San Amaro Singles: Slammed Part 2

"You sound like a two-year-old. And you've been acting like one too."

"I have not." Their eyes met and he burst out laughing, then shook his head ruefully. She couldn't help the smile that tugged at her lips. "I guess that didn't convince you I'm not acting like a two-year-old. But seriously. Two? I don't think so." She caught the carnal gleam in his eye. "Sixteen, maybe," he added, and she rolled her eyes and repressed another smile.

"Let me lay this out for you," she said, leaning forward. "Do you know how much Jackson Cole is paying you? Or does your agent deal with all that for you?"

"I know," he muttered.

"Good. Then you know what exactly is at stake here."

He sighed.

"I know you have other sponsors," she said. "But I'm still thinking that losing this one would be a hard hit. Am I right?"

He pursed his lips and gave her a baleful look.

"You know, you should be nicer to me," she said. "I could turn around and go home alone and tell them I couldn't convince you."

He tipped his head to one side and regarded her thoughtfully. "Go right ahead."

s.h.i.t! He'd called her bluff. She couldn't do that because her own effing job was on the line. "I'm booking our flights," she snapped, reaching for her purse. She dug her BlackBerry out of her purse as he glared at her, found the airline information and made the call. "We leave tomorrow night at eleven forty-five," she told him when she hung up. She sat back in the chair. Okay. What were they going to do for the next...uh...twenty-nine hours? She rubbed her index finger over the ragged cuticle of her thumb.

"Great." He slumped lower in the armchair. "I need another beer."

"How many have you had today?"

He squinted at her. "Really? You're going to monitor my alcohol intake?"

"You bet I am."

"This is my second beer."

"Bulls.h.i.t."

He sat forward, elbows on his knees and fixed her with an intense silvery look. "I may be acting immature and irresponsible and whatever else you want to accuse me of, but never call me a liar," he said very softly.

A shiver worked its way down her spine. "I'm sorry."

He held her gaze.

"Fine," she said. "Have another beer. But you're not leaving my sight until we're on that plane tomorrow night."

He smiled slowly. "Really. You're moving in here with me then? There's only one bed." He c.o.c.ked an eyebrow and let his gaze roam over her body. "I'm up for it though."

Her fingers curled into her palms, nails digging into her flesh and she took in a long, deep breath. "No, I'm not moving in here. Okay, I didn't mean I need to watch you sleep. I just meant, I'm keeping you out of trouble. So I'm sorry, but your friends will have to do without you. No more threesomes, no more partying."

He dipped his chin and gave her a look through eyelashes. "Oh come on. Partying is fun. You can't tell me you came all this way to spend one night here, and you're going to pa.s.s the time sitting watching TV or something? Nuh-uh."

"I'm sure there are other things to do that don't involve getting drunk and taking our clothes off."

"Well, sure," he drawled. "But those don't sound nearly as fun." He lifted his chin, smiling. "Admit it."

Her insides quivered and heat washed down over her. She glanced at her watch. "We'll go have dinner," she said. "In the hotel restaurant. After that we'll see."

"After that we'll see if I can get you drunk and naked?"

She gritted her teeth. And it wasn't just out of annoyance at him. She was annoyed at her own hot reaction to the idea of getting naked with him. Geez, what was wrong with her? He'd just rolled out of bed with two other women, two centerfold-worthy women with whom she could never compete. He was nothing but a...a...man s.l.u.t. Why on earth was she even thinking about what s.e.x with him would be like? "Dylan. You can't talk to me like that. We're...business colleagues."

That s.e.xy lift of his eyebrow had her melting a little bit. "No we're not."

"Yes. We are. I'm here to deliver a strong message to you and basically give you a choice. Either you shape up or you're going to be in breach of your contract. Not only will you not get paid the remainder of the fees, it's highly possible Jackson Cole would sue you."

His smile disappeared. "I need to talk to Holden."

His agent. "Go right ahead. We already talked to him. He would have come here himself if he and his wife hadn't had a baby four days ago. He knows all about this and he's on board with the plans. My team is working with him back home, while I'm here."

"San Amaro isn't home," he muttered.

She wanted to roll her eyes, but his refusal to go back to San Amaro and now this comment triggered something inside her that made her curious about what was going on for him.

"Well you may not live there now, but you grew up there and everyone still thinks of you as the hometown boy who made it big. We're going to capitalize on that in the media as soon as we get back."

He dropped his head, looking at the floor between his knees and for a moment he looked so defeated and vulnerable, she wanted to go over to him, drop onto her knees beside him and rub his back, comfort him... Oh for G.o.d's sake. Get a grip, Brooke.

"Okay," he muttered, rising. "Let me change and then we can go grab some dinner."

Chapter Three.

"I need to change too, before we go for dinner," Brooke said, looking down at herself. "And shower."

"Sure," he said. "How about we meet in the restaurant in an hour? Is that enough time to beautify yourself?"

"I'm not going to beautify myself. I just want to wash the travel off me and change into something cooler."

He eyed her clothing. "Yeah. Don't blame you."

She rolled her lips in. "Gee, thanks."

"We can meet at La Terra.s.se," Dylan said, and she blinked at his perfect French p.r.o.nunciation. "Tonight there's dancing-Tamure."

"Tamure?"

"Tahiti's national dance. You'll enjoy it. And since you're only here for a day you should see some Tahitian culture. Did I mention how insane that is to fly this far for one day?"

"No, you didn't." She hesitated before leaving. "You'll stay out of trouble for the next hour?"

"I'm going to call Lexi and Suri back for a quickie," he said with a shrug. Then he caught her eye. "Kidding! Jesus. I'll be fine."

"And you'll show up at the restaurant?" She fixed her sternest gaze on him.

He sighed. "Yes."

"Okay. One hour. See you then."

She wasn't sure if she entirely trusted him, but how much trouble could he get into in one hour? Although part of the trust issue was doubting that he'd actually show up. What would keep him from taking off across the island somewhere with his surfing buddies? She bit her lip.

"Brooke. I said I'll be there."

He held her gaze steadily and her doubts faded somewhat. He seemed sincere. "Okay."

She hurried along the wooden deck that linked the thatched bungalows together. It was nearly six o'clock and the sun was setting already, tinting clouds that lined the horizon peach and lavender, turning the lagoon to liquid silver. She spared a glance for the beauty of it, her footsteps slowing as she paused beside a palm tree and let the low fronds frame the sunset. A sigh escaped her. This was a stunning place, and she had the next twenty-some hours to enjoy it. When she wasn't arguing with Dylan Sch.e.l.l.

Frack, she'd walked in on him and two other women. How frickin' embarra.s.sing was that. He hadn't seemed embarra.s.sed. Oh no, not at all. Probably because he did things like that every day. G.o.d.

She let herself into her room, now dark, and flicked on the light. She hadn't unpacked a thing, and she quickly unzipped her suitcase and found her toiletry bag. In the bathroom, the shower felt like paradise. She used some of the body wash provided by the hotel, scented with pineapple and papaya and pa.s.sion fruit, inhaling the sweet fruity fragrance. She washed her hair with similarly scented shampoo, then stood there and let the water from the soaker head pour down over her like rainfall. G.o.d, that felt good.

Strangely she wasn't as tired as she'd been earlier. Her little match with Dylan had given her a shot of adrenaline or something. After blow drying her hair, she wrapped a towel around her body and strolled into her room to find something to wear. She'd packed more than enough clothes for one day. She actually hadn't been sure how long she'd be there, depending on how long it took her to track Dylan down and convince him to come back with her. She still wasn't sure if he was going to be on that plane with her tomorrow night. He'd told her when he said he'd do something, he did it, and it was true, they'd never had any issues with unreliability. He did manage to show up for events that he was supposed to. But even though she'd booked the tickets, he still hadn't said he'd come home to San Amaro with her.

She pulled out a sundress which she hoped would be suitable for the restaurant. The resort seemed very casual despite the luxuriousness. She slipped on the bright orange halter-style cotton dress then returned to the bathroom to add a little makeup. She eyed her reflection in the full wall of mirror above the marble vanity. She'd thought she had a nice bit of color after the summer but compared to people there in Tahiti, including Dylan with his bronzed skin, she looked pasty. Whatever. Too much sun was bad for the skin.

She brushed a little color on her cheeks, added a few swipes of mascara to her lashes and then used a peachy lip gloss. Good enough. Now to find the restaurant.

She perused the directory in her room and located La Terra.s.se on the main floor, to the right of the reception desk. She could find that.

Dylan stood at the entrance to the restaurant, waiting for her. She took in his beige pants, the fitted white shirt that he wore untucked with the cuffs turned back on his strong forearms. He turned as she approached, his dark hair falling across his forehead, his hands in his pockets. She caught the flash of surprise on his face when he saw her.

"What was that look for?" she asked. She looked down at herself. "Am I dressed okay for here?"

"Yeah." He blinked. "h.e.l.l yeah. You look gorgeous." He frowned. "I don't remember you being gorgeous in high school."

She rolled her eyes. "You sweet talker, you."

"I didn't mean to be insulting! I just mean, why didn't I notice you more in high school?"

"You were too busy fending off all the other girls who were after you."

"Oh. Well, yeah, there is that."

She shook her head, smiling reluctantly.

"I guess you weren't one of those girls."

"As if." He would never have noticed her.

His mouth tightened a little, but he set a hand on the small of her back to guide her into the restaurant.

"Good evening, Mr. Sch.e.l.l," the hostess said, with a flick of her eyes at Brooke. "We have your table ready."

"Your table?" Brooke murmured, following the hostess.

"I called and booked one for us. It gets busy here the nights the show is on."

They were seated at a table for two near the stage, which currently was dark and quiet. Soft music filled the room along with a hushed murmur of voices and clinking cutlery. Strategic lighting provided an atmosphere of intimacy despite the size of the restaurant.

"Very nice," she said, pulling her chair in.

"The food's amazing too," he said.

"You've been here before, obviously."

He lifted a shoulder. "I come here a few times a year, for the last...shiz, I don't know how many years. Yeah, I've been here before."

She looked around, took in the smiling, laughing guests, all of them dressed similarly to her and Dylan, casually but yet with an air of affluence. This was a little out of her league, but she kind of liked it. She picked up her menu and opened it.

"Is there anything you recommend?" she asked, scanning the selections.

"Hmm. Well I'm pretty partial to red meat, myself, so I'll probably go for the Black Angus sirloin. But if you like fish or seafood, I'd suggest the mahi mahi."

She nodded and read from the menu. "Mahi mahi with sweet vanilla sauce and pureed sweet potatoes. Vanilla sauce?" She lifted questioning eyes to him. "On fish?"

"It's awesome," he said. "Try it."

"Okay." She looked over the appetizers and desserts too. When their server approached, Dylan ordered a bottle of a New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc.

"You're pretty sophisticated for a surfer dude, aren't you?" she commented once he'd ordered.

He grinned. "You pick up a few things when you travel around the world constantly. Even though you may think all I do is smoke dope and party."

"I didn't say that's all you do," she said, fiddling with her cutlery. "But you have attracted a little attention lately by doing that."

"Whatever, dude."

Her gaze snapped up to his face. "No, not 'whatever, dude'," she said, exaggerating his surfer drawl. "This is serious business, Dylan."

"I surf for a living. How serious can that be?"

She stared at him in frustration. Was he serious? This was how he earned his living. This wasn't a game or a party or a joke. This was big business. Millions of dollars big.

But then she saw the way the corners of his mouth dipped down, the shadow that crossed his eyes as he looked away from her. She nibbled her bottom lip.

The server returned with their wine. Brooke studied Dylan as the server uncorked and poured the wine.

"You folks just arrive here?" the young man asked.