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Two to Tangle
Leslie Kelly


Window dresser Chloe Weston doesn't believe in lust at first sight–until she catches her boss, Troy Langtree, reveling half-naked in a rainstorm. So when she finds herself alone, on a secluded beach, with the object of her nightly fantasies, she decides to go for it.And wakes up to discover she's had the best sex of her life–with Troy's twin brother….Trent Langtree has a fledgling business, a nosy family…and a bad case of the hots for sassy Chloe Weston. The gorgeous brunette is smart, spirited and sexy as hell. She's everything he's ever wanted in a woman…except she thinks he's his brother, Troy. But Trent has plans to convince Chloe that he's her man. After all, in the battle between the sheets, this brother always comes out on top….









“Come on. Get wet with me.”


Now, there was a tempting thought. Without thinking twice, Trent kicked off his shoes and socks, dropping them in the sand. He pulled up the legs of his jeans, and together he and Chloe stepped ankle-deep into the water.

“I’d love to go swimming,” Chloe mused aloud.

“Feel free,” Trent offered. “I’ll even keep watch if you want to skinny-dip.”

“Keep watching, you mean,” she countered.

“That, too,” he admitted with an unrepentant shrug. “Seriously, if you want to get in, go ahead. Nobody’s around, it’s one in the morning…and your little red ensemble could be mistaken for a bikini anyway.”

“Ensemble? Oh, so you saw the bra, too?”

He grinned wickedly.

“I have absolutely no secrets left,” she said with a disgruntled sigh. She kicked water at him, soaking the bottom part of his jeans.

Trent chuckled and splashed her back. Then, growing serious, he stepped closer until their bodies were separated by only an inch of moonlight. “Honey, seeing what you’re wearing beneath your clothes is only making me more interested in seeing what’s underneath it all….”




Dear Reader,

Imagine two gorgeous, hunky men—one safe (or so you think) and one outrageously daring and provocative. Now imagine not realizing that they’re two different people…and getting involved with a twin you never knew existed! That’s exactly what happens to Chloe Weston in Two To Tangle.

Chloe is a hardworking, very creative woman who is determined to find a nice guy. No daredevils need apply. So when she finds herself involved in a passionate weekend with Troy Langtree, a conservative, respectable retail store manager, she thinks she’s found her man. Only, Troy is really Trent, Troy’s twin brother. And Trent is anything but conservative.

But boy, is he hot!

Writing Chloe and Trent’s story was a pure joy. I loved going all out with the humor and sensuality in this book, and I think I’ve found my favorite cast of secondary characters so far. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did. If so, let me know. You can write to me at P.O. Box 410787, Melbourne, FL 32941–0787, or e-mail me at lkelly@lesliekelly.com.

Happy reading,

Leslie Kelly




Two to Tangle

Leslie Kelly







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To my editor, Brenda Chin.

Thank you for telling me how much you loved

this idea from the very beginning. It gave me the

incentive and the determination to make sure

the story became all it could be.

And to my girls, Caitlin, Lauren and Megan.

I’m so glad you each have sisters.




Contents


Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11




1


“OKAY, LOVERBOY, I’m ready. I’ve been thinking about this all week. Now we’re alone. It’s time to get you out of all these uptight clothes and into something a little more comfortable.”

Not expecting a reply, and, of course, not receiving one, Chloe Weston reached for the buckle of an expensive black leather belt and deftly unfastened it. A quick flick of her fingers undid the button at the waist of a pair of men’s designer trousers. Finding the tab of the zipper, she lowered it gingerly. The metallic hiss of the zipper’s teeth broke the heavy silence of the room, followed by a wisp of fabric as the size thirty-two, char-coal-gray pants fell.

Dropping to her knees, she reached for the elastic waistband of a pair of fitted, white boxer briefs. She tugged them down in one stroke, then sat back and stared. After several long moments, she sighed.

“It’s Friday night. I’m a reasonably attractive, single, twenty-something woman and I’ve just taken off a man’s clothes.” Rubbing a weary hand over her brow, she muttered, “Too bad you’re as anatomically correct as a Ken doll.”

The mannequin didn’t respond. Nor did its female counterpart, which stood behind Chloe in the darkened front display window of Langtree’s Department Store.

What a way to spend a Friday night. Alone in a deserted, exclusive store in Boca Raton, Florida. Surrounded by designer clothes, ridiculously expensive leather goods, gaudy, pretentious jewelry…with a bunch of plastic mannequins for company.

Shrugging, Chloe referred to her notes to consider the positions of the mannequins for the next week’s display. Fridays were changeover nights for the store’s main front windows. A big deal, especially lately, since the store manager had finally started giving her some leeway to be more daring with the displays. Before tonight, she’d slipped her own creative touches only in the store’s rear windows near the service department, never the huge ones bracketing the main entrance.

Though she’d worked for Langtree’s for only six weeks, Chloe knew her creations had already drawn some attention. No, the managing director of the store, Troy Langtree, hadn’t been too happy when she’d gotten a little carried away with a spring bathing suit display, and left the itty-bitty top of a string bikini dangling from the plastic fingers of a randy-looking male mannequin. But the public had loved it. So much so that Langtree had finally agreed to listen to her ideas for the store’s main entrance area.

As she reached for the zipper of the cocktail dress still adorning the female mannequin, Chloe heard the rumbling of an engine. She peeked through the dark drapes covering the window, watching as a large, black pickup truck came to a stop directly outside at the curb in front of the store. Glancing at her watch and noting it was after midnight, she bit her lip. The night security guard had to be wandering around somewhere. But he could be just about anyplace in the three-story building. With her luck—and with his reputation—he was probably snoozing on a Serta mattress in the bedding department upstairs. That left her alone to deal with the gang of robbers who’d be throwing a bench through this very window at any moment now so they could raid the nearby jewelry cases.

Crouching lower, Chloe watched as one man—not a gang—emerged from the truck. Then, when the driver passed beneath a streetlamp, she got a good look at his face and his thick chestnut-brown hair. She breathed a sigh of relief. “Troy Langtree.”

The man was probably coming to check up on her, still fretting over what she might do to his precious windows. “Why do the gorgeous ones have to be so anal?” Chloe mused aloud with a sigh. He was handsome, no question, but about as loose and laid-back as Al Gore at a press briefing.

Troy had caught her eye more than once since she’d started working for his family-owned department store. He was, after all, single, successful, and a complete hunk. In some respects Troy was everything Chloe wanted in a man. The grapevine said he didn’t carouse or womanize, worked hard, was intelligent and stable. Just the opposite of the few men Chloe had ever dated—and also the opposite of her own father, two stepfathers, and her mother’s succession of boyfriends.

Exactly what she was looking for.

Or so she’d thought at first. But Chloe could not stand a man who didn’t smile, who found no joy in anything. There was such a thing as being too mature and settled. From what she’d heard, his only passion was running—the man reportedly lived on the beach and liked to run for miles every morning. Which probably explained his physique, not to mention his tan. They somehow didn’t go with the image of the three-piece-suit office mole he appeared to be the rest of the time.

What it came down to was that Troy Langtree, while attractive, appeared to be completely lacking in a simple appreciation of life. And no matter how much Chloe longed for a nice guy—an established, professional, hard-working nice guy—he had to at least know how to laugh.

Watching curiously, Chloe noted Troy was not dressed in his usual conservative, navy-blue suit. In fact, he wore—of all things—jeans. Very tight, worn jeans that hugged some fine, firm male thighs, not to mention outlined a particularly great butt that Chloe had never even noticed before.

As Troy moved out of the pool of light cast by the overhead streetlamp, a flash of summer heat lightning silently lit the sky. Chloe saw a dark frown on his handsome face and thought she saw him mutter a curse word. When he crouched down next to his truck and poked at a tire, she understood why. “He’s got a flat.”

Chloe watched as Troy retrieved a jack and a spare tire from the back of the truck, then lay down on the ground to jack up the truck. Funny, she would have pegged him for a card-carrying AAA member. She found herself somewhat impressed that the prep-school king knew how to change a tire.

He got the flat tire off within a matter of minutes. Chloe, still hidden behind the heavy drapes blocking the view inside the store window, fought her basic urge to go help. Exiting the store would involve a call to the security guard, who’d have to turn off the alarm system and unlock the doors to let her out. By the time she found the lazy guard, Troy would probably already be finished anyway.

Chloe saw a few drops of rain hit the top of the window and slide down it, creating curvy lines on the thick glass. Troy didn’t appear to notice. “Better hurry up, buddy,” she whispered, her own breath creating a misty circle on the sliver of window exposed between the tiny gap in the drapes.

Troy tossed the flat tire up onto the sidewalk, and Chloe paused to appreciate the thick breadth of his arms in his tight T-shirt. “Okay, so the stiff works out,” she admitted aloud. He’d have to. His upper arms looked about the same circumference as her thighs. Her mouth went dry.

Troy wiped his hands on his jeans, leaving a streak of greasy black dirt on one hip, but apparently not even noticing. He went back to work but then suddenly stopped and held up one hand. Watching him wince, then suck his pinky into his mouth, she knew he must have hurt himself.

The sight of Troy Langtree’s beautifully curved lips wrapped around his own fingertip made time stop for at least five seconds, long enough for her to gulp and picture those fine lips wrapped around some part of her anatomy.

He remained oblivious to her presence as she continued to peer hungrily at him from behind the shrouded window. Retrieving a spare tire, he put it on the truck as the misting rain increased its tempo and began coming down in earnest. Troy had just tightened the last nut when the light rain became a typical Florida summer deluge. She half expected him to dive into the truck for cover, or run to the front of the store for protection beneath the awning.

He did neither. Instead, as she watched, her heart stuck somewhere in her throat, he stood, lifted his face to the sky, and began to laugh. His cotton T-shirt soaked up the water as voraciously as a dry sponge, and she watched it grow darker and tighter against his body. It soon clung to him like a second skin, hugging and outlining a chest that went on for days.

Just when she thought she couldn’t possibly take another moment of this voyeurism and decided to turn away, Chloe saw Troy reach for the bottom hem of his shirt. She stayed still, nose on glass, eyes wide and unblinking, wondering if he was really about to do what he appeared to be doing.

With his face still lifted skyward, Troy tugged the shirt up. He’s taking it off! It took forever, it seemed, for the wet cotton fabric to separate itself from his skin. Chloe didn’t move a muscle as she watched, breathless and more than a little excited. Then Troy pulled the shirt off all the way, tossed it into the back of his truck, and stood barechested in the rain.

“Whoa, mama,” Chloe managed to whisper. His bare, thick chest rippled and flexed with muscle, moving with fluid grace and strength. Chloe’s fingers pressed against the window, the coolness of glass feeling nothing like she imagined all that hot male flesh would feel.

She whimpered as Troy slowly raised both his thick, strong arms, extending them straight out to his sides. He looked graceful and powerful all at the same time. Obviously still savoring the rain pelting his face, he slowly turned in a circle toward her, as if wanting to soak up the water or simply dance in appreciation of the elements.

She drew back instinctively, even though she knew there was no way he could see her wide eyes and drooling mouth between the few inches of parted drapes in the darkened store window. Especially not with the rain and the tinted glass.

No, he couldn’t see her. But she could definitely see him. Chloe found herself very thankful for the streetlamp on the sidewalk near where he stood which illuminated him from head to toe. Leaning close again, she saw heavy drops of rain land on his shoulders and ride those long, lean sinews of muscle down his body. Water pooled at the waistband of his tight jeans and darkened the fabric to an even deeper blue.

Troy didn’t appear to care. He seemed almost pagan in his sensual appreciation of the elements. Pagan. Powerful. Perfectly, mouth-wateringly, male.

A man fully in tune with his senses. A man savoring the cool relief of a summer night’s rain against his overheated skin. A man laughing at the elements.

Definitely a man she wanted to get to know better.



BY THE END OF TWO WEEKS, Chloe was convinced Troy Langtree was a vampire who only came alive after sundown. She hadn’t seen a single hint of that spectacular, earthy male since the night she’d watched him change his tire then soak up the rain. Heaven knew she’d searched for him, during meetings or when they’d casually bump into one another in the store. But all she’d seen was the tight-lipped, buttoned-down Troy Langtree who’d hired her. Not the jeans-wearing tire changer. Certainly not the pagan rain worshipper.

“You’re sure you don’t need me to come along and keep you company in that big, fancy hotel?”

Chloe shook off the memory of Troy Langtree, shirtless and wet, and turned her attention to her friend and co-worker. Lowering her pen to the surface of her desk, she said, “Sorry, Jess, I wish you could. But I’m surprised Langtree even approved the travel expense for me to attend this conference. I don’t think he’d spring for you, even if you’re the best darned perfume sprayer in the state.”

Jess Carruthers, the perfume sprayer in question, wiped off the surface of a stool in the corner of Chloe’s office and gingerly sat down on it.

“Office” was probably too generous a word. Actually, Chloe worked in an old stockroom in the darkest recesses of Langtree’s. The twelve-by-twenty room still occasionally doubled as a holding area for shipments during the holiday season. It housed boxes, crates, old sales circulars, racks of clothes Chloe planned to use for the displays, even ancient, musty plans for the two renovation jobs the store had undergone in the past few decades. Not to mention limbs, heads and other plastic mannequin body parts splayed about like evidence of a mass murderer’s rampage.

“How you can stand being locked away in here all evening is beyond me.” Jess wrinkled her nose and coughed into her fist.

“I like it. Besides, I’d rather deal with dust motes than go home every night smelling of thirty designer perfumes.”

Jess rolled her eyes. “Tell me about it. My poor dog doesn’t know who’s going to walk in the door every night under all those Estée Lauder and Tommy Hilfiger smells. Still, don’t you get lonely tucked away back here?”

“Nope,” Chloe replied. “It’s a great place to work. Few interruptions. No distractions.” No hunky, nearly naked guys standing right outside the window keeping me from getting my display done until 3:00 a.m.

Truthfully, Chloe felt right at home in her office. She liked cubbyholes. Liked little places she could call her own and in which she could hide away—to draw, to create, to plan. Sam Brighton, the marketing director of the store, who was also Chloe’s supervisor, had seemed almost sheepish when showing her to her workspace the first day on the job two months before. But Chloe had immediately loved the dark, cluttered room. It had a lot of history to soak up, a lot of silence in which to work. And blessed, delightful privacy—something Chloe had often found to be in short supply in her life.

“If I knew you’d get to go to conventions at places like the Dolphin Island Resort and Country Club I’d stay in the store all night putting clothes on plastic people,” Jess said with a heartfelt sigh.

“There’s more to it than that.” Chloe thought of the hours and hours she spent scouring the store, looking for the perfect dress, the ideal string of beads, the just-right accessory. Not to mention the time at home, thinking, planning, mentally searching for the never-before-attempted display that would pack the store and get her noticed. “The actual window dressing is the cake part of the job.”

“I know,” Jess said sheepishly. “I wasn’t putting you down. I think you do an amazing job.”

“I guess all those years of working in retail have finally paid off,” Chloe admitted with a grin. “Not to mention dressing my Barbie dolls!”

“I was always more into the great big Barbie head with the phony wipe-off makeup and the hair that never curled so I usually cut it off a week after getting her,” Jess said with a shrug.

Chloe snorted a laugh. “Looks like we wound up with our dream jobs.”

“Not exactly. I’m not doing hair and makeup at Universal Studios in Hollywood.”

“And I’m sure not dressing in designer gowns for my big modeling career in Paris.”

“A five-foot-three supermodel. There’s something you don’t see every day.”

Chloe shrugged. “Who said a six-year-old’s dreams had to be realistic? Anyway, I am not complaining. This is a pretty good job. It beats slinging hamburgers at some fast-food chain.”

Jess nodded. “Absolutely. And I’m glad you get to go to this conference, even if it has the gossipers working overtime.”

Chloe shrugged, knowing more than a few eyebrows had probably shot up in the executive offices when it was announced that she, a new and lowly window and display dresser, was getting an all-expense paid trip to the south Florida retailers and merchandisers meeting at a pricey Fort Lauderdale-area resort. “I think Sam pulled some strings to get me the travel expense money because he knows it’ll help me at school. I mean, it was turned down at first. I was as surprised as anyone when I heard Troy had changed his mind and told Sam to send me!”

“I guess the newspaper photo didn’t hurt,” Jess said, grinning. “I was there, remember? I saw the crowds five people deep coming to see your window when it showed up in the Boca Gazette—including old lady Langtree, right? Hey, maybe she’s the fairy godmother who got the expense approved.”

Chloe smiled, remembering the delight and surprise she’d felt when she’d spotted a photograph of one of her display windows gracing the “What’s Happening This Weekend” section of the local paper. The caption had read, “Langtree’s front windows provide a fun and sassy glimpse at the summer ahead!”

That was the window she’d been working on when she’d seen Troy Langtree changing his tire. Somehow, after he’d pulled away that night, never even coming into the store, all her creative juices had really started flowing. She’d abandoned her original design. Raiding the sportswear, housewares, men’s, ladies’ and electronics departments, she’d created a window display with a cutely dressed, intrigued female peeking at a hunky, bare-chested male mannequin dancing in a streamer-and-fan-created rainstorm.

Some of the older crowd imagined she’d been inspired by Gene Kelly tap dancing in the rain. Truthfully, the only inspiration she’d needed was Troy Langtree, shirtless, wet and dazzling.

Troy hadn’t even commented on the content of the window. She didn’t think he’d ever made the connection, never suspected she’d seen him that night. But he’d certainly noticed the publicity, not to mention the crowds. As had his grandmother, who’d requested a private meeting with Chloe the day the picture came out. Troy had approved her travel expenditure to the conference two days later.

She hadn’t heard yet what Troy thought of her latest display, the one still in the front windows. Somehow, after searching in vain for the man who existed beneath the conservative suits and bored expression, she had again gotten a little carried away the previous Friday night. Using the same male and female mannequins from the rainstorm scene, she’d managed to create a woman’s daydream. The female stood face-to-face with the boring but smartly dressed male while fantasizing about his half-undressed body double, who stood draped in dreamy folds of gauze in a back corner of the window.

One of her better efforts, she believed.

“Maybe you’re right,” Chloe finally said. “Mrs. Langtree was awfully friendly when we met, especially for someone I’d heard was a white-haired piranha.”

Jess shivered. “Better you than me. She scares me. I’d rather fly beneath the radar.”

“And I window-decorated myself right into the line of fire.”

“Just don’t tick her off.”

Chloe shrugged, still unsure why the elderly matriarch of the Langtree family had been so interested in meeting Chloe after the picture was in the paper. Or why she’d stared at her so intently and asked questions about her personal life. Then again, maybe all rich people were weird, nosy and thought themselves entitled to ask their junior staff members if they were single, if they smoked, and if they wanted children. She’d seemed pleased with Chloe’s answers: Yes. No. And someday.

“I don’t know why you’re working here doing these windows, anyway,” Jess continued. “You’re almost finished school. You’ll get a great job as a buyer or merchandiser as soon as you graduate.”

“Unless I want my mother, sister and I to live on canned ravioli until that day, I have to keep some money coming in,” Chloe retorted.

Jess suddenly bit her lip, looking sheepish. “Of course you do. Your mom still hasn’t found a job?”

Chloe shook her head and turned away, not comfortable talking about her family’s financial situation with anyone, not even a friend as loyal and supportive as Jess.

“Well, then,” Jess said, “I’m glad you get to go on this ‘business trip.’ It’ll be like a minivacation. After working so hard at night while going to school during the day, heaven knows you need it.”

That was a nice thought, but Chloe didn’t view this trip to the luxury resort as any kind of vacation. She intended to use the conference to soak up every bit of information she could about the retail industry in south Florida. She needed the exposure, experience and future career connections the conference offered, particularly since she was already four years behind her peers in getting her bachelor’s degree.

It had taken several years of working in retail jobs full-time after high school to raise the money for college. Sure, she’d been offered scholarships—but scholarships wouldn’t pay rent on her family’s small house. Chloe’s salary did.

Her mother’s last job, in a legal office, had seemed like a dream come true a few years ago when Chloe had finally been able to start school full-time. Chloe knew her mother had tried to stick it out for her family’s sake. She’d remained employed for three and a half years—the longest Jeanine Weston-Jackson-Smith had ever held a job in her life. During that time, she’d helped Chloe with her tuition. Plus, between the two of them, they’d managed to save a nice nest egg so her half sister, Morgan, wouldn’t have to do as Chloe had done. Her little sister would start at a good private college when she graduated high school next year, no matter what.

But for now, her mother was again happily unemployed, throwing herself into her latest artistic endeavor: ceramic lawn ornaments. And then again, there was her most recent romantic relationship, with a guy she’d met at a health food store.

Whenever the money got too tight, her mother would wistfully bring up Morgan’s college account, but Chloe had made her promise they wouldn’t touch it. No way was she going to let her brilliant sister miss out on any educational opportunity provided to her. Jeanine had, despite the gleam in her eye when she looked at the bank statement, agreed.

So for now it was again up to Chloe to support her mother and younger sister as best she could. If she could handle this night job until the end of the year, she’d be able to graduate by Christmas and maybe have a good-paying, full-time position by the New Year—just in time to sock away the rest of the money she’d need to send Morgan to school the following fall.

The connections she could make on this trip might help that wish come true. But Jess was also right—she could definitely use a couple of days lounging by a pool at a pricey resort.

“Maybe you’ll meet some fab man who’ll make you forget all your problems.”

Chloe shrugged. “I’m beginning to think there’s no such thing as a fab man.” She dropped her chin into her palm. “The young, gorgeous, carefree ones only seem to want one thing. The older, responsible, successful ones are either taken or impossibly arrogant. The older carefree ones are usually gay.”

“What about the young, responsible, successful ones,” Jess said eagerly.

Chloe snorted. “Like Troy Langtree.”

“I get your point.” Jess sighed. “He gives new meaning to the word ‘stiff.”’ As if just hearing the sexy underlying meaning in her comment, her friend covered her lips with her fingers and began to giggle uncontrollably.

Chloe felt a flush rise in her cheeks. “He’s not what I’m searching for. A guy who can hold down a job would be wonderful—but he has to at least be able to laugh at a good joke. I’ve never seen Troy Langtree crack a smile that wasn’t prompted somehow by finances or sales figures.”

“Well, you’re right in terms of here at work,” Jess said, thoughtfully tapping her finger on her cheek. “But I’ve been here a few months longer than you, and I have heard rumors about his after-hour activities. He might not actually be the conservative, respectable man he pretends to be here at work. Away from the store, he may not be exactly what he seems.”

Chloe knew better than most that he wasn’t what he seemed. Unfortunately, she hadn’t seen him after hours in two weeks. “There are days when he’s so stuffy, I can’t picture him taking off his six-hundred-dollar suit even to barbecue in his backyard.” Unless, of course, he’s changing a tire!

“But I think I’d be able to overlook a lot of arrogance to come home to a man who looks like that every night.”

Chloe didn’t reply. Troy had been on her mind enough already; she didn’t need to start talking about him to another man-hungry woman.

“Maybe you’ll get lucky this weekend,” Jess continued. “Maybe the rumor mill is right and he’s a different man outside the store. He might just sweep you off your feet during the conference.”

Chloe dropped a long, ivory-colored plastic leg onto her right foot, then hissed and hunched over in pain. “What are you talking about?” she finally managed to gasp. Wincing, she hobbled over to her desk and leaned against it to take her weight off her squashed toes.

“Well, you know, he’s going to be there, too.”

“No he’s not. This meeting is more for marketers, buyers, and P.R. types. Not store owners.”

Jess raised a perfectly plucked, heavily penciled eyebrow. “Yes, Chloe, of course he is. He goes every year. Besides, I heard him talking to his secretary about it this afternoon. I was trying to get him to sample some new Pico cologne, which, by the way, is so sweet and flowery, if I went out with a guy who was wearing it, I’d be checking for bra straps.”

Chloe rolled her eyes. “Get back to Troy.”

“He’s going to the conference, too. You didn’t know?”

She shook her head. “I had no idea. Is he going to be staying there? At the same hotel?”

“Well, sure.” A smile crossed Jess’s face as she obviously noticed Chloe’s consternation. “Oh, so you have noticed him and you are interested, hmm?”

“Noticed, yeah. But I’m not interested. Like I said, he’s not my type.”

“Not your type for the long-term, maybe,” Jess said, obviously warming up to her subject. She leaned closer, conspiratorially. “But why not have a sexy little fling while you’re both out of town?”

“A sexy little fling? I don’t do sexy little flings.” My mother is the sexy little fling person in my family. “And I seriously doubt Troy Langtree does, either.”

“Just because you haven’t doesn’t mean you can’t,” Jess said. “Isn’t it time to give yourself a break? Indulge in something delicious for a change? Okay, you know you and the stuffy one have nothing in common and couldn’t possibly get seriously involved. So what? Nothing to stop you from getting mindless and fabulous in bed with him for a night or two.”

Chloe tried to close her ears. What Jess suggested was simply impossible. Even if she was willing, Troy Langtree had never given her any indication he was attracted to her.

“Heck, I’d seduce him in a heartbeat if he appeared the least bit interested,” Jess continued. “Unfortunately, judging by the women I’ve heard he’s dated, I suspect he likes curvy, stacked bundles—like you—rather than stick-thin Amazons like me. Why don’t you stop by the makeup counter on your way out and I’ll get you some samples for this weekend?”

“Forget it,” Chloe said with a snort. “This is about business, not pleasure. I’m not going to get personal with Troy Langtree, the managing director of this store.”

Of course, if Troy Langtree the pagan tire changer shows up, I might just be persuaded.

“Okay, suit yourself,” Jess said as she stood and prepared to leave the office. “But remember, if you keep putting off finding Mr. Right until after you finish school and get your mother and sister taken care of, you might find he’s already married…or old and in need of Viagra!”



IN SPITE OF THE MERCILESS Friday afternoon sun sizzling against the bare skin on his back, Trent Langtree decided to go for one more walk of the resort grounds before calling it quits for the day. He’d been on-site since daybreak; it was now five. A long day, but a productive one. This job was definitely worth some long days—to Trent and to all his crew. Besides, long, hard days outside were still better than working in the family-owned department store like his twin brother Troy did.

The $200,000 job at the Dolphin Island Resort and Country Club was the biggest project his three-year-old landscaping company had ever landed and he was being damned ruthless in making sure it went off without a hitch. His workers weren’t complaining too much about the long hours and demand for perfection. They knew as well as he how much was at stake with this job. And every one of them had a bonus riding on the outcome.

The stakes were even higher for Trent. The money would be nice, would keep the company in the black for a while. But even more important was the exposure and future clientele this work could bring in. The success of his company, The Great Outdoors, depended upon breaking into the upper-crust south Florida market.

“You could do that with a few phone calls,” Jason, his most reliable crew foreman, liked to tell him. True. A few calls to his former friends and colleagues would probably bring in all the exclusive work The Great Outdoors could handle. But Trent didn’t want it that way.

When he’d walked out of his grandmother’s house, he’d told her he’d make it on his own—without the family name, or business, to prop him up. She hadn’t been happy, but Trent had refused to back down. Her pleas and tears hadn’t changed his mind; certainly her threats hadn’t.

Trent loved the old woman, and the rest of the family, but he’d given them five years of his adult life trying to do things their way. Five years of wearing suits to work. Five years of going to meetings, trying to care about the buyers’ predictions for the spring lines so the family-owned department store, Langtree’s, would keep bringing in the almighty dollar.

Five years knowing he would never be happy doing what his family wanted him to do.

Trent had even gone by the store one rainy, miserable night a few weeks ago, just to remind himself of what was at stake. Like a bad omen, he’d ended up with a flat tire, which had amused his brother Troy to no end when he’d told him about it the next day at a family gathering. Troy had quipped that Grandmother probably set out the nails intentionally to trap Trent in the parking lot. When Trent had admitted he’d ended his tire changing with a refreshing bare-chested shower in the rain right outside the front windows of the store, his grandmother had not been amused. Then again, his grandmother was seldom amused by anything except sales and promotions.

Troy was cut out for that life. Troy liked the conservative, responsible atmosphere. He liked order and schedule and deadlines. Troy liked wearing ties to work, for God’s sake! He definitely liked the money, which enabled him to keep up with the constant succession of women in his life.

Trent liked the heat of the sun on his back. Its blinding light in his eyes. The sound of the wind whipping palm trees during a storm. The lap of waves rolling onto a deserted beach and the smell of freshly cut grass on a summer afternoon. He liked his hands in the earth.

None of which made him the least bit qualified to take his place in the family business. All of which made his new venture—a landscaping company—his dream job.

No one had really understood. Not his grandmother, nor his retired parents. Not Troy. Certainly not Jennifer, the woman he’d thought loved him. His devoted fiancée. She’d worn his ring for less than twenty-four hours after he told her he was leaving the family business to “cut grass.”

“Some things are better discovered early on,” he muttered aloud. Like that your fiancée was a money-grubbing social climber who would go after your twin brother as soon as she realized you weren’t going to be keeping her in Mercedes convertibles.

His broken engagement had been one of life’s interesting lessons. He’d cared at first. Not anymore. He liked his life now, liked waking up in the morning and facing the day of honest work ahead. Trent planned to keep doing exactly that. But only if he could make it pay—and soon. His grandmother wasn’t going to be put off forever.

“Until your thirtieth birthday,” she’d said. “If you’re not a complete financial success by then, promise me you’ll come back to the store.”

And, like an idiot, he had. He’d even signed a legally binding document to that effect. Three years ago, feeling like he’d explode from frustration if he had to sit through one more meeting with buyers and managers, he’d have agreed to just about anything. Now, with his thirtieth birthday—and his promised deadline—looming just weeks away, Trent was feeling the pressure.

This job could make him. It could also, however, break him. Considering the per-day penalty for late completion, and the narrow profit margin he’d budgeted in order to get the work, he knew there was no room for error.

As he walked over the newly sodded area his crew had installed earlier, Trent glanced up and saw heavy, late afternoon clouds rolling in. Typical. He inhaled, sniffing the electric scent of the stormy sky, liking it, knowing the newly planted grass would soak up the moisture and take root in the soil. He sucked in a deep breath of ocean air, cooled by the impending storm, and smiled, savoring the elements.

But standing outside near a Florida beach during a thunderstorm wasn’t exactly wise. Waving goodbye to his crew, who’d loaded the last of the trucks and were preparing to depart for the day, Trent turned and dashed toward the main building of the hotel. Thankfully, he’d booked a room for himself for the weekend. He had important meetings scheduled with the contractor in charge of the new wing under construction, and he also wanted to personally supervise the critical work his crew had done on the side lawn. He planned to spend a few days here, on-site, for quality control. The resort had even picked up the tab for his room, a real surprise given the previously miserly attitude of the general manager.

Since he’d sunk every penny he had into his business for the past few years, Trent had no money for vacations or ritzy hotels. Not that this was a vacation—it was definitely going to be a work weekend. Still, there were worse places to work than a lush resort with golf courses, pools, spas, and hundreds of yards of pristine Florida beach.

As thick plops of rain fell from the sky, another flash of lightning cracked overhead. Trent reached the pool courtyard which overlooked the beach. The area was nearly deserted, most of the hotel guests probably having dashed inside as soon as the thick storm clouds had begun rolling in off the ocean.

One person remained.

“Crazy woman,” Trent muttered as he watched a curly-haired brunette languorously rise from a lounge chair on the far side of the pool. Apparently oblivious to the metallic taste in the air, the drops of moisture beginning to reach the ground and the rumbling of thunder in the distance, the woman didn’t even begin to fold her brightly colored beach towel. Instead, she turned toward the ocean, which roiled and churned a few dozen yards off the pool deck.

Trent watched her, noting the pronounced curviness of her body in the skimpy coal-black bikini she wore. “Nice,” he murmured, liking the line of her hips flaring below a small waist, and the smooth, tanned legs and back. Her thick, curly mop of light-brown hair was clasped loosely at the nape of her neck and fell to just below her shoulders.

He suddenly wondered what color her eyes were. And whether, as she stared at the churning ocean and the heavy gray skies, she was smiling.

“You’d better come in before the storm gets worse,” someone called. Trent glanced over to see a pool boy stacking chairs under a covered awning. He’d obviously been speaking to the woman, but she paid no attention. Instead, as Trent watched, she spread her arms out to her sides, dropped her head back, and lifted her face to the sky.

Trent watched, fascinated, wondering who she was, and, more important, why he found her so appealing when he had never even seen her face.

Then she turned, slowly, as if loathe to gather her things and go inside. From the other side of the pool, she noticed him. Her eyes met his. And she smiled the most gloriously joyful smile he’d ever seen in his life.




2


CHLOE DIDN’T KNOW HOW, didn’t know why, but as she stared toward the other side of the pool, she knew she’d found her pagan again. Troy stood shirtless, wearing only tight, dusty jeans, watching her from a covered area near a closed outdoor bar. His stare was intensely curious, and she almost reached out a hand, crazily wanting to invite him to dance with her in the rain.

However, when another sharp bolt of lightning ripped the sky, followed almost immediately by a loud crack of thunder, she decided that wasn’t such a great idea. As she bent to gather her things, she knew without looking that he’d come over to help. The storm wouldn’t intimidate him at all.

Then he was there, retrieving her book, lotion and sunglasses, and shoving them into her beach bag. Chloe didn’t even have time to yank on her beach cover-up before Troy grabbed her by the arm and tried to tug her toward the building.

“Next to a pool isn’t the best place to be during a thunderstorm,” he said, his voice raised over the wind that had whipped up into a frenzy in the past few moments.

Chloe nodded agreement, stopping only to grab her sandals before dashing with him toward the hotel entrance. She was not a bit surprised to see the laughter on his lips as they burst into the building just as the rain turned torrential.

“We made it in the nick of time.” He shook his head hard, sending droplets of water from his hair against her already wet face, throat and chest. The contact was innocent, yet somehow intimate.

As he pushed back his thick, damp hair, Chloe caught a glimpse of something gold on his earlobe and realized for the first time that he wore a small pierced earring. She would never in a million years have guessed such a thing about Troy Langtree—she’d certainly never seen him wear it at work! Now, all she could think was how interesting it might be to nibble the bit of flesh beneath the gold stud. To tug on it with her teeth. To touch it with her tongue.

She shuddered.

“You okay?”

She nodded, still panting for breath. They both leaned against the papered wall of the hotel hallway inside the glass door. “I’m fine, thanks,” Chloe finally managed to say. “I like storms. If it weren’t for the lightning, I’d love to go down to the beach right now.”

He nodded. “Feeling the strong, salty wind.”

“Hearing the pounding surf.”

“Getting the ocean taste in your mouth and feeling certain you’ve never breathed richer air.”

“Sounds heavenly,” she said with a sigh.

“Most people would think we’re crazy.” Then he laughed at himself. “But I have been called worse. How about a rain check? When there’s no lightning.”

“I’d like that.”

As her ragged breathing returned to normal, Chloe paused to glance at him, and found herself face to collarbone with his amazing male chest. All bare. All flat and tanned and toned. He was broad in the shoulders, powerful across the chest, narrow and lean at the waist. Chloe caught her bottom lip between her teeth as she let her gaze travel lower, to the swirl of dark, curling hair on his muscled belly, until it disappeared into the waistband of his tight, wet jeans.

Exactly how long has it been since I’ve had sex?

She finally shook her head to clear her mind of all the erotic images invading it. Struggling for nonchalance, she risked one more glance at his bare chest. “Lose your shirt?”

He obviously noticed her staring. He smiled, a devastating, flirtatious smile she’d never once beheld on Troy Langtree’s lips. Her heart skipped a few more beats, as much from his smile as from the intensity in those emerald-green eyes of his.

“Too hot outside. Of course, you’re not exactly dressed either.”

She followed his warm stare and glanced down at her body. Her bikini top, which had seemed almost modest in comparison to some she’d seen out by the pool earlier, now seemed too tight. The curves of her breasts pushed high above the fabric, rising and falling as she took deeper breaths. Her skin puckered with gooseflesh in the air-conditioned hallway. There was no mistaking the tightness of her nipples, right below the edge of her top.

Returning her attention to him, she saw Troy’s much-too-kissable lips part and his eyes narrow as he continued to study her. Chloe nearly shuddered. “I didn’t have a chance to put on my cover-up,” she whispered.

He slowly shook his head. “Don’t bother on my account.”

She should. She knew she should. She was holding the darn thing in her fingertips; it would be easy enough to slip it on over her nearly naked, cold and damp body.

But Chloe couldn’t move. Couldn’t lift her hand. Couldn’t keep a single coherent thought in her head. Troy’s gaze moved higher, zeroing in on her face—her lips. He’s going to kiss me.

“At the risk of sounding like a jerk with a pickup line, I have to tell you something. You have a great smile.”

Smile? Yeah, like the moronic one she wore right now at the mental image of him dragging her into his arms and pressing that amazing mouth onto hers. Just the thought of feeling this man’s arms around her, his hands on her waist, his tongue dancing with her own, and she went weak-legged and brainless.

“Thank you,” she murmured. Then she tried to make a joke, tried to lighten the heavy atmosphere by referring to his normally reserved attitude. “So do you. Though, I certainly have never seen very much of it.”

A hotel employee, the one who’d been stacking lounge chairs before the storm, walked toward them in the long, silent corridor. Chloe took a quick step back, trying to pull herself away mentally, as well as physically, from Troy’s strong, sensual lure. She glanced around, but her eyes kept returning to him. His tanned, handsome face. The curve of his lips. The line of his jaw. The perfection of his bare torso. Even his hands. His hands! Why have I never noticed the strength of his hands?

“I guess I should go back to my room and change for the dinner banquet,” Chloe finally managed to whisper as she noticed the amused, appraising glance they got from the passing pool boy.

“Meet me later. After your banquet.”

She shouldn’t. Something was happening here that had nothing to do with the store, or the retailers’ conference. This was elemental, like the storm tossing the awning around outside. She should stop, back up, take a deep breath and remember what was important. School, job and family. Not a man. Not a gorgeous, to-die-for man who took her breath away.

She nodded. “Okay.” Then she widened her eyes. Who said that? Chloe, you idiot.

“In the bar? At ten?”

Still having a mental argument over the stupidity of her actions, Chloe murmured, “I’ll be there.”

“Then it’s a date.”

A date? A date with the managing director? The guy who could toss you out on your rear at a moment’s notice? Are you insane?

Maybe. But, damn, insanity had never felt so good.

Catching sight of the face of her waterproof watch, Chloe gasped at the time. “I have to go,” she said. “Don’t you, too?”

He raised a quizzical brow.

“I’ll see you in a little while,” she said, not waiting for his reply. Chloe clutched her bag close to her chest, turned and hurried away toward the elevator, fighting against her urge to look back at him one more time.

It didn’t matter. Whether she looked back or not, she knew he watched her every step of the way. The excitement coursing through her body was all the proof she needed of that.

As she punched the button for the elevator, she found herself softly repeating Jess’s words. “Mindless and fabulous.”



TRENT DIDN’T REALIZE until after the curvy brunette boarded the elevator that he hadn’t learned her name. He chuckled, knowing he’d probably appeared as besotted as a teenager. But she’d agreed to meet him anyway. Later tonight he’d find out her name. Her name—not to mention everything else about her.

Though he’d been hit by a bolt of attraction watching her from behind as she stared at the stormy sky, Trent was even more interested now that he’d seen the rest of her. Her curly mane of light-brown hair surrounded a soft, heart-shaped face with blue eyes he thought he could get lost in. Her laughter, her obvious joy in the elements, her sense of humor—all intrigued him.

And the woman did some damn fine things to a black bikini.

Yes. This weekend of work was definitely looking up. After all, there wasn’t much landscaping to be done after six o’clock at night. He had tonight and tomorrow night all to himself. To get to know her a lot better.

Trent couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt as instantly attracted to a woman as he had today. It had been ages since he’d had the time to even date, much less get involved with someone. His business had been a twenty-four/seven commitment since the day he’d started it. Funny how having to pay rent for the first time in his life had made work more important than anything else.

He refused to think his broken engagement was the reason he hadn’t allowed himself to get more than passingly interested in a woman in the past three years. Sex, yeah. That was easily available. But someone he actually wanted to get to know? Well, that hadn’t happened in a long time.

The mere idea that he was thinking along those lines startled him. No, the timing wasn’t great—it sucked, in fact. The last thing he needed during these last critical weeks of this project was to get distracted by a curvy brunette with a heart-breaking smile. But Trent had never been one to let what he needed prevent him from going after what he wanted. Right now, he very much wanted her.

As he walked down the corridor, he suddenly wished he’d asked for her room number, in case she got cold feet and decided not to come tonight after all.

“She’ll come,” he told himself. Remembering the sight of her standing in the rain, he knew the woman was a risk-taker at heart. Much like himself. She’ll come.



AT 10:05, CHLOE STOOD IN her hotel room, chewing a hole into her lip, staring at her own reflection above the bathroom sink. Troy hadn’t shown up at the dinner banquet, so it had been several hours since she’d seen him. Yes, she’d had several hours in which to totally chicken out on their date in the bar.

“You can’t do this. You know that, right?” she told the mirror.

It’s just a drink.

“Baloney, it’s not just a drink. You were there—you felt the heat, Chloe Weston. You meet him tonight and you might be with him until tomorrow morning.”

Is that such a bad thing?

“Yes. It’s a bad thing. You can’t get involved with your boss. This job is too important. Losing it could very well mean dropping out of school and getting a day job to make rent money.”

So when does living get to be as important as working?

That was the question of the hour. When did she get to live? Chloe had borne the emotional responsibility for her mother’s and sister’s well-being since she was twelve years old, right after her mother’s second husband had walked out. That had been the worst year, when Chloe and Morgan had been separated from their mother for months. Once they got back together, Chloe had been determined they’d never be parted again.

So Chloe was the one who’d learned to fake a communicable disease when the landlord came to call. The one who’d bartered baby-sitting services with the owner of the kids’ consignment store up the street to keep Morgan clothed. Through the other husbands, boyfriends, towns, people and jobs, Chloe had never let herself forget one thing: she was the one who had to keep it together. Morgan was too young and Jeanine too unpredictable.

Following her heart—or, in this case, her libido—was not something Chloe usually allowed herself to do. So why not do it…just this once? You know you want to. Don’t be a chicken.

“Oh, shut up,” she muttered aloud to the insidious voice. She sometimes pictured a little cartoon devil, complete with horns and a tail, sitting on her left shoulder whispering in her ear when she contemplated doing something really stupid. On her other shoulder, there perched not an angel, but a two-inch-tall version of Sister Mary Frances.

The sister had been her second-grade teacher during Chloe’s single year at a parochial school—a year prompted by one of her flaky mother’s religious experimentation periods. That was before her real father had split, when they’d had something of a normal life. Chloe had spent most of second grade sitting in a corner until she learned how to behave like a proper young lady. Instead of learning patience and obedience, she’d actually used the time-outs to imagine ways to get even with the Penguin, as the kids called her. So the Sister Mary Frances voice seldom won out.

Finally, sick of having a conversation with her own sun-pinkened face in the mirror, she grabbed her purse and slammed out of the room. The mental arguing continued, however. She talked to herself in the empty elevator all the way down to the first floor, then right up until she reached the bar entrance. The place was crowded, so she stopped mumbling and cast a quick glance around. She nearly convinced herself he wouldn’t be here anyway, so it wasn’t worth getting so hyped up about.

Then she spotted Troy waiting for her in a corner booth. Any thought of turning chicken, slipping out the door and running to her room like a scared little virgin evaporated. Not just because he’d seen her. No, it was because of that look in his eyes as he stood and walked toward her. Not a Troy look. Not a confident, I-never-doubted-for-a-minute-you’d-show-up look.

No, this look was relieved. Appreciative. Anticipatory. “I was afraid you were going to stand me up,” he said, his voice husky and intense as he reached her side.

“I almost did.” Oh, gee, nothing like a little honesty to start an evening off right.

“What changed your mind?”

Brushing a stray wisp of hair off her face, she struggled to seem nonchalant. “I was thirsty.”

“I’m glad you were thirsty,” he said with a teasing smile. “I was afraid you might have cold feet.”

“My feet could sink the Titanic,” she admitted ruefully.

He chuckled as he led her back to the intimate back-corner table, which was even more hidden by a few hanging plants and an indoor garden area, complete with softly gurgling fountain.

Candlelight. Flowery plants. Shadowy secluded corner. Chloe Weston, turn those wobbly three-inch heels of yours toward the door right now.

“Back off, Sister,” she whispered under her breath.

He obviously noticed her sudden anxiety. “Is this all right? I asked for a quiet table so we could talk.”

She gulped. “Uh, sure. Fine.”

After pulling out her chair for her, he sat down opposite her. “Please, relax. I haven’t got the wrong idea. I know you’re here on business, you didn’t come here for this. You never planned to meet with a man you don’t really know in a hotel bar.”

“A dark, candlelit hotel bar with low, sultry, danceable music,” she muttered. His eyes widened and she shook her head. “No. This is so not me. I’m usually so boring. No adventures in hotel bars in my recent history. I’m an open book. A boring, what-you-see-is-what-you-get book.”

Sitting across from her, he reached out and caught one of her hands, which she’d just lifted to again nervously brush back her hair. “I doubt that. I saw you by the pool, remember? I think there are some deeply hidden facets of you I’d very much like to explore,” he said, his voice a seductive whisper.

Okay, that’s it. You’re in trouble now, missy.

As if he hadn’t noticed her heart beating so wildly she thought the veins on her temples were about to explode, he continued. “Let’s forget about who we ‘usually’ are for a while.”

Chloe stared at him, trying to gauge his meaning. Obviously Troy knew something about hiding his real identity—he did such a good job of it even she hadn’t caught a glimpse of the real tire-changing man beneath the business suits in the past few weeks. He’d obviously become adept at living a double life, slipping off his at-home persona as easily as he slipped off his sexy little gold stud earring.

Why shouldn’t she give it a try?

He must have seen the indecision in her eyes. “Forget all the standard reasons we shouldn’t be here together. You don’t do this, I don’t do this, we don’t know each other. Just let it go. Tonight we’re two people sharing an interesting evening together, getting to know each other. That’s all.”

“That’s really all?”

“Yes.” His voice lowered, his stare grew more intense. “Unless we both decide we want it to be more.”

Heck, she wanted it to be more already. Get out now, Chloe.

He glanced toward the table, at her hand, which still held tightly to her purse. Chloe knew he realized she was poised to flee at a moment’s notice. “So will you stay?”

Taking a deep breath, Chloe consigned the picture of Sister Mary Frances to the depths of her subconscious, briefly closed her eyes and nodded. “I’ll stay.”

“I’m glad.” He reached over and gently tugged the purse free of her fingers, pushing it to the side of the table, still within reach, but not clutched like a lethal weapon.

He held a hand up, waving to a waitress. “How about a rum punch? It seems appropriately tropical. Okay?”

“Yes, but only one or I’ll be dancing on the table.”

“There’s a sight I’d like to see,” he said. “Particularly considering the length of your skirt.” Chloe flushed as he laughed softly. “Don’t worry. I didn’t get the wrong impression. You look perfect. Sexy as hell—but still tasteful. Just right to show you’re a desirable woman, without flaunting it.”

“Well, I guess you know women’s clothes,” she murmured, feeling both embarrassed and at the same time very glad she’d worn the tight black miniskirt and sheer black hose.

“Now, should we introduce ourselves?”

“Excuse me?”

“We’re strangers. Isn’t it time for introductions?”

“Strangers in a bar?” she asked, catching on. This, obviously, was another way to separate themselves from reality—from the fact that they worked together in their everyday lives. That he was her boss, the managing director and part-owner of Langtree’s Department Store, and she a window dresser. They would be strangers. No outside ties. No encumbrances. No expectations. Maybe even no repercussions. “I think I like this idea.”

“My name’s Trent,” he said, as the waitress arrived with their oversize glasses. The woman leaned close to him as she placed their drinks on the table, her stare blatantly admiring. Chloe felt another shiver course through her. She was playing sexual games with this devastatingly attractive man—a man every other woman in the room had eyed at least once since Chloe had sat down with him. The anxiety Chloe had felt early in the evening began to slide away, replaced by something else. Excitement. Titillation. Why the heck not?

“Trent. How nice to meet you. My name’s…Claudia.”

He waited until the waitress walked away again before picking up his drink and raising it in a toast. Chloe lifted her glass as well and waited, expectantly.

“To stormy skies.”

She nodded. “And strangers getting to know one another.”

The first sip of rum punch was enough to convince Chloe she absolutely could not drink more than one. The thing tasted like straight rum, with a little cherry juice thrown in to give the alcohol a pink tinge. “Whew,” she gasped once the burning sensation in her throat had stopped.

“Good?”

“Very. Just potent.” She sipped again, noting the fiery sensation was no less strong the second time. But she was getting used to it. “So, uh, Trent, tell me about yourself.”

He shrugged. “Not much to tell. I work too much. Eat all the wrong foods. Don’t keep in touch with my family the way I should. I live in a beachfront apartment I really can’t afford and have never seen such a wonderful blending of shades in a woman’s hair before tonight.” He reached over and brushed some curls back off her brow, stopping her heart. “Gold, brown, reddish highlights. It has to be natural.”

Whoa…he’s good. She picked up her drink and sipped from it heartily, coughing and choking as the heat hit her belly again.

“You okay?”

“Fine,” she choked out. “Now, uh, what do you do?”

He shrugged. “I own a landscaping business.”

Well, that was stretching the fantasy a bit, in Chloe’s opinion. Then again, it was his fantasy. And she’d already seen Troy Langtree’s sensory attraction for the outdoors. So maybe it really was a deep-rooted wish, one he’d hidden from the world like he’d hidden his killer smile and the amazingly strong arms and chest. Not to mention the charming, flirtatious attitude.

“What about you, Claudia?”

“Hmm,” she mused, playing along, trying to come up with her fantasy life, her deepest desire. What she’d do if she could be doing anything. “I’m a full-time grad student, and freelance graphic artist.” She sighed with pleasure at the fantasy. Imagine, working for herself, only when she felt like being creative, and being able to afford to go to graduate school. Sounded heavenly.

“Any family?”

She contemplated continuing the fantasy, but in the end stuck with the truth, saying, “Yes. A beautiful, brilliant younger sister, Morgan, who’s about to graduate high school. And a wonderfully creative—if a trifle irresponsible—mother who looks like she’s my age. You?”

He nodded. “I have a few family members in this area. My parents retired and moved to Colorado a few years back.”

Chloe sipped her drink, getting used to the strong brew and not choking this time. “No steady girlfriend?” she asked, not wanting to spoil the illusion, but needing to know just the same.

He seemed to sense that her nonchalance hid a keen interest. Reaching across the table, he took her hand. “I haven’t been seriously involved with anyone for over three years. Too busy working. And I hadn’t found the right woman yet.”

“What would she be like?” Chloe asked before she thought better of it.

He didn’t hesitate. “She’d have curly brown hair and amazing blue eyes. She’d love the beach, not be afraid of trying new things, like skydiving and windsurfing.”

Chloe shuddered. “I don’t do heights. High places make me nauseous. I’d feel sorry for whoever jumped out of the plane first and was below me on the way down.”

He laughed softly. “I’ll remember that.”

“So you want an adventurous brunette?”

“Not entirely. Adventurous is nice. But she also has to have an amazing smile.”

He was staring at her lips and she nervously licked them. She saw him pull in a deep breath, something hot and intimate flashing in his eyes. He finally looked away and picked up his drink.

“Anything else?” Chloe asked, feeling confused and yet completely fascinated by the intense heat she’d seen in his expression when he’d stared at her mouth.

He nodded. “Sense of humor is a must.”

Okay, now he was getting someplace. Humor she could do. Chloe loved to laugh. Given the choice between a gushy, oozy chick flick and a bawdy comedy, she’d go for the grins any day. Her comedy movie collection filled several boxes in her closet.

Her mother called her ability to laugh at life, to find joy in anything, her best feature. Chloe had once countered, “Thanks, Mom. Fabulous hair or a great figure would be nice. Heck, even brains! Sense of humor is almost as bad as telling the chubby kid she has ‘such a pretty face.’”

Of course, Sister Mary Frances had called her sense of humor her ticket to a century in purgatory.

“Do you like old comedies? Laurel and Hardy?” Chloe asked.

He shook his head. “I’m more of an Abbott and Costello fan.”

“Me, too. And Mel Brooks?”

“Oh, sure.”

“So we share the same tastes in comedy,” she said with a hopeful look. “Does that let me off the hook for skydiving?”

“Ever tried parasailing?”

“From what I hear,” she replied dryly, “parasailing requires some elevation, too.”

“Okay, I’ll keep you on the ground.”

You can keep me anywhere you want me…as long as you keep me. She took a sip of her drink and thrust the thought aside.

“This is good,” she acknowledged as she sipped the last few mouthfuls of her punch. Funny how she’d begun to enjoy the rich, spicy flavors—probably because the alcohol had burned every taste bud right out of her mouth. But she wasn’t complaining.

“I’m not opposed to seeing you dance on the table…or anywhere else. Would you like another drink?”

“Maybe I’d better have a glass of water,” she said. Okay, score one for Sister Mary Frances.

“Let’s make that two.”

For the next hour, Chloe found herself thoroughly entranced by the man sitting across from her. Troy—er, Trent!—was funny and sexy, smart and irreverent. He laughed at her jokes and teased her about not being able to handle her punch. He seemed genuinely interested in hearing her brag about her brilliant little sister. He even got her to open up about her worries. Chloe found it easy to tell him about her desire for normalcy, and her concerns about her unconventional mother, whom she dearly loved, but who couldn’t really be counted on for anything.

He once caressed a lock of her hair under the guise of pushing it off of her face, which had set her heart racing for several moments. He didn’t talk much about himself, seeming to really want to focus on her, as if his own life was completely boring and she the most fascinating person on earth. That was an unusual feeling for Chloe, who was well used to sitting in the background while her flamboyant mother soaked up all attention like a paper towel soaked up spilled milk. She even finally decided she was ready to handle a second rum punch.

“You’ve got to be sick of hearing about my family, phobias, video collection, or the various lists of do’s and don’ts by which I run my life,” Chloe said.

He shook his head. “I don’t think I could ever get tired of hearing anything you say.”

This time Chloe was the one to break their stare first. Confusion washed over her. This wasn’t quite the way she’d envisioned the evening. She’d been all set to be mysterious. To play along with his “strangers in a bar” suggestion.

But they’d gone well beyond playing sexy games. Well beyond seductive flirtation. She’d known she was attracted to him. She’d never expected to like him.

“I want to know more about you now,” she finally said. “Do you really like to do dangerous things like skydiving?”

He tilted his head to one side and lifted his hands up in helpless resignation. “Uh, yeah. I do.”

“Yikes,” she murmured, unable to picture the smooth, polished store businessman doing anything so impulsive. Trent, his alter ego, however? Well, yes, she could picture that.

“I don’t really skydive very much anymore,” he admitted. “No time, no money. I do still like to hang glide whenever I visit my folks out west. You really should try it, it could help you get over this problem you have with heights.”

“If I’m more than ten feet off the ground, I’d better have a floor or a fully operational Boeing 747 underneath me,” she countered. “Hang gliding, ha! It should be called strapping paper-framed wings on your back and pretending you’re not attempting suicide.”

He let out another laugh, and Chloe noticed, not for the first time, that every pair of female eyes in the place turned to look at him. Approvingly. Hungrily.

She reached across the table and touched his hand, sending a not-so-subtle message—he’s mine—to the overhormonal bar bimbettes in the room.

He immediately responded by taking her fingers and entwining them with his own, sending shards of heat rushing up her arm. Chloe stared at their hands, marveling again at the darkness and strength of his against her own pale, soft skin. When she finally lifted her gaze to his face, she found him studying her, a half smile on his seductive lips.

“You ready to get out of here?” he asked softly, leaning close and lowering his voice to a more intimate level.

Chloe waited for the length of two heartbeats but felt like two hours for him to continue. And go where?

“The storm’s over. We could go for a walk on the beach.”

Chloe released the breath she’d been holding. “Sounds lovely.” She meant it—a walk on the beach did sound perfect. But she still somehow felt a stab of disappointment. She told herself not to be an idiot. Even if he had issued a much more suggestive invitation, as she’d half feared—okay, half hoped—she wouldn’t have taken him up on it. Absolutely not. Uh-uh, no way, never gonna happen.

Well, probably never gonna happen.

Remembering the quick stop she’d made in the hotel store before dinner, and thinking of the condom right now burning a hole in her small black purse, Chloe acknowledged the truth.

Okay. Maybe gonna happen.




3


TRENT HID A SMILE AS A variety of expressions crossed his lovely companion’s face when he suggested a walk on the beach. He knew what she was thinking—exactly the same thing he was thinking. We’re strangers. This is too soon. What is happening here and why does it feel so right?

Though he sensed he could stand up and lead her out of the crowded bar without another word, he didn’t want to push her. “Your choice. We can stay here if you like.”

“Hmm,” she said, tapping the tip of her index finger on her cheek in obviously feigned indecision. “Stay here in a hot, loud, crowded bar with a bunch of other women who’ve been ogling you for an hour? Or go out onto a romantic, moonlit beach for a refreshing, private walk. Decisions, decisions. You don’t make it easy on a girl.”

He shrugged. “The story of my life. Making the tough choices.” He leaned closer. “Besides, I haven’t noticed any other women. I have noticed the three muscle-bound college boys at the bar who keep turning around to stare at your legs each time you shift in your seat.”

Her eyes widened. She immediately turned to see. “You’re sure they were looking at me? I mean, there are a lot of women in here who aren’t sitting with other men.”

“None of whom has legs like yours.”

“Oh wait, I’ve got it,” she said, ignoring his compliment. “You’re the one they’re interested in. They’re gay. That’d explain why they haven’t hooked up with one of these on-the-prowl females.”

He chuckled. “Why is it so hard for you to believe you’re on the mind of every single male in this room?”

An adorably disconcerted blush spread across her cheeks. She really didn’t realize her own appeal. She had no idea how amazing she was. How her soft laughter could seduce a man. The way the brightness in her eyes brought energy to a lifeless room. The way every male with even a drop of testosterone in his blood saw those legs of hers and imagined them wrapped around him. Including him. Trent gulped down the last of his water.

She finally answered his question. “Maybe because I’m used to being the responsible, pretty-in-a-quiet-way, funny one who doesn’t usually incite lustful males to riot in the streets—or in the bars.” She smiled, glancing around. “You’re sure it was me they were interested in?”

“Oh, I’m sure. Did you not notice the staring contest I got into with the one in the Florida Gators shirt a half hour ago?”

Deadpan, she asked, “Oh, you’re an FSU Seminoles fan?”

He smiled. “No, NFL all the way—I’m not much into college sports. But I couldn’t let that guy get away with drooling all over you like that. I guess I’m just one of those caveman guys who feels compelled to mark his territory.”

She raised a brow. “Your territory?”

“I didn’t mean that in the primal sense.”

“Thank goodness. I think I’ve heard about how some male animals mark their territory in the jungle. We haven’t even kissed yet, so I think it’s a little early to start talking about that kinky stuff.”

Instantly knowing what she meant, he threw back his head and laughed. The jocks at the bar turned to look. She’s gorgeous, she’s bright, and she’s funny as hell. Tough luck, boys.

“So you ready to get out of here?”

She stood. “More than ready.”

As he took her arm and led her out of the bar, Trent wondered what good deed he’d done recently to account for his incredible fortune. This woman, this stranger, was a dream come true. Not only funny, charming and self-deprecating, she was also beautiful and earthy. Honest and completely unpretentious. And sexy enough to make him shake in anticipation.

Claudia was his fantasy woman come to life.

“You okay?” he asked, noticing the slight wobble in her step. They’d just exited a back door of the resort, on the way to the pool and beach area.

“I don’t do big girl shoes very well,” she admitted. She sighed, giving her own feet a disgruntled stare. “High heels had to have been invented by a man. They’re sheer torture.”

Glancing down at the strappy, spiked-heel sandals beneath slim, black nylon-encased legs, Trent could only murmur, “Strap me to the rack.”

Her giggle told him she’d heard.

“Yep. Definitely a male invention,” she continued. “Like leg wax, chastity belts and brassieres.”

“Seems like man was working against himself with those…except, of course, the leg wax.”

“There are plenty of locations in the world where women don’t feel the need to shave or wax their legs,” she countered.

“Hopefully not at the Dolphin Island Resort and Country Club.” Trent met her stare evenly, then let a teasing smile spread across his lips so she caught his meaning.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she retorted softly. Then, even softer, as if she was muttering to herself, he heard her say, “And wouldn’t I just love to show you.”

Knowing the alcohol might have gone a bit to her head, Trent doubted she even knew he’d heard. He grinned but turned away so she wouldn’t see.

Well, yeah, he’d like to know. And he planned to find out. Particularly since the image of those long, tanned legs had been taunting him since the afternoon when he’d seen her in her bathing suit.

As they passed the pool and approached the wooden stairs leading down to the private, moonlit beach, Trent stopped. Since he was holding her by the arm, she halted, too. She stared at him curiously. Without explaining, Trent dropped to a crouch beside her. He reached for the straps of her shoes, unbuckling one, then the other. Taking one of her hands, he placed it on his own shoulder so she could balance herself. He noticed the way her fingers tightened, her skin burning through the thin material of his shirt. Feeling the touch throughout his entire body, Trent had to force himself to focus on the task at hand.

Impossible. He couldn’t focus on anything but her.

Not only did her soft fingers brand his shoulder, but now his face was mere inches from her silky thighs. His hands trembled as he tugged off each shoe. He was completely unable to resist gently stroking one ankle, stalling for time while he tried to control his body’s response to her nearness. Her loveliness. And the sweet, elemental scent of her body.

Controlling the tides would likely have been easier.

“Better?” he asked as he finally rose to his feet.

She smiled and almost cooed her relief as she curled her toes on the cool surface of the pool deck. “Much.”

“You wouldn’t have been able to walk in the sand in these, anyway,” he said, hearing the thickness of his voice. He struggled against the mental fantasy of sliding his hand up the sweet, vulnerable curve of her foot, curling around her calf, then moving higher. Over her knee. Between her thighs. Moving his mouth closer, to explore her softness and that intoxicating feminine scent filling his brain.

“You okay?” she asked when he fell silent.

He swallowed, hard, and nodded. “Fine. Just feeling stupid for not thinking beyond being alone with you on the beach. You’re not exactly dressed for it. Your heels would have sunk three inches deep with every step.”

Now, without the heels, he noticed how petite she was. The top of her head came to his shoulder, and she tilted her head back to meet his eyes with her amazingly blue ones.

“You’d have rescued me, wouldn’t you?” she asked.

“Hmm?”

“I mean, you wouldn’t have left me there, stranded, with my heels stuck tight in the sand all night, right? And me doing my impression of a beach umbrella?”

He grinned as a wicked thought crossed his mind. Beach umbrella? I’d have no problem being underneath you on a beach.

She continued. “I don’t suppose it’s going to be too comfortable walking across sand in these.”

Trent followed her glance down to her legs, still covered by a pair of silky-soft black hose. No way was he going to offer to help take those off. The next time he touched her legs, it would be to explore each inch of them with his hands, fingers and mouth. He hoped it would be in the not-too-distant future. But not here, a few feet away from a clear-glass hotel door, where anyone walking by could see them.

Before he could even offer to walk her back inside so she could change, he saw her reach under the bottom hem of her short skirt and start tugging.

“I was going to ask if you wanted to go back inside to change.”

She paused.

“But this works too.”

She went back to tugging.

Trent raised an eyebrow, watching with interest as the skirt rose higher and higher while she pulled. His anticipation rose right along with her hem. As did his heart rate. By the time she pulled the waistband free and was able to begin maneuvering the nylons down her legs, he caught a glimpse of something silky and red at the V of her thighs. Lord have mercy was the only thought he could manage in those infinitesimal seconds before she pushed the skirt back down, along with the nylons.




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