Diving In (5 page)

“We can talk in the condo,” said the caterpillar. “My sister would kill me if you went off and paid for a hotel room in Maui just because I scared you away.”

Her pride, buried deep, burrowed to the surface. “You didn’t scare me. You…”
You pissed me off.
“You surprised me, that’s all. It’s your home, not mine.”

“It’s not a home, it’s a vacation timeshare that belongs to my parents, and they insist it be occupied at all times because they feel guilty about owning it. When I leave soon, it’ll be all yours, and they’ll be happy.” He reached out and peeled the suitcase out from her hand. “You must be tired. Where’d you fly from?”

“San Francisco,” she said slowly.

With her suitcase as hostage, he turned and climbed the stairs. “Cool,” he said. “Me too. You kept in touch with Rachel after she moved to London?”

“We go way back.” She heard herself say it and cringed. No reason to trigger his memories if she didn’t have to. With a glance at her throbbing feet—the shoes were killing her—she followed him from a safe distance. He didn’t
scare
her. God forbid. Elevators and airplanes and water, sure, but not some selfish rich boy from the distant past. “A few years.”

He led her up the stairs, over the landing, and down the hall to the condo. “There!” he said, pushing the door open. He parked her suitcase near an entrance closet. “Make yourself at home. I have to change into something less disgusting.”

The view of the azure waters of the Pacific through the panoramic windows captured her attention. She lived less than a mile from the Pacific—or the Bay—back in Berkeley, but nothing she’d ever seen in real life could compare to this. The ribbon of pale sand stretching to either side below, the ocean of blue all around, another island in the distance. The sliding door to the balcony was open, letting in a warm, sweet-smelling breeze that brushed her bare legs.

Why the hell was she wearing these torture devices on her feet? She bent down and unbuckled the expensive sandals that were clearly designed by a misogynistic, sadistic, greedy, sociopathic asshole.

“Looks like you and my sister share the same taste in shoes,” Ansel said, coming back into the living room. “Makes me glad I’m not a woman.”

She looked up and caught her breath.
Damn it, me too
. He’d changed into a gray polo shirt and a fresh pair of black cargo shorts, all very casual, but breathtaking. He still had loads of boyish charm, though his dark hair was prematurely salt-and-peppered. It didn’t make him look old but even cuter, like a wolf cub. “There’s a first aid kit in your bathroom. Help yourself.”

She hobbled over to her suitcase and set the adorably cruel shoes on top. “Thanks.” Maybe her feet just needed practice. All the shoes they’d known until now had been well-padded and roomy. With time, and calluses like oyster shells, she’d break them in.

“You didn’t tell me your name,” he said, striding into the kitchen.

Sure I did, right when I pulled off my T-shirt and you licked my nipples
.

She could use her full name, Nicola, but it would get back to Rachel eventually, and she’d have to explain. “Nicki Fitch,” she said softly, bracing herself for his memory to belatedly fire up.

His easy smile didn’t falter. “Well, Nicki, how about a drink? I make a mean smoothie.” He pointed a thumb over his shoulder at the refrigerator. It was an open floor plan, with the sink overlooking the breakfast counter, the living room, and the ocean view. Anyone standing in the kitchen had a full view of the common areas.

She strolled across the room to the balcony. The sound of children laughing in the pool drifted up to her. “Just water,” she said, letting out her tension in a long, slow breath. “Thanks.”

“I probably should’ve told Rachel I’d be here this week,” he said.

She turned. It was only Sunday. “This
week
?”

He came over and handed her a wet, icy glass. “And maybe next, but that’s tentative. Don’t worry, you’ll hardly see me. I’m here to buy an office building. Very exciting.”

She had to look away from him in dismay.

Two weeks?
Maybe longer?

She turned her gaze to the interior of the condo. Big, but not as huge as she’d expected rich people to buy for themselves. The living room held a pair of sofas, a few easy chairs, and a kitchen table. Rachel had said there were two bedrooms. The wraparound balcony overlooking the ocean was the dominant feature, but Ansel’s towel, a laptop, two tiny speakers on long black cables, and the spilled salsa littered the area.

His things were all over the living room, too—swim trunks hanging from one chair, a wet towel on another, his laptop, books, notebooks, a camera, gear for snorkeling draped over the tables and floors.

She’d wanted solitude. All of her plans depended upon it. But from what she could see, he
lived
here. He hadn’t just flown in for the night or even a few days. He’d brought more shit than
she
had, and she was a woman with lots of clothes—and shoes—and was staying all summer.

She pivoted to face him. “It doesn’t look like you’re only here on business.”

Putting his hands on his hips, he stared back. One corner of his mouth curled up, exposing the slightly uneven canine incisor her tongue still remembered. “That depends what the business is, now, doesn’t it?”

Sexual awareness shot through her. The way he could look at her as though she were naked and yet not see her at all…

Her muscles tensed for flight before she told herself to get a grip.

It was a test. Earlier than she’d expected, but a necessary one. Ansel was funny, charming, and sexy, and she’d had a little thing for him a long time ago—okay, a huge thing—and this was her chance to practice her new defenses. She wasn’t eighteen and stupid anymore. She was thirty—tough, wise, and mysterious behind her fortress of cool. That kind of woman wouldn’t overreact to a cute little rich boy getting too close; if he were sleeping in the other bedroom, what was it to her? She’d be out at the beach. Snorkeling. Surfing. Getting over that water phobia thing.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” she asked.

Smiling with obvious relief, he clasped his hands together. “Of course not. Let me show you your room.” He went over and lifted her suitcase with the shoes resting on top. “Is this all you’ve got?”

At that moment, the question struck her as rather profound. Wasn’t what he saw enough?

“Just that,” she said coldly.

His smile faltered, making her regret her tone, but he recovered quickly, picked up the bag, and cheerfully strode off to their right. She turned to follow.

“Were you up early to catch your flight?” he asked, pushing his way into a spacious, sunny room decorated in pale green and ivory.

Thank God, it was clean and tidy, with no sign of his things anywhere.

“Yeah, I’m pretty wiped out.”

After he set her suitcase near the closet, he moved around the four-poster bed, slid apart the floor-to-ceiling glass doors that let in a balmy breeze.

Then he came back and paused next to the bed. “Here on vacation?”
 

She noticed a slight sunburn on his cheeks under black-and-gray stubble. Heart pounding, she made herself busy with the suitcase. “Yes.”
 

“How long?”

“About two months.”

“That’s great,” he said. “By yourself?”

“Yes.” On one hand, she hated the rudeness in her voice, but how else could she let him know she wasn’t here to make friends? She had enough friends. More than enough attractive male friends.

“Right. Well,” he said, moving toward the door, “let me know if you need anything.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine. Thanks.”

He paused in the doorway and turned. “One more thing,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

She suppressed a groan. A decade earlier, she’d wasted two years fantasizing about him staying in her bedroom; now she had to clench her hands together to stop herself from shoving him out of it.

But it was his family’s condo, not hers, and he was being generous about sharing it. “Yes?”

“Have we met before?” he asked.

Chapter 4

A
NSEL
KNEW
HE
’
D
SEEN
HER
somewhere. He’d noticed the slightly hurt, irritated way she looked at him. They’d probably met at some point over the years, and she was annoyed he didn’t remember.

“We have, haven’t we?” he asked. “I’m terrible with faces. Please don’t take it personally.”

Her eyes, which had widened momentarily, slowly shrank to normal. “It was a long time ago.” She turned away, giving him the chance to admire her from the rear. Her dress stuck to the small of her back, hitching up the skirt a little over her generous bottom. His gaze drifted lower. He’d happily be shorter than every woman on the planet if he got to look at legs like that every day. He wondered if she was over six feet. He was a few inches below it, so he didn’t have the perspective to guess accurately.

“Well, I’m sorry,” he said.

She glanced over her shoulder. “No big deal.” Perhaps because she’d seen him staring, she tugged her dress down. “I’m just really tired.”

“Sure. I’m leaving now.”

“Thanks—”

He pulled the door shut, saying just before it closed, “See you around.”

Then he went to the living room and spent a hurried twenty minutes cleaning up all his crap.

If it were a year earlier, he would’ve gotten another place. He knew a few fully furnished units were vacant right now even on the same floor as this one. The woman would have had the solitude she obviously wanted.

However, as he hooked his snorkeling fins over a coat hanger in the front closet, he wondered if he might have stayed even if he could’ve afforded another place. Something about her irritated, impatient face brought out the devil in him. Rachel had a few friends that always got on his nerves. Several of them, in his opinion, clung to her for her money; Rachel was too generous, handing over her goodies to the slightest of acquaintances.

At least this friend was a woman, not some dude who took
everything
Rachel had to offer.
 

A lot of woman.

He picked up his swim trunks and shook out the sand into the wastebasket. He wasn’t cleaning up for her; he was cleaning up for himself. He was a responsible working adult and had business to attend to. It had nothing to do with her sexy legs that were longer than he was.

After he’d removed all of his things from sight, he went out on the balcony, munched on scattered chips, and waited for his phone to power on.

Yes, he was working. He had important emails, phone calls, texts, everything. He was going to make money for once, not just spend it.

He peered down at the pool and watched a waiter carrying a tray heavy with colorful drinks, weaving through recliners, umbrellas, tables, and prone, glistening bodies. How the hell did he carry all that without dropping it? One little kid makes a sudden move and
bam
!
Game over, man.

That
was work. Hauling garbage and smiling at the ungrateful public was work. What he was doing was like web surfing with a credit card. Even now, after losing access to the family piggy bank, he knew he had it easy. He had an education, connections, and the knowledge of what was possible. Even for a man without any talent or brains, like himself.

The sound of the sliding door around the corner caught his attention. The condo had a wraparound balcony, and the second bedroom faced the courtyard and the north. It got most of the wind and not nearly as much of the ocean view, which is why he hadn’t taken it for himself.

He listened to Nicki come out to the balcony, slide the door again behind her, and drag a chair, maybe a table, into position.

Would she try to butter him up now that she’d recovered from the surprise of finding him there at the condo? He knew it wasn’t his good looks that made women throw themselves at him. And Rachel would never tell anyone, even a friend, that his father had cut him off from the family fortune. Twins kept secrets better than anyone did.

He idled over to the corner, casually glancing to the right, not too ashamed of himself for wanting to see if she was sunbathing. He liked her type. Tall and strong, a classic figure, the type to be carved out of marble and draped in a toga—bare-breasted, of course. At this point, his imagination transformed her into flesh, a dream come to life.

Ah. Wearing shorts and a tank top, she faced away from him, though the fact that she was juggling distracted him from admiring her body for more than a split second.

She was
juggling
.

Not just lazy, inept juggling, either, but deft. Perfect. The beanbags rose and fell in a steady rhythm, all following the same trajectory. Her exposed shoulders flexed in the sunlight, already shining with sweat. The legs he’d admired earlier bent in a slight squat, displaying well-rounded but athletic thighs and calves.

The beanbags flew higher.
 

He watched her juggle for a full thirty seconds before saying, honestly impressed, “You’re amazing.”

One by one, she snatched them out of the air and spun on him. “Damn it,” she said. Flushed, she jerked the sliding door open and escaped into her bedroom with the door banging behind her.

He frowned at the tinted glass. “You’re welcome.” Maybe her parents were circus performers; maybe it was a trendy upper-arm toning exercise. He didn’t care; she was rude. He went back to his wing of the balcony, got his phone and the last tortilla chip wedged in the padded seat of the recliner, and plopped down to work.

He sent a text to the real estate agent about an office space in Kihei:
9am tomorrow is perfect.
He sent another text to Brand, his friend and partner.
Relax, I’ll bring my camera. And I’ve got two contractors bidding on windows tomorrow.
Then he spent twenty minutes comparing two properties in Kahului near the airport. Square footage, lease terms, zoning. If there was anything more sedating than zoning, he didn’t know what it possibly could be. Learning about organic dog shampoos was more interesting.