Читать книгу Playing With Seduction - Reese Ryan - Страница 10

Chapter 1

The click of high heels against the hardwood floors prompted Wesley Adams to look up from his magazine.

A mature, attractive blonde extended her hand, her coral lips pressed into a wide smile. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Adams. I’m Miranda Hopkins, executive director of Westbrook Charitable Foundation.”

“The pleasure is mine.” Wes stood and shook her hand. “But please, call me Wes.”

“Wes, I’m sorry to tell you Liam won’t be joining us for today’s meeting.” Miranda frowned. “One of the girls isn’t feeling well, so he stayed home with her.”

“No, I wasn’t aware.” Wes was surprised his best friend hadn’t called him. After all, Liam had hounded him for more than a month to fly in from London for this meeting in Pleasure Cove. The woman looked worried he’d bolt, so Wes forced a smile. “But I’m confident he left me in good hands.”

“You’ve managed some impressive events in the UK,” Miranda said in her heavy, Southern drawl as she guided him toward a carpeted hallway. “We’re so excited that you’re considering taking on our project.”

Wes nodded and thanked her, glad his friend had clearly gotten the point. He was here to assess the project and decide whether it was a good fit. Nothing was written in stone.

As they approached an open door of a glass-walled conference room, he heard the voices of two women. One of them was oddly familiar.

“Wes, this is our events manager, Lisa Chastain.” He reached out to shake Lisa’s hand. Then Miranda drew his attention to the other woman. “And this is Olympic champion and international beach-volleyball star Brianna Evans. Bree, this is Wesley—”

“Adams. We’ve met.” Her expression soured, as if she smelled a rotting corpse. It sure as hell wasn’t her glad-to-see-you-again-Wes face.

Bloody hell.

He hadn’t seen Bree since the night they met at that little club in London’s West End more than a year ago.

Liam, I’m going to strangle you.

He’d tell his friend what he thought of his matchmaking attempt later. For now, he’d play it cool. After all, he hadn’t done anything wrong. But Bree, whose lips were pursed as she stared at him through narrow slits, obviously disagreed.

Wes widened the smile he’d honed while attending boarding school with kids whose parents made more in a month than his parents made all year. He extended his hand to Bree, despite the look on her face that dared him to touch her.

Bree shoved a limp hand into his, then withdrew it quickly, as if her palm was on fire.

What did, or didn’t, happen between he and Bree was personal. This was business.

“I believe Miss Evans has a bone to pick with me.” Wes pulled out Brianna’s chair and gestured for her to have a seat.

She narrowed her gaze at him, then took her seat. As she turned toward the two women, who exchanged worried glances, Bree forced a laugh. “Wes predicted my alma mater wouldn’t make it back to the Sweet Sixteen, and he was right. I’m convinced he jinxed us.”

Nicely done.

Wes acknowledged her save with a slight nod. He slipped into the chair across from her—the only open seat with an information packet placed on it.

The night they’d met in London, her eyes, flecked with gold, had gazed dreamily into his. The coy, flirtatious vibe she exuded that night was gone.

Bree’s face dripped with disdain. Anger vibrated off her smooth, brown skin—the color of a bar of milk chocolate melting in the hot summer sun.

Wes only realized he’d been staring at Bree when she cleared her throat and opened her information packet.

“Well, I...” Miranda’s gaze darted between Brianna and Wes. “We’re all here. Let’s get started, shall we?”

The meeting was quick and efficient. Miranda and Lisa were respectful of their time and promised they would be throughout the course of planning and executing a celebrity volleyball tournament over the next six months.

Six entire months.

Liam had laid out a dream project for him. The perfect vehicle for expanding his successful UK event planning and promotions company to the US. However, working with Bree Evans for six months would be as pleasant as having an appendectomy, followed by a root canal. On repeat.

The meeting concluded with a full tour of the expansive Pleasure Cove Luxury Resort property. After they toured the main building, the four of them loaded into a golf cart. Wes slipped into the backseat beside Bree and tried not to notice how the smooth, brown skin on her long legs glistened. But her attempts to keep her leg from touching his only drew his attention.

The Westbrooks had gone all-out with the property. In addition to the main building there were four other buildings on either side of it that housed guests. There was a pool and spa house, four different restaurants, a poolside grill, tennis courts and two workout facilities. Large rental homes and a building with smaller, connected guest houses completed the vast property.

“Here we are at the guest houses, where you’ll both be staying. Your luggage has already been taken to your individual guest houses,” Miranda announced. “Wes you’re in guest house five and Bree, I believe you’re right next door in guest house six.”

Of course.

“Makes it convenient to chat about the project whenever you’d like.” Lisa grinned.

“It certainly does.” Wes loosened his tie and stepped out of the golf cart. He extended a hand to Bree, but she stepped out of her side of the cart and walked around.

“See you at the next meeting. If you want to knock around some ideas before then, just give me a call,” Miranda said. She and Lisa waved goodbye as they zipped off in the golf cart.

Wes took a deep breath before he turned to Bree. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t call—”

“You’re an ass.” She shifted the strap of her purse higher.

She wasn’t wrong.

Still, the accusation felt like a ton of bricks being launched onto his chest. “Bree, you’re obviously angry—”

“Don’t call me Bree. We’re not friends.” She folded her arms over her breasts, dragging his gaze there.

Wes raised his eyes to hers again. “Okay, what should I call you?”

Psycho? Insane? Ridiculously hot in that tight little black dress?

The corner of her mouth quirked in a grin that was gone almost as quickly as it had appeared. She’d caught him staring and seemed to relish his reaction. “Call me Brianna or Ms. Evans. I don’t really care.” Though, clearly, she did.

“All right, Ms. Evans.” Ms. Jackson, if you’re nasty. He bit his lip, scrubbing the image from his brain of her moving her hips and striking a pose. “I’d like to sincerely apologize for not calling when I said I would. It was rude of me. I should’ve called.”

“You shouldn’t have promised.” Her voice was shaky for a moment. “Don’t promise something if you don’t intend to carry it out. That’s one of the basic rules of not being an ass hat.”

“Noted.” He chuckled as he pulled his shades from his inside jacket pocket and put them on. “We good?”

“As good as we need to be.” Brianna turned on her tall heels, which added length to her mile-long legs. His gaze followed the sway of her generous hips. She opened the door of her guest house and glanced over her shoulder momentarily before stepping inside and closing the door behind her.

Wesley sighed. He’d spent more than a decade building his event-planning-and-promotion business from a ragtag team of university misfits planning pop-up events for a little extra dosh to a company that routinely planned events for some of the hottest celebs and largest corporations in the UK. Taking point on the planning of the Westbrook’s new celebrity volleyball tournament would help him establish a name with major players in the US more quickly.

But would Bree’s animosity make it impossible for them to work together effectively?

He’d lived in London the better part of his life, and he loved living there. Still, the blue skies, warm sun and salty breeze drifting in from the Atlantic Ocean made him nostalgic for home.

But then he hadn’t really gone home. He hadn’t even told his mother he was in North Carolina.

Maybe he only missed the idea of home.

Either way, it was time to find out.

* * *

Bree tossed her purse onto the nearest chair and flopped down onto the sandy beige sofa. It was the same color as Wesley’s pants. Not that she cared. She just happened to notice the color, and how well the material had hugged his firm bottom.

No. No. No. Do not think about his ass or any other parts of his anatomy.

She kicked off her shoes and headed to the bar. It was well-stocked, courtesy of Liam Westbrook. But she also had Liam to thank for bringing her and Wes together on this project.

The stunned look on Wes’s face indicated that he was just as surprised to see her. Liam obviously hadn’t told his friend that he’d invited her to work on the project.

But why?

They were best friends. Which meant Liam probably knew what had happened that night.

Her cheeks stung as she surveyed the bottles of wine. No. It was too early to drink chardonnay alone. She pulled out a split of champagne and a bottle of orange juice.

It’s never too early for mimosas.

She took a sip of the cocktail and felt she could breathe for the first time since she’d laid eyes on Wesley Adams. His six-foot-three frame had filled out the navy jacket and beige pants as if they were made for him.

Bree checked the time on her phone. It was still early out in California. After a recent shoulder surgery, her best friend and volleyball partner, Rebecca Jacobs wouldn’t be following her usual early morning workout routine. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to text.

Bree sent a text message with one hand while nursing her drink in the other. Bex, you up?

Within seconds Bex replied. Uh-oh. How’d your meeting go?

Bree sighed. Was she really that transparent? Then again, she and Bex had been partners for the last seven years, so there wasn’t much she could put past her friend. Meeting was great. Unfortunately, I would have to work with the devil himself. Don’t know if I can do this.

The phone rang within seconds of her sending the text.

“What the hell is going on?”

Bree laughed. “Good morning to you, too.”

“Sorry. Good morning. Now, what the hell is going on? Who was at the meeting that would make you want to pass up this opportunity?”

She sighed, her finger tracing the bar. “Wes Adams.”

“The guy you met at the bar that night in London?” Bex let out a sigh of relief. “I know you’re bummed he didn’t call, but he’s a guy. Don’t take it personally. In fact, you should be glad you guys didn’t sleep together. That’d be awkward.”

“Today was awkward.” Bree balanced the phone between her ear and shoulder as she wrestled with the plastic-wrapped gift basket filled with goodies. She could use some chocolate. Stat.

“Why? Because you guys fooled around a little? You are seriously out of practice, my friend.” She laughed. “I told you not having a life would catch up with you.”

“Volleyball is my life.” Bree ripped open a chocolate truffle and stuffed it in her mouth.

“And it’s a great life, but it won’t always be there. We’re approaching thirty. Time to start thinking about life after volleyball.”

“You aren’t thinking of retiring on me, are you?” Bree mumbled through a mouthful of chocolate.

“No, but this injury has given me a lot of time to think. I don’t want to wake up one day and feel like I missed out on the things that are really important.”

“Like?” Her friend was surprisingly philosophical. It made Bree uneasy. She was usually the one reminding Bex to be more frugal and save for the future, when tournament money, appearance fees and endorsements were no longer flowing in, something they’d both been forced to think about more lately.

“I dunno. Like a husband. Maybe kids.”

“Wow.” Bree’s mouth curled in a smirk. “So what’s his name?”

“Shut up.” Bex fell suspiciously quiet before releasing a long sigh. “His name is Nick. He’s my physical therapist, and he is so cute.”

“Uh-huh.”

“But we’re not talking about me right now, Bree. This is about you. Why is running in to this guy again such a big deal? Do you have a serious thing for him or something?”

“No.” Even to her ears, her response sounded like that of a tween in denial, punctuated by an unladylike snort. Her mother would be so proud.

Bex paused, which told Bree that she heard her unconvincing denial, but chose to ignore it. “Then no harm, no foul. Certainly nothing worth giving up this opportunity. You could become the face of the hottest new beach volleyball event on the East Coast. Besides, Westbrook International Luxury Resorts is a worldwide organization. This could be the beginning of spreading your brand. Our brand. So don’t wuss out on me.”

Bree gritted her teeth and stared out onto the water. A huge wave licked the shore, the chilly waters chasing away a toy Pomeranian. “Okay, fine. I’ll figure out how to deal with it. With him.”

“That a girl. Whatever it takes. Just like on the court. Got it?”

Bree chucked the truffle she was about to open back into its box and nodded. “Got it. Whatever it takes.”

She talked to Bex for another half hour, getting an update on her injured shoulder and her hot new physical therapist before finally ending the call. Bree changed into a pair of yoga pants, a T-shirt and a sweater. She stepped out onto the back deck and inhaled the salty ocean breeze. It was sixty-two degrees out. A fairly warm day for early February.

She flopped onto the chaise and tried to remember her friend’s words. They hadn’t slept together. So why was she still so pissed at him?

Because she’d wanted to sleep with him. God, she’d wanted to. She’d fantasized about it in the wee hours of the morning, when she couldn’t shake the memory of his kiss from her brain.

She shuddered, remembering the touch of his hand when she’d been all but obligated to shake it and make up that story about why she was upset with him. There was some truth to the story.

A slight smile played on Bree’s lips as she remembered their argument about what football team had a chance of winning the Super Bowl. She just left out the part where he’d asked her to come back to his place. Bree had turned him down. He smiled, his eyes filled with understanding. Then he gave her the sweetest kiss. Sweet and innocent, yet filled with the promise of passionate nights ahead. They’d only spent a few hours together, but he’d managed to make the kiss feel meaningful. Real.

Real enough that she’d stared at her phone for a week afterward, waiting for him to call. Like he’d promised after their kiss.

Her response that night kept replaying in her head. Sorry, but I’m not that kind of girl. She laughed bitterly. True, she wasn’t the kind of girl who normally believed in one-night stands. In fact, she wasn’t the kind of girl who got laid at all. Not for a very long time. Not since...

She tried to erase the memory of the scornful mouth and hard, dark eyes she’d once found so intriguing. Sexy even. She’d been wrong about that asshole. Apparently, she’d been just as wrong about Wesley Adams.

The man was handsome and tall with warm brown skin. An athletic body that had felt incredible pressed against hers on the dance floor. And a killer smile. One worthy of a toothpaste commercial. He had the straightest, most brilliant teeth she’d ever seen.

And she loved his laugh, which he employed often. Because he was funny. And smart. And he liked sports. Just like she did. But he wasn’t intimidated because she was knowledgeable about sports and full of opinions she readily shared. He was the kind of guy she could see herself spending time with on those lonely nights she actually got to spend in her own bed back in Huntington Beach.

Wes was the kind of guy she wanted to spend more than one night with, so she’d turned down his offer to go back to his place.

She’d gone to the pub with Bex that night, determined to crawl out of all the insecurities that rumbled around in her head, barely leaving elbow room for her own thoughts.

She went to The Alley that night, intending to take someone back to her hotel. Just once she wanted to be a little naughty. To shed the good-girl image she’d worked so hard to perfect over the past two decades.

She was the scholarship kid who struggled to fit in at a private school, terrified that the kids would find out she lived in the run-down projects. Two of the front stairs missing and not a single blade of grass on their “lawn.”

She’d spent the past ten years creating her image as the perfect spokesperson. A successful player with a feel-good story and the kind of good-girl image that garnered endorsements and kept them. Not the kind of girl who would stroll into a club and pick up a random guy for the night.

In the end, she hadn’t turned him down to protect her shiny, good-girl reputation. She politely turned down his offer because she liked him.

Really liked him.

So she gambled on there being another night between them. Only there wasn’t. Bree was angry at Wes for not keeping his promise. She was angry with herself for not taking him up on his offer.

Bree drew her legs against her chest, wrapping her arms around them. If she was going to be working with Wes Adams for the next six months, she’d have to start thinking with her brain, not her libido. And she couldn’t behave like a jilted lover.

Her heart fluttered, just thinking about how her hand felt in his, even for a moment. A glowing warmth arose through her fingers, making its way to her chest.

She put her head on her knees and sighed.

Letting go of her silly crush on Wes would be easier said than done.