Deceptively Yours (Wanton Weston Women, Book Two) (2 page)

“I had issues with relationships too. It was inevitable after what we witnessed in our parents’ marriage. It affected us all. But you can’t let the demons win. Don’t you read my column? Empower your feminine strength. You are in charge of your sexuality.”

“I
do
read your columns but I’m not like the women you write about. I don’t need a man to keep me satisfied, I have…” She scratched under Penelope’s chin, trying to come up with something to say.

“What, your very own vibrator? That’s all well and good for occasional use, but it tends to be lacking after a while.”

Laura cut her off. “Let’s not go into this again.” She’d already heard her sister’s opinion on the subject. Just because Suzanne had a degree in psychology didn’t mean she had the inner workings of Laura’s love life—or the lack thereof—all figured out.

“Fine. But don’t try to deny that you spend all your time outside of work with your nose in one steamy romance book or another. There’s more to life than those silly dime-store novels you read.”

Laura glanced at the e-book reader on the cushion beside her and her shoulders sank.

“Wouldn’t you rather
be
in a romance than just
read
about one? You’re young and single and nearing your sexual peak. Go climb that mountain. And before you say anything about your looks, take a gander in the mirror. You’re a thousand times hotter than you give yourself credit for.”

Suzanne could tell her a million times, but that didn’t make it true. “Having ginormous breasts doesn’t a hot chick make.”

“Laura, for shame. You’re so pretty and don’t try to deny your intelligence or your wonderful sense of humor. You’re way more than your great breasts.”

“Great?
Not exactly how I’d describe them.” Her D-cup breasts had drawn guys to her like flies in high school and college, but not a single one of them wanted anything beyond a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am. But Suzanne didn’t need to know her sordid history with men.

“Do you know a single female on this planet who’s a hundred percent happy with every part of her body? None of us are. If you’d wear those contact lenses I got you last year instead of your glasses, men would notice that you have the most beautiful blue eyes and maybe you’d develop a little confidence in yourself. I wish I had your blonde hair too. You have no idea what a hottie you are. Just let go and have fun for a change.”

Suzanne was just trying to get her to agree to go on the trip. “I’m not interested in a relationship now.”

“So don’t have one, have a few days of mindless sex. And by the way, it’s time to get over your fear of men.”

“I’m not afraid of men.” The conversation was making her skin itch.

“Most of them aren’t abusers, Laura.”

She refused to take the bait. “I don’t think I can give a speech, Suz. I might pass out or something.” But the vacation part sounded heavenly.

”I’ll mail you my wig if you want to be authentic although you don’t really need it since you’re already a blonde. And you have your own glasses. You can use notecards to keep you focused. All you have to do is read the speech and imagine the entire audience in their underwear.”

“I hate to have to lie. Isn’t there any other way?” God, she didn’t want to do it, but how could she refuse to help Suzanne?

“It’s just a tiny
white
lie. I’ll understand if you say no but it would be a great opportunity. I have faith in you that you can do this.”

A heavy cloud of guilt descended upon her. If she could muddle through the speech she could not only help out her sister, but she’d have a long-overdue vacation. She swallowed hard and squeezed her eyes shut. “I’ll do it.”

Suzanne’s squeal nearly popped her eardrum. “You are the best sister in the whole world. You’re saving my life, kiddo. I owe you so big.”

“No you don’t.” Somehow she’d have to get over her paralyzing fear of public speaking and do this for her sister. She prayed she didn’t screw it up and ruin Suzanne’s life instead of saving it.

Chapter One

Two weeks later

Guy Pritchard adjusted his shorts so his gun wouldn’t castrate him when he took a seat. He spotted an overstuffed armchair in the lobby of the Pleasure Cove Island Resort Hotel that gave him a clear view of the reception desk without being so close as to be noticed.

He set his coffee down, then opened the information folder he’d swiped the day before from a stack of them outside a meeting room. He’d removed most of the propaganda from the World Hedonist Society convention and replaced it with photos of and information about Harry Turiano, the fugitive he hoped to capture.

Moving aside the flyer about the conference’s keynote speaker, he studied Harry’s booking photo, which he’d tucked all the way in the back. The man’s smug grin made him instantly dislike the bastard. He reminded Guy of every bully who’d ever messed with him during his childhood.

He reread the information sheet the bail bond company who’d hired him had compiled on the high-profile fugitive.

Charges: Trafficking in methamphetamine, resisting arrest with violence, three counts of tampering with a witness.

Skipping to the bottom of the page, he found the notes he and his partner Rick had added from their own investigation thus far.

Informant advised me that Turiano planned to spend several days on Pleasure Cove Island before continuing to his final destination (unknown by informant). Travels with attractive women, usually blondes.

If they could apprehend Harry then hand him off to U.S. Marshals to take him back to DC, it was worth a hefty bonus in addition to the daily rate the bail bond company paid them. But money had never been the reason he specialized in bail jumpers.

A hotel guest wandered over and sat in an adjacent chair. Guy quickly covered the sheet with the conference flyer.

“Ever read her column?” The middle-aged man pointed to the sketch of a woman identified as Dear Annie on a nearby stanchion sign.

Guy nodded and looked away. Last thing he wanted to do was engage one of the conference-goers in conversation. He couldn’t chance giving himself away if the man asked him anything specific about the conference or the organization.

Undeterred by Guy’s silence, the man continued. “I hear she has a book coming out soon. Lucky us. We get to hear her speak before she becomes the new rock star of the movement, huh?”

“Yeah.” He vaguely remembered reading one of Dear Annie’s columns a few years ago in a doctor’s or dentist’s waiting room. He didn’t buy or subscribe to the magazine she wrote for so he hadn’t read any more of her work, but the hedonists obviously loved her.

He shifted in the chair so he faced away from the man. He’d been hanging out in the lobby like a moron with no life for two days, and the man was only the second or third guest who’d spoken to him. It made for a long, dull time, but as a private investigator, he spent countless hours doing exactly this. The adrenaline rush when he nabbed his man—or woman—was a hundred percent worth the boredom.

With any luck, Harry would show up and he’d capture him without having to spend another night at the hotel. The hedonists had kept him up half the night with their antics. From all the banging around and screaming, it had sounded as if they were having wild orgies in several rooms on his floor. Thanks to them, he hadn’t gotten two solid hours of sleep.

He checked his watch then shot a covert glance at Rick across the lobby near the gift shop. A flight arrived each day about this time and he didn’t want to miss the new guests. The revolving door to the lobby whirred to life and a group of about two dozen tourists starting spilling in, some toting carry-on bags, others wheeling suitcases.

Guy scrutinized the new arrivals, seeking out men who resembled Harry. He was tempted to use the binoculars hanging around his neck to get a better up-close view but he resisted. Rather than blending in with the other tourists, he’d appear like some sort of nutcase if he used them inside the hotel.

As the guests queued up at the reception desk, a woman holding a clipboard addressed them. “If you’re here for the convention, please come see me at the WHS registration station after you get your room assignment.” She swept her arm toward a kiosk with a large, brightly colored banner over it that read World Hedonist Society.

Guy grabbed his coffee cup then crossed the lobby to a mirrored pillar near the desk to get closer to the crowd. There were two black-haired men, one of them wearing dark shades, but he was too tall and thin to be Harry. He glanced toward the entrance, hoping his man had somehow fallen behind the others, but no one else came inside the hotel.

Damn it.

They’d been sure today was going to be the day. Unless… Could Harry have had someone else register at the resort for him? His girlfriend
du jour
was always with him. Maybe Guy had missed him and Harry was already lounging in one of the villas.

One by one, each of the guests finished their business with the hotel then went to the conference booth until there was only one woman left. He looked her over. She wore glasses and a big floppy hat over her pale-blonde hair. Her floral-print peasant-style dress looked several sizes too large for her. Something about her piqued his curiosity. He hoped she wouldn’t go to the conference kiosk, hoped she wasn’t one of
them.

A desk clerk handed her an envelope with her keys just like the one they’d given Guy when he’d checked in. When she turned around their gazes locked for a too-brief moment.

Even through her glasses, her azure eyes hijacked his stare. A vulnerability in her gaze seemed to reach out to him. A jolt of arousal bucked through him, locking his breath in his chest. But then she dropped her head, obscuring most of her face with the brim of her straw hat, and something twisted inside him.

She started toward the conference kiosk but before she’d taken two steps, a man carrying a tall drink crashed into her, sending her sprawling over her suitcase.

“Watch where you’re going, lady.” The man wiped the side of his glass but completely ignored the orange liquid that he’d spilled on the woman’s dress. Huffing, the man continued walking.

Anger rose in Guy’s gut. The bullied foster child he’d been so long ago stirred inside him. He dropped his things on an end table and started over. He eliminated the distance between them in an instant and made a split-second decision to help the woman rather than to deal with the asshole who’d wronged her. “Are you hurt?”

She tipped her head back to see him and gave him a half smile that electrified him. “Just my ego.”

“You have nothing to be embarrassed about. That guy was a jerk. I saw the whole thing.” He took her hands to help her stand but the instant she righted herself, she yanked them back as if his fingers were on fire. Had she also experienced that zing of attraction the instant they’d touched?

“Um, thanks. It was probably my fault. I’m a klutz, really.” She rubbed her forehead then bent over to gather the contents of her purse, which had spilled onto the floor.

Her scent was the best thing he’d ever smelled—light and floral and somehow it suited her perfectly. Crouching next to her, he scooped up a bright-red lipstick tube and a rubber-banded stack of index cards and loaded them into her bag. He couldn’t help but stare at her mouth and wonder what that lipstick would look like on her. Under the outline of her dress, he spied the curve of perfectly round hips and long, shapely legs. God, he’d love to do sinful things with her.

Hot body and tempting lips aside, she looked more like a bag woman than a hedonist, although he was hardly an expert on hedonists. Why was she hiding her very attractive assets beneath a frumpy outfit? Before he could get her name or her room number, she hurried away toward the conference kiosk.

He considered going after her but he could take a hint. The notion that he’d never see her again left a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach.

What the hell is wrong with me?

He wasn’t some high school kid who developed a crush on every pretty girl he laid eyes upon.

Who was he kidding? She’d left pretty on the shore on her way to gorgeous, and sexy and incredibly hot. Didn’t matter. He was there for one reason—to bring Harry Turiano back to jail.

Rick leveled a chastising stare at him then went back to looking at the rack of postcards.

Muttering a curse under his breath, Guy grabbed his things then downed the dregs of his coffee before tossing the Styrofoam cup into a fancy trashcan. He took a detour to his room to drop off the folder. Before he left, he phoned Rick.

“I’m heading down to the villas just in case Turiano managed to slip past us. Maybe he had someone else register for him. I don’t know.”

“Can’t hurt to check it out. I’ll hang here in case he just fell behind the rest of the group or something.”

“Sounds good.”

Minutes later he left the building. Heat and humidity blasted him as strode across the manicured grounds to the pebble-covered path toward the beach and the villas area of the resort.

Several young women raced past him in skimpy bikinis, laughing and carrying tall, brightly colored drinks in plastic cups. A lanky redhead winked at him and gave him the once-over.

She wasn’t a tenth as appealing as the woman he’d met in the lobby.

“Party at the nude beach in half an hour,” she said. “Hope to see you there.
All
of you.” Another wink and she was gone.

Attending parties where he hardly knew anyone didn’t sound like fun. Growing up in one foster home after another, he’d had enough of being thrown into groups of strangers. With each new situation he’d grown lonelier and more frightened than if he’d been completely alone. Now he preferred more intimate gatherings.

Besides, the conference guests weren’t exactly his type of folks. From what he’d read of the World Hedonist Society in their literature, they believed in an anything-goes philosophy, particularly when it came to all things sexual. As long as it feels good it’s okay. He couldn’t get his head wrapped around that. In his line of work, he’d seen too many awful repercussions when people did whatever felt good at the time.