“Tell me again why I have to go instead of you?” Brett didn’t bother to hide his irritation from his best friend and boss Michael Duncan. It was Friday afternoon and they were doing their usual week end debrief in Michael’s office.
“Because I can’t go, and someone from the agency needs to be there to represent us,” Michael repeated himself for the third time, impatiently resting his elbows on his desk to level a look at Brett. “Look, I know you hate these things and I wouldn’t ask if there was any way I could go and not end up sleeping in the doghouse for a month.”
“You don’t own a dog,” Brett pointed out.
“Which would make living in the doghouse even more difficult.” Michael was grinning from ear to ear, which only pissed Brett off more. Although lately, it would be a shorter list to name all the things that didn’t piss Brett off, it seemed. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he was restless, discontent, and frankly, even that pissed him off.
“I’m not staying long,” Brett conceded.
“I didn’t ask you to stay long, although it wouldn’t hurt you to socialize a little. You haven’t gone out since you moved down here.” The quirk of Michael’s eyebrow told Brett that go out was really a euphemism for getting laid. Since Michael and Leslie had gotten married and Michael had happily settled down to be a family man, he was censoring his words. It wasn’t that long ago Michael would have said exactly what he meant. Brett chalked it up to having to filter his words around Leslie’s boys, but everything about Michael was softer lately. A little rounder on the edges than it used to be. Happiness will do that to you, or so Brett had heard.
“Whether or not I go out isn’t really your concern, is it?” Brett put just enough emphasis on the words to make it clear that he had understood the real meaning behind them.
“Only if it means you’re walking around here like someone kicked your dog, which you are, by the way.”
“Again with the dog?”
“Maybe you’ll meet someone at this party and she can help put you back in a better mood.” Michael ignored the jab.
“Barefoot Bay is full of tourists on their honeymoon.” Brett discarded the suggestion even as he remembered his mysterious stranger from a few days prior. Mari Reynolds. Even her name made him long to scratch an itch he knew damned well he shouldn’t.
“Wedding parties have single bridesmaids.” As Michael talked, he cleared off his desk, sliding all the files they’d been reviewing into the desk drawers and locking them. “And not everyone at Casa Blanca is there to get married. Remember, Amelia came down on her own for a vacation. I’m sure she’s not the only one.”
Michael was referring to his wife’s boss, Amelia, who had come down after dumping her fiancée in Alaska and had never gone back. She and Dex had fallen madly in love after taking down a ring of drug dealers who had followed Dex to town.
“You leaving early?” Brett gestured to the clean desktop. It was barely three o’clock in the afternoon, and Brett remembered fondly the days the two of them used to work long into the night together.
“Yeah, I have a thing to get to.” Michael was avoiding eye contact and being deliberately vague which was equal parts unusual and concerning.
“Everything okay?”
It was Michael’s turn to sigh with an air of resignation. “This is weird. I wasn’t sure what to say, so I decided not to say anything.”
“Now you’re really worrying me.” Brett leaned forward in his chair resting his forearms on his friend’s oversized mahogany desk.
“Leslie and I are trying to get pregnant. Today is a fertile day, so I promised I’d get home before the boys got home from school.” Michael’s face was red as he said the words, the picture of embarrassed, and if it weren’t for the punch of jealousy in his gut, Brett would never have let him hear the end of it.
“Oh.” Was all he could manage to say.
“I’m sorry, man, I know this is weird. I told Leslie guys don’t talk about this shit.” Michael took his Beretta from the lockbox in the center desk drawer and slid it into his shoulder holster before he slid the lightweight jacket on his shoulders to conceal it.
“No, it’s fine. I mean you’re married, so it makes sense.” Brett stood and headed to the door, trying his best to ignore how tight his chest felt and how much he felt like he’d taken a punch to the stomach. He wished someone would punch him in the gut—at least that would distract him from the mental image swimming before his eyes of his best friend holding his newborn in his arms.
* * *
Brett should have been as at home wearing a suit and tie as he was wearing combat fatigues, but the truth was he’d never get used to tying a piece of fabric around his neck in the name of fashion. He did it often enough, for the job, but if he had his choice, he’d live out the rest of his life in a T-shirt and shorts. Which was appropriate considering he now resided in sunny Florida where a nice T-shirt and shorts could pass for dressed up in most situations. Most situations, but not all, which was why he’d donned his favorite suit and tie to head to the resort to put in an appearance on behalf of Michael’s agency. The resort threw a lot of business their way whenever they had guests who wanted to hire their own security on top of the top-notch service the resort already provided. Celebrities and politicians mostly, but there were more than enough of those to keep them busy year-round.
As he walked toward the Tiki Lounge, he found his eyes scanning the beach where he’d been swimming his laps to see if he could spot Mari among the tourists enjoying the beach at sunset. Despite his suggestion to her that she’d be able to spot him again in the days following their chance encounter, his schedule had kept him from his usual routine and he hadn’t been back to the resort since. He wondered if she’d looked for him or if she was as nuts as he felt for not being able to forget a chance encounter on the beach with a stranger.
Maybe it was Michael settling down and talking about having children that had him feeling this way? Even though he realized that made zero sense, he decided to go with it. It was as good as anything else he had at the moment.
The soft glow from the strategically placed tiki torches didn’t do much to illuminate the pathway since the sun wasn’t fully set yet. But he had to give it to Lacey and Clay for going all out to get the right ambiance at the resort.
* * *
Mari tugged at the hem of her sundress one more time as she walked down the path from her villa to the Tiki Lounge, wishing that the designer had allowed just one more inch of fabric at the hem. At the same time, she questioned whether the bright red color was the best choice for her skin tone. She normally wore black or beige, anything to blend in with surroundings and not stand out. Something about this dress had called her name though, and she hadn’t been able to resist even though it was outside of her comfort zone.
She’d played it safer with her choice of shoes—her go-to sandals with a low heel made a soft clicking noise on the path as she walked.
“You really need to get out more,” Mari mumbled to herself, echoing the words her mother had told her countless times when they discussed her social life, which was nonexistent. That was the reason for her nerves over what to wear, how to fix her hair, and well basically just about everything related to attending this evening’s party.
Why couldn’t the party be held in some freezing cold climate, where turtlenecks and black dress pants would be accepted dress code? That was her comfort zone. A red sundress that showed a few too many inches of leg and too much skin was not her natural habitat.
Her palms itched for the comfort of her camera. Behind the camera she felt invisible, which was exactly what she craved right now. She’d considered bringing it with her, using the excuse of taking pictures for Lacey and Clay to use in promotional materials or however they saw fit. But ultimately she’d decided against it. She needed to get used to not having her camera with her. How else was she going to figure out what to do with herself now? She was no longer a photographer—the scandal had seen to that. So what was she?
A low whistle sounded behind her causing her to spin on her heel toward the sound.
She almost didn’t recognize him at first, wearing all those clothes. Her handsome stranger from the beach looked every bit as devastatingly…well, hot, wearing a suit and tie as he did wearing almost nothing at all. If that wasn’t the very definition of unfair, she didn’t know was. Unlike their first encounter, his hair was dry and styled in a haphazard sexy style. Since it was dry, she could tell the color was a little lighter than she’d originally thought. Everything else about him was exactly as she remembered. Broad shoulders tapered down to a narrow waist and long legs that were currently eating up the distance between them at a rate that made her heart stutter.
The charcoal gray of his suit set off his Florida tan to perfection, which only reminded Mari how pale her red dress probably made her look. She gave one more tug at the hem to reassure herself that all the important parts were covered.
“Hello, Mari,” Brett said as if he’d been expecting to find her standing exactly in this spot. No surprise registered in his voice and only a look of male appreciation was on his face.
Mari was used to seeing that look on men’s faces, she just wasn’t used to seeing it directed at her. Usually it belonged to the faces of the men on the set with her while she photographed some nearly naked, sexy as sin, fashion model. Mari tilted her head to the side, exactly as she would if she were looking at him through her viewfinder. How she wished she could capture that look on his face right now, trying her best to commit it to memory since she didn’t have her camera with her.
“You’re staring,” he pointed out with a grin.
“Sorry, it’s a terrible habit.” Nervously she tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear and then caught herself and pulled it free again. Brett caught the whole nervous habit with eyes that seemed to never miss a thing.
She wished she’d done more with her hair. She’d been so focused on the dress and how much leg it showed that she’d ended up leaving her hair loose around her shoulders with just a few curls to differentiate it from every day. She clenched her hands into fists to keep from touching her hair again.
“Staring is a habit?” he asked, his eyes taking in her clenched fists and straying to her bare legs where, it might have been her imagination, they seemed to linger, making her tug on the hem of her dress again.
“Habit of the job, I suppose,” Mari explained lamely. In reality, photography had come as a way to stare without getting caught, so the staring had come long before the camera.
Brett nodded as if that made sense, which left Mari wondering if it really had made sense to him and maybe he could explain it to her then.
“Are you heading to the party?” he asked as he took her by the elbow to guide her down the path.
“Yes, are you?” she asked even though it was obvious he was. Where else would he be going on this particular path dressed like that?
“Yes. My boss usually attends these things, but I’m covering for him tonight.” There was no mistaking the irritation in his tone.
“Not big on parties I take it?” Suddenly Mari found herself wanting to know more about this mysterious stranger. Everything, in fact.
Brett laughed sarcastically. “That’s putting it mildly.”
As they approached the Tiki Lounge, Mari spotted her friend and mentor—her only ally in this entire mess that had become her life—TJ DeMille. He was the reason she’d sought refuge at Casa Blanca.
As soon as he spotted her, he left his wife Gussie’s side and made his way to greet her by clasping both of her hands into his in a gesture that was both comforting and welcoming. “How are you?” He asked with such sincerity Mari found herself suddenly blinking back tears at his genuineness.
* * *
Brett stood near Mari watching as TJ DeMille greeted her like he knew her well. He tried to figure out exactly why that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. The other man stood close enough to Mari that he wondered why Gussie didn’t come charging across the outdoor bar area and demand an explanation. Instead Gussie seemed completely involved in a conversation with Lacey and wasn’t paying any attention at all as her husband pawed another woman.
Okay, to be fair he wasn’t pawing at her. But he was…familiar with Mari. That much was obvious.
“I’m fine, really. Thank you so much for…well for everything. I don’t know what I’d have done without you,” Mari gushed at TJ.
“It’s nothing, really the least I could do. Have you met Lacey and everyone else at Casa Blanca yet?” He pulled Mari deeper into the party, effectively leaving Brett in their wake. And Brett wasn’t the type of guy who got left in anyone’s wake often, he thought with a smirk as he walked into the party and directly up to the bar to order a beer.
He knew Gussie and TJ only peripherally—Gussie co-owned and operated the Barefoot Brides destination wedding planners at the resort, and he remembered hearing that her husband TJ was some big deal fashion photographer. He’d worked with the Barefoot Brides a few times when their clients had overlapped. Gussie was easily recognizable anywhere and in any crowd by her trademark outrageous wigs. Today she sported one that was violet and about shoulder length, the tips dyed in teal. It looked like something a mermaid would wear when she climbed out of the sea to claim her human mate. It was not his style, but then he supposed his gray buttoned up suit wasn’t hers either. Which explained why she had married TJ with his silver earring and long brown hair, not to mention the numerous tattoos.
Brett was one of the few guys who had served in his unit who had left the Rangers without at least one tattoo. It wasn’t at all that he found them distasteful—it was more that he had a very strong aversion to needles and saw no reason why he should subject himself to that particular form of torture in the name of art, or machismo, or anything else.
A cold beer in his hand, he turned and surveyed the crowd. It was a force of habit he supposed from years of missions and private security work. Canvassing the crowd and knowing who was where and what they were doing had saved his ass more times than he wanted to count.
Tonight’s crowd was made up of the who’s who of Casa Blanca and Barefoot Bay. If they were a professional or owned a business in or near the resort, his hosts had included them in the invite to the party, which made him wonder what they were up to. Granted he hadn’t lived in Barefoot Bay all that long, but he couldn’t remember Michael mentioning Clay and Lacey hosting parties and inviting all the movers and shakers.
He spotted Mari easy enough. Her red dress stood out in a sea of little black dresses. She held a glass of white wine in her hand and looked like she wanted to hide behind the nearest rock. He watched her for a few minutes, observing her from a distance and trying to figure out what her deal was.
In his opinion, most people fit into a few categories: hiding something, lying about something, or lying about hiding something. His guess was Mari fell into the hiding something category, but his guess was if he pressed her, she’d also lie about whatever she was hiding. People never disappointed him when it came to how predictable they were. Even so, he was more intrigued by this petite blonde than he had been by anyone in a long time.
Maybe it was the mystery she represented. Soon he would figure out what made her tick and then his interest would fade, as it always did. Or he’d take her to bed and scratch the itch that was begging to be scratched and after a night, or a delicious afternoon, he’d be able to put her out of his mind.
As soon as he knew what she was hiding, he promised himself, he’d take her to bed and drive them both wild for a sleepless night and then life would return to normal. Not until he knew whether she was hiding, lying, or both would he even entertain the notion though. Even a fling would come back to bite him in the ass if she was up to no good.
Turning to lean against the bar, he made himself comfortable to watch and to wait on what the evening was really all about. It turned out he didn’t have long to wait.
“Can we have everyone’s attention?” Lacey called above the noise of the gathered crowd. Clay was standing nearby with a protective hand on his wife’s shoulder. Clay was the architect responsible for designing Casa Blanca Resort & Spa, which stood as a testament to his obvious talent. The resort had been featured in so many home and garden magazines and architectural magazines that Brett had lost track long ago. And even better yet, Lacey and Clay were as warm and inviting as the resort location they had created together.
“Hey, everyone. Listen up!” Clay called, a little louder than his wife had, guaranteeing he would get everyone’s attention.
“I’m sure you’re all wondering why we called you here tonight.” As she spoke, Brett realized that Carla Reinhardt stood among the crowd. She ran the Heaven’s Helper food bank and her attendance at a swanky party was definitely unusual. Brett couldn’t remember ever seeing her do anything that wasn’t a nose to the grindstone attitude toward running the charity she was so rightfully proud of.
“You’re all here because you all have something in common. I wonder how many of you have figured out what that is?” Lacey’s eyes twinkled with a secret.
Brett glanced around the crowd—business owners and talented people were all gathered together. Many of them called Mimosa Key and Barefoot Bay home. But several, like Mari, were only visitors to the small Florida community. He tried to find the string that connected them all but it eluded him.
“You’re all here because you either own a business that prospers here in Barefoot Bay or because you have a talent that you use to help someone else. Either way, your common thread is that you can all donate your special skills or resources to help the food bank.” With a flourish, Lacey gestured to Carla Reinhardt who stepped from the shadows into the glow of the tiki torches.
“We’re asking you to do just that,” Clay added to what his wife had said. “Each of you are here because not only do we consider you a friend, but we also know that you will step up and help out someone else in need.” Clay’s pronouncement was said in the manner of a businessman who was used to asking for and getting what he wanted. To say no now would mean that each of them would have to deny the compliment he had just paid them. Brett bristled at being cornered all the while wondering what on earth he could donate to the food bank, besides the obvious big fat check, which he would happily do, but he suspected that Lacey and Clay weren’t going to let any of them off that easily.
* * *
Panic was the only name for the feeling that immediately gnawed at Mari’s stomach. She was happy to donate her services or even a check—meager though that would be presently—to a food bank or any charity in need. But now? Now she could not publicly go anywhere with her camera equipment and she strongly suspected that’s exactly what Lacey was going to ask her to do.
“Before any of you start wondering what we’re asking for, let me alleviate some of your concerns,” Carla spoke up, her face crinkled even more than usual as she smiled.
“For those who don’t know her, this is Carla Reinhardt who runs the local food bank,” Lacey added.
“What I’m planning is an auction of sorts. We will auction off anything and everything donated to us with all proceeds benefiting the food bank. What you donate is entirely up to you. You could donate your services so that the highest bidder would coordinate redeeming those services at your convenience, or you could donate a finished product such as baked goods from Dangerously Sweet, or beautiful clothing from the boutique here at the resort. For a few of you, I have an extra special request that I’ll speak to you privately about.”
Carla glanced directly at Mari and then turned her pointed gaze at TJ. Mari wondered if she’d imagined the entire exchange. Maybe she had just thought the woman was looking at her when really she was just looking around the room? Surely there was no reason why a stranger would seek her out in a situation like this?
Soon she was too distracted to notice or even think about what that entire exchange was about. All it took to distract her from the nervous energy and curiosity was for her to see that Brett Williams had moved from his forced casual stance leaning against the bar and was heading directly for her. Brett made her nervous in an entirely different way—one that settled low in her stomach and…below. The kind she hadn’t felt in far too long. His gaze on her bare skin sent warm shivers down her arms and across her shoulders. She could feel the exact path his eyes traveled across her body and it was every bit as seductive as if his hands had taken the trip instead. Just the idea of his hands on her made her feel flushed and she knew without looking that her cheeks were turning pink and giving away her wandering imagination.
Around her the partygoers were mingling with each other, laughing and talking with old friends and making new ones. She didn’t care a bit for any of it. Suddenly all she wanted was more of him in whatever way she could get it.
“You’re staring again, Mari.” His voice was soft, whispered close to her ear so only she could hear—which made the comment feel all the more intimate.
“I told you, it’s a bad habit.” Good God, she was flirting with him! Her. Flirting. With a guy. Not just a guy, but a seriously hot, melt-your-panties-off-into-a-puddle-on-the-floor guy. The realization smacked her in the face and just as quickly she disregarded it. Flings were a thing. And vacation flings were definitely a thing. Granted, a thing she had never had but that didn’t mean she couldn’t. Starting now. Starting here. Please God, let it start here and now.
His grin was wicked and dangerous and sent heat licking to all the good and long ignored spots on her body. “Yes, that’s true, you did warn me. In my line of work we call that the known risk. Those are never as scary as the unknown ones. So I think I can handle it.”
“Your line of work being security?” She asked, cocking her head to the side as she mentally walked her hands across his shoulders, counting how many steps it would take before her fingers could play with that little curl of hair at the collar of his jacket.
“Yes.”
“That sounds interesting.” She actually had no idea what that sounded like, but she was desperate to keep the conversation going.
“Do you work with TJ?” His question caught her by surprise and then she remembered that he never seemed to miss a thing.
“Not with, directly. More like in the same circles. Photography is a smaller world than you probably think.”
“I’m sure it is, especially at that level.” Again he surprised her with how much he knew. There weren’t many men who were aware of TJ’s work in fashion magazines like Vogue and Harper’s Bazaar. Try as she might, she couldn’t quite picture Brett choosing that as his relaxation reading.
“You’re a big fan of fashion photography then?” she teased.
A smirk flitted across his face and if she hadn’t been watching him oh so closely, she might have missed it. Just as quickly as it had appeared, it was hidden by the practiced mask of neutrality he wore so well. “Not exactly, but this is a small island and, well his wife is proud of his work so I may have glanced at a photo or two to appease her need to brag.”
“Ah, and here I was picturing you as a loyal subscriber to all the various persuasions of Vogue. For what it’s worth, the Vogue Italia is my favorite.”
“Thanks for the recommendation.” And bam, just when she thought he was going to hide behind that neutral look of his all night, the grin nearly knocked her panties off for good. Although to accommodate the lines of this particular barely-there dress, the panties she wore were also of the barely there variety, so in fairness, there wouldn’t be a lot of effort required to knock them off. She would give anything to capture that look with her camera. The problem was with that smile aimed at her, there were no functioning brain cells left to remember how to operate a camera.
“Happy to help.” She leaned closer as she spoke, hoping to play into the air of flirtatious conversation they were sharing in their quiet corner, but instead, she got caught in the hypnotizing scent that surrounded her. Good God, he even smelled delicious. A mixture of something spicy and subtle along with what she suspected was nothing more than whatever soap he’d used in the shower. Just thinking the word shower in the same thought as Brett made her mouth start to water.