Читать книгу Two to Tangle - Leslie Kelly - Страница 7

“OKAY, LOVERBOY, I’m ready. I’ve been thinking about this all week. Now we’re alone. It’s time to get you out of all these uptight clothes and into something a little more comfortable.”

Not expecting a reply, and, of course, not receiving one, Chloe Weston reached for the buckle of an expensive black leather belt and deftly unfastened it. A quick flick of her fingers undid the button at the waist of a pair of men’s designer trousers. Finding the tab of the zipper, she lowered it gingerly. The metallic hiss of the zipper’s teeth broke the heavy silence of the room, followed by a wisp of fabric as the size thirty-two, char-coal-gray pants fell.

Dropping to her knees, she reached for the elastic waistband of a pair of fitted, white boxer briefs. She tugged them down in one stroke, then sat back and stared. After several long moments, she sighed.

“It’s Friday night. I’m a reasonably attractive, single, twenty-something woman and I’ve just taken off a man’s clothes.” Rubbing a weary hand over her brow, she muttered, “Too bad you’re as anatomically correct as a Ken doll.”

The mannequin didn’t respond. Nor did its female counterpart, which stood behind Chloe in the darkened front display window of Langtree’s Department Store.

What a way to spend a Friday night. Alone in a deserted, exclusive store in Boca Raton, Florida. Surrounded by designer clothes, ridiculously expensive leather goods, gaudy, pretentious jewelry…with a bunch of plastic mannequins for company.

Shrugging, Chloe referred to her notes to consider the positions of the mannequins for the next week’s display. Fridays were changeover nights for the store’s main front windows. A big deal, especially lately, since the store manager had finally started giving her some leeway to be more daring with the displays. Before tonight, she’d slipped her own creative touches only in the store’s rear windows near the service department, never the huge ones bracketing the main entrance.

Though she’d worked for Langtree’s for only six weeks, Chloe knew her creations had already drawn some attention. No, the managing director of the store, Troy Langtree, hadn’t been too happy when she’d gotten a little carried away with a spring bathing suit display, and left the itty-bitty top of a string bikini dangling from the plastic fingers of a randy-looking male mannequin. But the public had loved it. So much so that Langtree had finally agreed to listen to her ideas for the store’s main entrance area.

As she reached for the zipper of the cocktail dress still adorning the female mannequin, Chloe heard the rumbling of an engine. She peeked through the dark drapes covering the window, watching as a large, black pickup truck came to a stop directly outside at the curb in front of the store. Glancing at her watch and noting it was after midnight, she bit her lip. The night security guard had to be wandering around somewhere. But he could be just about anyplace in the three-story building. With her luck—and with his reputation—he was probably snoozing on a Serta mattress in the bedding department upstairs. That left her alone to deal with the gang of robbers who’d be throwing a bench through this very window at any moment now so they could raid the nearby jewelry cases.

Crouching lower, Chloe watched as one man—not a gang—emerged from the truck. Then, when the driver passed beneath a streetlamp, she got a good look at his face and his thick chestnut-brown hair. She breathed a sigh of relief. “Troy Langtree.”

The man was probably coming to check up on her, still fretting over what she might do to his precious windows. “Why do the gorgeous ones have to be so anal?” Chloe mused aloud with a sigh. He was handsome, no question, but about as loose and laid-back as Al Gore at a press briefing.

Troy had caught her eye more than once since she’d started working for his family-owned department store. He was, after all, single, successful, and a complete hunk. In some respects Troy was everything Chloe wanted in a man. The grapevine said he didn’t carouse or womanize, worked hard, was intelligent and stable. Just the opposite of the few men Chloe had ever dated—and also the opposite of her own father, two stepfathers, and her mother’s succession of boyfriends.

Exactly what she was looking for.

Or so she’d thought at first. But Chloe could not stand a man who didn’t smile, who found no joy in anything. There was such a thing as being too mature and settled. From what she’d heard, his only passion was running—the man reportedly lived on the beach and liked to run for miles every morning. Which probably explained his physique, not to mention his tan. They somehow didn’t go with the image of the three-piece-suit office mole he appeared to be the rest of the time.

What it came down to was that Troy Langtree, while attractive, appeared to be completely lacking in a simple appreciation of life. And no matter how much Chloe longed for a nice guy—an established, professional, hard-working nice guy—he had to at least know how to laugh.

Watching curiously, Chloe noted Troy was not dressed in his usual conservative, navy-blue suit. In fact, he wore—of all things—jeans. Very tight, worn jeans that hugged some fine, firm male thighs, not to mention outlined a particularly great butt that Chloe had never even noticed before.

As Troy moved out of the pool of light cast by the overhead streetlamp, a flash of summer heat lightning silently lit the sky. Chloe saw a dark frown on his handsome face and thought she saw him mutter a curse word. When he crouched down next to his truck and poked at a tire, she understood why. “He’s got a flat.”

Chloe watched as Troy retrieved a jack and a spare tire from the back of the truck, then lay down on the ground to jack up the truck. Funny, she would have pegged him for a card-carrying AAA member. She found herself somewhat impressed that the prep-school king knew how to change a tire.

He got the flat tire off within a matter of minutes. Chloe, still hidden behind the heavy drapes blocking the view inside the store window, fought her basic urge to go help. Exiting the store would involve a call to the security guard, who’d have to turn off the alarm system and unlock the doors to let her out. By the time she found the lazy guard, Troy would probably already be finished anyway.

Chloe saw a few drops of rain hit the top of the window and slide down it, creating curvy lines on the thick glass. Troy didn’t appear to notice. “Better hurry up, buddy,” she whispered, her own breath creating a misty circle on the sliver of window exposed between the tiny gap in the drapes.

Troy tossed the flat tire up onto the sidewalk, and Chloe paused to appreciate the thick breadth of his arms in his tight T-shirt. “Okay, so the stiff works out,” she admitted aloud. He’d have to. His upper arms looked about the same circumference as her thighs. Her mouth went dry.

Troy wiped his hands on his jeans, leaving a streak of greasy black dirt on one hip, but apparently not even noticing. He went back to work but then suddenly stopped and held up one hand. Watching him wince, then suck his pinky into his mouth, she knew he must have hurt himself.

The sight of Troy Langtree’s beautifully curved lips wrapped around his own fingertip made time stop for at least five seconds, long enough for her to gulp and picture those fine lips wrapped around some part of her anatomy.

He remained oblivious to her presence as she continued to peer hungrily at him from behind the shrouded window. Retrieving a spare tire, he put it on the truck as the misting rain increased its tempo and began coming down in earnest. Troy had just tightened the last nut when the light rain became a typical Florida summer deluge. She half expected him to dive into the truck for cover, or run to the front of the store for protection beneath the awning.

He did neither. Instead, as she watched, her heart stuck somewhere in her throat, he stood, lifted his face to the sky, and began to laugh. His cotton T-shirt soaked up the water as voraciously as a dry sponge, and she watched it grow darker and tighter against his body. It soon clung to him like a second skin, hugging and outlining a chest that went on for days.

Just when she thought she couldn’t possibly take another moment of this voyeurism and decided to turn away, Chloe saw Troy reach for the bottom hem of his shirt. She stayed still, nose on glass, eyes wide and unblinking, wondering if he was really about to do what he appeared to be doing.

With his face still lifted skyward, Troy tugged the shirt up. He’s taking it off! It took forever, it seemed, for the wet cotton fabric to separate itself from his skin. Chloe didn’t move a muscle as she watched, breathless and more than a little excited. Then Troy pulled the shirt off all the way, tossed it into the back of his truck, and stood barechested in the rain.

“Whoa, mama,” Chloe managed to whisper. His bare, thick chest rippled and flexed with muscle, moving with fluid grace and strength. Chloe’s fingers pressed against the window, the coolness of glass feeling nothing like she imagined all that hot male flesh would feel.

She whimpered as Troy slowly raised both his thick, strong arms, extending them straight out to his sides. He looked graceful and powerful all at the same time. Obviously still savoring the rain pelting his face, he slowly turned in a circle toward her, as if wanting to soak up the water or simply dance in appreciation of the elements.

She drew back instinctively, even though she knew there was no way he could see her wide eyes and drooling mouth between the few inches of parted drapes in the darkened store window. Especially not with the rain and the tinted glass.

No, he couldn’t see her. But she could definitely see him. Chloe found herself very thankful for the streetlamp on the sidewalk near where he stood which illuminated him from head to toe. Leaning close again, she saw heavy drops of rain land on his shoulders and ride those long, lean sinews of muscle down his body. Water pooled at the waistband of his tight jeans and darkened the fabric to an even deeper blue.

Troy didn’t appear to care. He seemed almost pagan in his sensual appreciation of the elements. Pagan. Powerful. Perfectly, mouth-wateringly, male.

A man fully in tune with his senses. A man savoring the cool relief of a summer night’s rain against his overheated skin. A man laughing at the elements.

Definitely a man she wanted to get to know better.

BY THE END OF TWO WEEKS, Chloe was convinced Troy Langtree was a vampire who only came alive after sundown. She hadn’t seen a single hint of that spectacular, earthy male since the night she’d watched him change his tire then soak up the rain. Heaven knew she’d searched for him, during meetings or when they’d casually bump into one another in the store. But all she’d seen was the tight-lipped, buttoned-down Troy Langtree who’d hired her. Not the jeans-wearing tire changer. Certainly not the pagan rain worshipper.

“You’re sure you don’t need me to come along and keep you company in that big, fancy hotel?”

Chloe shook off the memory of Troy Langtree, shirtless and wet, and turned her attention to her friend and co-worker. Lowering her pen to the surface of her desk, she said, “Sorry, Jess, I wish you could. But I’m surprised Langtree even approved the travel expense for me to attend this conference. I don’t think he’d spring for you, even if you’re the best darned perfume sprayer in the state.”

Jess Carruthers, the perfume sprayer in question, wiped off the surface of a stool in the corner of Chloe’s office and gingerly sat down on it.

“Office” was probably too generous a word. Actually, Chloe worked in an old stockroom in the darkest recesses of Langtree’s. The twelve-by-twenty room still occasionally doubled as a holding area for shipments during the holiday season. It housed boxes, crates, old sales circulars, racks of clothes Chloe planned to use for the displays, even ancient, musty plans for the two renovation jobs the store had undergone in the past few decades. Not to mention limbs, heads and other plastic mannequin body parts splayed about like evidence of a mass murderer’s rampage.

“How you can stand being locked away in here all evening is beyond me.” Jess wrinkled her nose and coughed into her fist.

“I like it. Besides, I’d rather deal with dust motes than go home every night smelling of thirty designer perfumes.”

Jess rolled her eyes. “Tell me about it. My poor dog doesn’t know who’s going to walk in the door every night under all those Estée Lauder and Tommy Hilfiger smells. Still, don’t you get lonely tucked away back here?”

“Nope,” Chloe replied. “It’s a great place to work. Few interruptions. No distractions.” No hunky, nearly naked guys standing right outside the window keeping me from getting my display done until 3:00 a.m.

Truthfully, Chloe felt right at home in her office. She liked cubbyholes. Liked little places she could call her own and in which she could hide away—to draw, to create, to plan. Sam Brighton, the marketing director of the store, who was also Chloe’s supervisor, had seemed almost sheepish when showing her to her workspace the first day on the job two months before. But Chloe had immediately loved the dark, cluttered room. It had a lot of history to soak up, a lot of silence in which to work. And blessed, delightful privacy—something Chloe had often found to be in short supply in her life.

“If I knew you’d get to go to conventions at places like the Dolphin Island Resort and Country Club I’d stay in the store all night putting clothes on plastic people,” Jess said with a heartfelt sigh.

“There’s more to it than that.” Chloe thought of the hours and hours she spent scouring the store, looking for the perfect dress, the ideal string of beads, the just-right accessory. Not to mention the time at home, thinking, planning, mentally searching for the never-before-attempted display that would pack the store and get her noticed. “The actual window dressing is the cake part of the job.”

“I know,” Jess said sheepishly. “I wasn’t putting you down. I think you do an amazing job.”

“I guess all those years of working in retail have finally paid off,” Chloe admitted with a grin. “Not to mention dressing my Barbie dolls!”

“I was always more into the great big Barbie head with the phony wipe-off makeup and the hair that never curled so I usually cut it off a week after getting her,” Jess said with a shrug.

Chloe snorted a laugh. “Looks like we wound up with our dream jobs.”

“Not exactly. I’m not doing hair and makeup at Universal Studios in Hollywood.”

“And I’m sure not dressing in designer gowns for my big modeling career in Paris.”

“A five-foot-three supermodel. There’s something you don’t see every day.”

Chloe shrugged. “Who said a six-year-old’s dreams had to be realistic? Anyway, I am not complaining. This is a pretty good job. It beats slinging hamburgers at some fast-food chain.”

Jess nodded. “Absolutely. And I’m glad you get to go to this conference, even if it has the gossipers working overtime.”

Chloe shrugged, knowing more than a few eyebrows had probably shot up in the executive offices when it was announced that she, a new and lowly window and display dresser, was getting an all-expense paid trip to the south Florida retailers and merchandisers meeting at a pricey Fort Lauderdale-area resort. “I think Sam pulled some strings to get me the travel expense money because he knows it’ll help me at school. I mean, it was turned down at first. I was as surprised as anyone when I heard Troy had changed his mind and told Sam to send me!”

“I guess the newspaper photo didn’t hurt,” Jess said, grinning. “I was there, remember? I saw the crowds five people deep coming to see your window when it showed up in the Boca Gazette—including old lady Langtree, right? Hey, maybe she’s the fairy godmother who got the expense approved.”

Chloe smiled, remembering the delight and surprise she’d felt when she’d spotted a photograph of one of her display windows gracing the “What’s Happening This Weekend” section of the local paper. The caption had read, “Langtree’s front windows provide a fun and sassy glimpse at the summer ahead!”

That was the window she’d been working on when she’d seen Troy Langtree changing his tire. Somehow, after he’d pulled away that night, never even coming into the store, all her creative juices had really started flowing. She’d abandoned her original design. Raiding the sportswear, housewares, men’s, ladies’ and electronics departments, she’d created a window display with a cutely dressed, intrigued female peeking at a hunky, bare-chested male mannequin dancing in a streamer-and-fan-created rainstorm.

Some of the older crowd imagined she’d been inspired by Gene Kelly tap dancing in the rain. Truthfully, the only inspiration she’d needed was Troy Langtree, shirtless, wet and dazzling.

Troy hadn’t even commented on the content of the window. She didn’t think he’d ever made the connection, never suspected she’d seen him that night. But he’d certainly noticed the publicity, not to mention the crowds. As had his grandmother, who’d requested a private meeting with Chloe the day the picture came out. Troy had approved her travel expenditure to the conference two days later.

She hadn’t heard yet what Troy thought of her latest display, the one still in the front windows. Somehow, after searching in vain for the man who existed beneath the conservative suits and bored expression, she had again gotten a little carried away the previous Friday night. Using the same male and female mannequins from the rainstorm scene, she’d managed to create a woman’s daydream. The female stood face-to-face with the boring but smartly dressed male while fantasizing about his half-undressed body double, who stood draped in dreamy folds of gauze in a back corner of the window.

One of her better efforts, she believed.

“Maybe you’re right,” Chloe finally said. “Mrs. Langtree was awfully friendly when we met, especially for someone I’d heard was a white-haired piranha.”

Jess shivered. “Better you than me. She scares me. I’d rather fly beneath the radar.”

“And I window-decorated myself right into the line of fire.”

“Just don’t tick her off.”

Chloe shrugged, still unsure why the elderly matriarch of the Langtree family had been so interested in meeting Chloe after the picture was in the paper. Or why she’d stared at her so intently and asked questions about her personal life. Then again, maybe all rich people were weird, nosy and thought themselves entitled to ask their junior staff members if they were single, if they smoked, and if they wanted children. She’d seemed pleased with Chloe’s answers: Yes. No. And someday.

“I don’t know why you’re working here doing these windows, anyway,” Jess continued. “You’re almost finished school. You’ll get a great job as a buyer or merchandiser as soon as you graduate.”

“Unless I want my mother, sister and I to live on canned ravioli until that day, I have to keep some money coming in,” Chloe retorted.

Jess suddenly bit her lip, looking sheepish. “Of course you do. Your mom still hasn’t found a job?”

Chloe shook her head and turned away, not comfortable talking about her family’s financial situation with anyone, not even a friend as loyal and supportive as Jess.

“Well, then,” Jess said, “I’m glad you get to go on this ‘business trip.’ It’ll be like a minivacation. After working so hard at night while going to school during the day, heaven knows you need it.”

That was a nice thought, but Chloe didn’t view this trip to the luxury resort as any kind of vacation. She intended to use the conference to soak up every bit of information she could about the retail industry in south Florida. She needed the exposure, experience and future career connections the conference offered, particularly since she was already four years behind her peers in getting her bachelor’s degree.

It had taken several years of working in retail jobs full-time after high school to raise the money for college. Sure, she’d been offered scholarships—but scholarships wouldn’t pay rent on her family’s small house. Chloe’s salary did.

Her mother’s last job, in a legal office, had seemed like a dream come true a few years ago when Chloe had finally been able to start school full-time. Chloe knew her mother had tried to stick it out for her family’s sake. She’d remained employed for three and a half years—the longest Jeanine Weston-Jackson-Smith had ever held a job in her life. During that time, she’d helped Chloe with her tuition. Plus, between the two of them, they’d managed to save a nice nest egg so her half sister, Morgan, wouldn’t have to do as Chloe had done. Her little sister would start at a good private college when she graduated high school next year, no matter what.

But for now, her mother was again happily unemployed, throwing herself into her latest artistic endeavor: ceramic lawn ornaments. And then again, there was her most recent romantic relationship, with a guy she’d met at a health food store.

Whenever the money got too tight, her mother would wistfully bring up Morgan’s college account, but Chloe had made her promise they wouldn’t touch it. No way was she going to let her brilliant sister miss out on any educational opportunity provided to her. Jeanine had, despite the gleam in her eye when she looked at the bank statement, agreed.

So for now it was again up to Chloe to support her mother and younger sister as best she could. If she could handle this night job until the end of the year, she’d be able to graduate by Christmas and maybe have a good-paying, full-time position by the New Year—just in time to sock away the rest of the money she’d need to send Morgan to school the following fall.

The connections she could make on this trip might help that wish come true. But Jess was also right—she could definitely use a couple of days lounging by a pool at a pricey resort.

“Maybe you’ll meet some fab man who’ll make you forget all your problems.”

Chloe shrugged. “I’m beginning to think there’s no such thing as a fab man.” She dropped her chin into her palm. “The young, gorgeous, carefree ones only seem to want one thing. The older, responsible, successful ones are either taken or impossibly arrogant. The older carefree ones are usually gay.”

“What about the young, responsible, successful ones,” Jess said eagerly.

Chloe snorted. “Like Troy Langtree.”

“I get your point.” Jess sighed. “He gives new meaning to the word ‘stiff.”’ As if just hearing the sexy underlying meaning in her comment, her friend covered her lips with her fingers and began to giggle uncontrollably.

Chloe felt a flush rise in her cheeks. “He’s not what I’m searching for. A guy who can hold down a job would be wonderful—but he has to at least be able to laugh at a good joke. I’ve never seen Troy Langtree crack a smile that wasn’t prompted somehow by finances or sales figures.”

“Well, you’re right in terms of here at work,” Jess said, thoughtfully tapping her finger on her cheek. “But I’ve been here a few months longer than you, and I have heard rumors about his after-hour activities. He might not actually be the conservative, respectable man he pretends to be here at work. Away from the store, he may not be exactly what he seems.”

Chloe knew better than most that he wasn’t what he seemed. Unfortunately, she hadn’t seen him after hours in two weeks. “There are days when he’s so stuffy, I can’t picture him taking off his six-hundred-dollar suit even to barbecue in his backyard.” Unless, of course, he’s changing a tire!

“But I think I’d be able to overlook a lot of arrogance to come home to a man who looks like that every night.”

Chloe didn’t reply. Troy had been on her mind enough already; she didn’t need to start talking about him to another man-hungry woman.

“Maybe you’ll get lucky this weekend,” Jess continued. “Maybe the rumor mill is right and he’s a different man outside the store. He might just sweep you off your feet during the conference.”

Chloe dropped a long, ivory-colored plastic leg onto her right foot, then hissed and hunched over in pain. “What are you talking about?” she finally managed to gasp. Wincing, she hobbled over to her desk and leaned against it to take her weight off her squashed toes.

“Well, you know, he’s going to be there, too.”

“No he’s not. This meeting is more for marketers, buyers, and P.R. types. Not store owners.”

Jess raised a perfectly plucked, heavily penciled eyebrow. “Yes, Chloe, of course he is. He goes every year. Besides, I heard him talking to his secretary about it this afternoon. I was trying to get him to sample some new Pico cologne, which, by the way, is so sweet and flowery, if I went out with a guy who was wearing it, I’d be checking for bra straps.”

Chloe rolled her eyes. “Get back to Troy.”

“He’s going to the conference, too. You didn’t know?”

She shook her head. “I had no idea. Is he going to be staying there? At the same hotel?”

“Well, sure.” A smile crossed Jess’s face as she obviously noticed Chloe’s consternation. “Oh, so you have noticed him and you are interested, hmm?”

“Noticed, yeah. But I’m not interested. Like I said, he’s not my type.”

“Not your type for the long-term, maybe,” Jess said, obviously warming up to her subject. She leaned closer, conspiratorially. “But why not have a sexy little fling while you’re both out of town?”

“A sexy little fling? I don’t do sexy little flings.” My mother is the sexy little fling person in my family. “And I seriously doubt Troy Langtree does, either.”

“Just because you haven’t doesn’t mean you can’t,” Jess said. “Isn’t it time to give yourself a break? Indulge in something delicious for a change? Okay, you know you and the stuffy one have nothing in common and couldn’t possibly get seriously involved. So what? Nothing to stop you from getting mindless and fabulous in bed with him for a night or two.”

Chloe tried to close her ears. What Jess suggested was simply impossible. Even if she was willing, Troy Langtree had never given her any indication he was attracted to her.

“Heck, I’d seduce him in a heartbeat if he appeared the least bit interested,” Jess continued. “Unfortunately, judging by the women I’ve heard he’s dated, I suspect he likes curvy, stacked bundles—like you—rather than stick-thin Amazons like me. Why don’t you stop by the makeup counter on your way out and I’ll get you some samples for this weekend?”

“Forget it,” Chloe said with a snort. “This is about business, not pleasure. I’m not going to get personal with Troy Langtree, the managing director of this store.”

Of course, if Troy Langtree the pagan tire changer shows up, I might just be persuaded.

“Okay, suit yourself,” Jess said as she stood and prepared to leave the office. “But remember, if you keep putting off finding Mr. Right until after you finish school and get your mother and sister taken care of, you might find he’s already married…or old and in need of Viagra!”

IN SPITE OF THE MERCILESS Friday afternoon sun sizzling against the bare skin on his back, Trent Langtree decided to go for one more walk of the resort grounds before calling it quits for the day. He’d been on-site since daybreak; it was now five. A long day, but a productive one. This job was definitely worth some long days—to Trent and to all his crew. Besides, long, hard days outside were still better than working in the family-owned department store like his twin brother Troy did.

The $200,000 job at the Dolphin Island Resort and Country Club was the biggest project his three-year-old landscaping company had ever landed and he was being damned ruthless in making sure it went off without a hitch. His workers weren’t complaining too much about the long hours and demand for perfection. They knew as well as he how much was at stake with this job. And every one of them had a bonus riding on the outcome.

The stakes were even higher for Trent. The money would be nice, would keep the company in the black for a while. But even more important was the exposure and future clientele this work could bring in. The success of his company, The Great Outdoors, depended upon breaking into the upper-crust south Florida market.

“You could do that with a few phone calls,” Jason, his most reliable crew foreman, liked to tell him. True. A few calls to his former friends and colleagues would probably bring in all the exclusive work The Great Outdoors could handle. But Trent didn’t want it that way.

When he’d walked out of his grandmother’s house, he’d told her he’d make it on his own—without the family name, or business, to prop him up. She hadn’t been happy, but Trent had refused to back down. Her pleas and tears hadn’t changed his mind; certainly her threats hadn’t.

Trent loved the old woman, and the rest of the family, but he’d given them five years of his adult life trying to do things their way. Five years of wearing suits to work. Five years of going to meetings, trying to care about the buyers’ predictions for the spring lines so the family-owned department store, Langtree’s, would keep bringing in the almighty dollar.

Five years knowing he would never be happy doing what his family wanted him to do.

Trent had even gone by the store one rainy, miserable night a few weeks ago, just to remind himself of what was at stake. Like a bad omen, he’d ended up with a flat tire, which had amused his brother Troy to no end when he’d told him about it the next day at a family gathering. Troy had quipped that Grandmother probably set out the nails intentionally to trap Trent in the parking lot. When Trent had admitted he’d ended his tire changing with a refreshing bare-chested shower in the rain right outside the front windows of the store, his grandmother had not been amused. Then again, his grandmother was seldom amused by anything except sales and promotions.

Troy was cut out for that life. Troy liked the conservative, responsible atmosphere. He liked order and schedule and deadlines. Troy liked wearing ties to work, for God’s sake! He definitely liked the money, which enabled him to keep up with the constant succession of women in his life.

Trent liked the heat of the sun on his back. Its blinding light in his eyes. The sound of the wind whipping palm trees during a storm. The lap of waves rolling onto a deserted beach and the smell of freshly cut grass on a summer afternoon. He liked his hands in the earth.

None of which made him the least bit qualified to take his place in the family business. All of which made his new venture—a landscaping company—his dream job.

No one had really understood. Not his grandmother, nor his retired parents. Not Troy. Certainly not Jennifer, the woman he’d thought loved him. His devoted fiancée. She’d worn his ring for less than twenty-four hours after he told her he was leaving the family business to “cut grass.”

“Some things are better discovered early on,” he muttered aloud. Like that your fiancée was a money-grubbing social climber who would go after your twin brother as soon as she realized you weren’t going to be keeping her in Mercedes convertibles.

His broken engagement had been one of life’s interesting lessons. He’d cared at first. Not anymore. He liked his life now, liked waking up in the morning and facing the day of honest work ahead. Trent planned to keep doing exactly that. But only if he could make it pay—and soon. His grandmother wasn’t going to be put off forever.

“Until your thirtieth birthday,” she’d said. “If you’re not a complete financial success by then, promise me you’ll come back to the store.”

And, like an idiot, he had. He’d even signed a legally binding document to that effect. Three years ago, feeling like he’d explode from frustration if he had to sit through one more meeting with buyers and managers, he’d have agreed to just about anything. Now, with his thirtieth birthday—and his promised deadline—looming just weeks away, Trent was feeling the pressure.

This job could make him. It could also, however, break him. Considering the per-day penalty for late completion, and the narrow profit margin he’d budgeted in order to get the work, he knew there was no room for error.

As he walked over the newly sodded area his crew had installed earlier, Trent glanced up and saw heavy, late afternoon clouds rolling in. Typical. He inhaled, sniffing the electric scent of the stormy sky, liking it, knowing the newly planted grass would soak up the moisture and take root in the soil. He sucked in a deep breath of ocean air, cooled by the impending storm, and smiled, savoring the elements.

But standing outside near a Florida beach during a thunderstorm wasn’t exactly wise. Waving goodbye to his crew, who’d loaded the last of the trucks and were preparing to depart for the day, Trent turned and dashed toward the main building of the hotel. Thankfully, he’d booked a room for himself for the weekend. He had important meetings scheduled with the contractor in charge of the new wing under construction, and he also wanted to personally supervise the critical work his crew had done on the side lawn. He planned to spend a few days here, on-site, for quality control. The resort had even picked up the tab for his room, a real surprise given the previously miserly attitude of the general manager.

Since he’d sunk every penny he had into his business for the past few years, Trent had no money for vacations or ritzy hotels. Not that this was a vacation—it was definitely going to be a work weekend. Still, there were worse places to work than a lush resort with golf courses, pools, spas, and hundreds of yards of pristine Florida beach.

As thick plops of rain fell from the sky, another flash of lightning cracked overhead. Trent reached the pool courtyard which overlooked the beach. The area was nearly deserted, most of the hotel guests probably having dashed inside as soon as the thick storm clouds had begun rolling in off the ocean.

One person remained.

“Crazy woman,” Trent muttered as he watched a curly-haired brunette languorously rise from a lounge chair on the far side of the pool. Apparently oblivious to the metallic taste in the air, the drops of moisture beginning to reach the ground and the rumbling of thunder in the distance, the woman didn’t even begin to fold her brightly colored beach towel. Instead, she turned toward the ocean, which roiled and churned a few dozen yards off the pool deck.

Trent watched her, noting the pronounced curviness of her body in the skimpy coal-black bikini she wore. “Nice,” he murmured, liking the line of her hips flaring below a small waist, and the smooth, tanned legs and back. Her thick, curly mop of light-brown hair was clasped loosely at the nape of her neck and fell to just below her shoulders.

He suddenly wondered what color her eyes were. And whether, as she stared at the churning ocean and the heavy gray skies, she was smiling.

“You’d better come in before the storm gets worse,” someone called. Trent glanced over to see a pool boy stacking chairs under a covered awning. He’d obviously been speaking to the woman, but she paid no attention. Instead, as Trent watched, she spread her arms out to her sides, dropped her head back, and lifted her face to the sky.

Trent watched, fascinated, wondering who she was, and, more important, why he found her so appealing when he had never even seen her face.

Then she turned, slowly, as if loathe to gather her things and go inside. From the other side of the pool, she noticed him. Her eyes met his. And she smiled the most gloriously joyful smile he’d ever seen in his life.