by Jenna Gunn
“Bryce, I…”
“Shh…don’t. Don’t talk. Let’s just enjoy each other tonight.”
She nods, looking a little wary. “Pour me some more wine.”
I fill her little plastic cup again, and she takes a big drink. I slug the rest of the dry red straight from the bottle itself. When I’ve drained every bit of the wine, I drop the empty thing on the desk with a thud. Scooping Raven up, I end the need for words.
Her head is tucked into my shoulder as I pull back the comforter and top sheet. Her eyes are bright and wide as she watches me slowly undress her piece by piece.
Oh, the things I’d like to do to her if I had a thousand nights.
But I don’t. I only have hours. And very few of them. Suddenly, I want it all right now.
As soon as I see the damp fabric of her red lace panties, I know where I’ll start. Raven squeals when my mouth latches onto her through the fabric. “Mmmm, god, you taste good.”
For the rest of the night, our vocabulary is reduced to dirty things and begs for release. I take her slowly, thoroughly. Her deep midnight eyes lock on me, drinking me up the whole time. When we rest, we lay silent in the dark, curled into the intimate shapes lovers make.
The sun rises too damn fast.
I can’t look at her as I dress. She sits silently and watches me from her spot amongst all the big, plush hotel pillows.
What do I say? What can I say?
When I can’t delay the inevitable any longer, I turn toward the bed. Leaning over, I place my face against hers and savor this final moment. “You’re amazing, Raven.”
She turns her mouth to me and mutters, “I’ll never forget. Thank you.”
Rising, I take her in one last time—the last time I’ll see her naked with my marks all over her. “I’ll see you at work.”
7
Chapter 7
Damn that man. I resign myself to wearing the long sleeve work shirt for my first day.
Try as I might, scrubbing six ways to Sunday, it did no good. The black Sharpie marks still show on my arm.
Hopefully, I won’t end up in just my swimsuit for any rescues because I bet you a hundred dollars that questions would fly.
I follow the instructions I was given over the phone for reporting for my first day at work—Meet some guy named Jeremy at 8:00 a.m. outside the station and come dressed in uniform. Expect a full day.
When I arrive, the man named Jeremy and I have on matching green shirts and navy blue board shorts. Mine are girl cut, and his are man cut, obviously, as they stretch over his swimmer’s shoulders.
As he extends his hand to me, a friendly smile dances in his eyes when he says, “Welcome aboard, excited to have you join us.”
“Thanks, it’s an honor to be here.”
Bryce Archer is nowhere in sight.
Am I relieved or disappointed?
It’s only been three hours since he left my hotel room, but it feels like a lifetime since we said goodbye.
The smart side of me is relieved that we were mature adults about letting go, but I think my libido is going to be mourning for days.
“We’ve got a lot to do today. Ready to get started?”
“Absolutely,” I say enthusiastically, excited to be starting the path to my dream job.
Jeremy was right. We did have a lot to do. I’ve met so many people and saw so many lifeguard towers that my head spins. As we drive toward the marina in a golf cart, he asks, “So how was the interview?”
Umm…awkward. “It was fine. They grilled me pretty good. I knew all the answers they were looking for, though.”
“Who interviewed you?”
Hoping I can recall all the names, I tick them off using my fingers. “Uh, Christian, Tyson, Bishop, and…” I feel a little tongue-tied as I murmur the last name, “…Bryce.”
“Ah, they’re quite an intense bunch.”
“They are.”
“Oh yeah, they are the prize bulls of the county.”
That makes me laugh as I think about how farmers worshiped their prize cattle back home. I can definitely see the comparison.
Jeremy leads me to the boat and shows me the ropes of how things work there. Then he takes me back to the station house for a tour of the Observation deck.
Just as his hand lands on the doorknob to the penthouse workroom, the heavy door swings open, missing us by inches.
“Hey, now!” he shouts as his fast feet make a hasty retreat from the steel door.
A deep male laugh draws me up short. Bry…wait? That’s not Bryce.
“Brandon, meet Raven Carson, the new hire.”
What? Wait, who is this?
I’m staring at an identical set of Caribbean blue eyes and the same mischievous grin.
Holy double trouble.
Just when I thought I’d managed to avoid the sight of that hunk all day, I find out there’s a carbon copy.
Taking a step back, I look him over more closely.
Hair’s too long.
Different tattoo on his forearm.
Otherwise, identical. Well, with his clothing on at least.
Brandon knows the look I have on my face, I’m sure.
“Twins,” he says with a chuckle.
“That’s stating the obvious,” I quip. “Not as fond of the barber, eh?”
“Good catch. Sometimes, it takes people weeks to figure that out.”
Little does he know I got a real good inspection of his brother just a few hours ago when he was giving me a mind-blowing O.
8
Chapter 8
Grinning, Maddy eyes me as she places my smoothie on the counter. “So, how do you like working with all those Archer brothers?”
“It’s an adventure with a nice view.”
She wiggles her eyebrows as she smirks at me. “Five of the dreamiest samples of males ever made.”
Laughing, I pick up my to-go cup. “It’s interesting, that’s for sure.”
“They’ve got good genes. I mean, who in the world looks like that?! You work for Bryce, right?”
“I do.”
Winking, she says, “Nice. I’m sure that’s something. He’s sure got the smoldering good looks to melt any woman’s brains. Oh, and watch out for Christian. He’s the top boss, total hotness, but he’s kind of a prickly cactus. Swing by sometime, and I can tell you some stories about them.”
She’s got my interest. I’d love to learn more about the man whose number I wore like a jailhouse tattoo. Even though it’s the last thing I should want, I am curious. A few stories never hurt. “Deal. I can use all the help I can get. There are only two other women on the whole rescue team.”
“I don’t think many women would be brave enough to take on all that testosterone.”
Chuckling, I reply, “Oh, I’ve got practice. My last job was the same but without the hotties.”
“Wow, good for you, girl. Not me, though. I’ll stick to this little cafe and the antics of the tourists. That’s plenty of excitement for me.”
Slipping my wallet back in my pack, I head toward the door. “Thanks for the smoothie. That last one you made me was to die for.”
“Sure thing, babe. See ya soon!” Maddy leans on the counter and gives me a little wave, her bright eyes dancing as she watches me go.
No wonder the boys at Ocean Rescue rave about Maddy—not that they’d give a flip about the cute way she decorates the cups with the customer’s name and flowers or the bad-ass smoothies she makes. It’s the way she lights up your day with her big bright smile and fun attention.
Holding up my cup, I smile—the Beach Vibes logo is on one side, and my name is drawn on the other with little flowers around the R like a little garden of pink daisies. She remembered my name too, and I’ve only been in town for a few days.
I like this little town, tucked into the curve of the California coast, with its charming shops and casual vibe. It just feels right for so many reasons.
Hopefully, soon, it will be my permanent h
ome. Glancing at my phone, I see that I’ve got time to relax and maybe look at some apartment listings before reporting for duty at the Ocean Rescue station.
A bench the color of Texas Blue Bells beckons me to sit and relax. It’s jammed into the corner of Maddy’s small beachfront patio, next to the racks of rental surfboards, beach floats, and umbrellas. I’m suddenly enveloped in an explosion of summer colors.
Flipping open the local Craigslist page on my phone, I peruse the rental properties, daydreaming about my next place. I feel it in my heart, one of those tiny adorable seaside apartments is going to be mine.
Two months of pay from the Ocean Rescue job once I’m off probation, and I should have the deposit I need to have my own place at the beach, a dream I’ve had for so long, I can’t even remember when it began.
A seagull calls out overhead, its cry a shrill note that’s a quintessential sound of the place. The waves swish against the beach, whispering the secrets of the sea.
The morning is still young, and the beach is practically empty. A quiet sweep of golden beach stretches out in front of me while dark blue water curls onto the land.
It feels like I traveled a million miles to get here. All the crummy places I’ve lived in, the terrible roommates, the credit card debt, student loans…
But here I am—just a breath away from my dream job, my own place, and finally feeling like I’ve done it—overcoming the storm cloud of my childhood.
But it’s too early to celebrate.
Twenty-five days to go in my employment probation and the hard task of earning the respect of the team that’s evaluating me.
They’re a tough bunch, that’s already obvious.
And skirting around Bryce Archer ups the ante.
But I, Raven Carson, am no wilting daisy.
The walk to the Ocean Rescue station house is short, just a block from Maddy’s place. Not that I’ll be going to her cafe a lot—an eight dollar smoothie is pure indulgence for me. But somehow, it seemed right today, like extra fortitude for what I’m about to have to do, which is spend the day one-on-one with my boss—my Alpha sex god very off-limits boss—on the rescue boat.
I begin climbing the three flights that lead to the observation room on top of the station. I’m only paying half attention as I enjoy my sip of dreamy smoothie. All of a sudden, I’m blinded by a hulking mass of man right in my face—a flash, a blur of green and navy cloth, sun-kissed hair, and tan skin.
Grabbing the metal railing with one hand, I barely avoid flying backward down the metal staircase.
Ugh! That would have been the perfect start to day five on the job. I can just see the news headline: Rookie Member of Ocean Rescue Incapacitated After Collision
“Dammit, Bryce! You almost killed me.”
Yelling dammit maybe isn’t the smartest thing I’ve done, but it kind of just slipped out.
At least it wasn’t an F-bomb.
Even though today is only day five, you’d think I would have learned to stick a mirror around the corner or something before I risk my life and limbs. This isn’t the first time I’ve nearly met my demise on this staircase.
No matter which of the Archer men it is, running smack into anyone one of them at any time would be like bouncing off a seven-foot high brick wall.
Only this brick wall pulls me to him like a magnet. I scowl at him for being him and for nearly taking me out with his two-at-a-time gallop to god only knows where.
He somehow reigns in all that muscle and comes to a graceful stop. He’s standing eye to eye with me which gives me an interesting perspective. From this angle, I get a good look at the blue-green color of his eyes and the sun-bleached shade of his lashes.
God give me strength. Bryce melts me. Especially when I know what his tongue can do.
Working with him is kind of like working just on the outside of a candy shop. All those delicious treats are just out of reach behind glass.
As much as my achy core wants to get busy with his pogo stick every night, I won’t do it.
Have never mixed work and men, never will.
I’ve watched that trainwreck too many times, thankfully from afar.
“That was a close one,” Bryce murmurs in that voice…that deep, intimate, I can talk you right out of your pants voice.
I want to glare at him. God. I want to forget his touch. But I can’t seem to scratch him from my mind.
“You really should slow down. You’re gonna kill someone charging down the stairs like a bull in Spain galloping down some alley.”
He takes a steady breath. His nostrils flare, and he breathes me in. His broad shoulders rise then fall beneath the Day-Glo green lifeguard shirt he’s wearing. The clean aftershave scent on him mingles with the salt air stirring around us.
It’s obvious why women would fall all over him—why I climbed all over him like a jungle gym.
“Fifteen minutes. Don’t be late.” His eyes still hold mine, and I refuse to blink or budge.
Oh, I know exactly where I’m supposed to be. And even though I pertly reply, “No problem, boss,” I flip-flop between hating the idea and being so excited that I can’t stand it.
For a whole day, I’ll be alone with him at sea. With the sun glistening off his bronze skin and sea air stirring up the smell of aftershave and testosterone.
I’m a strong woman.
But am I that strong?
Ever sat next to a piece of chocolate cake all day that you weren’t allowed to touch?
I know he wants me again. Bryce is always watching me. His smoldering gaze is like a candle's flame on my skin as he watches me work.
My heart thuds, erratic and hard behind my t-shirt as we study each other. Is his mind going to the dirty places mine is?
I don’t indulge myself by looking him over like a delicious meal, but he does. He glances over me, eyeing me up and down. My nipples tingle with the thought of his eyes landing on them.
Bryce is all about burning me up with his constant watching and testing me to my limits with his demands. Like he’s on some kind of a mission on his own.
Without another word, the man pivots and resumes his descent, taking the stairs two-at-a-time just like a moment ago.
“Gonna be a helluva day,” I mumble. Shaking my head, I turn and climb the rest of the stairs to the room above.
Bryce Archer—one second, he’s the thorn in my side, and the next, he’s the throbbing in my hoo-ha.
When I open the door, I’m greeted with an expansive view of the sandy beach and Pacific Ocean. The tall glass windows of the observation deck overlook the north end of Lynn’s Beach, part of our work jurisdiction.
Tyson, AKA Ty, Archer glances up, and his bright dark blue eyes land on my smoothie. When he walks toward me with a devilish grin on his face, I run. Ty’s the mischievous one of the bunch.
“Ohhhh! Maddy makes the best smoothies.”
I twist my shoulders to keep it out of reach, knowing he just might grab the to-go cup from my hand. Not that I could really outmaneuver him if he tried in earnest. But it’s the principle of the matter.
“Not hardly, big guy. Go get your own. This one has my name on it.” I turn the handwritten name in his direction. “See, R A V E N.”
“There’s no escape, you know. I’m blocking the only door,” he laughs.
“You might not want to try me.” I snatch my forgotten sunglasses off the desk—the reason I came upstairs. “I’m already irritable today.”
His grin widens. “Working with Bryce got you all nervous?”
I make a pfft sound. “Hardly nervous. More annoyed. He almost took me out on the stairs just now.”
Tyson turns his attention back to the keyboard. “Yeah, he’s good for that.”
“You guys are all good for that. Someone’s always running me over. Y’all like a bunch of wild boars in the house.”
He snorts like a pig and chuckles like a man in reply. I slide by him and make it to the door safely. “See ya,” he calls after me as t
he door wooshes closed.
Exactly twelve minutes later, I step onto the deck of the county-owned Ocean Rescue boat. Bryce glances at his watch, and I resist the urge to roll my eyes even though I have dark sunglasses on.
I climb aboard with my pack and begin checking our supplies and equipment for the day. No need for him to tell me what to do. I already know the drill since Jeremy trained me on my first day.
A little nervous shiver races through me. I wonder if he’s planned this so he can have me alone, far out on the water.
I heard the guys joking about him when he’s not around, and I tried to tune them out, but supposedly, Bryce is quite the heartbreaker. Of course, with a body like that, most men would proudly assume the same rap sheet—likes to fill his off-duty time with younger women and lusty distractions.
It’s a crying shame I can’t be one of those lusty distractions anymore.
Bryce hops off the boat and retrieves a large cooler filled with supplies for the day. The muscles of his forearms are nicely on display below the pushed up cuffs of his long-sleeved work shirt. He’s strong and capable, exactly the kind of person you want on this job, and in your bed.
Bryce looks like he could run a marathon with you over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Or toss you right into the middle of a big king-size bed.
Hopping onto the boat, he easily maneuvers the heavy cooler into the spot where it gets latched down, and he does it without so much as a grunt of effort. He steps off the boat again, and I busy myself and purposefully do not look at his drool-worthy ass as he strolls off toward the truck. Even though I’m not looking, I know he moves with confidence, a glide of smooth muscle over big bones—not quite a cocky strut, but not far from it.
Has being boss made him that way, or was he always such a hotshot?
Some of it is in his genes for sure. All his brothers have this air about them like they were born for hard work and sin. Born into the business, I guess.
I, on the other hand, was born into the business of being pitiful. My only role model was the role model of what not to be. That lit a fire under my ass and made me scrap hard to be the best I can be.