Sand, Sun...Seduction! Read online

  Seeing her, the smile, the sparkle in her green eyes, the way her hair had glimmered under the twinkling tree lights, he’d been fascinated.

  Meeting her a few minutes later and learning she was the wife of his new staff writer, he’d been completely disappointed.

  Yet, even knowing she was off-limits, he had still wanted to be around her. He’d wanted to know if the warmth, the laughter, were only products of holiday joy or part of a sparkling personality that outshone everyone else in the room.

  She’d distracted him long after that night. And once they’d been thrown together in a working relationship, after he’d hired her firm to help him fix his reputation, he’d realized she had brains and a kind, vulnerable heart, too. The attraction had grown exponentially.

  But there were some lines he wouldn’t cross. The ones on a marriage certificate in particular.

  “How did you find me?”

  He hesitated, not sure how much to reveal. Then he stuck with a simplified version of the truth. “Coincidence, really.”

  “Are you saying you just walked in by chance and had no idea I was here?”

  No. He hadn’t said that. Just as he wasn’t an adulterer, he wasn’t a liar, either. Because while it had been coincidence that a former co-worker of hers had mentioned hearing Liz was living in St. Lucia, Jack had not shown up here to see her by chance. In fact, not only did he want to see her, he needed to.

  The only problem was, his need would inevitably bring her more heartache. Because reliving the details of her ugly divorce wasn’t going to be easy. Yet that was exactly what he wanted Liz Talbot to do.

  “Does it matter?” he finally replied.

  She shoved her fingers through a strand of hair that had escaped her ponytail, tucking it behind her ear. Her hair was longer now, not trendy and stylish, but instead, casual and simple. She looked younger, healthier, with color in her cheeks and no dark circles under her eyes, as he’d sometimes noted in the old days.

  Island life agreed with her.

  “What are you doing here, Jack?”

  “Would you believe I’m on vacation?”

  “I worked with you for three months, remember? You don’t take vacations. You don’t even take weekends.”

  True. In the five years since he’d taken over his father’s job at the helm of Cardinal Publications, he couldn’t remember going on a real, no-phones, no-interruptions vacation.

  Quite a change for Bad Boy Beaumont, as the press had called him in his younger, wilder days.

  The woman standing across from him was the reason it no longer did. She had done a fantastic job helping him shed the spoiled-rich-kid image he’d been carrying around since he’d been dumb enough to acquire it.

  He’d been her project. Her job. In her hands, his wild-child rep had all but disappeared. The media now saw him as a smart businessman, a well-liked philanthropist and a suitable successor to his father. All thanks to her.

  Liz had been one of the best, one of the brightest, one of the most successful PR execs in Boston. And here she was tending bar at a beach-front dive in the islands.

  He liked that about her. A lot. The woman had more courage than just about anyone he’d ever known. A lot of people might talk about dropping out and doing something new and exciting in a strange, exotic place. She was one of the few he’d ever known to actually do it.

  “Okay, you win,” he admitted, realizing she was still waiting for an answer. “I’m here on business.”

  “I figured. Let me guess…planning to be the Rupert Murdoch of the Caribbean?”

  Laughing softly, he said, “No. Just trying to open up some markets for our publications.”

  That was entirely true. He did want to try to increase the worldwide distribution of some of the monthly periodicals his company published, including here in the islands.

  But he hadn’t had to start here in St. Lucia. There had been plenty of other islands, bigger ones with more tourists and more potential distribution sites. Coming here, however, had had the advantage of bringing him face-to-face with Liz.

  In truth, though, this stop hadn’t been entirely about gaining his publishing business a new market. Nor was it just to see the woman he’d been so attracted to once upon a time. It had been a way to accomplish both of those objectives while also working on a third: dealing with a looming crisis that threatened his company. A crisis in the form of a potential lawsuit filed by an angry, vengeful woman.

  The woman who had helped destroy Liz Talbot’s marriage.

  Considering they had a common enemy, Liz should be glad to help him out. But he already knew she wouldn’t be.

  Liz had come here to escape the past, get away from the sadness and the memories. And like some dark harbinger of evil, Jack Beaumont was about to bring that sadness and those memories right to her sunny new doorstep.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “SO YOU REALLY work here?”

  Liz nodded, not trusting her voice to sound entirely normal if they got into a real conversation. She simply couldn’t get used to the idea that Jack Beaumont had walked into this place. He had sat down at her bar, acting as though it was a normal, small occurrence—rather than an unbelievable, tsunami-sized one.

  Maybe for him, a man used to traveling the world, meeting hundreds of people each year, it wasn’t such a big deal, nor a huge surprise.

  For her? Major deal. Enormous surprise.

  “How’d you end up a bartender?”

  Considering he knew the basics of why her marriage had fallen apart, she assumed he wasn’t asking why she’d left town, but rather how she’d learned to sling drinks. “I got through college working behind a bar.”

  “What a coincidence. I got through college sitting in front of a bar.”

  Her mouth twitched, she couldn’t help it. Jack had always been forthright about the mistakes he’d made in his youth; he’d never tried to hide them. She’d liked that about him.

  No. No liking allowed. Given what had happened with her personal life because of him, she shouldn’t have forgotten that for even a second. Because by the time she’d left Boston, she had no longer even liked one little thing about Jack Beaumont.

  “I know,” she said, intentionally baiting him. “I remember those pictures of you judging the wet T-shirt contest that came out in the press right before you went to your first New York stockholders meeting.”

  His amused expression never wavered, the zinger not piercing his confident hide. “Good thing those stockholders liked wet T-shirts.”

  “Who doesn’t?”

  Liz cast a quick glare over her shoulder, hearing Frank’s low murmur. He merely offered her a cheeky wink, confirming he’d been eavesdropping.

  “Sorry,” he said, sounding not a bit repentant. “But it’s true. Unless my Trinity’s da one in a wet T-shirt and any other man is there to see.” He slid off the stool. “Speakin’ of which, think I’ll mosey back and see where dat girl is.”

  Oh, wonderful. He was off to start tattling.

  She’d be answering a lot of questions later. Frank, Trinity’s boyfriend, would waste no time telling her everything he knew. So far that wasn’t much, but it would arouse Trinity’s curiosity.

  Which meant… “They’re going to be walking out here to check you out any minute now,” she muttered, speaking more to herself than to Jack.

  “Why?”

  “Because Frank is telling my boss that there’s a good-looking man here flirting with me and I haven’t threatened to toss a drink in his face yet.”

  He grinned. “Good-looking?”

  Remembering the jerk who’d just left, she pursed her lips and eyed him sourly. “If you ask if I think you look like a movie star, I’ll have to kill you.”

  “I don’t look like a movie star.”

  He was right. Jack was a hundred times better-looking, with features that needed no make-up enhancement and a tall, strong body that didn’t require any special camera angles to make him appear larger than life.
<
br />   He already was larger than life. And no self-respecting female bartender in the world would turn him down if he offered her a screaming orgasm.

  Except this one.

  Watching the door to Trinity’s office, Liz said in a low voice, “If they do come out and start asking any questions, please don’t let on how we know each other.”

  “Any particular reason?”

  “My past has been off-limits since I arrived here, and I’d rather keep it that way.”

  He nodded once. “Understood.”

  “Thanks,” she said, remembering how different things had been—how different she had been—when she’d made this island her home.

  She had come with two suitcases and no real plans beyond wanting a change from her old life. Her bank account had been in good shape, thanks to several years in a high-paying job, and a reasonable judge who had refused her ex’s demands for alimony. She hadn’t needed to work right away. But she’d stumbled onto Trinity’s place and had instantly fallen in love with both the bar and the people who worked there.

  The thought of the grilling she was going to get from those people as soon as Jack left enabled her to pull a few brain cells together. She breathed normally again—pretty much. She reminded herself to remain polite, noncommittal and uninterested.

  She’d always been polite to Jack Beaumont, one of the richest men in Boston, who’d had a reputation as a womanizer and a player. He had been her husband’s boss, and then her own client. So of course she’d been polite.

  Noncommittal…well, while working on the campaign, trying to show the world the genuinely intelligent, hardworking man she’d come to know, she’d had to throw noncommittal right out. There was no way to remain only partly invested in your work in the PR biz. You either believed in the product you were selling, or you passed the job on to someone else. Because not believing it meant you’d never find the right way to pitch it.

  Uninterested, though, was another matter altogether. Jack had been, probably still was, the most interesting person she had ever met.

  “Are you ever going to ask me what I want?” he prompted.

  “Huh?” she said, surprise widening her eyes.

  “To drink.”

  “Oh. Sure.” She swallowed, but before he opened his mouth, she stuck out an index finger in warning. “But don’t ask for anything stupid. I’m not in the mood after that last guy.”

  The smile remained on that strong, sexy mouth, but the glitter in his eyes spoke of something other than humor. “I don’t feel the need to throw out the suggestive names of drinks when I desire a woman. If I want sex on the beach, I’ll take her to the beach.”

  Liz swallowed, her mouth going dry. The salty air washing off the warm sea suddenly seemed even hotter than a normal July day in the tropics.

  Wow. He wasn’t George Clooney. But that was one hell of a line.

  “You know, coming from anyone else that would have sounded either arrogant or really smarmy.”

  He shrugged. “Sorry. Just the truth.”

  “I know.”

  Beaumont’s success with women was undeniable. The man had an almost irresistible appeal. She should know. She’d spent three long months in his company.

  Resisting.

  Not that she’d ever considered letting anything happen between them. There had only been one cheater in her marriage, and the thought of having an affair herself had never entered her mind. Not only because she’d made a vow, but because she would never intentionally hurt someone like that. Especially someone she had loved.

  No, she hadn’t needed to resist the innate sexiness that enveloped the man eyeing her from across the bar. She’d needed to resist how much she had once liked him.

  Rich, handsome, successful…and likable, with a quick wit, charm and a warm, genuine smile.

  When heaven had bestowed its gifts, Jack Beaumont had gotten back in line for a second helping.

  “What do you recommend?” he asked.

  Still a little loopy-headed thinking about the way the words “desire a woman” had sounded coming from his sensual mouth, Liz eyed him in confusion.

  “My drink. Do you have a specialty?”

  Get your head in the game, woman. “Uh, yeah. My margarita’s pretty famous. And I make a mean rum punch.”

  He suddenly looked dubious. “Sounds a little froufrou.”

  Ha. If he knew how much rum was in one of those things, he’d change his tune. “Two of them would put you under the bar.”

  “Where would they put you?” he shot back.

  Liz managed to keep her smile in place. “I make them. I don’t drink them.”

  “Fine. Rum punch it is. It’s not like I have to drive.”

  “No, you don’t. Taxis come by here all the time to scoop up tourists like you who underestimate the potency of rum and sun.”

  “Tourists like me, huh?” he asked, his voice soft, curious.

  She knew what he meant. “I no longer consider myself a tourist.”

  “You’ve put down roots in the sand, I take it? You really are living here?”

  “I have a small apartment in Castries.”

  Not roots, perhaps. The apartment was rented and she didn’t own a car, instead getting around on a motor scooter. That, some furniture and a tiny sailboat were the only things she owned.

  Still, this felt like home. As much like home as anyplace else she’d lived in the past decade. And in terms of feeling safe and secure—not just physically, but emotionally—it was the best home she’d had since her parents had died when she was twenty.

  “So you consider this your home now?”

  “Yes,” she replied as she turned away to make his drink. “I guess I do.”

  Working quickly and going heavy on the rum, she tried to bring her thoughts back together. Tried to figure out what he was doing here, beyond ordering a drink and looking far too good to her.

  Tall, powerful, handsome enough to deaden the brain cells of even the most modern of women, he fit in anyplace. She could easily picture him in the boardroom. In a corporate jet. In a bedroom in the Playboy Mansion surrounded by bimbos.

  Anywhere but sitting at her bar.

  The question was why. And what, exactly, did it mean for her, other than trouble?

  Trouble because, since she had last seen him, she’d been telling herself he wasn’t really that good-looking. That his thick hair wasn’t the rich, walnut shade she remembered. His eyes couldn’t be the unusual mix of brown and amber that sometimes flashed into her mind whenever she poured a really good Irish whiskey. He hadn’t been so tall, so broad, his smile so devastating it made her heart trip over a beat or two.

  She’d convinced herself of that.

  Unfortunately it was all bull. Because the man was everything she’d told herself he wasn’t.

  Except a good guy. He is not a good guy, so don’t start believing his act again.

  Finished mixing the drink, she nested the glass in a napkin and set it down in front of him. “You know, I pictured you more as the five-star, hedonism-resort kind of guy, with lots of rich snobs and nearly naked women. Not at a place like this.”

  Another lazy grin, another casual insult rolling right off him. He didn’t even bother to respond, merely lifting the drink to his mouth. He sipped a little. Then deeper. When he lowered the glass, he conceded, “Not bad.”

  “Not too girly for you?” she asked sweetly.

  “Nothing I can’t handle.” He might be talking about the drink, but his attention was solely on her. “Not too girly, not too sweet,” he added. “Just right.”

  Liz hesitated, suddenly wondering if he was talking about more than the cocktail. He had that tone in his voice, that same I-get-what-I-want echo that had been there earlier. Why it should be there when he looked at her, she had no idea.

  Because Jack had never wanted her. He’d never made an inappropriate gesture toward her. Sure once or twice she’d seen a sideways, appreciative glance, and she’d known he felt th
e same pull she did. But he’d never acted on it. So the idea of him showing up here because he had any kind of personal interest in her was ridiculous. Not least because he had to suspect she hated his guts.

  Hell she didn’t hate him. Couldn’t possibly hate him.

  But the spoiled, rich man sitting in front of her had played a part in breaking up her marriage. She had lived with his shadow for three years. Her ex had been playing a game of keeping up with Beaumont since the first day he’d gone to work for the other man. Keeping up in terms of money, style, charm and power. And, eventually, in women.

  Would Tim have cheated on her if not egged on by the competition with his boss?

  Maybe. But maybe not.

  In the end, it hadn’t come down to that competition, anyway. Beaumont had given Tim an assignment, told him to do whatever it took to get an interview with a reclusive, infamous author of erotic fiction.

  Tim had gone to interview the woman and had done whatever it took. Many times, in any number of places and positions.

  The blame was her ex-husband’s. And the fault of the skanky writer who had apparently decided to act out a steal-another-woman’s-husband plot for her next book. But Tim’s boss had played a part and, therefore, earned more than a little of her enmity. It had never gone away, and she’d have been happy to never see any of them again.

  The question therefore remained: what was he doing here? Even more important: how soon was he leaving?

  “Well, I should go. I have a dinner meeting.”

  One question answered. Thank God.

  Jack took his wallet out of his pocket and pulled out a bill that not only covered his drinks and the ones of the jerk who’d stiffed her, but probably those of all the other people in the place. “Keep the change,” he said as he set the money beside his glass.

  That glass was half-empty. “Too much for you?”

  He laughed softly. “Not more than I can handle.”

  “I’ll bet.” She pointed toward the side exit that led to the street, rather than to the beach. “Taxis swing by every ten minutes or so. Unless you’d rather call.”