Stephanie Birch sipped her complimentary champagne and scowled out the tiny airplane window at the ocean of fluffy clouds below. Damn! She was only one hour into this trip and it already felt like an eternity.
She knew a lot of people would give their right arms to be sitting where she was at the moment—in a first-class seat on her way to a first-class Caribbean vacation. She wished she could give it to one of them.
Absently, she plucked a fresh blueberry from the white ceramic bowl of fruit the perky stewardess had brought in a misguided attempt to cheer her up, and popped it in her mouth. She sighed. Damn, it was perfect. Not mushy, not sour, just firm and juicy and sweet as it burst in her mouth.
She didn't want to enjoy this. She wanted to hate it all.
She did hate it all, she reminded herself, and focused on fuming all over again at her boss's high-handed maneuvering that put her in this seat.
She should be in a very different place, the seat in front of her orderly desk in her orderly office, doing what she did best. What they paid her a lot of money to do. Five years of focus, hard work and long hours had earned her a reputation as a killer contracts attorney. She was one of the best in Seattle, maybe even in the Pacific Northwest. No matter what my brothers think. She was poised to become one of the youngest partners in the firm's twenty-five year history.
One little incident, just one little slip up, and her boss shipped her off to the nearest Caribbean island.
Okay, so she shouldn't have lost it and screamed at the client's secretary on the phone. She should have screamed at the woman's boss. He was the one who deserved it. But she had somehow managed to refrain from telling the General Manager of Gentel Corporation exactly how big of an idiot he was. Which, she had to admit, was likely why she was on a plane to St. John's with orders to decompress, instead of applying for unemployment.
Stephanie rolled her head back against the headrest, and pressed her fingers against the dull throb in her temples. She wasn't stressed. She wasn't. She'd done fine without a vacation for the last five years and she didn't need one now. She just had a bad case of technology withdrawal.
Her boss had made her relinquish her smart phone, her iPad and her laptop into his keeping before she left on the trip, ensuring she had no way of connecting to work on the sly. He had even taken her e-reader, insisting it was for her own good.
All she had to entertain herself with was a John Grisham paperback he had plucked from his office shelf and tossed to her when she had asked what she was supposed to do for all those hours stuck on a plane. The whole situation gave her a new sympathy for substance abusers.
She dug frantically in her purse for the novel, anything to give her fingers something to do. Pulling out the piece of paper she'd stuck between the pages, she smoothed the wrinkles left from her wadding the offensive thing into a ball after she'd first read it.
"If you want that partnership, this is the only way," her boss, Brett Bainbridge, of Bainbridge, Smith and Lowry, had warned as he'd held the paper out to her. "You're going to go on this vacation and you're going to do every single thing on this list." His expression had softened. "You need this Stephanie, as much as we need you. I'm asking you to trust me."
She had snatched the list from his hand. "You can lead a horse to the Caribbean, but you can't make it party," she'd retorted, images of ducking out of the airport security line at SEATAC dancing through her head. How would he ever know, once his driver dropped her off at the airport, where she actually went or what she did?
That was before she'd known he was going to personally take her to the airport.
His lips had curled in a diabolical smile. "Try me."
The list consisted of only a few lines. Five lines that guaranteed this was going to be the vacation from hell.
You must perform, participate in, or otherwise do each of the following:
ߦ Read a book for one hour at the pool or on the beach
ߦ Get a massage
ߦ Have a drink on the beach at sunset
ߦ Go to a party
ߦ Take the day tour to Paradise Island
Unbelievable.
She shook her head, her stomach clenching at the injustice of being required to comply with the unreasonable list of demands. But apparently she was going to have to. He was demanding evidence. Solid, concrete, no-two-ways-about-it evidence. She grimaced as she drew from her purse the antique-looking disposable camera Brett had forced into her hand along with the note. The last time she'd seen one of these was ten years ago, a tacky party favor at her cousin Tiffany's wedding reception.
ߦ You will take a picture of yourself performing each of these activities, and bring back some item visible in the picture
But the last line was the kicker.
P.S. The owner of the resort I'm sending you to is a friend of mine. I've asked him to make sure you have an enjoyable stay.
Brett was having her watched. Damn, he was good. Which was why she was, in fact, on this plane going to St. John's.
Stephanie imagined that most other people wouldn't have a problem with anything on this list. If she were honest with herself, there was some small part of her that wouldn't mind getting that massage. Sitting for an hour by the pool doing basically nothing sounded like pure torture though, and she wasn't much of a drinker. Not since her college days, at least. Parties were something she avoided as much as possible, since they almost always involved fending off uninvited male attention.
She really hadn't had time to think about men for the last several years. She'd had a one-track mind and that track was all about succeeding in her career. She had three older, already successful, brothers to catch up with and, more importantly, to pass. Getting distracted with dating and sex and all the drama that came with it was at the bottom of her to-do list.
What about love? A little voice whispered at the back of her mind.
Stephanie shuddered. God, she hated that voice. It came from the weakest part of her, the part that dreamed about love and weddings and happily ever after. She kept it locked away along with other childhood fantasies like fairies and unicorns. She usually managed to squelch it before it could get through. Maybe stress was getting to her.
Slamming that door in her mind, she firmly took the reins of her destiny into her hands. That partnership belonged to her. All she had to do was get through the next five days and four nights.
* * * *
Okay, I am Officially in Hell.
It was certainly hot enough out here in the Caribbean sun to qualify. She pulled the brim of her floppy straw hat further over her face and squirmed on the padded lounge beside one of the resort's picture-perfect pools.
Everything about this resort was picture perfect, and she hated it. She did. Right from the moment she'd arrived in the surprisingly comfortable Jeep that had shuttled her from the airport. How could she enjoy this jewel of a resort, perched on a stretch of pristine white sand at the edge of turquoise water and surrounded by lush tropical greenery, when it was the last place on earth she should be?
She didn't want to be here, breathing in the scent of jasmine floating on a warm breeze through the open floor-to-ceiling glass doors of the elegant beach-front suite her boss had reserved for her. She should be working on her caseload, following up on the dozens of loose ends that refused to be tied up, not sliding beneath gardenia- scented bubbles in her sunken Jacuzzi tub after the sumptuous room-service dinner she'd ordered. She should be poring over her notes by lamplight, downing another cup of bad coffee, not succumbing to sleep amongst the giant fluffy down pillows that invited her to join them on the king size bed.
But what choice did she have? She deserved that partnership and she would do whatever it took to get it. Even if it meant staying in this end-of-the-earth place for five days and bringing back the evidence her completely unreasonable boss had demanded.
So here she was, refreshed from a good night's sleep after yesterday's marathon trip, getting started on task number one:
ߦ Read a book for one hour at the pool or on the beach.
She hadn't met the owner of the resort. At least she didn't think she had. But she had no doubt her boss would be getting a full report on her activities. A glance around the pool deck showed it to be occupied mostly by couples, and a few serious sunbather-types, bodies oiled and glistening, browning like rotisserie chickens.
Sweat trickled between her breasts. Ick. What kind of idiot thought it was "fun" to park themselves in tropical sunlight fierce enough to incinerate an insect? She had never understood the allure of laying out to cultivate the perfect tan, the way her friends had when they were all teenagers. She'd been too busy actually doing things, like competing on the varsity swim team, or crewing for local yacht races.
Yet here she was, wasting time exactly that way.
She tugged at her bathing suit bottom where it insisted on creeping up her rear-end. The lacy white monokini her friend Nikki had made for her was stunning, and much sexier on, than she had ever believed possible when she'd accepted the hand-knit gift as a last minute going-away present. A simple white bikini overlaid and tied together with a sweep of delicate knit lace, it fit perfectly. But she sure wasn't used to showing this much skin.
She'd been trying to read the Grisham novel for a while now. She was surprised to find it wasn't terrible, but the heat was getting to her and concentration was impossible. She sighed and eyed the pool. Nikki had assured her the bathing suit would be fine for swimming.
She only swam for exercise any more, and that's all that pools were to her. A means to a practical end. She'd grown up more in the water than out of it. Give her the ocean or a river any day.
On the other hand, if she was going to stay out here for the required hour, a dip in the aquamarine water was looking more and more like the best way to survive this brutal heat.
Suddenly, a tingling sensation zapped her like an electrostatic shock beneath the lace of her bathing suit, then raced over her skin. "Oh!" she gasped, and sat bolt upright. "Damn tropical paradise is giving me heat rash!" Pool it was, then.
Dropping the book into the straw beach tote she'd picked up in one of the resort shops, she jumped to her feet, tossed her sunglasses and hat onto the lounge and stalked to the pool.
Rick Lowry stood beside the canvas towel bin he'd ostensibly come out to restock with the resort's signature sage-green towels and watched the leggy brunette's approach to the pool. He wore the same pleated linen shirt and khaki shorts that were standard dress for the staff, and most guests didn't know he was the owner. His ponytail and close-cut beard misled them, too. The mild disguise helped him keep an eye on things in a low profile way.
There was nothing low-profile about the beautiful woman who held his attention. It was all he could do not to whistle.
The lacy bathing suit showcased her generous curves perfectly, leaving just enough to the imagination. From the satisfyingly skimpy top to the scrap of bikini bottom that hugged her shapely behind, the sheer white lace glowed against her olive skin. With her dark hair twisted back in a careless knot, and the J-Lo sunglasses she'd left on her lounge, she could have been a starlet on an incognito vacation. But he knew exactly who she was.
She was the woman who'd haunted his dreams for the last two years. The woman he'd missed his chance with and kicked himself over ever since.
She was also the woman he was supposed to keep an eye on for his good friend, Brett Bainbridge, still a partner at his father's law firm in Seattle.
He watched her reach the edge of the pool and dive into the water in a clean, effortless arc. The sheer grace of it took his breath away. She was more beautiful than he remembered, and his memory was very good.
Rick had been in Seattle visiting his father at Christmas two years ago—the last Christmas they'd have together, but he hadn't known that then—when he'd seen Stephanie Birch at the holiday party at his father's law firm. He'd been struck then by her statuesque beauty and the poised self-assurance she exuded like an irresistible perfume.
Brett had noticed his interest, and had quietly suggested the only way he'd get more than five minutes of her attention would be if he were a million-dollar client. "She's a heartbreaker, bro'," he'd said, laying a consoling hand on Rick's shoulder. "Looks like heaven, but there's nothing but steel and ambition under that lovely exterior."
A lot had happened in the two years since then. He'd missed his chance that night, but he wasn't going to make the same mistake twice. Fate had dropped her here on his turf for four days, and he wasn't going to waste them. If he was going to have regrets, by God, they would be over things he had done, not those he hadn't.
Stephanie surfaced, turned on her back and glided with slow, even strokes down the length of the pool. A few couples bobbed lazily along the edges, in their own private worlds. She had the center to herself.
He wondered how time had changed her, because it surely had one way or another. She swam with perfect, practiced movements. Obviously she swam a lot, maybe to blow off steam. Probably had a gym membership.
As she reached the end of the pool, she executed an efficient turn, then started another lap down the center, barely ruffling the water with her strokes.
He knew she was here for a vacation. That Brett had sent her here with strict orders to relax. Which meant she was likely as much or more of a workaholic as she had ever been. It also meant she might be near a breaking point—a subject he'd had a fair share of experience in.
She reached the shallow end of the pool and stood up. Rick's mouth went dry as he watched the water pour down her sleek form. She climbed the steps out of the pool, all long legs, lush curves and golden skin.
He'd watched for her arrival the previous day, and then quietly set his staff into action to ensure her every wish was anticipated and executed as unobtrusively as possible. She'd strode into the lobby, carrying herself with the tense alertness that characterized her profession. She'd lose that in a couple of days. Everyone did.
He'd hung back, standing to one side behind the reception desk. She'd looked tired in that worn-thin kind of way, dark circles under her beautiful blue eyes. He'd planned to introduce himself after she'd had a chance to relax a little and get her bearings. The next evening's Beach Blanket Bingo party would be the perfect opportunity for them to spend a little time getting to know each other. He didn't think she'd recognize him. She had no reason to. They hadn't so much as spoken at that long ago party.
He understood why Brett had gone to the length of sending her on a forced break. Taking a breath and forgetting about worries, schedules and commitments for a few days would do her a world of good. He was just the man to make sure that she did it.
She didn't look like she had started relaxing yet, that was for sure. She'd returned to her padded lounge and was now digging impatiently for something in her bag. "Ha!" came her triumphant exclamation, as she clutched the object in her hand, scooped up a floppy hat and a paperback book from the cushions and stood to sweep the pool deck with an imperious gaze. She caught his eye, and he cursed inwardly at being caught staring like a star-struck school boy.
Then she was making a beeline for him.
He had a brief moment to wonder if she ever walked with anything but a determined stalk while running through the list of explanations he'd prepared in case she realized he was her boss's watchdog before he'd had a chance to introduce himself to her.
His worry was for nothing.
She gave him no time to speak before she thrust the thing in her hand at him. "Take a picture of me, will you?"
He took the bright green, cardboard disposable camera and grinned. "Didn't know they still made these things."
She scowled. "Yeah, tell me about it." She nodded toward the pool. "How about over there?"
She strode away with her all-business gait without waiting for his reply, and turned to pose near the edge of the water. "That's good." She put on the hat and smoothed her hair out of her face. "Don't come any closer." Fisting one hand on her hip and holding up the book in front of her with the other, she turned half her body at an angle and thrust her chin in the air. And still managed to take his breath away.
Rick's heart raced a little as he centered her in the view- finder. He wondered if she knew how beautiful she was. Judging by the way she moved, she wasn't a woman who consciously used her looks. Her confidence had nothing to do with the outside and everything to do with what was inside.
He spun the little thumbwheel, advancing the old-fashioned film. "How many do you want?"
Her scowl deepened. "I guess one more to be safe."
Rick aimed again, letting the camera hide his face as he fought the smile that tugged at his lips. "I know it's none of my business, but you don't look like you're having a very good time. In fact you look kinda mad." He internally ducked from the kick he guessed she would have aimed his way if he'd been close enough.
"Really?" She arched a brow. Then she shrugged. "I suppose you've got a point. Okay, fine." She pulled her lips back and bared her teeth in a rigid grimace. "How's that look?"
"Honestly? Like I'm glad I'm out of striking distance."
To his surprise, she burst out laughing.
He snapped the picture, capturing the delight that lit her face from within, her wide and genuine smile.
He smiled back as she came to take the camera.
"Thanks." Laughter still danced in her eyes.
Rick fell a little deeper under her spell. He pulled himself back to the moment when he realized she was saying something.
"I'm sorry, what?"
"I said, would you mind dragging that umbrella over there a little closer to my chair? This sun is killing me."
If he had his way, he would do everything in his power to put that smile in her eyes every day of her life, but for now, he would settle for being the pool boy. "Sure."
* * * *
"Oh, my God," Stephanie groaned, closing her eyes in bliss. "Oh yeah, that's the spot, right there." She couldn't move if she'd wanted to. "This is better than sex."
"Don't be makin' that mistake, girl." Ruby spoke with a musical island accent.
Stephanie could hear the clink of the masseuse's ornate gold loop earrings as she shook her head.
"I'm good, sure. But I'm not no way that good. If you can't be tellin' the difference, you been shakin' the wrong trees for coconuts."
In spite of herself, Stephanie smiled against the cushions of the massage table. The scent of the jasmine massage oil Ruby used was like a drug, filling her senses, leaving no room for thoughts and worries.
The resort's spa was first class all the way, she had been delighted to discover. Everything ran smoothly and efficiently, putting her at ease. Every detail showed the thought and planning put into creating the perfect relaxing environment, from creamy marbled floors to plush white towels to the coordinated theme of simple elegance of every accessory used in every room.
She smothered another groan as strong fingers kneaded deeper into the knot just above her right shoulder blade. "I don't know about coconuts," she said when she could draw a steady breath. "But I can't say I've been all that impressed with the trees I've met. I'd take an hour of this over a quick orgasm any day."
"And who'd be sayin' anything about quick?" Ruby chuckled, working her magic on tense places where Stephanie didn't know she had places. "A man who knows what he's doin' ain't in no hurry to be done with it, that's for sure. It ain't just about the bein' in paradise, it's the gettin' there."
"Who has time for that?" Stephanie muttered into the cushion. Everything in her life, including the occasional sexual encounter, worked on a schedule, one she didn't deviate from. The few hit-and-run hookups she'd indulged in had ultimately left her dissatisfied, so she'd channeled all her focus into her career. She'd worry about all that other stuff someday in the future. The far, far off future.
Ruby snorted. "If you had made the time, you wouldn't be askin'. A man who knows what he doin' gonna make sure you know he want you, that you are beautiful and desirable. Gonna make sure you be back for more."
Stephanie couldn't say she'd ever experienced anything like what Ruby described with any of the guys she'd been with. "I'll make sure and send my next boyfriend to you for lessons."
Behind her closed eyelids, she suddenly saw herself lying naked beside a man, face to face with him as he ran his hands languorously over every inch of her body. His shoulder length dark gold hair fell over his cheek. His close-cut beard lent him a pirate- dangerous air, as did his gold earring that gleamed in candlelight. The hunger in his gaze as he watched her react to his touch made her hot all over.
Wow, where did that come from? Stephanie pushed down the image of the resort's hot pool-boy.
"Sound like you're the one needin' lessons." Ruby was now working her way down all the electric little touch-points along her spine. "When was the last time you had yourself a man?"
"I don't remember. Two years? Three? Ohhhhh, God, please don't stop."
"T'ree years? Lords girl, no wonder you're so tense! You got to find you a man to take some good care of you. That fix you right up."
"I don't need a man to take care of me, and I don't have time for a relationship."
"Oh, honey, who said anythin' about a relationship?" said Ruby with a chuckle. "I be talking about the kind of takin' care that makes for a nice coupla days maybe. Not the kind that ties you down and makes you cook dinner every night."
"I haven't really thought about that either." Stephanie closed her eyes, bringing back the image of the man from the pool, his green eyes darkened with desire as he leaned closer to kiss her... She wondered why her imagination had latched onto this particular man.
Maybe an island vacation fling wasn't a bad idea. She probably had some room in her schedule.
"You take Ruby's advice and get you some good lovin'. Beautiful woman like you should have no problem findin' a little of the right kind of trouble if you're lookin'."
"Hmmm." Stephanie tried and failed to come up with a coherent objection to this plan as Ruby poured a line of warm scented oil like liquid valium down her back, and rubbed it in with strong sure strokes. She was never getting up again. "You could be right."
"Of course I'm right. You listen to Ruby and everything'll be just fine."