Love Me if You Dare Page 5

  Just a few hours ago, he’d thought of her as a vulture. And he guessed he still did. But he liked her a little better now. And every instinct he’d had about her body being gorgeous was correct. The parts he could see anyway. Which were, frankly, most of them.

  So what’s your plan here, dude?

  Most of the time, if he’d found himself in this situation, he wouldn’t feel he needed a plan. He’d just go with the flow, let it happen however it happened. But again, this was extremely different. This woman was trying to cajole him into selling away his business, his life’s blood, his home.

  Maybe she’s entirely capable of casual fun, completely independent of her job. That was a nice thought.

  Or . . . maybe she thinks she’s gonna get you to change your mind in some weak moment.

  But if that was the case, she had another thing comin’. And maybe it was crazy to be letting himself so thoroughly enjoy the backrub he was giving her now—he kept adding lotion, but really, it had evolved into a backrub, plain and simple.

  Though . . . on the other hand, maybe it was the absolute smartest thing he could be doing. Keep your enemies close, right? And if she insisted on spending time here, at the Happy Crab, and in Coral Cove in general, maybe the best move he could make would be to stick to her like glue. As long as he was with her, she couldn’t do damage of any kind. Not that he even knew what sort of damage he thought she might try to do if left to her own devices, but why take the chance? And if sticking to her like glue meant getting close to her in other ways, too . . . well, he could just view that as a perk. And a potentially damn nice one.

  Just don’t let your guard down.

  Feeling he’d milked the backrub about as much as he could, he told her, “Your neck is getting a little pink, too,” then proceeded to put more sunscreen in his hand and smooth it on higher up, exploring the gentle curve of her neck where it led up to her hairline, taking in a few freckles sprinkled across her right shoulder and a slightly sexy mole. The mole would normally be hidden up under her long hair, and the fact that he was seeing it, touching it, felt almost . . . intimate in a way, because it made him aware that he had to be this close to her to know it was even there.

  And he knew she could very easily do her shoulders herself, but he went on, applying the lotion over both of them anyway. She didn’t protest and he liked that. He also liked how slick and shiny her sunkissed skin became beneath his touch because something about that was sexy, too.

  Still behind her, he eased his hands even a little farther forward, onto the front of her shoulders, glad there was enough lotion left on his fingers for that to make sense. Sort of. Leaning forward so that he could watch his own work, he rubbed it in with firm, sweeping circles on her flesh, his gaze dropping to her breasts. Nice view from this angle, and he went still harder in his trunks as he took in their sweet roundness, as his touch grew gradually but perilously closer to those soft swells held so sweetly aloft in her bikini top.

  The real reason he’d changed into trunks was knowing they would hide it better if she had that particular effect on him—and turns out he’d made the switch in the nick of time. The fact that she hadn’t stopped him, that neither of them had said a word in a while, added immeasurably to the silent lust moving between them.

  It was all he could do not to go further, not to ease his palms down over her. What would she do? Slap him and claim innocence? Or moan and welcome his touch? Either extreme seemed equally likely and he couldn’t remember a time when he’d been so tempted to play with fire. Her breasts lay just beyond his fingertips, and he could already feel them in his mind. She’d gone physically tense, but not in a bad way, and he had, too, if he was honest with himself. This was no normal seduction, no normal beach bunny on vacation looking for fun.

  And that . . . was what made him finally pull his hands away and move swiftly back to his own chair. “All done,” he said, playing it cool, like he wasn’t fighting the most intense desire he’d suffered in quite a while.

  Then he handed her the bottle of sunscreen he’d abandoned a few minutes earlier and, with his other hand, pointed in the general direction of her boobs, saying, “But you’ll want to do those, too. It would be a shame for them to burn.”

  “Thanks,” Camille said softly. But they already are. With heat and want and other entirely unwise things.

  Except . . . hadn’t she decided to play that card with him already? Hadn’t she decided that asking to spend time with him, letting their banter turn to flirtation, was all a means to an end? An end she needed to reach?

  Yet as she watched him get up, walk to the edge of the pool and smoothly dive in, slicing into the water almost silently to disappear beneath the surface for a few seconds, she had to ask herself some questions. Like where was the line? Where did she draw it? She’d never done this before, so she wasn’t sure, but she knew she needed to be careful. For more reasons than one.

  She’d never been into casual sex. Even with someone she really clicked with. She just wasn’t that good at keeping things “un-serious” once she got that intimate with someone. So . . . how much was she willing to use her sexuality to get what she wanted here?

  You have to have limits. And you can’t sleep with him. First of all, you don’t want a game like this to go that far because that stretched into being smarmy. And second, you sure as hell don’t want to get attached to a guy you have nothing in common with, not to mention a guy who you fully intend to conquer on the business front.

  Now Reece had emerged up through the sparkling blue water and floated on his back. She watched, thinking it had gotten hotter out and that she wouldn’t mind taking a dip, too, but not while he was in the pool. Under the circumstances, she feared only madness that way lay.

  So she tried to regroup instead.

  You’re going to set limits.

  You just don’t know what they are yet.

  You’d better figure them out.

  “Hello there.”

  The voice drew Camille’s attention from the man in the pool to a couple approaching through the breezeway next to the office. Both appeared to be in their thirties, the guy sporting a dark ponytail and small beard. The woman carried two swim noodles and both wore beach garb.

  “Hi,” Camille said, wondering if they’d checked in to the Happy Crab without her knowing.

  About that time, Reece stood up in the pool, the water hitting just above his waist, and as it sluiced off his hair and body, he lifted a hand in an easy wave to say, “Hey, guys. Come on in, the water’s fine.”

  Oh, so they weren’t customers—they were friends. And on some level, that satisfied her because it meant this place still had no business and that it remained a perfectly good idea to raze it and put something bigger and newer in its spot.

  But there were other things capturing her attention, too. Like that more than the water was fine. The man standing in the water, a wet lock of dark hair now curving down onto his forehead, was also fine. So fine that it was becoming disconcerting in certain moments, like this one. His fineness, it so happened, was running through her entire body in long, twisting ribbons of electricity she couldn’t push down or deny.

  “Beautiful day for some sun-worshipping,” the ponytail guy said in Camille’s direction. His outgoing, friendly nature caught her a little off guard, but she instantly liked him.

  “Yes, it’s lovely out,” she agreed. Only a few puffy white clouds dotted the otherwise bold azure sky.

  Then the ponytail guy looked to Reece. “Aren’t you going to introduce us to your friend?”

  “I’ll introduce you, but she’s not my friend,” Reece said without missing a beat.

  Oh, okay then. So his little dip into the water had been about putting some distance between them, and maybe that was indeed a good idea. And if there was a teeny tiny part of her that suffered a smidge of disappointment over it, she refused to acknowledge it. His reply to Ponytail Guy was exactly what she’d needed to help make this completely about busin
ess again, all of it. And when she remembered that, she wasn’t worried at all—since when it came to business, she had all the confidence in the world. All his fineness and all her ribbons of electricity be damned.

  Reece glanced her way then to say, “Cami, these are my friends, Fletcher and Tamra. Fletch and Tamra, this is Cami and she’s with the company trying to buy me out even though I keep saying no. I’m pretty sure her current plan is to drive me crazy until I do.” Though he’d turned his focus on his friends, now he switched it back to her, complete with a pointing finger. “Which I won’t. To make sure we’re completely clear on that.”

  “If you were any clearer,” she informed him, “you’d be completely transparent.”

  Fletcher laughed out loud as she and Reece exchanged looks, his probing. Her words implied she knew something about him, that she could see through him, even though, of course, she didn’t and couldn’t. But he looked a little concerned, and she liked that.

  “My name is actually Camille,” she explained to Fletcher and Tamra in her most pleasant tone, “but Reece likes to call me Cami to get on my nerves.”

  “Does it work?” Fletcher asked speculatively. He wasn’t joking—his tone said he was sincerely curious, a student of human nature.

  She just smiled. “Yes, but everything he does gets on my nerves, so he could just as easily save himself the trouble. And for what it’s worth, I’m merely trying to relax in the sun here, and it’s him who keeps acting as if I’m constantly pressuring him to sell. I guess he’s just hoping that making me look like some kind of ogre will drive me away, but that won’t work, either.”

  As Fletcher glanced back and forth between them, Camille grew still more intrigued with him. He struck her as a guy who didn’t miss much. And he proved her right by saying, “There’s clearly a lot of tension here. So would it be better if we came swimming another day, or will having other people around help?”

  “No tension on my side,” Reece claimed. “I’m as easygoing as ever. So stay, swim. It’s good to see you guys.” He tossed a look to Camille like an afterthought, informing her, “I let friends use the pool when business is slow.”

  She resisted the urge to reply, Then I guess they’re here all the time, lest his friends think she was a jerk. The woman, Tamra, hadn’t said a single word since arriving and Camille was getting a standoffish vibe. And no wonder, since Reece had already made her out to be some kind of corporate monster.

  As Fletcher and Tamra laid out colorful towels on a couple of chairs near a corner of the pool, Reece went on to say, “Fletcher is a tightrope walker and one of the more interesting dudes you’re likely to meet. He performs at the Sunset Celebration every night on the beach, next to the pier. You should catch his show while you’re here.”

  “A tightrope walker,” Camille said. “That makes you interesting already.” And truly, a tightrope walker was the last sort of person she’d expected to find in sleepy Coral Cove.

  “Tamra is a local artist. She sells her stained glass and pottery at the pier, too. They live on Sea Shell Lane in the residential part of town at the north end of the beach.”

  Camille smiled. “Well, how wonderful that your work allows you to spend sunny days like this together.”

  Though that made Tamra blink in a funny way as she slid off the long, gauzy skirt she wore over her bathing suit, and Fletcher said, “Oh, I think you might have the wrong idea. Tamra and I are neighbors. And friends. Purely platonic. I’m married.”

  Oh. Feeling a little silly, Camille tried to cover it by saying, “Well, nice that your wife doesn’t mind you having female friends. I guess she probably works during the day then?”

  And when even that produced an exchange of glances between the other three, she wondered how she’d put her foot in her mouth this time—until Fletcher informed her, “My wife is away right now.”

  And Reece added, “Actually, Fletcher’s wife left him a couple of years ago.”

  Camille tried to hide her shock and confusion, but was pretty sure her eyes had gone wide. Why on earth would Reece just blurt something like that out? And why did Fletcher then still act happily married?

  “And it’s okay for me to tell you that,” Reece added quickly, probably reading her expression, “because Fletcher was about to anyway. He’s an upfront kinda guy.”

  Now it was Camille who blinked, and for perhaps the first time since her arrival here, was left speechless.

  “It’s all right,” Fletcher assured her calmly from the lounge chair where he’d just settled in his swim trunks. “I promise.” Clearly he felt her discomfort and wanted to put her at ease. “Because she’s gone right now, but she’s coming back. It’s just a matter of being patient, that’s all.”

  Still Camille remained stuck on what to say. She’d thought some of her conversations with Reece so far were bizarre, but this surpassed that.

  “We worry a little about Fletcher having false hopes,” Reece told her, now leaning on the edge of the pool near her, head propped on his arms.

  “But I don’t, because my hope isn’t false,” Fletcher replied as certainly as if he were telling her the sun would rise tomorrow. “She’ll be back.”

  “I . . . hope you’re right,” Camille said then, finally finding her voice.

  “I am,” he assured her, then added, “These two are just worry warts. And I appreciate their concern—they’re good friends. But there’s nothing to worry about—it’ll all work out fine in the end.” And with that same inquisitive tone she’d sensed in him earlier, he now changed the subject—to something with the potential to be just as awkward. “So you’re with the developer who’s trying to buy the Happy Crab? We thought they’d finally gotten the message that Reece isn’t interested in selling—but alas, no, it appears.”

  “Correct—no.” She kept her pleasant voice in place not only because she didn’t want to seem like a creep, but because she already liked Fletcher despite the strange discussion they’d just engaged in. In addition to her other observations, he already struck her as a far more reasonable man than Reece. And also because what she was about to say was true. “We understand his attachment to this place, but time and progress marches on, and we truly believe the deal we’re offering is not only in his best interest, but also in the best interest of the entire community.”

  “There are probably other businesses you could purchase in the area instead,” Fletcher offered thoughtfully, “whose owners don’t have such a strong attachment to their property.”

  Hmm. While it wasn’t much, Fletcher’s words felt like a hint, a clue. Exactly what is your attachment to this motel, Reece?

  “So why not shop in greener pastures, so to speak?” Fletcher went on.

  “Believe me, I would prefer that,” she replied. “But I’m afraid the Happy Crab is in a prime position for Coral Cove’s next resort property. And Windchime, in association with Vanderhook, is very determined to build here. We’ve offered what is, to be blunt, an almost obscene amount of money for the place.”

  “But still I won’t budge,” Reece added as if to remind her. “So I’m not sure what she hopes to accomplish by continuing to hang around, but she’s at least lowering my vacancy rate. And she seems determined to see what Coral Cove is all about, so I’ve agreed to show her around—mainly to make sure she’s nicer to other people than she’s been to me.”

  The edges of Fletcher’s mustache twitched up-ward, resulting in half a grin. “She doesn’t seem so awful. Other than her overall mission, that is.”

  “Isn’t that enough?” Reece asked.

  But Fletcher moved on. “So what are you two crazy kids planning on doing tonight to see the town?”

  “I’m leaving that up to Reece,” Camille replied. “I’m just after a taste of Coral Cove, whatever that brings.”

  “Well,” Reece said, standing upright in the pool again to thoughtfully stroke the stubble on his chin that now actually seemed sexy to her, “I can’t think of anything more Coral Cove th
an dinner at the Hungry Fisherman.”

  Camille had seen the Hungry Fisherman restaurant next door to the Happy Crab. The large sign out front featured a rather menacing-looking, slicker-wearing fisherman outlined in yellow neon and the parking lot had seen better days. It was the last sort of place she’d normally eat. So . . . why was some part of her actually looking forward to it? “Sounds good,” she said easily.

  And Fletcher laughed.

  “What’s funny?” she asked.

  He cast a friendly grin her way to reply, “You have no idea what you’re in for.”

  . . . But he had also a noble sense

  of justice and a lion courage to do

  what seemed right to him . . .

  J. M. Barrie, Peter and Wendy

  Chapter 5

  CAMILLE SAT across an old laminate table from Reece in a booth with a tear in the seat. “These booths have been here since the fifties, right?” she asked, at once thinking how horrible that was in some ways but also what a long history they had.

  “Believe so,” Reece said. “Abner—that’s the owner—his uncle built the place back then. And Abner and his wife, Polly, bought him out in the mid-seventies.”

  Camille glanced at the woman across the room waiting on another table. She wore a rust-colored waitress’s dress and the closest thing Camille had seen to a beehive hairdo outside of pictures. “Let me guess—that’s Polly.”

  “Yep.”

  “And I’m wagering she’s been wearing that same uniform since the day she started working here.”

  A small smile curled the corners of Reece’s mouth. “Probably. Certain things don’t go out of style around here the way they do other places. We’re not always looking for new and better—we appreciate the tried and true, and history, and nostalgia.”