HOOKED ON YOU (Paradise Cove) (6 page)

“Don’t discuss me like I’m not in the room.” Taylor scooted back from the table. “I know what I’m doing. I know Jack. He’s a great guy. Partner in his father’s law firm. Successful. Killer good looks. And he came on to me! I’d have to be completely nuts to turn him down. After all, there aren’t a whole lot of quality guys to date around here. Even if they outnumber the women three to one, there isn’t a big selection. Take Colt as an example. He’s a good daddy, a nice man, but he’s in debt up to his eyeballs, and has no intentions of getting into any type of relationship with anyone. He just wants a body to cuddle in bed.”

Taylor reached for her champagne glass, realized it was empty, and put it back down. “Guy should get a freakin’ dog.”

Brittany put a hand on one slim hip and tapped her heeled toe. “Taylor, Taylor, how did you ever get to be my sister? Where did your genes go wrong? Mom has more gumption than you do. Married twice, and looking for number three. You, on the other hand run scared.”

“Hey!” Anna said, pretending her feelings were hurt.

“Brittany,” Kayla warned. “Tread lightly. Everyone is different—there is no right or wrong.”

“I do not run scared! I lived with my last boyfriend for two whole years.” The only running she did, was running two full-time businesses. Any fear on her part had everything to do with failing. Not falling in love.

“Yes, and what did he use to call you? Ice. Ice, ice, baby.”

Kayla smoothed Taylor’s hair in silent comfort.

“That was my fault.” Taylor jumped to his defense, wishing she’d never shared that story with her sister. “I know it sounds awful, but I started that whole thing. After we’d been together for a year or more, he wanted to know if I was happy in bed. I told him I was, then made a lame comment about how I could have played the part of Elsa in Frozen. You know….in bed. I have a hard time reaching a climax.”

“So he was a lousy lover. You shouldn’t have taken the blame.” Brittany sat across from her. “A good guy could turn you around in an instant,” she told her, putting a hand over hers. “Now, here’s the plan. You go out with your hot guy from the city, screw his brains out. Use a condom, and don’t worry. Or give Colt the thrill of his lifetime and do him instead. But you are not a nun. Not even Catholic. And you are certainly not frozen. You’re a warm, affectionate, joyful person. All you need is to start living before it’s too late.”

Brittany took a sip of her champagne as she glanced around the table. “We of all people know that life doesn’t come with a guarantee. We have to live for the moment, or it may never come.”

She spoke a harsh truth, a lesson they’d all learned the hard way.

Taylor shook her head sadly. She wasn’t built like her sister. Her beliefs were different, and she had to be true to them. Yes, she could go out more often, but that didn’t mean she’d “enjoy” her life more.

“I know what you’re saying, Brit. But I’m not like you, and I don’t want to be.”

“Okay, enough about your love life,” Brittany said, turning to face Kayla. “How’s the bride-to-be feeling? I see you’re not drinking. Hopefully that’s good news.”

“Maybe, but I’m afraid to get too excited or optimistic. I had another false alarm a few months back.” Kayla put her hand over her flat stomach.

“Oh, no!” Anna’s eyes grew wide. “I didn’t know, honey. You never said anything.”

“Well, there was nothing to say. My period was late, that’s all.”

“I’m sure that Sean has you seeing the best doctors in the field and is keeping an eye on you,” Anna said in comfort. “But you shouldn’t be working so hard. Why don’t you sit home and watch all those cute workmen banging around your new home?”

The girls laughed.

Anna sniffed. “Well, that’s precisely what I would do.”

Brittany rose and kissed her mother’s cheek. “As would I. But I think my siblings have our father’s genes.”

“When I see genes,” Anna said with a twinkle in her eye, “I want a hot guy wearing them.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Colt sat back in his Captain’s chair on the upper deck as the boys trolled for fish. He kept one eye on them, and steered with his hands behind him. He was good at multi-tasking. He was good at a lot of things, but one thing he wasn’t good at was keeping his emotions locked down.

You’d think being newly divorced, he’d have no problems with that. The fighting and anger and hurt when he discovered his wife had cheated on him. Coming to terms with that. Deciding it was for the best. He wasn’t the man she wanted, and he didn’t want to be. The past year had seen plenty of emotional upheaval. It had been hard on all of them, but they were getting to a solid place now. He felt more at peace than he had in a long time.

His life was uncomplicated and he aimed to keep it that way. One thing for sure—he didn’t do emotions with the girls he dated. They came. They went. So what the hell had happened today with Taylor?

He took a long slug of water and then replaced the bottle in the holder. His eyes were trained on the lines, but instead of seeing the wake behind him, all he saw was the look of shock and distaste on Taylor’s face. He raised his cap off his head, mopped up some sweat, then shoved it back down.

He didn’t blame her. He’d been a complete idiot back at the cafe. Coming on to her the way he did. Showing her in graphic style exactly how she’d affected him. What had he been thinking? She’d be running scared now for damn sure.

Besides that, she was right. He had no say in who she dated. She’d made it loud and clear that she certainly did
not
want him—but that didn’t stop him from wanting her. At least physically. Of all the women he knew, she was the one he’d give his left nut to have in his bed. Problem was, he wasn’t looking for a wife and having buddy-sex with Taylor wouldn’t sit right. Not with him. Or her. And sure in hell not with the rest of her family. The women were close and protective of each other, and he respected them all too much to mess around with Taylor just for fun.

Even if she wanted it—which she didn’t. He was between a rock and a hard place. The hard place was the fact he couldn’t stop thinking about her, and laid awake many nights wondering how she’d feel under him. Sometimes he thought of her when he was with another woman. She was beginning to feel like a disease.

“How’s it going, boys?” Colt called down over the rail. He could see for himself they were having a good time, joking around, talking fish and baseball, too young to have girl problems.

They each waved up at him, then went back to scanning the clear blue water for fish. Colt popped another Tums in his mouth. The third in the past hour. Acid roiled around his stomach. Had heartburn too. Everything hurt inside and it was her damn fault. He’d been fine all morning. This sickness hadn’t started until she’d given her number to that asshole who looked like a daytime soap star. Handsome to the point of ridiculous. That thick black hair, blinding white teeth. What did she see in that guy?

She’d dated him years ago. Colt knew she’d slept with him—her eyes had danced with excitement when he’d whispered something in her ear. That prick had had her first, and that burned a hole in his gut.

But it wasn’t just about sex. It was more the fact that she’d be attracted to a man like that in the first place. Maybe she wasn’t all that different—could be he had believed it, because he’d wanted to. It was easy enough to be blinded by extreme wealth—the big house, the fancy cars, trips to anywhere in the world, first class resorts and high-end restaurants. His father had provided all that. They’d had a home in the Hamptons with a half-acre lot. Tennis court, huge pool, ocean at their doorstep. His father had kept a loft apartment in the City, on Madison Avenue, not far from the art gallery he owned.

His mother, Marjorie, had a full-time chef, a personal trainer, and never had to lift a finger except to call for one of their hired help. He and his sister Chrissy had gone to private schools. They’d had huge parties a few times a year, and Colton had been allowed sips of the best champagne from the time he was twelve. He was a connoisseur: the best caviar, the world’s finest smoked salmon, a good shot of scotch or a vintage cognac—all by the time he was sixteen. His father had wanted his son to have refined taste and be a true gentleman. What a load of crap that was.

“Dad!” Jamie shouted. “We’ve got one.”

Broken out of his reverie, Colt watched Jamie wrestle with a fish. He’d caught a mackerel on his line and it looked to be a pretty decent size. “Need any help down there?” he called down.

“Nope. I’ve got this.” Jamie had been around boats all his life, and could fish almost as well as his dad, or liked to think so anyway. Jamie began to reel it in and Raul had a netted scoop in his hand.

Colt watched as the less experienced boy reached down with the long hooked net and nearly topple over. Jamie grabbed hold of Raul by his pants and together they got the flopping silver-coated fish on deck.

“You want this, Dad?” Jamie knew it wasn’t a good eating fish, so he was ready to toss it back.

“Up to you. We could smoke it, or let it live another day.”

“I don’t like smoked fish. And we got grouper at home,” he said and tossed the fish back into the sea.

Colt liked his decision. He’d taught his son to only keep what they wanted to eat—or for him to sell, and let the rest swim free. He guided “Bait Me” closer to the reefs, and his mind drifted off again.

Back to his dad, and how his world had come crashing down around them in an instant. Right after his sixteenth birthday, Colt woke up to learn that his father was dead, and that everything he believed was a lie. He had loved and worshipped his handsome, elegant, and brilliant father. Yet he hadn’t known him at all. The man his father portrayed was a fictional character. What lay beneath the expensive clothes and sophisticated exterior was a clever, gifted sociopath who made his living duping other people. His dad had been an extremely talented artist, but his real gift was copying famous artist’s styles and selling new work under their names. He displayed them from his well respected art gallery and had them on loan to museums. Over two decades, he’d managed to deceive the art critics of the world, and the most discerning collectors too. How he did it was anyone’s guess, but he thrived for years until the night he was found dead in his Jacuzzi tub. Vials of coke and an empty bottle of champagne—two glasses, one with bright red lipstick, scattered near his naked body.

When the police found him, the Travis family learned that his paintings had been under investigation for some time. The law suits following his death totally bankrupted the family. By the time they settled, they were officially broke.

Gone went the servants. No more private schools and parties. No mansion in the Hamptons, no fancy cars, or invitations, or friends. They were outcasts now, and had to get out of town as quickly as they could. His mom sold a great many pieces of jewelry and dozens of silver plates to buy their airline tickets to Miami, and with nothing but their clothes they left to start a new life.

Colt didn’t want any stinking money. He’d had it, but what did it mean? It hadn’t brought happiness or any real, lasting pleasure. It was all a lark, a night of frivolity, and a day of fun. Nothing of substance. Nothing real.

He didn’t want that for himself. He understood his mother and his sister and their needs. They craved what was taken away from them. They worked their asses off to try to get a glimmer of it back. But Colt…he had what he wanted. A peaceful existence. Lazy days of fishing. Camaraderie in like-minded people. Friendships developed over the pride of their catch, not the size of their boat. Lulled by the gentle waves of the ocean and the hull of his boat, he had found real happiness in Paradise Cove. It was a good life for him and his son.

“What are you doing, Dad?”

Colt blinked. “Daydreaming. What’s up?”

“I’m bored.”

“You’re bored? How about you, Raul? You bored too?”

“No, Mr. C. I like it out here. And your boat is way bigger and better than ours.” He grinned, his teeth flashing white in his brown little face. “Shitty little raft.”

“Don’t swear,” Colt said automatically.

Colt was one of the few people who knew how Juanita, Miguel and Raul ended up here. Rescued at sea, and Juanita seven month’s pregnant, Dr. Sean Flannigan had taken them to his rented cottage at Paradise Cove. If the coastguard had found them they’d have been sent back to Cuba.

“Sorry,” Raul said. “My uncle called it that. Said dad was stupid for coming across in a ‘shitty little raft’.” He shaded his big brown eyes and looked up to the bridge, trying to see Colt’s face. “What’s shitty?”

Jamie laughed. “It’s poop, dude.” He slapped his friend’s back. “A poopy raft that almost killed you all.”

Raul took the teasing good-naturedly. “It was. But my dad was brave. Not stupid. Look at us now. Americans,” he said proudly.

“That’s right, Raul.” Colt spoke loudly, knowing from his perch it was difficult for the boys to hear. “You should be proud of your family.”

“
Si
,” he bobbed his head. “I am.”

Colt leaned over the railing. “Want to head back?”

“I do.” Jamie put his rod back into the holder, and turned to his bud. “Want a Coke?” he asked Raul.

“Sure.” Raul carefully put his rod away and followed Jamie inside the cabin.

Colt turned the boat around and headed back. It took them nearly forty minutes to reach the marina. He was walking up the path with the boys when Miguel came toward them.