Chapter 1
Emerald-green and indigo waters; sugar-fine, white sand; high-rise condos lining a horseshoe-shaped sickle of land that curved upward, all the way from San Destin to Pensacola and beyond. Palm trees, tropical heat, and fruity, umbrella-adorned drinks served from a swim-up bar, cleverly designed to look like a tiki hut, except for the one marble counter. Lithe young women in bikinis that showed off sculpted abs and asses, their hair gathering salt as they carefully dunked themselves into the roaring surf cresting up from the Gulf of Mexico.
It was absolute paradise, picture-perfect, a postcard in 3D—or at least it would have been if he wasn’t so tense, not to mention stuck behind that stupid bar. The young woman walking toward him across the sand made the multitudes of beautiful girls packing the beaches pale in comparison. With her perfectly highlighted, streaky blonde hair, a body made for far more than the nearly-microscopic bikini that barely covered her crotch and her well-shaped breasts, full lips, and a perfectly straight nose jutting out from beneath a pair of expensive designer sunglasses, she was magnificent. Her tan wasn’t just golden; she almost glowed, almost more than the sun above them.
Her mouth, painted in a crushed-berry hue, lifted at the corners. “I need a drink.”
“Yeah? What’s your poison?”
Her head tilted as she tried to look at the array of bottles behind him. “Um…rum?” she said, uncertainty in her voice.
The handsome barkeep summed her up quickly: More the designer-drink-type than the raw-shot-type, in my opinion. Then again, who really knows for sure? He’d been working there long enough to know that many people on the beach were as plastic as the chairs they sat in, and the vacationers and tourists were always doing things and drinking things they had never tried before. He was sure this beach Barbie was no exception. “Straight up?”
She hooked her shades back with one finger. “Hmm…maybe not.” There was a slightly rueful expression in her eyes.
He couldn’t help but gaze into the dark chocolate pools, which seemed very unusual, given her light hair. Of course, the hair’s never natural here either, he reminded himself. Grayson lifted an eyebrow as her face swam into focus. He took in her high cheekbones, eyes that tilted just slightly at the corners, a tilt made more noticeable by a perfect cat-eye application of kohl. He had to wonder just how long that makeup was going to last and what it would look like smudged and messy. He also found himself battling a serious desire to reach across the bar, grab a fistful of that luxurious hair, fake color or not, and plant a kiss on her lush mouth, one that would be guaranteed to mess up that perfect, incredibly careful application of lipstick.
Except Grayson knew exactly who she was: Riley Teeter, daughter of a self-made billionaire with serious political leanings. What the hell is she doing here, of all places? Grayson wondered, peering over at the two men in the lounge chairs nearby, who seemed to be keeping a very close eye on her and two other girls who were frolicking in the waves. Yes, the resort was luxurious, but it generally pulled in affluent folks from the Southeast and Canada, none of whom had the kind of money Riley’s family had. Undoubtedly, some millionaires showed up there for a little R&R, but it wasn’t normal for a billionaire and her buddies to build their castles in that sand. Then again, he considered, maybe that’s precisely why she’s here. Maybe she’s just not into normal.
Before he could think about that too much, Grayson shot a sexy little brunette with a full rack and a plumped-up ass a wicked smile as she swam up to the bar and plopped her curvy self onto a bench. “What can I do ya for?” he asked, not even bothering to hide the lust in his eyes.
“Gimme a shot…of anything.”
“You sound pretty desperate there, honey,” he said in a low, smoky voice.
“You’ve got no idea.”
“I see. Well, in that case…” He paused and set a tall frosted glass in front of her, filled it with frothy beer, then dropped in a shot of whisky and passed it over. “Here ya go, sweetheart. Just what the doctor ordered.”
She grinned at him. “Doctor? It looks to me like you’re trying to get me drunk, Grayson.”
“Maybe I am.”
“And what for?”
“Maybe I like to play doctor,” he teased, winking at her.
“Ahem…” Riley Teeter cleared her throat, and the irritation was obvious in her voice when she spoke again. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I do believe I was here first.”
“You’re no bother at all,” Grayson said, earning an eye-roll from the other woman. “I was just waiting for you to decide.” He gave the brunette a quick grin.
She gulped down her drink, then set the half-empty glass back on the bar and swam back out into the pool that fronted that side of the bar.
Riley tapped her perfectly manicured nails on the marble counter.
Again, Grayson wondered why the hell she was there.
She cleared her throat again, a little more quietly this time, and looked over at the pool and the perky-breasted brunette, then scanned farther down to the beach, just beyond the edge of the infinity pool. “If it’s all the same to you,” she said, finally turning her gorgeous eyes back on him, “I think I’ll have the Windy Hammer.”
He gave her a tight smile, then poured, shook, strained. It really wasn’t Grayson’s business why she was there. What was his business was serving his customers, in the hopes that maybe somebody would give him a good tip, in whatever form that took.
As if she had read his naughty little mind, she took the drink and offered up her room key. “Just put it on my tab,” she said with a grin.
Damn! he thought, feeling stupid for thinking she was granting him access to more. He slid it swiftly through the machine and handed her the slip and a pen.
She signed with a flourish and did, in fact, add a healthy tip.
Grayson resisted the urge to go wide-eyed at the exaggerated percentage she added. Certainly, his service wasn’t that great. Of course, he really didn’t give three shits about that. He’d long since burned out on being there, and he didn’t care who knew it. Tips were nice, and he needed the job, but money was the only thing holding him to it. For all he cared, all those wealthy, plastic-surgery people who swam up to him daily could drown in the next tidal wave or choke on their double martinis.
Riley sauntered off, purposely swaying in a way that forced him and every male with eyes to admire her bottom for a moment. The bathing suit, if it could be called that at all, let little crescent-shaped slivers of each ass cheek hang below the sliver of fabric, seriously sexy and well-shaped slices of ass cheek at that.
Pssh, Grayson thought, scolding himself for being so foolish. As far as I’m concerned, little Miss Daddy’s-a-Bazillionaire can keep that fine ass of hers in that overpriced bikini. He had enough trouble in his life, and the last thing he needed was to get caught up in some bullshit with the daughter of a man who espoused family values and modesty and everything and anything else he thought would get him a seat in the political arena. Her father was a panderer in every way, and if there was one thing Grayson couldn’t stand, it was a kiss-ass.
“You know who that is, kid?” asked a familiar voice.
“Oh, hey, Dad. Yeah, I know,” he answered when he saw Jon lifting his chin toward Riley.
“My boy, I think it would be in all our best interests if you’d,” he chuckled and then continued, “…spend a little time with that one.”
Like father, like son? “Nope.” The answer came fast and easy, followed by a firm shake of the head. “She’s not the kind we need to invest in, Dad. I hear her old man’s got a tight-ass clutch on the purse strings. He’ll die with them in his hand before he’ll let anyone get a finger on a cent.”
That was really what it all came down to, and they both knew it. They had a manager—a funds manager. That so-called manager had managed very little except to abscond with some serious cash at the precise moment when Jon decided to expand the resort brand up to Pensacola, a burgeoning market. Now, they were in desperate need of a heavy investor and they needed to nail down that benefactor fast, or at least Jon did.
Grayson, on the other hand, had never enjoyed the family business, and he’d said more than once, in no uncertain terms, that he wanted nothing to do with it. He damn sure didn’t want to spend the summer pouring drinks down rich people’s gullets and trying to entice rich bimbos to lure their daddies to the investor’s table. What he really wanted to do was go with his buddies on a deep-sea scuba-diving trip. There were plenty of places to do it in the area, as his father had pointed out many times, but Grayson had grown up in those waters, and even that bored him. He was ready to go out and stretch his legs, and he was tired of life and his father making him feel as if he’d been cut off at the knees.
Jon shifted in his seat. “Look, all I’m askin’ is that you just spend some time with her, Grayson. Tell her about the resort and mention that we’re looking for investors and would love to talk to her father. I’m not asking you to sleep with her. Heaven knows you get enough of that kind of action.”
The last remark was said with a dryness Grayson recognized as sheer disapproval, but he really didn’t care about his father’s disapproval on that matter either. It was impossible to be surrounded by so many half-naked women, young ladies slurping down fruity liquor till the only reservations they had left were the ones they held in the VIP rooms at the resort, without giving in to their advances. “Okay,” he finally muttered with a sigh. Of course he wasn’t going to do what his father was asking of him, but he didn’t want to prolong the argument, the same argument the two of them had had a million times.
Grayson held some deep resentment for Jeff, his older brother, who had somehow earned a free pass and skipped out on the hellish long summer hours. That little sibling rivalry raged on in Grayson’s head every time he thought of his brother heading off to a few super-awesome resorts that comped his way. It was all about a con game, of sorts, a sleight of hand his father liked to call “brand ambassadorship.” It really rankled Grayson to the core. Yes, Jeff was better at that kind of thing, no doubt, so he was the perfect candidate for the job, but if not for those junkets Grayson would not have had to take up the glad-handing slack at their home resort just then.
After Jon walked off, Grayson released a long breath and poured himself a cool, tall glass of fruit juice. It was sweltering under the fake thatched roof of the tiki hut, and he was sweating bullets. The temptation to dive into the pool or the ocean was high, but he couldn’t abandon his post no matter how badly he wanted to. The precious, spoiled guests would scream their heads off, but not before his dad would chew off his.
Damn it, he thought with a groan. He really didn’t mind working or even being part of the family business. What really irked Grayson was that he wasn’t allowed to decide what he wanted out of his own fucking life. In fact, he minded that a hell of a lot.
As he sipped his fruit juice, wondering if he should have poured something stronger, his eyes went to Riley. He decided right then and there that his best course of action would be to simply ignore her, then fib to his father and say he wasn’t able to get close enough to speak to her, except for the rare occasions when she swam over to his bar.
It wasn’t that he wanted to see his father’s resort fail. In fact, he wanted nothing but great success and happiness for his dad. It just irritated him that he was suddenly thrust into the role of being a smooth-talker and hustler, a role he had never asked to play. He was good with women and had his pick of them, but he didn’t like taking advantage of them. He preferred to go after girls who really wanted his attention, and Riley had already made it quite clear that all she wanted from him was a drink now and then. My vacation’s already wrecked. Why should hers be, too?