No Tan Lines (17 page)

“A bribe, so you’ll show up next week.”

“I gave you my word.”

“A little motivation never hurt.”

She shook a finger at him. “No, I can’t accept—”

The man was quick. He looped the handle over her wrist before she realized his intention. “My gift gets us started on the right foot.”

“I have nothing for you.”

“Your appearance on Monday will be gift enough.”

Her stubbornness took hold. “You can’t buy me, Trace.”

“We both want a successful tournament,” he said. “Call the hair band a peace offering.”

They would never know peace. A century-old feud stood between them.

He walked her to the door. “See you soon,” he said. “Wear shoes.”

Shaye scrunched her nose. Shoes could be a deal breaker.

She leaned against the door frame and watched him walk away, a tall, wide-shouldered man who dressed casually but still looked polished. Earlier he’d played like a kid yet didn’t wear a wrinkle.

She had to admire what every woman on the boardwalk saw: Trace Saunders had sex appeal. He was hot. There was no denying it.

Six

T
he weekend zipped by. Monday arrived too soon. Shaye went through her closet six times to find the right outfit. Appearances meant little to her, yet Saunders Shores was all about style. She’d never cared much about fitting in, but neither did she want to look like an outsider.

She ran Barefoot William Enterprises. She had her family’s respect. Even with her office at the beach.

Working with Trace was at odds with her lifestyle. She was certain he wore a suit each day. No doubt his secretary supported the image, too. The one time she’d seen his executive assistant, Martin Carson, he’d worn a tie.

Buttoned-down and stuffy would take issue with a swimsuit and flip-flops. Trace was conservative. She was unconventional. She needed a happy medium.

She blew raspberries, and an echo returned. Her Quaker parrot, Olive, mimicked her. Olive was intelligent, comical, and very social. Whenever Shaye was on her houseboat, Olive followed her from room to room. The Quaker had a wide vocabulary and could be quite vocal.

“Pick one,”
Olive encouraged her.

After another five minutes, Shaye narrowed her choices: either a black pantsuit or a blue blazer and tank top with skinny jeans. She’d feel more at home in the jeans, but the pantsuit gave her a more professional edge.

She held up both outfits before the full-length mirror and finally decided on the pantsuit.

“Butt looks big,”
squawked Olive from her bedroom perch. The parrot never lied, so her opinion mattered.

“You think so?” Shaye retrieved the jeans.

“Pretty lady.”
Olive stamped her approval.

Shaye couldn’t help laughing. She went with Olive’s choice. Her next quest was for shoes. Flip-flops outnumbered anything close-toed. She decided on a pair of cream and navy canvas espadrilles.

No makeup, but she brushed her hair. The curls had a life of their own. It was another hair-band day. She looked at the gift bag she’d yet to unpack. It stood out on her dresser, all sparkly, something to liven the dreary hours ahead. She let the bag sit a while longer and chose a band in tortoiseshell.

The weather forecast showed a possibility of rain. She didn’t want to get caught in another downpour. Today she would be on a different boardwalk, one without free access to a change of clothes.

“Man boarding!” her cousin Kai called from the front ladder of her land-docked houseboat.

The vintage Horizon had once belonged to her grandfather. The hull was no longer seaworthy, but her childhood memories were stored on board. Finished in maple and decorated in summer-sand tones, the two decks combined the feel of the ocean with that of solid ground.

The houseboat had all the amenities of a home. She’d installed a hot tub on the upper deck and used the water slide as an emergency exit. The fish finder was wired for security.

Her houseboat sat on Land’s End, a cul-de-sac off Houseboat Row. All the other boats were anchored along a short dock. Several of her family members preferred the Gulf over a yard; they had less to mow.

Shaye left the master bedroom and took to the center hallway. She met Kai in the galley. He surprised her with a bag of fresh Danish. Olive joined them and took refuge on her parrot swing near the sliding glass door. Her head bobbed, and she fluttered her wings, setting the swing in motion.

“Coffee?”
Olive offered before Shaye could do so. Her Keurig provided individual cups.

Kai popped a Daybreak Blend into the coffeemaker, then added water. He went on to open the refrigerator and remove an orange. He peeled it.

“For my favorite girl.” He offered Olive half a slice. The parrot politely took the fruit, then fanned her wings, excited by the treat.

Shaye leaned her hip against the U-curve of the counter. She crossed her arms over her chest and eyed her cousin. “Does Olive have competition for your affection?” she asked, getting straight to the point.

Kai wasn’t fazed by her comment. He ran a finger over the Quaker’s gray-feathered head. “Olive need not worry.”

He went on to open the bakery bag and scored himself a cheese Danish. He pushed the bag toward Shaye. She selected almond-apricot. Kai poured his coffee as soon as it was ready. He set up a second cup for Shaye.

“You did an amazing renovation at The Jewelry Box,” she complimented, attempting to draw him out. “I stopped by yesterday.”

“I heard Trace was with you.”

Word spread fast among family. “We were conducting business—”

“On the Ferris wheel.”

So her life had gone viral. She wondered if there was a video of them on You Tube. “Afterward he wanted to check on Nicole. He hadn’t had a chance to talk to her at the grand opening. You received an invitation, I saw you there, talking to Aunt Molly.”

“The invitations were to view her shop, not a—” He caught himself, paused. He appeared inordinately relieved but didn’t share why. His expression was one of prayers being answered. “You came and went in a hurry.”

“The boardwalk doesn’t run itself,” she said. “It was business as usual.” She hadn’t wanted to bump into Trace. Seeing him across the room was more than enough.

She glanced at his wrist and admired his black braided leather cuff. Sterling silver domes capped the ends. A very masculine piece of jewelry.

Kai caught her stare and said, “Every shop owner needs a first sale. I was hers.”

“Trace Saunders was in a buying mode yesterday, too. He bought me a hair band.”

Kai’s expression tightened at the mention of the Saunders name. “How serious are he and Nicole?”

“No idea,” she said. “He’s very protective of her—that much I know.” Shaye told him about the trade show in Las Vegas as she poured her own cup of coffee, then went on to say, “Most of the family thinks you’re into her, which could work in our favor. Nicole’s free rental would be more acceptable if you were a couple.”

“Let them believe what they will.” Kai took a bite of his Danish. “I like her.”

“So does Trace,” she reminded him.

He sent her a self-deprecating smile. “We’ve been in competition for the same woman before,” he said. “Trace won Crystal Smith. It’s my turn.”

“That was in high school,” Shaye said. “And Crystal was a ditz.”

“Ditz.”
Olive picked up a new word.

Kai sipped his coffee. “I’ve stayed away from The Jewelry Box for several days now.”

“It’s probably best to avoid someone you can’t have.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” He was evasive.

Shaye finished her Danish and drank the last of her coffee. “I’m off to work.”

“Heigh-ho, heigh-ho,”
came from Olive.

“Which dwarf are you today?” Kai asked her.

“Sleepy,” she said. “My mind is on overload with tournament business. I can’t shut it down. I’m lucky to get three hours of sleep.”

She sighed. “I need to be wide awake today. Trace donated a central office for the event. I’m now working from Saunders Shores.”

She glanced at her watch. It was eight-thirty. “Cage, Olive,” she said. She limited her parrot’s freedom when she left the houseboat.

The Quaker tilted her head and gave Shaye
the eye,
her most disagreeable look. Olive was happy where she perched and had no plans to move.

“I’ve got a bribe,” Kai said. He stuck his hand into the Danish bag and rustled his fingers around until he caught the parrot’s attention. He removed a mouse-shaped piñata filled with bird seed pellets.

“Munchies,” he told Olive.

“For me?”
she squawked.

He walked to the parrot’s cage and hung the piñata next to the small mirror. Olive’s curiosity got the better of her, and she immediately flew into her cage.

Shaye smiled. “You spoil her.”

“Newspaper or piñata, Olive likes to shred.” Kai closed the door to the cage and slid the lock across. “The newsstand was sold out of the
Barefoot Forum
.”

Shaye gathered her purse and laptop. Her chest felt tight and her stomach queasy. “Off to face the day.”

“Kiss, kiss, love you.”
Olive sent Shaye on her way.

Kai followed her out.

Shaye walked to work. She didn’t own a car. She rode a bike or hired a pedicab when covering long distances. Today she took her time. Rushing seemed ridiculous on such a beautiful morning. The full heat of the day had yet to sneak up on Barefoot William, and the breeze off the Gulf felt delightfully cool.

She stopped twice on the boardwalk, once at Brews Brothers for a second cup of coffee and at Crabby Abby’s General Store for a pack of gum. She popped two sticks into her mouth. She knew she was procrastinating. She couldn’t help it. She gave herself extra time with her relatives when they flagged her down to talk.

Nine o’clock rolled toward ten. She wasn’t a clock-watcher. She’d often lose an hour without concern.

Tracking time was important today, though. She’d already cheated Trace out of forty minutes. She’d made a promise and planned to honor it. Once she crossed Center Street, she walked a little faster.

She soon reached Saunders Square. The midmorning sun gave the three-story windows a copper glow. She pushed through the revolving door and came to an immediate stop. Trace stood just inside, formidable, unreadable, and masculine in his light gray suit. He’d gotten a haircut and was clean shaven. She much preferred his Saturday scruff.

“I’m late.” She voiced what he already knew.

“I expected you closer to noon.”

“You were waiting for me?”

“I’m a patient man.”

She hadn’t thought him tolerant, but perhaps this was a side of him she’d yet to see. “I got sidetracked by family,” she explained.

He looked at her hand. “And by gum.”

The man was observant. She held up the pack. “Juicy Fruit?”

“Not now, but maybe later.”

He stared at her, all penetrating and knowing. She found it hard to look away. His gaze was as pale blue-gray as a cresting wave. His cheekbones were as cut as his jaw. The corners of his mouth relaxed, as if he were ready to smile.

She thought to beat him to the smile but decided against it. There wasn’t a need to be friendly. She wasn’t here to forge relationships; she was here to work.

Her heart quickened as his look darkened, his stare now intimate and inappropriate in such a public place.

Against her will, her body responded. She immediately covered her chest with her laptop to conceal the puckering of her nipples. She shifted against the sudden warmth between her thighs. She was as embarrassed as she was turned on.

There was little she could hide from him. Trace knew he affected her, and he enjoyed her unease. His smile finally tipped, slow and sexy, and made her body burn.

The lobby closed in around her. A steady flow of businessmen skirted them, all in suits and carrying briefcases. A UPS driver dropped off boxes at security. Everyone nodded at Trace. She got her fair share of curious stares.

Clearing her throat, she asked, “My office?”

“On the third floor, next door to mine.”

He was too close for her comfort. “You don’t have something farther down the hall ... I mean, more ... separate?”

“Not at this time.” He nodded toward the elevator.

“Ready?”

She’d never be
ready.
Working from Saunders Square was as uncomfortable as wearing shoes. Her espadrilles already pinched her toes.

He placed his hand at her back and walked her across the lobby. His palm felt big against the small of her back. She thought about shaking him off, only to realize his proprietary gesture was her invitation to be there. His familiarity guaranteed she wouldn’t get bounced from the building, no matter the circumstance.

The tang of lemon furniture polish and yellow roses scented the air. The floor was so glossy, it mirrored their walk. A grouping of Haitian art brightened the walls. A painting of an island marketplace portrayed both poverty and survival.

Shaye drew in a breath and released it slowly. Today she would forego the breeze at the beach and the bake of the sun. There would be no crunching sand or coconut and banana suntan oil.