Bad Boy Summer (Bad Boys on Holiday Book 5)

by Sylvia Pierce

  But then reality crept in, fogging up the edges of her postcard-perfect day, settling in her stomach with an icy chill she just couldn't shake.

  That paper isn’t going to write itself.

  Ferguson is going to kill me.

  I’m letting everyone down.

  Why can’t I get my work done on time?

  The thoughts crashed through her head, one after the other, killing any chance she had at relaxing. While Luke and Decker debated the best way to tandem surf, she dove under another wave, drifting with the current until she had separated from the group. When she popped up again, Lizzie caught her eye and swam over.

  “Hey, you okay?" Lizzie’s face was pinched with concern. In a low voice, she said, “if you're not into Decker, we can tell them to take a hike. I can hook up with Luke later.”

  “No, it’s not that.” Pam slicked her hair back, blinking the salt out of her eyes. “Sorry. Every time I try to relax, my stomach gets knotted up and I can't catch my breath. It's like I can hear Mr. Ferguson scolding me in my head, yelling at me to get back to work, and I just… I freak out inside. Crazy, right?”

  “Not crazy.” Liz squeezed her hand under the water. “I just… I don't want you to get sick again, Deeds. That phone call… shit, girl. You scared the hell out of me!”

  Pam thought about that night in the hospital, her shirt torn open as the nurses stuck her with an IV needle and EKG leads and blood pressure cuffs, all of them talking in code while she sat there alone and scared, shivering, convinced she was having a heart attack. Lucky for her, it was just a panic attack. As soon as they’d given her the all-clear, she’d called Liz, cried into the phone about the whole thing.

  Now, she rubbed her arms, fighting off a chill. “Trust me, I scared the hell out of me. Not trying to do that again, thanks.”

  “Graduate school, your job… it just seems like you're under a lot of pressure, and I'm not even sure any of it is making you happy.”

  Pam opened her mouth to deny it, but the words wouldn't come. Lizzie was right—half right, anyway. It wasn't making her happy—not at the moment. But just like she’d told Ash, all the hard work would eventually pay off in spades. All she had to do was work her ass off now, and in ten years, maybe fifteen, she’d be set for life.

  “It's more like an investment in future happiness,” Pam said.

  Lizzie's eyebrows drew together. “Not if it kills you before you can cash in.”

  “Now you sound like your brother.”

  “You talked to him about this?”

  Pam’s eyes stung again with saltwater, and she squeezed them shut to avoid the burn. When she opened them, Liz was eyeing her skeptically.

  “Well,” Liz said, “what did he say?”

  “Probably the same thing you're going to say. He thinks I'm doing this to avoid turning into my mother. I mean, he didn’t say it exactly, but I got the message.” Pam couldn't help but scowl. Saying the words out loud left a bitter taste in her mouth.

  “Aren't you?” Lizzie asked, then rushed to add, “I don't mean in the rebellious, just-want-to-piss-her-off way. I mean because you don't want to end up like her.”

  “Would you?” Her mother had married for money twice, traded in everything she’d ever wanted to be or do just to please her husbands. Pam couldn’t recall a time when the woman had ever looked truly happy.

  “Of course not,” Liz said, “but I don't think that's a reason to sacrifice your own health or happiness.”

  Pam shrugged. She didn’t think that’s what she’d been doing, but then again, healthy, happy twenty-nine-year-olds didn’t end up in the ER with a stress-induced panic attack.

  “Pam, you're my best friend.” Lizzie grabbed Pam’s shoulders, her hands cool and slippery, but firm. “And if you want to be the reigning queen bitch of Wall Street, you know I’m there cheering you on the whole way, sending you ten percent of my measly salary to invest in high-risk, blue chip pork futures or whatever you tell me is the latest and greatest. But you have to be honest with yourself about whether this is really what you want, or if it's just your fail-safe.”

  “So what if it is? I want to be financially independent. To take care of myself. There's nothing wrong with a safety net.”

  “No, but there are other ways—”

  Pam slid out from Lizzie’s grip and dove under the water, letting those last words skim through the waves over her head. Not the most mature move, but it was a quick escape, giving her just enough time to collect her thoughts.

  She didn't have the words to explain this, and she didn't have to. The only one she owed anything to—including an explanation—was herself, and she’d been down that road a dozen times already. No, finance wasn’t the kind of thing that sent her leaping out of bed in the morning excited to start her day, or pulling over to the side of the road so she could take notes on some brilliant creative breakthrough. But she was good at it—really good at it—and this career path pretty much guaranteed her a sweet salary and good job prospects in every major city in the world, especially New York. She could even start her own consulting company one day.

  And most of all, she would never, ever have to give up her life—her very identity—to a man in exchange for a roof over her head, food on the table, and some bullshit allowance. She would never be a kept woman, never have to bend to the whims of a man just because he was the one in charge of the checkbook. Just because he was the one who could wake up one day and decide he’d had enough.

  When Pam finally surfaced for air, Liz had already rejoined the guys. Pam swam over to them, but the mood had shifted, their carefree summer fun fizzling out. As much as Pam wanted to stay in the water, she didn't want to be anyone's buzzkill. Especially not Lizzie’s.

  “Thanks for the lessons, guys,” she said, forcing a smile. “But I need to get back to work.”

  Both guys hugged her goodbye, Decker holding on a little bit longer, a little bit tighter. She looped her arms around his neck and closed her eyes, trying to focus on the feel of his body against hers, his skin cool and slick from the water. She touched the back of his hair and thought about stretching up on her tiptoes, letting him pull her into an easy kiss—he was hoping for exactly that, she could tell. But every time she tried to picture that kiss, tried to keep his face clear in her mind, another man appeared before her eyes, blotting out Decker like storm clouds eclipsing the sun.

  Ash, dark and devious, flooding her senses with his scent, his eyes, the taste of his lips… She couldn't break free of him, not even in the arms of a hot, funny, flirty lifeguard who was obviously interested in her.

  She didn’t want to break free from Ash. That was the problem.

  In the end, she kissed Decker on the cheek and promised the guys she would keep an eye out for them the next time she was on the beach. With a wave to Liz, she swam for the shore, trudged out onto the sand, and headed back up to Summerland.

  Back up to her laptop and email.

  Back up to Ash.

  Chapter Eleven

  That little bikini was going to be the death of him.

  Ash sat on a beach chair on the deck, feet propped up on the railing, watching as Pam made her way back to the house. Someone must've been smiling down on him today, because all she had on was that baiting suit and the small towel wrapped around her hips.

  She walked like she had somewhere important to be, shoulders thrown back, head straight ahead as she plowed through the sand. She walked, Ash realized, like a goddamn New Yorker.

  But despite that glaring flaw, she was as gorgeous as ever, with long, toned legs and soft shoulders, wet hair bouncing down her back. When she got close to the house, she looked up and caught his eye.

  She smiled and waved when she saw him, then picked up the pace, jogging up the sandy incline to the porch. He tried not to look too happy about it.

  “Finished with that sink already?” Pam climbed up the stairs and stopped in front of his chair, panting a little from the jog. Drops of water slid down h
er shoulders and over the soft mounds her breasts, disappearing behind the twin black triangles of her bathing suit. “Guess you didn't need my help after all.”

  It took him a minute to remember how to form words, to remember why he’d come out here, remember why the fuck anyone would want to spend five seconds away from Pam in the first place.

  “Nah,” he finally said, holding up his beer. “I’m on lunch break.”

  “Got one of those for me?”

  Sliding his feet off the railing, he nodded toward the empty chair next to him, then fished out a beer from his cooler and popped the cap.

  “Thanks.” Situating herself in the chair, Pam grabbed the bottle and tipped it back against her lips, taking a few long sips. Ash watched her throat work as she swallowed, trying to keep his dick in check. It was a failed fucking effort; all he could think about was her perfect lips wrapped around his cock, the soft little sucking sounds she made, the way her throat tightened when he—

  “You okay there, tough guy?” Pam glanced at Ash’s hand. His knuckles were white around the neck of the bottle. “If you’re not careful, you’ll break that.”

  “Break… I’m… right. I’m on lunch break, like I said.”

  Jesus. How the fuck long had he been out there? He was talking like an idiot—like he had heat stroke or something. He really needed to wrap this up and get back to work. The sink was currently in pieces all over the floor, and after another beer or two, he might not remember how to reassemble those pipes.

  Still, he was glad Pam was back. That things between them seemed okay, their earlier tension forgotten. He wondered how long he could keep it going.

  “You find Liz?” he asked.

  Pam nodded, her eyes scanning the shore. “She was in the water with Luke and Decker.”

  “The fuck are they?”

  Pam shrugged. “Couple of hottie lifeguards teaching us how to surf.”

  Anger flared in his chest. “I taught you how to surf. Like, two decades ago. Forget already, New York?”

  She gave him her megawatt smile. “Jealous?”

  “Of a couple of board jockeys? Don’t get your hopes up.” He chugged the last of his beer, then dug another out of the cooler. Luke and Decker? Fuck those guys. Turning back to Pam, he said, “If they’re such hotties, why are you back so soon?”

  She didn't answer right away, just sat there scratching at the bottle label with her thumbnail. It peeled off in little white strips that blew away in the breeze.

  “Now who's the one with the smoking brain?” He reached across the gap between them and tugged on one of her wet curls. “What's going on in that head of yours?”

  “The answer to that question is almost always going to be work.” Pam blew out a breath. “I'm becoming a full-on workaholic, and I'm not even thirty.”

  “Wait… becoming?” Ash sat back in his chair and laughed. “This, from the girl who used a highlighter and sticky notes to organize her grocery list? The girl who signed up for junior lifeguards, and then gave hand-written critiques to the actual lifeguards after every lesson? The girl who bought all of her college textbooks two months early just so she could get a head start on reading? That girl? That’s who’s worried she’s becoming a workaholic?”

  Pam’s cheeks were the color of ripe apples, but she was laughing her ass off. “I can't believe you remembered about the grocery list and junior lifeguards.”

  “You still do that with the list, don't you?”

  “Guilty.”

  “I bet you carry at least four different colored highlighters in your purse at all times.”

  Pam gave his arm a good smack. “I do not! Just the pink one and the yellow.”

  “In case you need to highlight something when you're out and about?”

  “You'd be surprised.”

  Ash shook his head. “So how the hell is a girl like you having so much trouble with her thesis? Seems like that kind of project would be right up your type-A alley.”

  “I'm not having trouble. I'm just…” She took another slug on that beer, then went back to shredding the label with her nail. She didn’t answer after that; just stared out at the sea.

  Ash wished he could see inside her head, figure out what was wrong. What he could say to make it better.

  “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad before,” he finally said. “About the Wall Street thing.” He tapped her bare foot with his. “I think it’s pretty badass what you’re doing. I mean… Damn, Deeds. You definitely got the brains in this operation.”

  She shrugged. “It’s just business.”

  “You keep saying that, but I know there's a lot more to it. You work your ass off. Always have. You see something you want, and you go after it, no matter how hard it is, no matter how many people tell you it’s impossible.” Ash slugged his beer, then wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “I’ve always admired that about you.”

  “Really?” She looked him with those big blue eyes again, wide with surprise. Jesus. How could she not know?

  “Really.” He held her gaze for a minute, but the intensity of the moment was freaking him the fuck out. Blatantly lowering his eyes to her chest, he said, “That, and your perfect set of—”

  “Don't even say it, pervert.”

  “I was gonna say highlighters, Pam. Highlighters. What were you thinking?”

  “I'm thinking I need more alcohol for this conversation.” She leaned forward and reached into the cooler, pulling out another beer for Ash and one for herself.

  “You're a bad influence,” he said.

  “I thought you liked me that way.”

  “I like you every way. On your back, on your front, in the shower, in the tent…” Ash pinned her with his gaze, watching her squirm. He knew they were on a slippery slope again, but fuck it. She had to know the effect she was having on him. He could hardly think straight around her, and even though the situation was as hopeless as before—two more weeks, she’d be on a plane, right back to New York—he couldn't help falling into old habits. Making her blush. Making her laugh. Making her squirm.

  Three of his specialties, right there.

  She downed half of her beer before breaking for air. When she finally turned to look at him again, her eyes were glassy and dark with desire, despite the rigid set of her shoulders. “I think it's pretty clear who’s the bad influence in this operation, scholar of ass.”

  “Anytime you need a lesson, I'm your naughty professor. Especially if you need a critique of that ass. I’m very… thorough.”

  She rolled onto her hip, giving him an all-too-brief peek at her perfect, beautiful cheek, coated in sand. “This ass? I think it's in pretty good shape. But I'll keep you in mind if I need a second opinion.”

  Ash couldn't help but laugh again, despite the aching throb in his pants. “So this is drunk Deeds? I like it. You're less uptight when you drink.”

  She readjusted her towel, covering up those creamy thighs. Might as well cut off my air supply.

  “I'm not uptight,” she said defensively. “I’m just… I’m concentrating. I have a lot going on right now. A lot of people counting on me. My advisor, my boss, my colleagues… God. Seems like all I do lately is juggle other people’s balls.”

  Holy fuck. “Is there, like, a waiting list for that?” he asked. “And if so can I sign up? Twice?”

  Pam laughed so hard she spilled beer on her belly, which only made her laugh harder. “Guess I kind of walked into that one.”

  “You set ‘em up, I knock ‘em down.”

  “Yeah, well, I'm not uptight. Just so you know.” She nudged his foot with hers, then wiped her hand across her middle. “Beer belly. Gross.”

  Ash grabbed her hand and licked her fingers. She pulled away and smacked him, still cracking up.

  “What?” he said. “You can’t just waste perfectly good beer like that. That’s alcohol abuse.”

  She scooted her chair closer, then dumped a splash of beer down his chest. “Lick yourself, pervert.” />
  “Would if I could, sweetheart.”

  More laughing, more beer. With each new bottle, each joke, each flirty look, their chairs got closer and closer together, until suddenly Ash and Pam were side-by-side, their bare arms brushing. Her skin was so smooth, so warm. Ash wanted to run his hand up her arm, over her shoulder, along the back of her neck, right where he knew she was most sensitive.

  Her hair was dry now, falling in salty waves over her shoulders, right above the swell of her breasts. Looking at her made him ache, inside and out.

  “God, you’re beautiful,” he whispered.

  Pam’s breath caught, heat creeping into her cheeks. His eyes were locked on hers, waiting. Neither of them spoke. Neither of them fucking moved, not even to breathe.

  He lifted his hand to her face, cupping her cheek. She leaned into this touch, her eyelids fluttering closed as she let out a soft sigh. Ash couldn't take it. Didn’t matter that nothing had changed, that their lives were so far apart they may as well live in different countries. All they had was right now, and fuck, he needed to taste her, to feel the hot slide of her tongue between his lips, to make her gasp.

  Before he could talk himself out of it, Ash leaned over the side of his chair and kissed her, full on.

  Her lips parted immediately, her tongue sliding out to meet his with a soft moan that made his heart kick. She tasted like saltwater and beer and the sweetness he would always recognize as hers alone, a taste he’d missed more than anything. He slid his other hand from her cheek to the back of her neck, stroking her skin, just how she used to like it.

  Pam shivered at his touch.

  His eyes had closed the moment their lips met, but now he wanted to see her, to watch her as he sucked her plump bottom lip between his teeth. But the moment he opened his eyes, he spotted his sister in the distance, jogging up toward the house.

  “Shit.” He pulled away, hating every inch of space between them. God, that fucking kiss. He nodded toward the beach, his head spinning. “Here comes trouble.”