Love Me if You Dare Page 3

  Then he gave his head a brisk shake and glanced to Fifi, now curled comfortably in her favorite corner of the office, behind the desk. “It’s been too long since I was with a woman,” he informed her.

  Because this woman was not his type—so why was he thinking about her in the shower? Sure, he’d seen some nice towel cleavage. And who was he kidding—he’d noticed her long, gorgeous legs, too. And when she’d stepped off the bed, the towel had barely covered her and he’d caught a sexy-as-hell glimpse of hip—he’d even seen tan lines. But no matter how sexy she was under that red suit, she still wasn’t his type. At all.

  And okay, he’d had some fun catching her with her defenses down—it wasn’t his fault it had happened, but he’d taken full advantage of the situation. “I still can’t believe she thought you were a dinosaur,” he said to Fifi. He was used to the Feefster catching guests a little off guard, but having someone call her a dinosaur—that was a new one.

  And if Camille Thompson had been anyone else, maybe, just maybe, he’d have thought it was . . . cute. But she wasn’t anyone else. She was the Vanderhook Company personified. “She’s a vulture,” he added to Fifi. And he didn’t like that she’d scared his iguana, either.

  “Doing okay now, girl?” he asked. She couldn’t answer, of course, but he still felt the need to soothe her. Iguanas could be a lot more sensitive than they looked, and it didn’t take much to frighten his. She’d grown used to being around strangers due to living at a motel, but sudden noises—like a screaming lunatic—tended to upset her. Fortunately, she usually calmed down quickly, too, and Reece knew his presence put her at ease. “Don’t worry—we won’t let that mean lady in the towel bother you anymore.”

  Just then the office door opened and Riley stepped in. “That new guest down in room eleven had trouble with her key, so I told her I’d put some graphite in the lock,” he said.

  “Good idea,” Reece told him as Riley walked around the counter toward the maintenance closet behind it.

  “She sure is a pretty lady,” the older man said.

  “Yep.” Reece couldn’t argue that. Wouldn’t even try.

  “Was there some trouble in her room? I heard a ruckus when I was workin’ in seven. But stuck my head out and saw you go rushin’ in, so figured whatever it was, you’d call me if ya needed me.”

  Reece gave the old man a soft smile. “Fifi was in her tub. She’d never seen a giant iguana before, so it scared her a little.”

  Riley tossed him a sideways glance. “Sounded like more than a little.”

  And they both chuckled before Reece said, “She deserved it, though.”

  Riley had been searching out the graphite on a low shelf, but this drew his gaze back to Reece. “What do you mean? She seemed like a nice lady.”

  “Afraid not,” Reece informed his friend. “She’s with the company that keeps trying to buy me out.”

  Riley’s aged eyes darkened at the news. “Well, that’s a cryin’ shame, that is. But . . . maybe you’re judgin’ her too quick. She might still be nice.”

  Yet Reece shook his head in a knowing way. “Nope, she’s pushy, manipulative, and refuses to take no for an answer, no matter how many times I give it to her. And everything about that company has struck me as money-grubbing and unscrupulous—and she strikes me the same way. Pretty or not.”

  When movement outside drew Reece’s eyes to the plate glass windows and beyond, Riley’s followed and they watched the lady in question cross the parking lot in denim shorts, a fitted tank, and flip-flops. “Huh,” he said. Now he was the one caught off guard. A little anyway.

  “What?” Riley asked.

  “Just didn’t think she could look so . . . casual.”

  Or . . . cute. But that part he kept to himself.

  “She’s awful cute,” Riley said then, as if on cue.

  He gave the older man a quick glance. “I guess. Maybe.”

  And Riley laughed. “No maybe about it, padre. A shame ya think she’s so . . . what’d you call her—unscrupulous? Otherwise, if I was a fella your age, I’d be plantin’ Fifi in her room every chance I got and just waitin’ to come to her rescue.”

  Reece couldn’t help letting out a good-natured laugh at the idea. But only the idea. In reality, he wanted nothing to do with Vanderhook’s little Miss Tinkerbell. Maybe it was a shame, but he couldn’t change who she was or what she was about.

  “Oh well, doesn’t matter,” he told Riley. “She’ll be checking out in the morning and going back to wherever she came from.”

  Hopefully never to darken his door again.

  THE day was waning on Coral Cove Beach by the time Camille took to the sand, her beaded flip-flops dangling from one hand. Families busily packed up to go, tossing towels in beach bags, folding up colorful umbrellas. Still, she found a certain charm in it all that she hadn’t quite expected. She was used to spending time at resorts that were lavish but . . . in some ways all alike. She was accustomed to seeing precise rows of matching umbrellas or cabanas lined up like little armies facing the water—and something appealed to her about the scattered, colorful randomness she took in now. A striped umbrella here, a turquoise one there, the wooden red-and-white lifeguard stand in the middle of it all. A young couple flew bright kites near the pier that made crinkly sounds as they twisted and turned and swooped in the wind.

  The whole scene made for a nice distraction from what was really on her mind. She’d embarrassed herself with Reece Donovan.

  Dinosaur? She’d really said dinosaur?

  But it had looked sort of like one. Or a dragon. Not that saying that would have been much better.

  And on top of it all, he’d seen her in nothing but a towel. Talk about feeling naked, both figuratively and literally. And then he’d made fun of her.

  She’d never been so disarmed in front of a property owner before; she’d never let anyone in her professional realm see her looking or acting any less than sophisticated and in control. Now she felt as if her armor had been stripped away, like Zorro if someone ripped off his mask. Without his mask, Zorro was still Zorro, but . . . without it, it was impossible not to comprehend that he had other sides. And so did she. She was sorry she’d let Reece Donovan see any of them.

  She also remained sorry to find him . . . oddly attractive. Odd because she just didn’t go for beach bums or anyone who could fall even remotely into that category. And she especially didn’t go for one dumb enough to pass up an offer as great as the one Vanderhook had so generously presented to him.

  And yet there was something about his cool confidence. And, again, his eyes. And grin. Though maybe the grin had been a little less appealing when he’d been practically laughing at her.

  Not many people made her feel vulnerable. Or got to see her feeling weak. But when she’d walked into the bathroom, ready to relax with a nice long shower, and instead she’d seen that . . . that thing, when she’d least expected it, she’d reacted like a little girl.

  But you’re not a little girl anymore. Haven’t been one for a very long time, and thank goodness. She liked who she was as an adult much more. Or maybe she just liked the control she possessed over her life now much more. She’d built a good one for herself, and she’d worked hard to get where she was, hard to overcome a past she resented.

  The truth is, screaming at that giant iguana made you feel just as weak and defenseless as when you were a kid.

  She sighed, putting one bare foot in front of the other as she made her way up the shore. And Reece Donovan saw you like that. She shook her head, still a little put out with herself. She never made mistakes on the job. Ever.

  But it would be okay. It took more than one giant iguana and its arrogant owner to keep her down. Now was the time to regroup.

  So what was she going to do to get this guy to give up that dinky little motel?

  What was his attachment to a completely failing business that could make him rich if he simply let it go? Maybe she needed to dig for that answer. And in the meant
ime, she should also start looking for ways around it if she came up empty.

  One thing she knew for sure, though, was that after the bathtub incident she felt even more determined than before to make him sell. Before that, it had been all about business and succeeding—but now it was almost a point of pride, too.

  Though even if her pride hadn’t come into play here, she still had to figure out a way. It wasn’t an if for Camille—it was a how and a when. That simple.

  As she’d hoped, a walk on the beach had cleared her head. And was slowly bringing her normal confidence back around. Coming to a halt, she lowered her flip-flops to the sand and reached for the cell phone in her pocket. From it, she sent a text to her administrative assistant, Kate.

  NEGOTIATIONS GOING SLOWER THAN EXPECTED ON CORAL COVE, FLORIDA PROPERTY. CANCEL MY CALENDAR FOR THE WEEK—I’M GOING TO NEED TO STAY A FEW DAYS TO GET THIS ONE UNDER WRAPS.

  Next order of business: putting her game face back on. Remembering who she was. And what weapons lay in her arsenal. The biggest, hands down, was her unwavering confidence. Which had—okay—wavered just slightly over the last couple of hours. But that was rare, there was a first time for everything, and it was over now. And the next time Reece Donovan saw her, she’d make him forget she’d ever appeared the least bit vulnerable or weak in front of him.

  REECE had slept poorly. Visions of an evil Tinkerbell had danced in his head.

  But it was a new morning, and a happy one, because Vanderhook’s shapely henchman—or henchwoman, as the case may be—would be checking out of the Happy Crab, leaving the Crab to be happy again, and she’d also be checking out of his life.

  And if you want a hot chick—and his reaction to little Miss Cami in a towel told him maybe he wanted a hot chick—there’s a great big beach right across the street, filled with all the people staying at the fancy resorts up the road. As a man who appreciated a good, no-strings fling, he was living in the perfect place for it. Maybe he’d go for a stroll on the beach today himself, see what was new in bikinis this season.

  Getting up, he ran his hand back through his hair in a light effort to tame it a little, tugged the covers up in a light effort to make the bed, and pulled on a pair of gym shorts in a light effort to dress. If there were more guests at the Crab, he’d have been up and at it much earlier, but as it was, he saw no need not to take it easy.

  What if the guests never come back?

  It was a question that had been flitting around the recesses of his brain lately, but his general solution was just not to worry about it. Some stretches were leaner than others, but he was in good shape on money. And yeah, winter had been unusually slow and business hadn’t picked up in early spring like usual, at least partly due to that damn Windchime sign—but it’ll be fine.

  The small lot next door had been home to a snowcone stand for years, but it had closed and the little white hut had sat vacant for months now. In fact, he’d thought if business ever turned around that maybe he’d buy the land himself and improve it some way—sell beach amenities from it or something. Until that Windchime sign had gone up.

  He’d be damned if he’d let a high-rise resort be built here. Up the road, outside town, that was one thing—resorts fit well enough there, and the land they occupied had been only marshland until their arrival. But here, right in the heart of Coral Cove with all its old-fashioned one- and two-story businesses, it didn’t make sense. And besides, the Happy Crab was more than his business; it was his home.

  Meandering through his small apartment and out into the office, he spied a small box of donuts on the counter and knew Riley had gotten them from the Beachside Bakery next door. For a man who had so little, Riley was generous. But then, he suspected Riley would probably say the same thing about him.

  Reaching inside, he plucked out something that looked jelly-filled and took a bite. Yep, jelly—yum. Then he glanced through the open door of the small room on the other side of the office, outfitted with heat lamps and other iguana-related comforts, to the giant iguana who rested in the corner. “Morning, Feefster. I’ll get your veggies together in a few. Shame you don’t like donuts, though—you don’t know what you’re missing.”

  That was when he caught a glimpse of the motel pool out the office’s back window and was stopped in his tracks—by the sight of a gorgeous woman in a coral-colored bikini stretched out on a lounge chair.

  Were his eyes playing tricks on him? Was it really as easy as: wish for a hot girl in a bikini and one magically appears by the pool? And he couldn’t really tell if she was gorgeous from this distance—but from where he stood, she looked pretty perfect: blond, curvy, scantily clad. All the important stuff.

  Still, who the hell could she be? He squinted, looking again. He let friends use the pool when the place was empty, but they always checked with him first. And since no one had checked with him . . .

  Forgetting that he’d just rolled out of bed, he pushed through the back door and toward the mystery bikini lady.

  And the closer he got, the more he realized she wasn’t such a mystery. She was . . . Tinkerbell, damn it. It was after ten A.M. and he’d just assumed she’d be gone by now.

  As he moved on bare feet over the concrete toward her, he realized two things: She totally rocked that coral bikini, and the fact that she was still here didn’t bode well. At all.

  He walked right up to her chair, trying not to appreciate how nicely her breasts filled out the bikini top or how provocative she looked all stretched out that way, her arms flung carelessly over her head, her eyes shut. And I refuse to get a hard-on.

  “Um, almost checkout time,” he announced, knowing he sounded a little too impatient. But all things considered, he didn’t much care.

  Her eyes fluttered open and she looked sleepy, sexy—kind of like a woman who’d just had really good sex. For God’s sake, dude, knock it off. She’s a vulture.

  “Is it?” she asked lazily. “No matter. I’m not in a hurry. I’ve decided to take a little vacation, maybe stay few days.”

  “Tell me you’re kidding,” Reece begged.

  “Can’t, because I’m not.” Her self-satisfied look edged its way under his skin.

  His voice came out brittle. “Lucky me.”

  “You are lucky,” she insisted. “You need the business.”

  Reece forced himself to stay calm. “You’re right,” he agreed. “Especially with so many dinosaurs running around.”

  To put it with brutal frankness,

  there never was a cockier boy.

  J. M. Barrie, Peter and Wendy

  Chapter 3

  FOR THE first time since she’d opened her eyes, Camille found herself giving him a once-over. He looked messy . . . but good. She intended to focus on the messy part. “Is this how you greet all your guests in the morning?”

  He shot her a pointed stare. “Usually only the ones I wake up next to. But looks like you got lucky today, too.”

  Okay, so he was turning things sexual here? Of course, he’d already done that a little when she’d been naked yesterday, but frankly, that had seemed more understandable—and somehow less in-your-face. Or maybe the whole situation had just felt too surreal for her to really process it all correctly.

  At any rate, she simply shrugged and replied, “Matter of opinion.” And did her level best to look completely unaffected. Even though his gray cotton gym shorts sort of . . . clung to him a little in front. And even though his chest was nice. Muscular but not he-man muscular, with a nice smattering of hair that she wouldn’t have minded touching. What was it with wanting to touch his body hair? And he was tan, too. Stop noticing already!

  “Well, at least I’m wearing more than a towel.” He glanced down at himself and added, “Sort of anyway.” And looked smug. Like he was God’s gift to women.

  And suddenly she imagined waking up next to him, like he’d said. Oh, for heaven’s sake, stop! Seriously! Since when are you so . . . man-hungry?

  Since now, apparently. That just was
n’t usually her way, though.

  “That’s different,” she defended herself to him. “I didn’t go parading around in it purposely.”

  “Look,” he said, suddenly sounding all practical and as if she were a child to be reasoned with, “what difference does it make? We’re at the pool. I’m wearing as much as I would if I were going swimming. And in fact . . .” He stopped to glance down at the empty white lounge chair directly next to hers, one of many. “Maybe I’ll just join you out here for a little while. You wouldn’t mind that, would you, Cami?”

  She tried not to make a face at the annoying nickname, but was pretty sure he could tell he’d struck a nerve anyway. He was ridiculously good at that. But at least she was no longer behaving like the weak, wimpy girl he’d seen in her room yesterday.

  “Free country,” she tossed off as he took a seat and lay back, clearly getting comfortable. “Although if you think you’ll drive me away by forcing me to spend time with you and irritating me, you’re wasting your time. I’m sure I can irritate you just as badly.”

  She saw only the slight quirk of a grin at the edges of his mouth as he looked out over the pool and said, “You already do.”

  And despite herself, she smiled inside. “Well-played, Mr. Donovan.”

  At that, however, he slanted her a critical look. “Now that does irritate me. How many times do I have to tell you –”

  “Reece,” she said, correcting herself before he could go on about it. “Reece, Reece, Reece. Happy now?”

  He shrugged. “I wouldn’t go that far. But I’m a little less irritated.” Then he relaxed back into his chair again.

  They stayed silent for a few minutes after that, and Camille worked to get a firmer grip on the situation. After all, this was an entirely different way of pursuing an acquisition than she’d ever put into play before. A part of her questioned the wisdom of it. Lying here next to him in a bikini seemed pretty unprofessional. But then, perhaps that ship had sailed during the whole standing-on-the-bed-in-a-towel-screaming incident. And she had to get him to sell the motel somehow.