond hair wet and slicked back. His shoulders were broad and muscular, his stomach boasting a six-pack that indicated a punishing gym regime. A burst of lust surged through Emily, her eyes inadvertently trailing down the fuzz of hair below his belly button, as she found herself wondering what lay beneath the towel. Nathan Scott’s body was undoubtedly in incredible shape.

  His face, however, told a different story – a story of wild nights, irresponsible drinking and dancing until dawn. But somehow it suited him: the out-of-control stubble, the tired eyes, the lazy grin as he took in the way Emily was staring at him…

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she apologised, dragging her eyes away from that ripped, tanned torso. ‘I’ll… I’ll come back later.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it. I’ll only be a minute.’

  Nathan stood aside to let her in and Emily felt the colour rise in her cheeks as she walked past him, their bodies almost touching. His suite was spectacular, but Emily hardly noticed; she was far too distracted by the realisation that she was all alone with an almost naked Nathan Scott.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ Nathan asked, his sly smile indicating that he knew exactly the effect he was having on her and was enjoying every minute of it.

 
‘Fine,’ Emily lied. ‘You?’

  ‘You wore me out,’ Nathan told her accusingly. ‘You sure know how to party. Seriously, when you climbed up on that bar and started grinding against Jack Nicholson…’

  Emily’s mouth fell open in horror, then she realised he was teasing her.

  She thrust the coffee and the muffin towards him, attempting to recover her composure.

  ‘Here. I thought you might need these.’

  ‘Thanks. That’s sweet of you.’ Nathan took them from her, their fingers brushing, before he turned and walked off towards what Emily assumed was the bedroom. She knew that her face must be flushed, and she collapsed onto a nearby sofa, grateful to have a moment to collect her thoughts. But she’d barely sat down when there was a knock on the door.

  ‘Could you get that?’ Nathan yelled, his voice coming from deep within the suite.

  Emily opened the door to a smiling bellboy, who wished her a good morning before wheeling in a cart laden with food – full cooked breakfast, toast, orange juice, fruit, cereal, pancakes and a cafetiere of black coffee.

  Emily suddenly felt like an idiot. What on earth had she been thinking, bringing Nathan Scott a takeaway from Starbucks? Of course he’d order room service.

  The bellboy was still hovering expectantly, and Emily realised he was waiting for a tip. Glancing round, there was still no sign of Nathan, so she rummaged in her bag and handed over ten dollars, hoping that was enough. It seemed to be, as the man thanked her and left. Seconds later, Nathan emerged from his room and Emily couldn’t help but feel a stab of disappointment that he was now fully clothed – albeit looking incredible in jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt that showed off his honed body to perfection.