by Caro LaFever
She didn’t have to worry.
Or do anything.
Did she?
“Why don’t we go onto the terrace?” her mom suggested, her smile serene. “We can enjoy the fresh breeze, and have a few after-dinner cocktails.”
Their terrace was one of her favorite spots in the home. As a kid, she’d taken her coloring books and Barbie dolls and Winkie out to spend the entire day, sitting in the shaded area. One of best memories was when she and Spencer had sat on the white-and-blue striped seats, to kiss for the first time. Unlike the caveman, her boyfriend’s kisses were always respectful and loving.
And boring.
The thought irritated her to the point that she jerked to a stand.
Charlie eyed her as he rose as well. “Ready to go, I take it.”
“Yes, I am.” Ready to confront this de Molina guy and drive him off. Ready to comfort her daddy and tell him she believed in him. Ready to get this evening over with. Their guests laughed and chattered as they stood and headed toward the open doors leading out to the terrace. Risa let Charlie take her elbow, and followed her mom and the crowd. She kept her gaze narrowed on her father, the Nose, and the caveman. None of them looked cheerful, or were talking to each other.
Good. She didn’t want that guy to have anything to do with Migneault Perfumery. She was sure there had to be another way to save the company—if that’s what was going on. A chill swept across her body at the thought of the perfumery going under. She couldn’t let that happen.
Her daddy wouldn’t let that happen.
Would he?
“Maurisa.” Her mom bustled to her side, her smile no longer serene.” Go talk with your father.”
“What?” Slipping her arm out of Charlie’s light grasp, she stared at the threesome again. “Why?”
“Because he needs your charming company.” Her mom switched her attention to the man smirking at her side. “Mr. Woodstone, can I offer you a brandy?”
They drifted off, leaving her to reluctantly head toward the three men who’d stationed themselves at the far side of the terrace. She’d wanted to keep away until the caveman left before asking her daddy what the man had said to make him so scared. Still, if her father wanted her, she was right there for him.
The sun’s last light lingered, drawing strands of green on the blue of the ocean. August tended to be humid, but tonight, the air was sultry rather than soggy. A crisp breeze stirred the palm trees wafting above her head.
“Hi, Daddy.” She pulled on her charm and a chilly smile. “Having fun?”
Her dad was not having fun. That was clear by the dark furrow on his brow, and how his mustache drooped. Sliding her arm around him, she shot a pointed glare at the caveman. She ignored the Nose because he did the same to her.
“Great dinner.” Her father’s voice was tinged with desperation. “Wasn’t it, Ivan?”
“Yes, it was.” The dry, bored tone of the response told a different story. “The conversation wasn’t so great, however.”
Enrique de Molina didn’t appear to care about her icy glare, or the shot from the Nose. He lounged on the white-washed stone wall separating the terrace from the beach. The breeze picked up the strands of his dark hair, ruffling them into a curling mess.
An adorable mess.
If the man attempted adorable.
He didn’t. He gave her a cross between a leer and a sneer. Luckily, only the Nose caught it. Her dad was too busy telling the waiter he wanted his usual Grand Marnier.
“What will you have to drink, Riq?” His hearty tone belied the worry in his eyes.
“Do you happen to have Sanchez Romate brandy?” The caveman’s smooth request hummed on her nerves.
Risa stiffened at her daddy’s side. Her parents had taught her about good food and wine. She knew how to pair fish with white and steak with red. Her French grandparents had taught her to appreciate and value culture as well as fine perfume. Her knowledge of brandies wasn’t comprehensive, but she knew enough to know he’d just asked for the best Spanish brandy in the world.
Her daddy coughed in obvious surprise.
De Molina’s full mouth twisted, and the muscles of his arms and legs tensed.
Which, to her despair, drew her attention to the length of his body and the rich roll of his shoulders underneath the custom-made suit coat. The breeze took one side of his white shirt and teased it farther open, letting her see the edge of his collarbone and the gleam of his olive skin.
Her mouth went dry.
“Princess.” Her father’s arm tightened around her. “What would you like to drink?”
Her nickname, said with the usual warmth, made the caveman’s lips curl with contempt.
Princesa.
His wicked name for her rumbled in her memory, a light accent of disdain and Spain licking the vowels.
From the protection of her daddy’s embrace, she sneered back. “I’ll have a grappa.”
The waiter took the Nose’s request and hustled off for the drinks.
“What were you talking about at dinner, Daddy?” Her sharp question circled in the air, and elicited three very different responses from the men surrounding her.
The Nose snorted, indicating he didn’t think she was worthy to hear anything he’d said.
Her father frowned, concern filling his expression, as if he didn’t want his baby to be disturbed.
The caveman did nothing, other than continue to give her a mocking gaze.
“Just business. Nothing for you to worry about, honey.”
For two months, she’d put up with her daddy’s attitude. Two months of smiling when he told her she didn’t need to attend the meeting. Two months of sitting in her corner office going through reports that meant nothing. Two months of pretending she didn’t have a brain cell in her head.
Two months was enough.
“Would you like to take a walk on the beach, Mr. Molina?”
Her father’s arm tightened in shock. The Nose snorted again, but this time it was filled with surprise.
The caveman continued to lounge. “It’s Mr. de Molina.”
A flush of embarrassment rose, making her angry. At him for pointing out her ignorance. At herself for caring. “Well?”
Her wave toward the beach appeared to amuse him. Those lush lips quirked up. “Sure. Why the hell not?”
“Princess, I’m not sure—”
“I’ll be fine, Daddy.” Going on her tiptoes, she gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “We’ll just go to the end of the island and back.”
She felt the caveman following her as they passed her worried-looking mother, a grinning Charlie, and all the other guests. The steps leading down to the beach were worn by successive storms, so she stopped and pulled off her heels.
Silence came from behind her.
Taking her courage in her hands, she walked onto the beach and stood at the edge of the waves. Unlike many of their neighbors, her parents had opted for an actual sand beach, instead of a rock wall and green grass. They’d told her they’d wanted her to be able build sandcastles, and dream her fairy tale dreams. Her toes dug into the sand and, for a brief moment, she imagined herself a kid once more, running along the strip of the island, giggling as her daddy swept her into his arms.
This man behind her had upset her father.
And for that, he was going to pay. What he was going to pay, she wasn’t sure yet. But she’d always been good on her feet.
Her toes curled into the sand once more.
He walked to stand beside her, his hands stuck in his pockets. “Nice view.”
The words were lacquered in complete scorn.
Her non-existent temper bubbled. “Yes, it is. Is that a problem?”
Glancing at her, his eyes gleamed for a moment when the sunset hit his face. “Not if you can afford it.”
The allusion was obvious. He was saying her daddy couldn’t afford this house on the beach anymore. Exactly what she’d been thinking right before the dinner party bega
n. The realization only made her angrier. If it was the last thing she did, she was going to make this guy eat his words and opinions about her family.
“Let’s walk.” She took off toward the end of her father’s property, right at the curve of the island. Figuring she’d buy some time before she confronted this jerk about what he’d said to her daddy, she kept her focus on the ocean water, something that usually calmed her.
It took a moment, but he soon strode to her side again. His feet were bare now, too.
The memory shot through her.
His flip-flop. The one she still had in the clutch she hadn’t opened since last weekend. Maybe he’d see it as a peace offering. Or maybe he wouldn’t. And why should she be thinking about offering this man anything?
She frowned at his feet.
Plus, she definitely didn’t want to bring up the time in the closet and the memory of their kissing.
“What?” His tone was amused. “Is there something wrong with my feet?”
Sadly, no. Not that she had a foot fetish. But if she did, she’d have to admit his feet were very male and very attractive. The arches were high and his nails well clipped. She’d bet he wasn’t the type to go get a pedicure, yet, he did attend to his feet.
“No, to your unspoken question. No pedicures for me.”
Her head yanked up to meet his alert gaze. The sun had sunk now, behind the island, and the soft lights from the house and their neighbors’ mansions cast only a faint glow into the growing night. But he still penetrated the gloom with his presence. She had the troubling thought that he might be able to do the same thing in the pitch black.
Not that she’d ever want to find out.
“Marines learn to take care of their feet,” he said, his tone turning casual, like he was ready to be a friend.
Not that she wanted the same.
Now that they were both on bare feet, she got a sense of how tall this man really was. Except it was more than his height. It was the bulk of him that made her feel far more petite than she ever had with Spencer.
The memory of her boyfriend made her straighten and walk faster.
Without seeming to make any effort at all, he matched her gait. “So tell me, Princesa—”
“Don’t call me that.”
He shrugged his broad shoulders, as if flicking off an irritating flea. “It’s what your father calls you.”
“He’s my father.” She yanked up the hem of her dress to her thighs so she could pace rather than walk. “You’re not.”
A rumble came from her side. It wasn’t like any other chuckle she’d ever heard. Instead of witty or wry, it was filled with a wild strain—like a large animal had suddenly come upon the human trait of chuckling and was playing with it.
The sound made her glance his way.
His gaze was on her legs.
His hot gaze.
She’d been around enough men to know when they lusted. Sure, she’d been Spencer’s girl throughout college, but she’d gotten enough male looks to know. A shot of pure lust zipped into her blood stream. And she hated it. “Tell me what you said to my daddy at dinner.”
“Daddy,” he mused. “Are you still five years old, Princesa?”
“Don’t call me that,” she said again, her irritation escalating, as well as the heat in her body. “Tell me.”
He stopped, his gorgeous feet landing solidly in the sand, his body straightening into what she could only describe as a military stance. His hands came out of his pockets and his arms folded in front of him. Risa stopped, too, and faced him. She didn’t care what he said, he was a caveman. Except she wanted to know, and she knew her daddy wouldn’t tell her.
Molina—no, wait, de Molina—stared at her.
She didn’t back down in the face of that hard stare, nor the tough pose. She might be younger and smaller and female, but she was a match for this guy.
He nodded, a sharp clipped move. “Your daddy’s company is going under.”
Ignoring his condescending emphasis, she gaped. “No.”
“Yes,” he snapped back. “My take is he’s not willing to do what needs to be done to make it grow again. He also doesn’t have the money.”
“But…but…” She stuttered to a stop, her heart breaking.
“I gave him my thoughts, and he didn’t appreciate them.” His arms dropped to his sides, and he shrugged once more. This time, as if he couldn’t be bothered to care. “That’s what we were discussing at dinner.”
She shouldn’t trust anything this man said, but her intuition told her he was telling the truth. Why would he lie? He barely knew her, and from what Charlie told her, he did know business. He was an angel investor.
Staring at him, she almost snorted through her distress.
An angel.
Right.
“We’ll fix it.”
The dark slash of his brows rose. “We? You and your wonderful daddy?”
“We have other employees. Extremely competent employees.” Her mind whirled, trying to run down the few people she’d met at the office. “We’ll figure something out to save the company.”
“You do that.” He glanced at the ocean, giving her a clear view of his profile. Whenever he looked at her, she got snagged by those dewy blue eyes and rose lips. But now, she noted the strong, determined jut of his jaw and the straight blade of his nose. The contrast between those lush, almost feminine lips and dreamy eyes to the hardness of the planes of his face nearly took her breath.
Nearly.
“Now it’s my turn.”
“What?” She let go of the grasp on her hem, feeling a frisson of excited worry go up her spine. Something in the way he stood now gave the female part of her a warning.
“Here’s the thing.” With a lazy move that made her think of a big cat taking a stroll, he reached out and tugged on her arm.
“What are you doing?”
Ignoring her question, he tucked her into his body like he’d found a lost toy he wanted to play with. “We’ve got some unfinished business.”
Risa pushed ineffectively on the hard chest in front of her. She also tried to keep herself from noticing the warmth emanating from him and the curl of spicy scent she caught as he came nearer. “I only wanted to find out about my family’s business.”
“The only thing you wanted?” That wild rumble came from his chest once more, thrumming on her breasts. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” She clung to the last strand of her brain. “I’m sure.”
Without warning, he dipped his head and took. Just like before, he sucked her mouth from her control and into his. But instead of using his tongue right away, he took his time, sipping on her like she was the cognac he never got on her parents’ terrace. His strong arms surrounded her, lifting her off her feet and into alignment with his want.
He wanted her.
A hard, potent jut between his hips told her so.
Gasping, she lost the last strand of conscience, turning to a mush of female need. Her hands flew into his hair, relishing the soft tangle compared to the roughness of the five o’clock shadow on his jaw.
His tongue dived in.
The taste of him wasn’t anything she could define. A wicked mix of heat and spice, of lusty male and winsome joy. She leaned in, wanting more, wanting all.
With a jarring abruptness, he dropped her on her feet.
“There,” he said, his voice calm and contained. “That completed the lesson.”
“Huh?” Dazed, she stared up at his face.
For a moment, he looked nonplussed. But then a hard edge curled his lips, and his jaw tightened. “Remember this, Princesa.”
She shook her head, trying to reawaken her brain. “Don’t call me that.”
Looming over her, he used the breadth of his chest to silence her. “Remember,” he snarled, all winsome, lusty need gone. “A SEAL wins. Every time.”
With that strange remark, he took off, striding down the beach at a ground-eating pace.
C
hapter 8
Riq let himself into his condo with a sigh of relief. Tonight had been long. Long, and frustrating, and not as satisfying as he’d hoped.
But at least it was over.
The clatter of nails on tile drew his attention. Jiggs appeared from around the bend leading into the spartan kitchen, his tongue hanging out.
“Hey, boy.” He leaned down to scratch the dog behind his ears. “Need a walk?”
The short tail wagged with excitement, and he chuckled. Grabbing the leash, he and his good buddy clambered down the stairs, since Jiggs wasn’t a fan of the elevator. While the dog took care of business, he leaned on the palm tree in the condo’s courtyard and breathed in the mix of smoke and sea, car exhaust and suntan lotion that was so Miami. When he’d been released from the VA hospital in Washington, D.C., his mother insisted he come home. Not only to the city of his birth, but his parents’ house.
He’d lasted two months.
He loved his parents and yaya, yet he wasn’t the eighteen-year-old kid he’d been when he left home. He needed space. At first, he’d rented this small condo in Midtown Miami. After he started to rake in the money, he hadn’t seen the need to move into a beachfront property costing a fortune. He hadn’t wanted to rent a beach, he’d wanted to own the beach. So he stayed where he was, found his dog, and saved his cash until he bought his island a year ago.
“Done, Jiggs?”
Another tail wag was his answer. By the time he’d given the dog his evening treat of cheese bits covered with peanut butter, Riq was ready for a shower and bed. Walking through the minimalist living room that served as his office more than a home, he made his way into the bedroom. The king-size bed almost filled the small room, leaving only enough space for a small bedside table, where he piled his investment research and an odd book or two his brother, Drew, had given him, which he never read.
Jiggs’ nails clicked on the wooden floor, the dog following him everywhere he went, as usual.
Grinning down, he toed off his shoes and then, chucked his pants and underwear, too. The suit coat he rarely wore was next, followed by the silk shirt his mom had given him to help him in his endless search for a job.