Everything You Need (3 page)

Hazel frowned. “A month and I didn’t make the
accommodations.”

“Doesn’t matter, it’s the same song and dance. For
the next month you'll probably want for a few things, but
everything you need—when you need it—will be provided.” She bobbed
her head, still not giving up a name. “By the way, this is on the
house.”

She pulled a garment bag out of nowhere. “Use it
wisely.” Mission accomplished she turned to leave.

“Wait?”

The woman held up two fingers in a piece sign. “Gotta
run. I'll be back when you need something, like food and water.”
The woman's shadow faded into the dark.

Hazel definitely had to check for video cameras in
this place. There had to be a catch, or maybe it was the rude
service you’d get. Then again the house was free—you got what you
paid for.

With a hip, she closed the door while unzipping the
bag. Silk as green as Brice’s eyes lay beneath the black plastic.
It was the kind of flirty but sexy dress she would have included if
dating had been on her mind while packing. The dress was just what
she needed—neither too slutty nor too reserved. She checked the
dress size—it’d fit.

She flew at the door and ripped it open. No car, no
boat, no beach walkers. Nothing but the waves crashing against the
sand greeted her view of the beach. She double-checked and glanced
farther down the horizon to her left, but didn’t see a fading
shadow in the light. Hazel huffed out a breath, took a step inside
and shook her head.

This vacation had started on a strange note. This
island had a strange feel to it, but it was beautiful. At night,
the water lapped gently against the sugar-like sand.

If she closed her eyes, Hazel could relax for a
moment and not think about the absence of even one fresh or new
idea in the past twenty-four hours. Hazel slid a hand over the
smooth material of the dress. She’d have fun tonight and worry
about her ailing career later.

*****

The edge of the bar pressed into Brice’s back. He
took another sip of the scotch on the rocks, watching the door. He
gripped the moist glass harder when Hazel entered. Classy—from the
upsweep of her hair to the heels gracing her feet. Her gaze went
over the room in search of him.

Brice straightened off the edge of the bar, reaching
his full height. When her smoky-chocolate brown eyes met his, the
air in the room suddenly felt too thin, and Brice shifted on his
feet.

Too caught up in biting her head off, and then trying
to get her to say yes to dinner, he hadn’t really looked at her.
Her calves curved and then disappeared under the short dress. Her
caramel-colored skin looked as smooth as the ivy silk she wore. Her
cleavage showed through the opening vee of the dress and spilled
out tastefully, giving him a teasing view of the figure underneath.
His groin tightened.

Turning this business deal into pleasure lingered in
his mind for a moment, as she made her way to him. An invisible
force pinned him to the bar’s counter and for the first time in a
very long time he yearned for a woman.
This woman.

She stopped a few feet in front of him. “Good
evening.”

His mouth quirked up at the greeting. “Are you
usually this formal?”

“With people I don’t know.”

He smiled fully. “I plan to change that.” He gestured
his head to a table. “There’s an opening I’ve been eyeing over by
the piano.”

She didn’t speak but headed in the direction he had
indicated. Her hips swayed with each step, and he watched them,
hypnotized by the rhythmic movement. He tried to breathe through
his nose, but only got the scent of her—dark and musky. Hazel
tucked the dress behind her knees so as not to wrinkle it before
she sat down.

“So, you’re making up for being an ass to me
earlier?” Her long lashes brushed the top of her cheekbones.

His stomach knotted at the unexpected reaction, but
he liked it. She didn’t take herself too seriously. “From time to
time I stick my foot in my mouth. Sometimes I feel the need to make
up for it.”

“And this time you felt you had to.”

It wasn’t phrased as a question, though Brice took it
as one. “I’m not sure whether or not you noticed, but this a small
island. I can’t afford to make enemies.”

“I’ve noticed.” She raised her hand and nodded at
someone behind him, probably a waiter.

Brice considered his next words, because there wasn’t
a reason to hide his purpose on the island, but he had to tread
lightly. “Plus, I find working myself to the bone all day doesn’t
make me personable.”

Her eyes lighted and a smile, the first real one she
gave him, crossed her face. “I’ve noticed that also.”

Brice leaned forward, ignoring his drink. “Now tell
me about you.”

Her mouth thinned into a line and her eyes darkened,
shifted away. “I’m here on vacation. What’s not to like about this
place? Sand on my doorstep. Sun brightening my days. Nights cool
enough I can breathe. Back on the mainland it’s hotter than hell.”
She tried for nonchalance, but Brice noticed the tension brewing
underneath. “What’s not to like about this place?”

“It’s secluded. More like a small town than an
island. And paradise can be overrated.”

A waiter interrupted her reply. Hazel ordered a dry
martini and nothing else. Being the youngest of the family afforded
him the gift of making good assumptions on simple observations. She
didn’t take advantage of situations—him footing the bill—and for
some odd reason she liked martinis, a drink with no frills or fuss.
She wet her lips and he shifted again.

“I want to know more about you,” he said.

So I’ll know how to ask you to decorate my
house
, he silently added. He shifted again, not liking the
borderline deception. And it definitely seemed too much like asking
for help. Like he couldn’t sell the house on his own.

After doing more research on Hazel he knew he
couldn’t afford her, either. He needed Hazel to do him a very big
favor and that’s all it could be—a favor. It wasn’t a deception. He
pushed the thought aside as soon as it came.

“I’m single,” Hazel started. “I’m free of disease and
this martini is going to be the best part of my week.”

Brice settled back in his chair, convinced that he
was doing the right thing. He’d tell her of the big plan soon. It
sure as hell wasn’t asking for help. It was a favor. No, the start
of a business partnership.

She leaned forward, blessing him with another smile
on her face. “Now, tell me how drinking with me is the best part of
your week? And then I’ll tell you more about myself.”

“Well,” Brice picked up his scotch. “It started a few
weeks ago…”

Chapter 3

Before the last remnants of her first martini was
gone, Hazel found herself telling this man more than she’d shared
with her PA of two years. Hazel told herself it had a lot to do
with the fact she would probably never see him again. It was
something about opening up to strangers that let tongues loosen.
Heck, she’d never told her one time therapist this much about her
life.

It had to be his eyes. More than the emerald shade
beckoning for her to tell all her secrets, it was the way they
lighted with interest. Depth and amusement flitted behind his gaze.
So by the third martini they felt like old friends.

The waiter came by with the check and Brice placed
his wide, long fingers over it. He was keeping his end of the
bargain. She smiled again, more from the warm feeling the alcohol
than because of his appearance—at least that’s what she told
herself.

“I feel like I’ve been talking non-stop, especially
since you only gave me a summary of your life.”

“That’s okay, and I’m not chatty.”

Hazel shook her head. In a daze, she felt fluid and
warm in parts of her body that she’d considered dead. “Tell me more
about you.”

The laugh was low, but smooth as silk. “You’ve had a
lot to drink. Did you drive?”

She shrugged; it was probably more of a roll of her
shoulders. “I called the company footing the bill. They told me it
wasn’t far from the cabin. I walked. Of course, I took my heels off
until just before I came through the door.”

He chuckled, pulled out a fifty and stuffed it into
the black case the waiter had left. He offered his hand. “I can
walk you back. Since I don’t think you’ll make it to your cabin on
your own in this dark.”

“It gets that dark out here?”

“It’s more beautiful at night. You can see the cruise
ships and it looks like they’re floating on the sky, lit up and
headed anywhere you can imagine.”

She liked the sound of it and took his hand—rougher
than hers, but warm, so very warm. Before she could process leaving
the restaurant, they were outside.

His large fingers wrapped around her small ones. When
was the last time she’d felt this sense of peace? Maybe the first
night in her new house, after months of decoration and angst. Or
when she first held her college degree. She squinted up at the
night sky.

“You don’t see the stars like this on the mainland,”
Hazel said out loud, though she had thought it in her head. She
laughed and found herself against him.

“I think you’ve had one martini too many.”

She laughed again and tilted her head up to his.
Brice’s eyes were dark as a forest in the moonlight.

“Probably, but it feels good. I don’t have to go in
to work tomorrow. I don’t have to listen to Maureen bitch and moan
about the Victorian era having more class than the Regency.” He
frowned and again she laughed. “Never mind. I’m talking work and
I’m supposed to be on vacation.”

“You never said why you were on vacation.”

“I’m washed up.” The melancholy came in the instant
the words left her mouth. “I’m twenty-seven and already I’m washed
up with a crappy career.”

Warmth slide over her cheeks, and slowly it dawned on
Hazel that Brice had cupped her face in his palms. “You’re not
washed up. Not from what I hear.”

She squinted to see him in the nonexistent light.
“Hazel Garvey, prodigy or hype? I can see the headlines now.”

The look he’d gave, made Hazel feel exposed. It felt
too intimate for having just met him. Stepping away from the
informal comfort he’d given, Hazel trotted in front of him, the
silver shoes swinging on her fingertips.

“I can see the headlines now,” she repeated.

“Not everyone can be successful overnight,” he
said.

She frowned, not sure if the comment had been
directed at her.

“You still haven’t told me about you. Not in detail,
at least.” She started to walk backwards. Her feet sank into the
soft sand and it almost felt better than his hands on her face.
Almost being the operative word.

He stopped for some reason, but grabbed the material
beneath the seam under her breasts. “You’ve had one too many
martinis.”

“You’ve already said that, and I still want to know
about you. Right now you seem a mystery. I’m the boring one,
spilling my guts.”

“Not boring, intoxicated.”

And lonely, she silently added, and the melancholy
bordered on depression. She didn’t know this man. He could be a
reporter disguising himself as a house renovator, for all she knew.
It wouldn’t be the first time someone had stooped low to get the
scoop. Hazel’s upbringing was made for the headlines. The hum in
her veins suppressed the dour memories.

“Now tell me the truth,” she said, still staring up
at the sky, not able to make eye contact with him again. Not with
the memories brimming so close to the surface. “Why did you ask me
on a date?”

“You’re pretty.”

“I know.” She heard him chuckle in the dark.

“Modest, I see.” His voice was like velvet.

She shivered. “No need to be when you know your
worth.”

“How do you do that?”

She closed her eyes to search for the answer. “By no
longer feeling you have to prove yourself to others, accepting who
you are and what you want.”

The warmth came back. Her eyes sprang open. Brice’s
face hovered over hers. His eyes had gone serious again. She really
liked that about him. He went from playful to dire in the matter of
seconds.

“And how do you do that?” he asked.

“Stop fighting what you should be and just be.”

“That’s all it takes?”

His words were soft, but Hazel felt like the question
had been asked as if someone’s life or death was on the line.
“Yes.”

“You’re not pretty up close.”

Her mouth fell open. “Wow. Thanks. That’s what every
woman wants to hear.”

He rubbed his thumb across her cheekbones. “I’m
starting to think you’re not every woman.”

“Damn straight.” She smiled up at him.

“You’re not pretty. You’re beautiful,” he said.

His eyes no longer held the seriousness, nor did they
hold the playfulness. Her feet refused to move, as though she stood
in quicksand. His hands moved to her hair. The breath she’d been
holding hissed out and her heart sped up in anticipation.

He was going to kiss her. The moment was primed for
it. Her skin tingled with the knowledge of his closeness. She
closed her eyes and then his lips were on hers.

She moaned, and heat spread in her chest and down to
her core. And that heat between her thighs built to something else,
something new. It made her want. It made her crave the warmth
emanating from him. She pressed closer against him until her
breasts overwhelmed the vee line of the dress. The fabric cut into
her skin and the warring sensations made her head buzz.

When was the last time she’d been kissed like this?
In the depths of the haze the answer came—never. His tongue flitted
over her bottom lip, ripping another sound of pleasure from her
throat. She balled her hands onto the edge of the dress. His mouth
and tongue took her on a ride that allowed only one
forethought—hold on.