Sun, Sand, Sex

by Linda Lael Miller; Jennifer Apodaca; Shelly Laurenston

  “How do you think Caitlin will react?”

  “She’ll be shocked at first,” Joanna said. “We’re her parents, and this is proof positive that we have sex.” She grinned, waggling her eyebrows.

  “Sex?” Teague gasped, pretending to be horrified.

  “Old and decrepit as we are,” Joanna replied. She moved to pick up the test stick and drop it into the trash.

  “Wait,” Teague protested. “Shouldn’t we keep that? Put it in a frame or a scrapbook or something?”

  “Teague,” Joanna pointed out, “I peed on it.”

  “Oh,” he said. “Right.”

  She disposed of the stick and washed her hands at the sink.

  “What do we do now?” Teague asked. “I guess the red-hot sex is out for a while.”

  “Only if the doctor says so,” Joanna said. “As for what we do now—well, I’d like to see what progress you’ve made on that boat of yours. Then we could have lunch and take Sammy for a walk.”

  Teague made a grand gesture, indicating that she should precede him through the bathroom doorway. “Your barge awaits, Cleopatra,” he said.

  She laughed, dried her hands, and stepped into the corridor.

  The “barge,” really a sleek twelve-foot rowboat, rested on a special arrangement of sawhorses in the garage behind the cottage. Teague had been as secretive about it as Joanna was about her novel, and probably for the same reasons.

  Both the boat and the book were creations of the heart and mind, fragile in their beginnings.

  Joanna drew in her breath. The craft was far from finished, still rough slats in need of endless sanding, not to mention varnishing—not unlike her novel, she thought—but the intent was there.

  “Oh, Teague,” Joanna said, marveling. “It’s beautiful.”

  Teague caught her face in his hands—the palms felt work roughened and strong against her skin. “You’re beautiful,” he said.

  She drew in the Teague scents of sawdust, sun-dried cotton sheets, toothpaste, and soap. “I love you so much,” she told him.

  He kissed her, long and deep. When he lifted his mouth from hers, he opened his eyes and said, “And I love you, Joanna. I have, always. Even when I didn’t know how to show it.”

  She swallowed hard and nodded. It felt dangerous to be so happy, but delicious, too. “I don’t suppose you’d like to take a look at my novel, after lunch and Sammy’s walk?”

  “I’ve been waiting for you to ask,” he said.

  An hour later, with lunch over and Sammy sleeping off a happy trot down the beach, Teague settled into one of the armchairs in the living room, the sixty-odd pages Joanna had written in his hand.

  His expression was solemn with concentration as he read.

  Joanna tried not to watch his face, but she couldn’t help it. Every nuance either plunged her into despair or sent her rocketing skyward.

  When he’d finished, he set the pages aside and stared thoughtfully through Joanna for a long time.

  “Well?” she finally demanded. “What do you think, Teague?”

  “I think you’re amazing,” he said.

  “The book, Teague!”

  He stood, crossed to her, and took her shoulders in his gentle boat builder’s hands. “It’s so good it makes me scared,” he told her.

  “Scared?”

  “Scared it won’t be enough for you, living here on the island, in this cottage, with Sammy and the baby and me. Scared you won’t want this simple life anymore.”

  She touched his cheek. “Never gonna happen. I’m thriving here, Teague.” She laid her hands against her still-flat belly, and tears of joyous wonder sprang instantly to her eyes. “Are you? Are you happy here? Do you miss the mansion and the business and all those meetings?”

  He placed his hands over hers. “I’m happy, Joanna.” A grin lit his face; he looked inspired. “And I can prove it.”

  “How?”

  Teague went to the coffee table, picked up that week’s issue of the Island Tattletale, Madge’s modest but interesting sheet, opened it, folded it, and brought it to Joanna.

  “The classified ads?” she asked, confused.

  Teague tapped one of the little squares.

  Joanna beamed as she read the bold print.

  It said: For sale cheap, one sports car.

  YOU GIVE LOVE A GOOD NAME

  Jennifer Apodaca

  One

  Four months earlier

  Lexie backed up as the bride threw the bouquet, trying to stay out of range.

  She stopped short when her shoulders hit a hard male chest. She jerked in reaction and nearly lost her balance. Large, warm hands settled on her bare arms to steady her. From behind her, a low voice chuckled and said, “Ducking the bouquet? I thought you women were supposed to fight for it?”

  Recognizing the voice of the bride’s brother, Nick Vardolous, she enjoyed the feel of his hands on her arms for a few seconds. It was just a little indulgence, perfectly innocent, she told herself. Then she turned, sliding out of his touch, and smiled up at him. “The wedding planner doesn’t catch the bouquet.” He stood beneath one of the crystal chandeliers in his dark suit and Lexie was struck by how good-looking he was. He had that hot Greek thing going on from his wavy black hair all the way down his six-foot frame. Strong bone structure showed off his incredible eyes, so light green that they sometimes took on a gold hue. Every time she looked into his eyes, she felt a little shock of lust jolt her system.

  “You deserve more than a bouquet for putting up with my sister and mom.”

  She laughed. “It’s my job. I get paid to handle the problems in weddings.” The truth was she hated it, but she was stuck until her mom fully recovered from her heart attack and came back to work. She tore her gaze from Nick to look around and make sure everything was in order. “The bride and groom are leaving. I need to—”

  He touched her hand. Lexie felt the sensation run up her arm and down her spine. They’d flirted for days. She really liked Nick, but he was the client’s brother, not a date.

  His gaze turned intense. “We’ll talk later.” He gently squeezed her hand, then strode away to hug his sister and shake hands with his new brother-in-law.

  Lexie watched for a moment, thinking that in just a few days Nick had stirred a longing in her. Then she shook it off. She had work to do.

  An hour later she picked up the last box off the table, turned, and almost yelped. “Hey, Nick, I didn’t hear you.” She’d seen him talking to his family as they were all leaving, but she hadn’t really thought he’d stay behind. What did he want to talk to her about?

  Nick reached out and took the heavy box from her. “You finished in here?”

  She headed out the door to the parking lot. “Yep. Your sister is officially married and off on her honeymoon, the hall is cleaned up, and everyone lived through the experience.” She stopped at her light blue Explorer and opened the rear door.

  Nick slid the box in.

  She smiled at him. “Thanks. I guess you’re heading back to…wherever you came from?” Nick had told her his job kept him traveling, but he hadn’t been specific about what his job was.

  He shut the rear door and turned to look at her beneath the parking lot lights. “Leaving in the morning.”

  Nodding, she said, “It’s been nice to see you these last couple days. And thanks for carrying the box.” She wondered if he really wanted to talk to her or if he had just used her as an excuse to avoid his family.

  “Lexie.”

  His voice was soft and low, the kind of tone that made a woman pay attention. “Yes?”

  “Spend the night with me.”

  She knew her eyes widened. “Uh, the night?” Stupid! She knew what he meant. But she didn’t do stuff like that.

  Nick stood a couple feet away, watching her. “You’re a sexy woman and I’m interested in you. I’m leaving early in the morning, but I can promise you an unforgettable night.”

  He was so incredibly honest, and he sta
yed a respectful distance away. She liked that. She liked him. She wanted him, but she didn’t do one-night stands. She was so tempted, but no. “I can’t, but thanks for, uh…” She felt like an idiot and looked down at the black pavement. Thanks? Thanks for wanting to have sex with me? God.

  “Lexie.”

  That was some voice he had. Repressing a sigh, she looked up. “No.” She hurried around him to the driver’s side door, fumbling with her key to unlock the door.

  Nick reached around her and took the keys from her, then beeped the door unlocked.

  Hot embarrassment crawled up her neck, but she forced herself to turn and face him. “I’m sorry, I just…”

  He smiled down at her. “I know what the word no means. Relax. I’m just going to make sure you get in your car and lock the door. It’s a habit from having a baby sister.”

  God, she wanted to be someone else, the kind of woman who went home with a sexy man who made her feel desired and safe. He probably got women to go home with him all the time. That thought made her feel even worse somehow. She blurted out, “I’m not impulsive.”

  He opened the driver’s side door.

  She slipped past him and hoped the flush crawling up her neck and face didn’t show. Holding her skirt, she climbed up to the driver’s seat, bringing her eye to eye with Nick.

  He handed her the keys.

  “Thanks.”

  “Lexie.”

  He had to stop saying her name like that. It was seductive and made her want to crawl into his arms. She tried to keep her gaze focused out the front window of the SUV, but against her will she turned to look at him. “Nick.”

  “If I were another guy…”

  He was trying to make her feel better. “But you’re not.”

  “No, I don’t hang around in relationships. I’m a loner. But if I were looking for a relationship, I’d work hard to get you interested in me.”

  He was seducing her with what if’s, or maybe it was his honesty. “And if I were an impulsive woman…”

  His smile reached his eyes. “I’d be a lucky son of a bitch.”

  She laughed. Nick was sexy, so easy to be around.

  Something flared in his green-gold gaze. Then he leaned forward and said, “Ah, damn, Lexie. I’m not going to be able to close this door until I kiss you.” He put his hand on her shoulder, then slid his fingers up to cup the back of her head.

  Warm excitement pooled in her stomach, and her muscles softened in reaction. Nick leaned forward and kissed her. The touch of his mouth sent sensual shivers down her spine to curl deep inside of her. His hot breath tasted like wine from all the toasts. Putting her hand on his arm, she felt the hard ridges of his muscles.

  Felt the pulse of both their excitement.

  Nick shifted just enough and she opened her mouth, wanting him inside of her. Wanting to feel the rush as his tongue touched hers.

  Nick pulled back, breathing hard, and his green eyes warmed to a light-gold tone. “Time for you to go home, wedding planner.”

  “But…”

  He shook his head. Determination hardened his features and his mouth lost the curve of amusement. “I’m not the sticking kind, and you’re not a one-nighter. Go.” He stepped back and shut the door.

  He was still standing there when she drove away.

  Present day

  She had to find a way to keep the hostages alive…

  Lexie Rollins stopped typing. How was she going to get her heroine and the hostages out alive? Her laptop was getting warm on her bare thighs. She shut it down and stood up on the patio off her room that overlooked the ocean.

  She’d recommended this place for months as a perfect honeymoon for the clients of My Perfect Wedding. Sand Castle Resort in San Diego, California, lived up to its reputation.

  It was beautiful with lush tropical plants and very private Mediterranean-style rooms right on the beach. The walls of the rooms were done in textured layers of paint in a color scheme of either blue, green, or rustic browns. The rooms also had beautiful mosaic tile to match, exquisite wrought-iron beds and tables, and ceiling fans to complement the air-conditioning.

  Perfect for honeymoons and hiding from stalkers.

  Since just the idea of a wedding made Lexie nauseous, she was there to hide from her stalker. And the media. And her lawyer. And her family.

  In short, her life sucked.

  But the good news was…hell, there was no good news. No, that wasn’t true. She still had the memory of the face of the groom—William Harry Livingston’s face when he had cornered her at the lovely garden wedding rehearsal dinner, drunker than a seaman on leave, and tried to seduce her. He had unzipped his pants and revealed Mr. Pathetic Penis to her.

  Ugh. For the first time in Lexie’s entire life, she’d lost it. Truly lost it. She’d grabbed up the staple gun she’d used to secure the decorations and stapled Harry’s pants closed. Then she stapled his pants to his waist to prevent any further viewings of Mr. Pathetic. She told him to save it for his bride.

  He cried, actually cried.

  Lexie had chalked it up to a stressed and drunk groom and forgotten all about it.

  Until she was arrested for assault and battery. With a staple gun.

  Wedding Planner Goes Ballistic with Staple Gun was just one headline that resulted from the stapled groom giving interviews. Her family tried to stage an intervention to get her help. They were sure she was cracking up. And they needed her to get over it real quick and get back to work as a wedding planner.

  They told her to forget all this stalker business. No one was sneaking into her apartment and booting up her laptop, she just forgot to shut it down. And everyone lost underwear at those Laundromats, no one was stealing them. In short, no one was stalking her, she was just imagining it. Like one of her plots for the thriller she was never going to write. Lexie needed to get real and face reality and be reasonable and realize wedding planning is a good career.

  Even her lawyer didn’t believe her.

  She had no one to blame but herself. She was the one who had let family treat her like this her entire life. Determined to solve her own problems, she hired a PI to watch her apartment and catch the creep stalking her. Then she’d go back and fight these ridiculous charges.

  Hopefully, her PI would catch the stalker in the next few days. And with a little luck, a few more days away from home would help her to get some perspective on her life. Standing at the balcony in the light afternoon breeze was a good way to start. The briny scent of the ocean was sharp, while the bright sun made her squint. Couples were spread out on the white sand, some sheltered by blue and white cabanas while others soaked up the sun in lounge chairs. A few people swam in the waves. Waiters moved effortlessly as they served cold drinks.

  One man walking out of the waves caught her attention. Even from the distance she could see he was tall. And buff. He wore white board shorts with blue and black trim. The water made his hair look slicked back and dark.

  A jolt of familiarity raced through her and she leaned forward with her hands on the railing of her balcony. His confident walk…

  It was the involuntary tingle of her mouth that pried the name loose in her brain.

  Nick Vardolous. The hot Greek one-kiss wonder. He’d kissed her and walked away.

  What the hell was Nick doing here? She didn’t believe in coincidences. Her world was too crazy, too out of control for Nick to have just shown up at the same exclusive beach resort where she was. Especially a resort that catered to couples like honeymooners. He’d made it perfectly clear that he wasn’t interested in couplehood.

  A disturbing thought rushed through her—what if he was another reporter tracking her? He’d said he traveled a lot for work, but she didn’t know what that work was.

  An even darker thought occurred to her. What if Nick was her stalker?

  She didn’t believe it. A man who asked straight out for what he wanted? Why would he stalk her? Nick was handsome and had good social skills; he didn’
t need to stalk women.

  But what if he was the stalker? Wasn’t Ted Bundy handsome and socially adept? Fear skittered up her spine, and she shivered in the warm afternoon breeze. The loneliness pressed down on her.

  She had to find out what Nick Vardolous was doing at the resort.

  After discovering that Lexie wasn’t in her room, Nick charmed a maid into letting him in. This was an easy bond recovery, one that probably didn’t require him to do a room search. Hell, he wasn’t even hiding his presence at the resort. Lexie had no reason to be afraid of him, and he was sure she would cooperate. She had signed the bond agreement that pretty much signed away her civil rights and gave him the authority to arrest her and take her back to Santa Barbara. Since the maid assumed he got locked out and that he was knocking to get his wife to let him in, Nick seized the opportunity.

  But he didn’t think Lexie was running from the law. Her room didn’t look like she was on the run—no hair dye in the bathroom or other telltale signs. She had left her cell phone in the room, turned off. Her lawyer had already told him she wasn’t answering her cell. She had a laptop, which he supposed she could use to look for a map to Mexico or book a flight, but he doubted it. Looking at the two paperback novels on her bedside table, the shorts, bikinis, and sundresses in the closet and dresser, he thought she’d just gone on vacation. Her lawyer admitted that he hadn’t reminded her about the court date she missed.

  Her lawyer and family seemed to think she had snapped. Nick doubted it. In the four days he’d seen Lexie at his sister’s wedding, nothing made her lose her composure. His sister and mother had spent a lot of time with her to arrange the wedding, and both of them insisted Lexie was calm and reasonable. She herself said she wasn’t impulsive. Nick suspected she just thought the whole arrest was stupid.

  He sure did. Any man who claimed a woman assaulted him with a staple gun was a hard man to take seriously. Hell, Nick felt like buying the man a staple remover and telling him to get over it.

  Usually he didn’t take these pissant cases, but he was doing it as a favor to her lawyer, and because he didn’t want some other unprofessional bounty hunter getting a hold of Lexie.