No Tan Lines (20 page)

She smiled. “I’ll go easy on you this time.” She gave him a question not found in the bowl. “Over thirty-five million pounds of candy corn are produced each year. If laid end to end, what heavenly body would they circle four times?”

“The moon.” He nailed it.

She nodded, and those engaged by the trivia applauded.

“Happy now?” she asked.

“Winning is good.” He retrieved his wallet from the back pocket of his pants and removed the money he owed her. “I pay my debts.”

She hesitated, but only until a sunburned family of six came through the door. The mother and father were dragging. Their four young boys were supercharged.

Shaye watched as they searched out their favorite candies. Her expression softened. She snatched the cash from Trace’s hand and crossed to the parents. She introduced herself as the owner of the shop, then awarded them each a dollar for being the fiftieth customer of the day. The parents looked surprised but grateful. The kids went nuts. Shaye pointed the children toward the sugarless candy. They were already bouncing off the walls.

Shaye was a generous woman, Trace noted. It had to take a massive amount of penny-candy sales to make ends meet. Yet instead of putting the six bucks into the register, she’d split it among a family. He admired her kindness.

He glanced at his watch and realized they’d taken a two-hour lunch. “Time to get back to work,” he said.

“I’d rather take a nap.”

Shaye had the look of a woman not ready to return to the office. Her sigh was long and heavy when she waved to Nick, then slipped out of Goody Gumdrops. The door didn’t hit her in the ass, but it did close on Trace’s foot.

She walked beside him, quiet and thoughtful. At least she was headed toward Saunders Square. Whether she’d reach the office or not was debatable. There were numerous stairs and walkways leading down to the beach. She could cut out on him at any time.

They made it to the office building without mishap. Shaye slipped on her shoes in the lobby. “Marlene will be waiting,” she said on the elevator ride to the third floor. “She’s scheduled a meeting and will give updates on the tournament.”

They found Marlene along with two dozen Cateses gathered in the hallway. Shaye greeted everyone, comfortable in the crowd. Marlene appeared cramped.

Marlene approached Trace. “I can’t work in these conditions,” she stated. “We need more space.”

He nodded and motioned to Shaye. “Boardroom.”

Shaye went to her office and grabbed her laptop, then led her family down the hall. Marlene entered last.

Trace handed off the picnic basket to Martin and searched out a spot. He found a chair in the back, unobtrusive yet close enough to follow the meeting.

It soon became standing room only as more people arrived. The event was now only four days away. Yellow tents had been erected. The volleyball courts were measured and marked, and the nets were stretched and attached to the posts.

Trace watched as Marlene took charge, which did not surprise him. The woman was good at her job, yet apparently not the best by Cates standards.

The family favored Shaye. They deferred Marlene’s suggestions to her for approval. Shaye didn’t agree without a vote. Once taken, the majority ruled.

Trace was not surprised when only thirty percent of Marlene’s last-minute changes passed. The Cateses knew how they wanted the tournament run and refused to add on expenses they couldn’t afford. They’d already spent beyond their budget.

He knew better than to offer to pay their way. The Cates family would see it as charity. The best he could do was to offer The Sandcastle for the cocktail party to welcome the players and guests. The vote was unanimous. He would host the entertainment.

He could hand the party over to Martin, yet he chose to see to it himself. He would meet with the hotel caterer and set a menu. Shaye had worked her ass off. The least he could do was make the night memorable for her. He had the resources, and he found he liked taking part in the planning.

Between now and the tournament he needed to reveal Marlene’s true role in the enterprise. He’d hedged on that to spare Shaye’s pride. But guilt was pushing him to explain his decisions more fully. Shaye had put in just as many hours as the event planner. There was a slim possibility Shaye could’ve pulled off the pro/am without professional assistance, but he hadn’t wanted to chance it. Marlene’s involvement guaranteed the event’s success.

He’d soon come clean.

But with his admission, Shaye would be fighting mad.

He’d have to wear his cup.

As it turned out, he never got to apologize. An unexpected knock on the boardroom door drew everyone’s attention. Silence greeted the visitor as everyone stared.

Trace strained, but his view was partially blocked.

What he could see was the profile of a man, someone tall and lean with straight blond hair and a dark tan.

“Dune!” Shaye said excitedly. She slid off her chair so quickly, it teetered on two legs. She rushed to her older brother.

Her family followed, giving him a group hug.

Trace remained seated and took it all in.

Marlene, however, was nearly trampled.

“What are you doing home?” Shaye was quick to ask him. “You’re two days early.”

Dune held up his hand and displayed the cast on his wrist. “Scaphoid fracture. I fell on my outstretched hand at the South Beach Open. I’m here to rest and get some therapy.”

He looked at Shaye and was quick to assure her, “Don’t sweat the tournament. I’m going to play. I can still serve and do more damage with one hand than most players can with two.”

Dune went on to scan the room, his dark gaze sharp and very curious. His frown cut deep. “Word on the boardwalk indicated you were here. What’s going on? Why are so many Cateses gathered in a Saunders boardroom?”

“We’re planning your volleyball event,” Marlene replied, raising her voice to be heard.

Dune located her, standing against the wall. Trace caught his slow smile of recognition. “Marlene Mason?”

“Hello, Beach Heat.” She referred to Dune by the nickname given him by his female fans.

Shaye’s eyes rounded, and she asked what was on everyone’s mind. “Dune, how do you know Marlene?”

“She owns Event Planners, based out of Miami,” he said. “Her company contracts with major sporting events all over the country. She works closely with the pro beach volleyball tour.”

The tables had been turned on Trace, and his gut tightened. Now that Marlene’s identity was known, and she was no longer just one of his staffers, it was obvious he’d chosen the professional planner’s expertise over Shaye’s own abilities.

He’d dug himself a deep hole.

He rose and locked eyes with Shaye. Her expression punched him hard. Disbelief and disappointment drained all color from her face. Her words held a detonating anger when she asked, “She’s not your secretary?” She waited for his answer.

“Marlene’s her own boss,” said Trace.

He watched as the big picture came together for her. She laid the blame fully on him, which he deserved. “You manipulative bastard.” Her voice was as hard as her expression. “I should’ve known you’d double-cross me.”

Panic set in, and he moved toward her. “I can explain. Give me a minute—”

“Not one second.” She grabbed her laptop and shot out the door.

Her family blocked him, refusing to let him follow her. They gave Shaye time to escape the building before emptying the boardroom themselves. He got his fair share of dirty looks as they crowded the elevator.

Trace was set to take the emergency exit stairs, but Dune stopped him. “Now’s not the time, dude,” he advised. “My sister’s damn mad. Given the mood she’s in, she’d take you down in a heartbeat.”

“I need to see her.” He sounded desperate but didn’t care.

Dune narrowed his gaze. “I’ve been out of town a long time,” he said, “so bring me up to speed. What the hell’s going on? Since when do the Cates and Saunders families gather in the same room?”

“Since the beach event,” Marlene Mason said as she came to stand between them. “The tournament’s out of my hands now. You two may not like each other, but you both want what’s best for Shaye. So talk.”

“I’m listening,” said Dune.

“Make it fast,” Marlene added. “I’m going to pack up, take Dune to an early dinner, then catch an evening flight home.”

Dune caught her by the arm as she passed through the door. His fingers wrapped her wrist lightly; his smile was suggestive. “Stay over, and travel tomorrow.”

Marlene was easily persuaded. “I suppose I could charge Trace for another day. Our meal will be on his expense account. So will the hotel room. I’ll make reservations now.” And she left.

“My office,” Trace suggested. “It’s private.”

Their conversation ran an hour. Trace gave Dune the rundown, and Dune grew so angry over Trace’s distrust of his sister, his whole body shook.

Dune argued that Shaye was smart and dedicated to seeing her family through hard times. The Cateses didn’t need the Saunders family in order to be successful. He told Trace to butt the hell out.

Martin Carson eventually broke them apart with cups of strong black coffee. Not long after that, Trace offered Dune Scotch from the wet bar, which the man accepted. They toasted Marlene, their one mutual friend.

It was six o’clock by the time they agreed to disagree. Nothing had been fully resolved. They were two men entrenched in a century-old feud. Their own lines in the sand were drawn as deep as their ancestors’.

Marlene came for Dune, and the two soon left. Dune’s last words warned Trace to stay the hell away from his sister. Unfortunately for Dune, Trace had every intention of seeing her, once the boardwalk closed for the night. The amusement park shut down around two. That’s when he’d make his move.

He hated the fact her day had ended so poorly.

The lady was pissed. She would never return to Saunders Shores, which forced him to go to her.

Go, he would. He left his office and headed home. He planned to sleep for a few hours. He needed to be alert and sharp when he met with her.

Lights flashed, and a siren blared, catching Shaye’s attention. She’d been lying on a beach lounger on the upper deck of her vintage Horizon when her security system sounded. Someone had tripped the alarm.

Burglars and Peeping Toms were unknown to Houseboat Row. Yet there was always a first time. That time appeared to be tonight.

Her heart slammed inside her chest.

She fought to catch her breath.

“Stranger danger,”
Olive squawked. The Quaker watched way too many cop shows.

Just as quickly as the noise had sounded, it stopped. The person climbing aboard had disabled the alarm. He’d also cursed the air blue. Looking over the side, she recognized Trace Saunders not only by his voice but by his sheer size. Even in darkness, the man was larger than life. He had something in his hand. She blinked. It was the picnic basket.

Facing a robber would’ve been far less frightening, she realized. Here was the man who’d gotten under her skin. She’d trusted him, had come to like him, yet he’d tricked her by bringing in Marlene Mason, a professional, independent event planner, from Miami, no less.

He’d made her look bad. She felt like a fool.

“Get off my property!” she shouted down to him. “You set off my alarm. The police are on their way.”

“Call and tell them you’re fine!” he yelled back.

She’d never be fine around him. “I’d rather have you arrested.”

“Give me five minutes.”

“It’s three in the morning.”

“You’re still up.”

That was true. She hadn’t been able to sleep.

She heard the rattle of her front door and knew he had entered. He hadn’t asked to come on board; he’d just gone ahead and crashed her space. She would rather face him on the lower deck. The upper was her private sanctuary. A place she could meditate or sunbathe in the nude. She refused to argue where peace prevailed.

She took the stairway down, with Olive perched on her shoulder. Trace met her in the hallway. Neither spoke as she attempted to reset the alarm on the lower back deck. It beeped feebly. Trace had damaged the system.

Her cell phone rang. It was the dispatcher from the local police precinct checking on her safety. Two squad cars were on their way, which Shaye quickly diverted. She apologized for the accidental tripping of her alarm. She then turned back to Trace.

He leaned a shoulder against the wall. “Why didn’t you turn me in?”

“Self-preservation,” she said. “I don’t need law enforcement arriving when the CEO of Saunders Shores is on my houseboat. They would misinterpret your visit.”

He blew out a breath. “There would be a lot of speculation. I’d hate to have another misunderstanding between us.”

He stood a good four feet from her, but Shaye could
feel
him, as if they were pressed together. The sensation left her both warm and cautious.

Moonlight now flickered through the sliding glass doors, casting enough light to bring him fully into focus. His hair was mussed and one side spiked, as if he’d run his fingers through it. His eyes shone more gray than blue. His features stood out sharply against the shadows, slashing cheekbones and a square jaw. He had dressed in commando black, from his T-shirt and sweatpants to his tennis shoes. She was surprised he hadn’t painted his face.