The Bikini Diaries (34 page)

to mention painful. He almost wished he'd never met her. Except he couldn't imagine
not
having met her, because she'd sort of... changed every second of his life since then.

He thought about her all the time. He wondered what she was doing, if she was happy.

He hoped she wasn't fucking other guys because the very idea made him want to strangle

somebody—mainly the other guys.

He'd confided the whole pathetic story to Pete last Saturday when they'd taken one of

Pete's boats fishing in the bay, and his buddy had formed the theory that Brandon was in love. "That's why you're acting like an immature idiot. Most guys fall in love for the first time when they
are
still an immature idiot. I was eighteen. You're what—thirty-six? No wonder you're so fucked up about it."

Brandon's initial response had been denial.

But the reality was—Pete was probably right. Brandon was in love with Wendy, the best

fuck of his life, his new board member, and the woman who'd made it clear in her diary

that she didn't care for him in any significant way.

Even though Brandon had seen them only for a few minutes, the words he'd read there

played in his head over and again. They'd made him feel so... incidental. Like he could be any guy. Any cock would do.

He didn't hate her, and he wasn't mad at her, despite what he'd probably given her reason to believe—but hell, the truth was that he simply didn't know how to handle the hurt, a

far deeper hurt than he'd known he could even feel.

It made him angry at himself—successful CEO and resort magnate Brandon Worth was

acting like a baby because the girl he wanted didn't want him back. Well, at least not the way
he
wanted
her.

Maybe in the end, what it came down to was: Wendy really was a bad girl, exactly the

kind of girl who could fuck a guy's brains out and not give a damn when it was over.

Which was usually fine with him—but with her, things were different. She'd had him so

fooled—until he'd happened to pick up that damn diary.

He tried to look on the bright side. Despite what had happened, Emerald Shores had

ended up with a huge influx of cash thanks to Wendy's recommendation to Walter

Carlisle. It had saved his fiscal ass and allowed his dream, and his career, to continue.

The resort was now in good financial shape, lifting a world of professional worries off his mind.

So he thought he should feel better, given that Emerald Shores was his main concern in

life.

But maybe that had been before Wendy Carnes had come. along.

He didn't know what to do, how to fix this. It was like he'd woken up in some foreign

land where everything was different, where he didn't understand the language or the

customs and just kept making mistake after mistake. He felt lost. And that was the

problem—he'd never felt lost in his life, and he didn't know how to find his way back to where he'd come from.

Wendy strolled out onto the beach in shorts and a tank late Saturday afternoon. She

hadn't quite been in the mood to don her bikini and soak up rays, even though maybe that would have relaxed her. But she'd decided to come out now that the day was waning and

most of the beachgoers were gone and the boys who worked on the beach were busy

taking down umbrellas and chairs like Brandon once had.

The soft sand felt warm, somehow comforting, beneath her feet, and the sea breeze

refreshing. She walked up the shoreline, watching the water, the sand, the last few

families and couples who were packing up their sand buckets and towels, ready to call it a day. She saw a little boy with a sunburn and felt sad for him, knowing he'd be crying

later. She thought about all the people who flocked here for so many reasons: relaxation, fun, a getaway, a tan... and sex.

Just then—oh God—Wendy spotted her, walking up the beach!
White Bikini Babe.
Again in her stunning, sexy white bikini, heading straight in Wendy's direction. They would

pass at the water's edge in just a few moments.

The girl was as gorgeous as Wendy remembered, and just as wholly sexual, her breasts

bulging from those slender white triangles, her hair blowing in the breeze, her beautiful face filled with confident arrogance.

And God help her, Wendy
still
wanted to be her. Even after all of this.

But maybe for a different reason now. If she were that woman—that idealized woman in

her mind who could fuck and not care—she wouldn't be hurting so badly over Brandon.

Wendy considered saying hello when they passed, maybe even trying to start a

conversation, trying to get a window into the other woman's world to see what was

happening there, what her life was really like... but just as quickly, she realized she didn't want to know. She didn't want to lose that almost magical image White Bikini Babe had

held in her mind for so long now.

There remained some part of Wendy that still wanted to believe a woman existed who

could live that life, who could soak up the physical pleasure without experiencing any of the emotion from being that close to a man.

Even so, as they passed each other, leaving two sets of footprints headed in opposite

directions, she was forced to recognize the
real
truth—magical image or not. The real truth was that no matter how perfect that woman looked or what message she sent out, no

one had a perfect life. Even White Bikini Babe had problems. Possibly big ones. Possibly she was in love with someone right now who didn't love her back.

And that quickly, Wendy stopped feeling envious.

Well, mostly. She still wouldn't mind having that ass and those firm, perky boobs, but it was official—she was perfectly happy with who she was and she didn't want to be

anyone else.

Walking farther, Wendy noticed an older but striking woman, probably in her fifties. She sat on a beach blanket wearing summery white pants and a roomy white tunic with

metallic gold trim, her dark hair pulled up onto her head in a bun. She wasn't beautiful, but there was something about her, an understated elegance that Wendy found instantly

compelling. She looked happy and content to be by herself at the beach, not even

remotely intimidated by anyone in a racy bikini.

And Wendy amended her last thought just a little—because
that
was who she wanted to be: someone who was that comfortable in her own skin.

A quiet wisdom radiated from the dark-haired woman and Wendy almost wanted to go

talk to her, share her troubles, seek her advice.

But maybe she didn't want to risk disillusionment there, either.

Or maybe she just thought she was a big enough girl to solve her own problems. She was

on the board of directors of a major vacation resort, after all—she needed to start acting like a woman in control of her own destiny.

And maybe that woman, that woman she wanted to be— that powerful, in-control

woman-deeded to be the bigger person here.

She was still hurt by the way Brandon had handled this, and she still wasn't certain

whether his reaction had to do with ego or truly caring for her. But she needed to take the situation in hand and find out once and for all, even if it put her at risk, both personally and professionally.

I’m starting to think Brandon is an obstinate idiot.

Because I care for him, so freaking much, but he won't listen or give me a chance to

explain. He read something I spilled recklessly into this book, something private, meant

only to allow me to purge my
thoughts
during a highly intense time of my life, and he

acts as if those words are all that matters.

Doesn't he remember the great talks we had? Doesn't he remember the times we held

hands or just kissed and kissed and kissed, or
the
way we looked into each other's

eyes? Doesn't he know I couldn't have done any of those
wild
things if he hadn't been

there with me, encouraging me to experience it all, treating me with kindness and

respect?

Isn't he a smart enough guy to look back on all that and realize it adds up to a hell of a

lot more than a few journal entries where I was trying to convince myself I didn't caret

Isn't he a compassionate enough person to look past that and see how much more we

shared?

Isn't he a wise enough man to realize that I LOVE him?

Chapter 15

W
endy quietly stuck a ribbon in the journal, marking the page she'd just filled. Then she left the Shellside Towers and walked to the nearby building that held Brandon's

penthouse.

' She thought of all the ways this could turn out. He could never mention it and she'd

never know what he thought. He could continue being belligerent and confusing. He

could have his ego repaired and it could make way for more cordial working

conditions—but nothing more. Or... well, she wouldn't let her mind go to the best

possible scenario. Glass-half-empty girls tended to work with worst-case scenarios

instead, because how often in life did the best possible outcome occur?

She thought she would be nervous about this, but she 'felt weirdly calm. Like it was a

thing that simply had to be done, regardless of the result. Like she
had
to tell him,
had
to let him know—even if he
was
acting like a jerk. She had to put this on the table once and for all. If she didn't, she'd never feel a sense of closure, and she was a person who
needed
closure.

Approaching the grand double doors to his condo, she quietly laid her journal outside,

then turned and walked away.

On Sunday, Wendy rented a bike and went shopping at some of the resort shops. She

needed more "beach wear." Or at least she hoped she did. She hadn't heard from Brandon, and she only prayed what she'd done wouldn't somehow worsen the situation and make it

downright impossible to work together.

As she shopped, she made a point to steer clear of the Beach Bazaar. Just for now. She

simply felt compelled to keep a low profile until she and Brandon got things resolved one way or another, and she didn't want to have to fake her way through a conversation with

Stacy should Brandon's name come up. Besides which, what if Stacy wanted to fool

around again? Wendy couldn't deny the sensual pleasures she'd shared with the pretty

girl, and she might not mind sharing them again sometime—but she was pretty sure that

if Brandon hadn't been there, involved on the periphery, her hot tub encounter with Stacy would have felt as empty as her kisses with Matt back in Chicago. She was still finding

her way through all the new recipes for sex in her life, but she was pretty sure Brandon was a required ingredient.

By dinnertime Sunday evening, she'd still had no contact from Brandon and it hit her that she would have to go into the Emerald Shores office tomorrow, her first official day on

the job, and face him having no idea what he'd thought of her journal entry. Sheesh. It

had seemed like such a bold, take-charge, forward step at the time—but if he didn't

respond, that made it kind of useless, and possibly problematic, since it left her having no idea where they stood. Not that she'd exactly grasped where they stood
before
yesterday, either—that was the whole point of putting her cards on the table and telling him how she felt

After a light dinner of soup and salad at a cafe near her building, she decided to go for another walk on the beach. It was either that or hole up in her condo and cry. She

believed strong women cried, too, sometimes, but she just didn't want to give in to her

girlish emotions yet She truly was a tougher, more confident woman since her week with

Brandon, and she wanted to keep it that way. Even if her heart was breaking a little more with each passing minute she didn't hear from him.

Maybe you were right in the first place and this was ail about his ego. Maybe, when all is
said and done, he just doesn't love you back. Maybe seeing those words on the page

freaked him out and sent him running in the other direction.

She sighed at those sobering thoughts as she descended the same steps to the beach that

she and Brandon had taken together that first night.

It was later than she'd arrived yesterday, so the wide white beach was mostly empty, the umbrellas packed up for the night— although a few beachcombers walked along with

metal detectors, and the occasional young family played near the water.

In the distance, she spotted the cabanas in front of Brandon's building—they were heavy

enough that no one could steal them, so she supposed that was why they weren't put away

at day's end, why they'd remained there to be fucked upon that first night and why they

were there now.

Her skin sizzled at the memory of that very first penetration. She sighed, bit her lip, her pussy aching for more of what, apparently, only Brandon could give her.

That was when she saw him, stretched out on the very same padded cabana chair on

which he'd delivered those glorious strokes with that glorious cock. Oh God, he was just as beautiful as ever, his pale hair messier than usual—from the sea breeze, she supposed.

He wore a white linen button-down shirt over light beach pants, rolled up around his

legs—she guessed he'd been walking in the surf.

His eyes met hers then, but she couldn't read them—so she walked toward him, albeit

cautiously.