by Laura Moore
She was laughing her head off.
Grimly he paddled back to her. Reaching her, he sat up.
She wiped her eyes with the back of her mitt. “Oh, man, that was funny.” Her laughter started again.
“Yeah, a real laugh riot.”
“You fell off because you were looking down. A surefire way to eat it.” Still smiling broadly, she said, “Congratulations, you just executed a classic kook move.”
“As a professional concierge, aren’t you supposed to fawn over your clients?”
She cocked her head. “I didn’t think you enjoyed being fawned over.”
He didn’t. He wanted Dakota to be different from the women he dated. He wanted her to be honest with him. He even liked that she was laughing at him. He hadn’t been teased in a long time.
“Besides, I didn’t realize that I was on the clock out here.” She paused. “Am I on the job?”
He looked at her, with the tight black hood framing her caramel-brown eyes, her straight nose, and her generous mouth. “I’d rather it was just you and me out here having fun.”
“All right.” Her smile turned dazzling. He hadn’t fully recovered from it when she pointed again. “Another set’s coming. Want to go for it?”
—
It took him three more tries. Then suddenly everything that Dakota had told him when he paddled back to the lineup, dripping and rueful and oh so humbled, finally clicked. He kept his head up, looked in front of him, sprang up and landed in a crouch, arms extended like a surfing ninja…and he was actually doing it, riding the wave, exulting in the power of the water propelling him. He even managed to move his feet and shift his weight, discovering what could make the board zig and then zag.
The rush, the sense of accomplishment, was incredible.
Almost as wonderful as Dakota’s congratulatory whoop and the smile that lit her face when he ended his ride and paddled back to her.
—
Two hours later, they carried their boards back up to the parking lot.
“In the summer, the Ditch Witch food truck parks here. It’s the hot spot to grab an egg sandwich or a burrito or a lobster roll. Off-season, most people head into Montauk and hit the diners there. They can get crowded, but the food’s good,” Dakota told him.
“Wish that truck were here now. I’m starved.” Max caught her looking at him, a smile lifting her cheeks. “What’s got you so amused?” he asked.
“You, I guess. I was just remembering you doing your pop-ups in the cold sand and the countless number of times you got dumped off your board into fifty-degree water.”
“I counted all of four times.”
“Still. You could have jetted to California and taken lessons in Rincon or Malibu. Florida has some decent spots, too. You could have learned in nice, sunny weather and warm water.”
“I like a challenge.” He was finding he liked the challenge of Dakota Hale a lot.
“Well, you rose to it, that’s for sure. You really nailed that last set. Even Rick was impressed, and he’s not a fan of outsiders.”
“Rick’s a good surfer.” Though not as good as Dakota. Max’s first impression of her as an Amazon hadn’t been far off the mark. She was strong and athletic, and her moves were confident and graceful. Smooth. The waves hadn’t been huge or long, but she’d worked each one, eking out every possible second of her ride with cutbacks and board grabs. And yes, he’d watched enough videos to recognize just how well she surfed.
“He is,” she agreed. “Rick’s on the water every day, either here or at Turtle Cove.”
They’d arrived at the car. Dakota propped her board against the rear door and reached up to open the roof rack. She turned, making to lift her board, but Max had already picked it up.
“No, I’ve got it,” he said, feeling a flash of irritation at her surprise. Did no one do anything for this woman? After positioning his board next to Dakota’s and closing the rack, he returned to the conversation. “Rick may surf every day, but you’re much better.”
A rosy flush bloomed on her cheeks. “I wouldn’t say that.”
So she didn’t get a lot of praise, either. “I would. It was great watching you out there. Thanks for taking me and showing me what to do.”
“You’re welcome. So, are you hooked?”
He looked at her. “Yeah. I think I am.” Stepping forward, he framed her face with his hands, gave in to his hunger, and kissed her.
Her lips were cold. She tasted of the sea. Salt and perhaps sweat stiffened the ends of her hair, and the downy skin of her cheeks and throat was coated with a fine layer of grit. Nothing had ever tasted or felt so good.
He angled his head to deepen the kiss, fierce satisfaction filling him when her lips parted and her tongue met his in a slow pass that made him burn. With a groan he slipped a hand to her back, drawing her close until the soft mounds of her breasts pressed against his chest. Arousal drumming through him, he mentally cursed the millimeters of tight neoprene separating their bodies. He wanted Dakota naked, and him caressing and savoring every inch of her long, luscious body.
Lust fueling his brain, he released her lips to whisper roughly, “You’re beautiful. I want to take you to bed.”
Her response wasn’t what he’d hoped for. Stiffening inside that figure-hugging wetsuit, she pulled out of his embrace. Her eyes were enormous, making it easy to read the skittish alarm edging out her arousal. Damn.
“I don’t think going to bed with you would be a good idea.”
“Probably not.” Definitely not. “I want to anyway. I think you do, too.”
“Then you’d be wrong. I don’t sleep with my clients. I’d rather see my business grow. And in my free time? I’d much rather surf than have sex.”
“Having sex with me would in no way affect your business. And not to knock surfing, but all your supposed preference tells me is that you haven’t had very good sex.”
“Again, you’d be wrong. I’m just not interested. Tell you what, though. If anything changes in the next couple of years, I’ll give you a call.” She flashed a smile colder than the ocean had been each time he’d planted his face in it.
She didn’t know him well enough to realize that he excelled at looking for weaknesses and vulnerabilities, whether it was in a rival football team or in a company he wanted to buy. Today it was in a beautiful woman whose kiss was enough to bring him to his knees. When he’d held her, his fingers had found the pulse point beneath her jaw. It was still hammering furiously. “I don’t think I’ll have to wait that long.”
“Why, because you’re so irresistible?”
She was even sexier when her back was up. A part of him was grateful that she was fighting their attraction. He should, too. He’d managed to convince himself that he was doing a decent job of ignoring his desire, but he realized he only truly succeeded when he was about eighty miles away from Dakota. The other part of him—the more dominant part—wanted to win and have her admit that she, too, was feeling the charge between them, one powerful enough to light up Manhattan. “Well, you seem to think I am.”
Her lips pursed in irritation. “I do, do I?”
He gave an easy nod, which only seemed to infuriate her more. “Yeah. If your kiss is any sign.”
“That—that—” she sputtered. “That was shock.”
“No, that was desire. You didn’t want me to stop.”
Her laugh was a fraction too loud. “Now I understand why you’re so strong for a Wall Street type. It’s from carrying around that massive ego.”
To think that she’d been on the verge of inviting Max to John’s Pancake House for a post-surf breakfast, Dakota fumed as she drove back to East Hampton. Had they gone to the diner, he’d have probably spent the entire time looking across the table with that too-knowing gleam in his eyes and that smug smile playing across his lips. Instead of enjoying the melt-in-your mouth pancakes, she’d have been craving some more of Max’s melt-your-whole-body kisses.
It hadn’t helped that,
after calling him out for his colossal arrogance, he’d merely shrugged and then ever so casually begun peeling off his wetsuit. Roped muscles had flexed under lightly tanned skin, and she’d glimpsed flat brown nipples puckered from the cold. Instantly her own had tightened in response. She’d hastily turned away, but not before catching a flash of his taut abdomen and the narrow line of dark hair below his navel and hearing his amused laughter.
She was pretty sure the image of a half-naked Max Carr was forever seared into her brain.
She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. Now dressed in sweats and a slate-blue fleece jacket that made his eyes even more intense, he had his cellphone pressed to his ear. The phone had buzzed as they were settling into the Toyota, relieving her of the need to come up with any more useless put-downs.
Eavesdropping wasn’t a habit she indulged in often. But alongside her aggravation lived an undeniable fascination. Max was handsome, intelligent, interesting, and successful. She also knew he was far too smart to divulge any confidential information with her sitting next to him. But what had her listening so attentively was the change in his voice, now sharpened to a cutting edge. Inches from her elbow, his fingers drummed impatiently against the seat.
From what she could gather, someone named Chris was recounting his Friday night in lengthy detail. Dakota was forcefully reminded of Piper, who liked nothing better than to entertain herself by calling up to describe a night of clubbing or charity gala mingling, two favorite man-hunting grounds. Ever since Piper had called her a bitch—her unique version of maternal devotion and support—Dakota had been spared any mother-daughter chats. The Hale sisters’ pique continued. And the silence was golden. Almost worth the sting of the cut.
This Chris person must be tone-deaf, for he didn’t seem to hear the stony disinterest in Max’s voice. Then the conversation turned to business, confirming beyond a doubt that Chris was not simply an annoying friend, and Max reeled off numbers, mentioned something about restructuring and margins, and said that no, he didn’t think Brent Carson would be a better choice for CFO. “Because he’s an asshole and a stupid one at that,” he answered witheringly. “Yes, Chris, I’ll be talking to him on Monday.”
A man like Max didn’t need to be told whom to contact—no one got to where he was by ignoring important details and calls. That he was not amused must have finally gotten through to Chris. Abruptly the topic shifted. Not that it made Max any more relaxed.
“Yeah, I’m there now. No, not much. As you said, the place is dead. Had to see to some stuff, that’s all. Sure you can, once it’s ready. I’ll call you Tuesday.” A jab of his thumb ended the conversation.
For a minute he stared out the window, and even though she knew she was being idiotic, she wished she could come up with the right thing to say to return him to his earlier teasing mood.
She liked seeing him happy.
Because you’ve been trained since birth to be a pleaser. That was true. But she wondered whether there might not be something special about Max that made her pay even closer attention to his moods and made her wish she understood them.
“Everything okay?” she asked at last.
“Yeah. Just had to listen to someone who thinks I should be doing a lot more for him than making him CEO of a potentially very profitable company.”
“Oh. One of the chest thumpers.”
He glanced over at her. “Chest thumpers?”
“Yes,” she said nodding. “They thump their chests and go, ‘Me, me, me’ while they’re waiting in line at the Seafood Shop or demanding a table at Nick and Toni’s. They’re as big a problem as the deer population out here. Definitely should be sterilized.”
That earned her a chuckle. “I might mention that to Chris next time he decides to bug me.” He fell back into silence as she turned left onto Further Lane, the road that would allow her to bypass East Hampton and the morning shoppers. Perhaps realizing they weren’t far from Windhaven, he said, “I haven’t told you how much I like what you did with the rooms in the house.”
“I’m glad it meets your approval,” she said stiffly.
“So you’re still ticked off at me, huh?”
She gave him a sidelong glance.
“Listen, I’m not going to apologize for saying I’d like to take you to bed. Besides, you seem to have a pretty good BS meter, so what’s the point? But as for the renovation, it’s terrific, Dakota. The place no longer looks anything like it did when I bought it. I wasn’t sure you’d be able to pull it off so well or so quickly.”
She softened a bit. “Well, we’re not done yet, but I told you Astrid was good.”
“You’re good. After you’ve finished the house, I’d like you to do the guest cottage, too.”
“Okay.” She tamped down on the urge to jump up and down in her seat. “I’ll have Astrid look at it on Monday. In the meantime, we’ll get the spare bedrooms finished.”
“I don’t want anyone underfoot.”
“Oh. So the cottage isn’t for friends?” She was careful not to add “family” to her question.
“Friends?” A muscle in his cheek twitched. “No. I need a space for business associates.”
It was hard to feel sorry for a man as successful as Max. But she couldn’t help but think that true friends might be a rarity for him. Was this the collateral damage of being so wealthy and powerful? Or was there something else that made him such a loner?
They were passing the Maidstone with its manicured golf course. Parts of the course had ocean views. The golfers she knew sang its praises. “You’ll want to start working on getting accepted into the Maidstone. Those business associates will appreciate it.” Deciding that now was as good a time as any to inform him of what he was up against, she said, “Just so you know, there’ll be an attempt to blackball you.”
He guessed the source quickly. “Your family?”
“I’d say their grudge grows with every megamillion-dollar deal you clinch. It won’t help when word spreads that Windhaven’s looking much better than it did when it was owned by the Hales.”
“My hiring you—I’ve put you in a real bind, haven’t I?”
“Thanks to you, I’ve been able to give my best employee a raise and a promotion. I may even be able to offer my workers healthcare benefits. My business may not be important to my family, but it is to me.”
“Alex said you’ve built it single-handedly.”
The respect in his tone meant far more than when he’d called her “beautiful,” and a part of her basked in the compliment. “I started doing odd jobs when I was a kid. My list of services grew once I was able to exchange my bike for a car. Being able to stock my clients’ liquor cabinets legally was another milestone.”
“My hiring you, though…that’s a tipping point for your family, right?”
“Maybe, but for ninety-nine percent of my family, I’ve been in the enemy camp since birth.”
“Why?”
It was only on account of his genuine puzzlement that she didn’t deflect the question and switch topics. “You met my uncle Elliott, right? You may have noticed I don’t look like him. I don’t look like any Hale.”
“So your dad was—”
“Unknown. Another mark against me. My presence in the family is an embarrassment. Luckily, my mom is wonderfully careless. She’s always done what she wants. When she found herself pregnant, for some reason she decided that what she wanted was a child. Fortunately, the trust fund she lives on was set up by my great-grandparents and out of my grandparents’ reach. Otherwise she might not have chosen to defy them.”
“Some family you’ve got there.”
She was not going to have him pity her. “I’m past thinking of them as family, except for Piper—my mother—and she’ll get over her snit that I’m working for you soon enough. But when it comes to the Maidstone Club, you have an ace in the hole. Alex Miller will know how to get the votes for you.”
He looked out his window. “I don’t like imposing on him
.”
And she really liked him for saying that. “He’ll see it as helping a friend, not as an imposition.” She flicked on her indicator and turned into his driveway.
“On the subject of impositions, I had a good time today. Can I come out again with you?”
“We’re talking surfing, right?”
“The weather’s not exactly conducive to sex on the beach.”
She couldn’t believe she was blushing like a teenager. “Yeah, well, that’s definitely not happening.”
“A shame.” The corner of his mouth lifted engagingly. “But yeah, I did mean surfing.”
Growing up with Piper as a mother, she’d been given a master class in the art of getting out of doing anything and everything. But just as she was coming to recognize Max’s moods, she knew he was getting good at reading her. If she nixed any future surfing sessions, he’d guess that she was nervous around him, and he’d guess why.
“It wouldn’t be right or safe for you to go out without a buddy. You can come with me until you’re more proficient and have gotten to know the other surfers and when they’re likely to be out on the water.” To make sure he didn’t read more into her agreeing to surf with him than her simply being friendly, she switched topics. “You might want to pick up another car for your surfboard. I doubt the Maserati would appreciate the potholes leading to the beach.”
“I’ll add that to the weekend’s shopping list.”
“The joys of being über-wealthy,” she murmured.
“What’s that?”
“Nothing,” she said, pulling up to the garage.
He opened his door and paused before climbing out. “You’re off to get the tire replaced?”
She nodded. “I made an appointment for ten. And I’m thinking it can be patched.”
“No. Have it and the other tires replaced. The treads are worn. I checked.”
He would have.
“What garage do you use again?” he asked.
“Joe’s, on Brick Kiln Road. They do good work. Not sure they’re up to tackling Maseratis, though. You’re better off with your dealer.”