by Debra Kayn
Chapter Two
Bruce and Crista sat alone on the patio at Fisherman’s Bay overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Bruce appreciated Crista putting some thought into their first night together. The seventy-degree weather, the breeze coming off the ocean, and comfortable companionship relaxed him more than anything did after a busy trip.
Well, except for sex, and Crista in her own way was going to help him out there, too.
If he got lucky, he’d soon have a rousing tumble between the sheets with a knockout supermodel. He glanced at the water. Then he’d go to Moses Lake and win the next bass tournament.
“I’m stuffed.” Crista wiped her fingers off on her napkin. “I can’t believe I ate so much.”
He pushed his empty plate out of the way and leaned his elbows on the table. He watched, fascinated, at the way her not-quite-shoulder-length hair kept blowing a wayward strand in her mouth whenever she tried to talk or take a bite of food.
“What’s your schedule like these days?” he asked.
“I do an hour run in the morning, followed by an hour on the bike, and two hours of laps in the swimming pool in the evening. Seven days a week.” She sipped her beer. “Besides doing clinics and speeches when I can find any extra time, I teach a two-hour training class twice a week in the gym at the apartment. I have a contract with the manager of the building to work off rent by giving classes, which is nice and freeing. He also gives me time off to do the Ironman in exchange for free advertising for the classes.”
“Four months until the big race.” He whistled. “Are you still thinking about making this your last Ironman event?”
“It depends. My goal was to go out on a win—which I think I’m capable of doing again, but the right job hasn’t landed in my lap.” She shrugged, hooking the pink striped strand of hair that ran along the curve of her cheekbone behind her ear. “I’m probably in the best shape of my life, but you know my desire to be in the best shape possible and the enjoyment I get from competition always leaned more toward training others. I went to Kona last December to help in a three-week training program for the sole purpose of proving to myself that I’m up for another year of competition. God, you should’ve seen the trouble I had. The high winds on Kawaihai Harbor almost knocked me off my bike. It’s just time to retire from competition while I still have the energy.”
“One of your problems is you’re too small.” He lifted his mug and eyed her over the rim. “Now if you were Janelle’s size … you’d have no problems staying on your bike.”
She curled her lip. “She’s six inches taller, but I bet I’m at least twenty pounds heavier. So, your theory sucks. She’d tip over if I blew on her.”
“Mm hm.” He winked in male appreciation for knockout supermodels, and she threw her wadded napkin at him. “Blow her … ”
“At least I’m maturing faster than your one track mind. It’s time for me to go in a new direction.” She sighed, her blue eyes narrowing on him. “What about you? Where are you off to next?”
“After I’m done visiting you, I’m entered into the Pacific Northwest Moses Lake Tournament to defend my reigning championship for the states.” He scratched his whiskered jaw. “When that’s over, I believe I’m teaching a fishing seminar to raise money for the Children’s Hospital in Seattle. Then I might take a break until next spring. I’m getting burnt-out on traveling.”
“Geez, it sounds like we’re both getting too old for our sports.” She laughed. “You’re in your prime. Thirty-six years old and the world’s at your beck and call. And, someone else pays your way. I envy you. There’s no free ride in the Ironman, and the older I get, the harder it becomes to stay at the top.”
He lowered his voice. “It’s lonely. I thought I’d never admit that, but it’s true. I need to settle down and stay in one place. At least contain my travels to one season. I have a house in Napa Valley, a new home on the coast of Oregon, and a cabin in the Gifford National Forest up in Washington state. Yet I spend more time sleeping on my friends’ couches than I do enjoying what I have.”
She nodded. “Before long, you’ll drop out of singlehood the way the rest of our friends have in the last couple of years. First Grayson, then Dominic, even Juan, and now Gary found someone to make him happy.”
“What about you? Ever think of tying the knot?”
“Yeah. I think about it. Sometimes.” She looked at her watch. “We better head back. I want to get swim time in before the pool closes. Do you feel like pushing me on the laps?”
“When have I ever turned down being in the water?” He laughed at her challenge. “I’ll even give you a twenty second start.”
“You’re so going down.” She stood and looped her arm through his. “It’s nice to have you here.”
“Tell me that when you’re dragging my sorry ass out of the pool.” He strode along the dock, making her hurry to keep up with his longer legs. She’d outswim him. The least he could do was make her work to keep up with him on land.
A half hour later, dressed in swimwear with their towels hung around their necks, Bruce and Crista exited her apartment and headed for the elevator. He flicked her ass with his towel. She screamed and jumped to the other side of the hallway to avoid another sting.
“You are so paying for that.” She held her stance and wound the length of her weapon in her hand. “Prepare to die.”
The end of the towel snapped him on the chest. He winced and set foot after her, not willing to let her win.
She shimmied quickly and then ran. He took his time because the hallway came to a dead-end only ten feet away. He had her cornered.
He aimed and prepared to do damage. She dropped her towel and held her hands out in front of her. “Don’t do it.”
“Dance, sweetheart, dance.” He flicked her feet. “Say it … ”
“No.” She hopped side to side, avoiding the stinging end of the towel. “Never.”
“Faster.” The white towel blurred in front of her and he laughed. Damn, she was light on her feet.
She screamed and plastered herself against an apartment door. “Okay. Okay. Bruce Coldwell, you are the man.”
“I’ll take that for now. Next time, I want you to do better. I prefer you to acknowledge my stamina and prowess.” He wiggled his brows. “Feel free to compare me to the coconut in your bathroom, if you prefer.”
She shook her head and laughed, trying to catch her breath. “Your ego is going to kill you one—”
One second she was pressed against the door, and the next she fell through open air. He rushed forward, but not before her ass took the brunt of the fall. Hard.
He squatted, grimacing. “Sorry, sweetheart. Are you all right?”
Crista blinked up at him, lost in the mishap and reaching for him. He stroked her cheek and kissed her forehead. “Just sit there for a second and get your breath.”
Crista nodded, clutching his hand. He inhaled deeply, hoping she was okay. He felt awful. He should’ve seen what was happening and stopped her from falling.
“Better?” he asked.
She moistened her lips. “Yeah, I think.”
“What are you doing on the floor, Crista?” Janelle stood behind Crista, looming over them both.
The legs he’d admired earlier on Crista’s neighbor stretched on forever. He trailed his gaze from her high heels on up to the high hem of her dress at the top of her thighs. He blew his cheeks out, unable to stop staring. Crista slapped his arm, and he stood, helping her off the floor.
She let him pull her up, but wrinkled her nose at the movement. “It’s the agony of defeat.”
Bruce frowned. “Sorry. I had no idea the door would open.”
“It’s okay.” She rubbed her backside. “My fault. I wasn’t watching what I was doing.”
“I’m glad you came over.” Janelle grabbed Crista’s arm, tugging her away from Bruce. “I want you to tell me which outfit I should wear tomorrow night.”
“We weren’t coming over.” Crista grabbed Bruce’
s hand and pried herself away from Janelle. “We’re on our way to the pool.”
“That’s not important. The pool is open around the clock.” Janelle tossed her hair over her bare shoulder.
“Uh.” Crista glanced at the skimpy black cocktail dress hugging Janelle’s curves. “You look great.”
Great? Janelle looked fantastic. Mind blowingly sexy, in Bruce's opinion.
“Not this one, silly. I need to change into them.” Janelle stepped back. “Come on, I’ll show you.”
“We really need to go.” Crista stepped over to stand beside him. “Another time, maybe?”
Janelle’s lower lip came out. “Please?”
Bruce clamped his teeth to keep from grunting at the erotic scene and nudged Crista with his elbow. “Are you sure you’re okay, ’cause … ”
She turned her gaze to him and frowned. He widened his eyes and flicked them toward Janelle without turning his head. Come on, read the signs.
Crista’s brows pinched together, and she tilted her head. He nodded slowly, hoping she’d understand that he’d do anything, anything within his power, to get inside that woman’s apartment. He inhaled in relief when Crista’s mouth formed an O in understanding.
“You know what you need? A man to give you his opinion.” Crista pushed Bruce toward her. “Take my boyfriend. He’s great at clothes and not that great at swimming. He’d be happy to help you while I do my laps.”
“Please, tell me he doesn’t help you pick out your clothes.” Janelle looked down her rather perfect nose at her. “I require a man who has tastes in fashion.”
“He doesn’t,” Crista mumbled. “But he’s gone to many fashion shows, dated a gazillion models, and is a world-class bass fisherman. He knows bait.”
“Bait?”
Crystal and Bruce made a good team, and it was time to step in and do his part. He cleared his throat and shrugged nonchalantly. “I know what attracts men to women.”
Great. Now he sounded like Dr. Phil. He leaned against the doorframe. If he played aloof and unresponsive to her charms, she’d have no choice but to invite him to her bed.
Janelle trailed her gaze along Bruce’s body, inspecting him. He lifted the corner of his mouth, letting her know he approved of her attention. She must’ve found him up to par because she turned her back and walked into the apartment without another word, leaving the door open.
Bruce leaned down and kissed Crista’s cheek. “Thanks. I owe you, sweetheart. Don’t wait up.”
Then he trailed after Janelle, and the door closed extra loudly behind him. His thoughts shifted from what kind of gift he’d buy Crista for helping him bag the supermodel to what he planned to do to the supermodel in bed, or in the living room. His step had an extra jump. Hell, he’d even do her out on the terrace. He wasn’t picky.
Inside Janelle’s apartment, he couldn’t help but compare it to Crista’s pad in size, but that’s where the likenesses ended. Crista had decorated hers in pastel blue and nautical objects she’d collected on the beach. His lungs constricted and he gazed around in stunned silence. Janelle had styled hers after a Marilyn Monroe movie. Black and white. Nude sculptures. Seductive photos blown into posters. He peered closer at one scantily clad picture of a woman bent over the back of a couch. Shit.
He knew those legs, those breasts, those hips. The woman in the picture was Janelle herself.
Janelle caught him ogling the picture. “Well?”
He turned. His chest tightened and his balls smiled.
A red shimmery dress hugged her curves. The high neck accented the holes at the sides of her ribs, showing off the indentions to her waist. “It’s nice.”
“Nice?” A tiny squeak came from Janelle, and she stomped back into her room.
The shiny material of the dress soaked in a little salmon egg juice would make a perfect trolling lure for trout fishing. He glanced back at the picture on the wall. Now that’s a woman who’d please a man in bed. He wouldn’t mind having her recreate that exact same pose for him tonight.
Her heels clicked across the wooden floor and she snapped her fingers. “Pay attention.”
“I’m all eyes, baby,” he mumbled, taking her all in.
She stuck her hip to the side and placed her hand on her waist. “Which one is better? The last dress or this lighter dress?”
Now she was talking his language. He slowly strolled around her, taking in the indention of her waist, the slope of her ass, the flat stomach. The sleek white material showed everything, even her braless nipples. Behind her, he bit his tongue. Damn.
“Well?” she said.
“Definitely this dress.” He moved around her, skimming her arm, and stood in front of her. “Yeah, this one.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Why?”
He trailed his finger over the thin spaghetti strap. “It shows off your shoulders.”
She nodded in agreement. “I do have great arms.”
“Yes.” He looked lower. The deep dip in the front barely contained her breasts. “It screams sexy.”
Her lips quivered in pleasure and she finally allowed herself to smile. “Yes. That’s the reaction I’m going for.”
He moved back and sat down on the couch, making himself at home. She continued smiling, and turned for his enjoyment. He leaned over to watch her swish her ass out of the room. That’s it, baby; go slip into something more comfortable.
She stopped at her bedroom door, looked over her shoulder, and raised her brows in question. He stood, ready to follow her anywhere, when she fluttered her hand toward him. “You’re dismissed.”
He stopped in his tracks. “Excuse me?”
“You may run back to your little lover. I’m through with needing you.” She pointed in the direction of the door as if he didn’t understand English.
He pivoted and walked to the door. Maybe he was losing his touch. Typically, women enjoyed him. They found him attractive. He’d even had more than a few past girlfriends who’d had a hard time understanding they were through and begged him to take them back. But dismissed?
Shit.
He entered Crista’s apartment, glad she wasn’t back to see his humiliation, and crashed on the couch. At least nothing in her place reminded him of sex every five seconds. Though, now that he thought about it, he had seen sexy black lingerie draped over Crista’s bedroom chair when he’d asked her where he should put his luggage. He sat up, cocked his head, and thought about looking again to make sure he hadn’t been hallucinating. He exhaled and lay back down. It was probably one of Crista’s girlfriends’. She wouldn’t wear something like that. She was more the boy shorts and sports bra kinda girl.
He rubbed his hands over his eyes. Going without sex for four months was fucking with his head. He wasn’t supposed to think about what Crista wore under her clothes.
An hour later, he’d concluded that he’d have to become more aggressive if he was going to bag Janelle. Ms. Piranha needed to realize she couldn’t toy with him the way she did most men. Hell, he fished for a living, fought bears coming down to the river, swam with sharks, and battled white rapids in a canoe. He even wore a flannel shirt most days. Yet she’d dismissed him as if he was her assistant. Screw that.
The door opened and Crista walked into the kitchen. He rolled off the couch, strolled over, and stood beside the sink, waiting for her to finish relieving her thirst.
He tapped her on the arm. “Hey.”
She screamed and pressed her hand to her chest. “Shit. Don’t do that. Make some noise or something to let me know you’re here. You freaked me out. I thought you’d still be at Janelle’s apartment.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched, and he rubbed the offending spot. “We need to step up our game plan.”
“Gave you the cold shoulder, huh?” She smirked in enjoyment.
“Yeah.” He shrugged the disappointment off and forged ahead. “This is going to take more work than I thought. Tomorrow night. We’ll show her what she’s missing out on.”
&nb
sp; “How?”
“By showing her how I satisfy you sexually.”
Chapter Three
The beach house where the party was located loomed above the ocean in a mix of contemporary galore and extremely high windows. Inside the foyer, Crista discreetly readjusted the top of her dress. Oh, boy.
The material amounted to little more than a white baby-doll nightie. She clamped her arms to her side. Bruce had surprised Crista with the dress this afternoon. She scooted further behind him in the crowded room and snuck a glance to make sure the bodice still contained her breasts. Any excess movement on her part, and she’d be flashing the crowd faster than a college student on spring break.
Bruce grabbed her hand, bringing her around and in front of him. “Stop fidgeting. You look hot.”
His hands went to her hips and he pulled her back to his chest. She stiffened, afraid his touch would expose her to the crowd. “I can’t believe I’m wearing this.”
“It’s sexy.”
“Maybe on a mannequin. Did you even stop to think about what the dress would look like on me?” She peered up and over her shoulder at him. “There’s not enough material to cover my boobs. I’m larger than you think I am.”
His body moved in silent laughter. “Don’t cut yourself short.”
“I’ll nail you if you compare my height to Janelle’s,” she said on a hiss. “This isn’t going to work. Janelle’s not even paying us any attention. She hasn’t looked our way or even glanced at me.”
“You’re right about that part. Let’s work our way around the room and stand beside her.” He skimmed his fingers down her arm and grabbed her hand. “Strut if you can.”
“Strut?”
“Yeah.” He glanced down at her. “You know, wiggle your ass.”
She would not. Besides, he walked too fast, and her breasts were building momentum. She’d be lucky to make it safely to their destination without doing a strip tease dance for every single person in the room.