No Tan Lines (3 page)

She hated dealing with difficult men. Trace was a royal pain in her ass. He rated no more than a blink of an eye in her book, if that. She released an expansive sigh. “He has to agree.”

Kai wasn’t so sure. “There’s a lot of planning around an event this size. Saunders is formidable. He could ax the tournament out of spite.”

Kai was right, as always. It was no secret she and Trace barely tolerated each other. Ill will slapped between them like high tide against cement pilings. She’d cross a street or take to an alley to avoid the man. He rubbed her the wrong way.

She stood as still as her thoughts until a light breeze blew her hair across her cheek. She tucked the curls behind her ear. Overhead, seagulls squawked, circled, and dived for fish. The sun’s climb was slow, lazy. The Gulf waters were as pure a blue as the cloudless sky.

High humidity stuck her red tank top to her back. The cement beneath her bare feet grew hot. Shaye hopped to a spot of shade near the entrance to the carousel.

The hand-carved purple and white horses were motionless while the workers wiped them down. Each mount had jeweled amber eyes and a gold saddle. Their legs were bent, ready to race. The wooden platform was polished, the driving mechanism oiled. The ride opened at noon. The calliope music would soon echo across town.

She waved to Oliver Ray, who managed the merry-go-round. Oli was replacing lights along the outer rim of the orange scalloped top. He nodded from his ladder, a thin, gray-haired man of few words. His mechanic’s overalls never showed a sign of dirt or grease. Only the heels on his steel-toed boots were scuffed. Pushing sixty, he’d never missed a day of work.

Shaye wished her younger employees had Oliver’s work ethic. They unfortunately did not. A midnight beer bash or beach bonfire had someone calling in sick every other day and Shaye scrambling to replace him.

The day before yesterday, she’d helped out her uncle at Hooper’s Hoops. The kiosk sold hula hoops in a variety of colors from hot pink and sand tan to metallic silver.

Shaye had entertained a few prospective buyers. She’d twirled a fiery orange hoop until her hips got sore. She swore her waist had a permanent indentation from six hours of twisting.

But despite the sometimes unusual demands of the job, she knew she was fortunate to work with her immediate and extended family. The Cateses owned every shop, arcade amusement, and carnival ride along the boardwalk and down the full length of the pier. Barefoot William needed to stay in the black. A volleyball tournament would save the summer. And her sanity.

The only problem with the event was that it involved Trace Saunders. A fact she couldn’t change. She hoped their meeting wouldn’t be filled with awkward silences or, worse yet, angry words.

She racked her brain. She needed some assurance that having lunch with him wouldn’t turn out to be a bust.

She looked down on her mood ring, now a dark gray. The color reflected her tension and stress. She needed to relax, loosen up. Take charge.

Next to her, Kai leaned his forearms against the bright blue pipe railing that separated the boardwalk from the beach. He looked out over the surf. “Trace is a challenge. What’s your plan of attack?” he asked.

“I’ll charm the man.”

Kai couldn’t help himself. He laughed, as she’d known he would. “Good luck. You’re sarcastic as hell and always snub him.”

“Not always.”

“Name a time you’ve been nice to him.”

One moment came to mind, which she’d never shared with Kai. It had been late January, and she and Trace were at city hall for a beach erosion meeting. They’d collided in the doorway of the conference room, as she was going in and he was coming out. She’d bumped his chest with her shoulder. He’d been all starched white shirt and solid muscle. He’d loomed over her, a big man with a bigger presence.

His cologne was subtle yet masculine. The scent reminded her of early mornings down by the pier when the air was fresh and the sand was free of footprints.

Neither of them had moved until the chairman of the committee arrived. Trace took a polite step back then, allowing her to pass. She’d forgotten the snide comment she was going to make about his crowding her. She’d let their closeness slide. That one time.

“You need to change your tactics,” Kai suggested, breaking into her thoughts. “Find his weakness, and exploit it. A pretty woman is the best weapon against an unsuspecting man.”

She frowned. “Trace is always suspicious. He never lets his guard down.”

“Neither do you,” Kai said. “Saunders likes the ladies. You clean up nice, Shaye. Distraction could work in your favor. Show up in something besides a T-shirt and cutoffs. Wear shoes. Flirt a little.”

She blew raspberries. “Bad idea. He’d see right through me. I’m not that good an actress.”

“You may dislike the man, but you need him,” Kai reminded her. “Both your signatures are required on the recreational permit. You can’t forge his name.”

He nudged her with his shoulder. “You’re doing this for family. We love you for it. None of us wants to close up shop.”

Kai was her voice of reason when she was being unreasonable. Her parents, siblings, and relatives meant everything to her. Without the proper paperwork, Trace could bust her for trespassing. He wouldn’t think twice about pressing charges. Once behind bars, she’d be out of his hair.

The sun beat down, and her shadow grew short. She looked down at her toes, freshly polished a Peruvian-orchid-pink. Her pedicure would be wasted by wearing shoes, although flip-flops might work.

Flirting, however, was out of the question.

She couldn’t force what she didn’t feel.

Over the last year, newspapers and magazines had profiled Saunders with curvy brunettes. Shaye’s high metabolism kept her thin. Her hair was white-blond.

She wasn’t Trace’s type. Neither was he hers. She preferred bare-chested men in board shorts, whereas he wore tailored shirts and trousers.

He was all business, and she was all beach.

She scrunched her nose. There had to be another way to force his hand, beyond breaking his fingers.

Trace Saunders cracked his knuckles. He sat in a black leather booth at Molly Malone’s and exhaled the pressures of his busy morning. It felt good to get out of his office, even for a short time. Saunders Shores was thriving under his expert hand. He was his father’s son and proud of all he’d achieved. Every hotel room at The Sandcastle was reserved. The restaurants and nightclubs were booked solid. Even the boutique sales reflected the strong tourist trade. His financial projections for summer were right on target. The profit margin would be high.

All was well in his world—until Shaye Cates had introduced the volleyball tournament.

She didn’t fit any known corporate image with her laid-back style and off-the-wall business tactics. She was a thorn in his side. She disrupted his life.

He refused to look like a fool around this woman. Everyone in Barefoot William thought him an ass for not committing to the event. They found him disrespectful to one of their own. Shaye’s family saw her as sweet and lovable, whereas he found her too shrewd and unpredictable.

He’d never forgotten the stale box of Skittles she’d dumped on him back in high school. She’d cost him a chipped tooth and a trip to the dentist. He wondered what game she would play today.

Through the diner’s wide front windows he had a clear view of the Barefoot William boardwalk. He’d purposely arrived early to judge his reception.

The PLEASE BE SEATED sign freed him from waiting for a hostess. The atmosphere was casual and bustling, yet the crowd was cool toward him. Those having lunch had eyed his progress to the corner booth. Suspicion sat down with him. Disapproval surrounded him. His waitress ignored him.

He was as welcome as a mouse in the kitchen.

Those related to the Cates family found him more intruder than customer. Apparently Shaye hadn’t mentioned their lunch date to her aunt.

It wasn’t exactly a
date,
he revised. It was likely to be more of a debate. Narrowed eyes and raised voices characterized each of their encounters, as neither cared to compromise.

His stomach growled. He was hungry. He’d traded his usual breakfast cheese omelette for morning sex with Nicole Archer. He hadn’t had time for both.

But she’d killed his mood by sneaking her request for a favor between the sheets just as she straddled him.

Nicole wanted retail space for her costume jewelry, and she seemed more interested in doing business than doing him. He’d seen several of her signature pieces. Her collection was inexpensive and would sell far better from a touristy beachfront shop than in the luxury boutiques at Saunders Shores.

He’d already known they were nearing the end of their relationship. He almost always parted amicably with the women he dated. Nicole proved no exception. She had entrepreneurial aspirations. He’d agreed to set her up so she could concentrate more on her business and less on him. They’d both be happy. The only thing wrong with the picture was that his promise to Nicole was putting him in a precarious position with another female.

Shaye Cates.

He ran one hand down his face, then realized he needed a shave. Shaye wouldn’t care if he was clean shaven or grew a full beard. Asking her for a storefront would be the first time a Saunders had ever asked a favor from a Cates. He would approach the topic at the end of their meal, after she’d hit bended knee and begged for the volleyball event. Once he gave his approval, she would owe him something in return. He would then claim a Barefoot William shop for Nicole.

He loosened his black-and-white-striped tie and unhooked the top button on his dark gray shirt. Leaning back, he stretched his arms along the edge of the low booth and forced himself to relax.

He scanned the diner, quickly noting that locals crowded the tables, counter stools, and doorway. He knew everyone by name, and they all recognized him. They stared, but no one spoke or smiled. He got the cold shoulder.

No doubt he’d get a similar reception from Shaye.

He was used to such treatment on this side of the street. The Saunders and Cates families didn’t mesh. Where was Shaye, anyway? It had already been a long day, and she had yet to arrive. The woman could make a minute seem like an hour.

The music from the carousel entered with the next customer. Trace glanced out the window and caught the first turn of the merry-go-round. As a kid, he’d snuck onto the pier and ridden the rides more times than he could count. He was now thirty-two, yet the carnival atmosphere still brought out the boy in him.

Barefoot William was all about fun.

Saunders Shores honored refinement.

There was no middle ground.

Same with Shaye. Their family histories stood between them. They were at each other’s throats, or they didn’t speak.

He closed his eyes for a second and breathed in the scent of fried onions, garlic, and ... Dove soap. The soft, clean fragrance startled him.

He cracked one eyelid and found his nemesis standing over him. She’d recently showered. Her hair was slightly damp, the ends brushing her shoulders. A black satin hair band contrasted with her sun-white curls. Two sets of gold hoops pierced each ear. The retro mood ring on her index finger shone bright orange, a daring, challenging color.

A lacy, stretchy, off-the-shoulder turquoise top showed some cleavage. He’d swear she was wearing a push-up bra but couldn’t be certain. No tan lines, he noted. Her shoulders and the high curve of her breasts were smooth and evenly bronzed. She must sunbathe topless. He wondered if she had a full-body tan. Front and back.

He lowered his gaze farther. Her short denim skirt bared a lot of leg. Two zippers curved over each hip on her skirt. Fashionable, he supposed, and sexy.

There was something different about her today. She wore a sensuality that had nothing to do with her wardrobe. The transformation made him instantly wary. At first glance, she looked pretty and pleasant, yet he knew better. Clothes couldn’t hide her pride. She was one stubborn woman.

He’d expected her to show up in her
Fudgin’ It
T-shirt and ripped jeans.
Fudgin’ It
advertised the best fudge shop in southwest Florida. Her grandmother Maxine made the fudge from a century-old recipe. Maxine was known to be as sweet as her confections.

Too bad Shaye hadn’t inherited her grandmother’s sugar. Agile and athletic, she’d grown up a tomboy. She remained slim but was no longer a toothpick. She definitely had a shape now. He’d heard that she dated but never long-term. She was dedicated to her family. Business always came first. No man wanted to come in second.

Trace liked women who dressed for him. A low-cut baby-doll in the bedroom, a skimpy bikini on the beach, and a black dress cut thigh-high for cocktails.

That profile didn’t fit Shaye. She’d had an ulterior motive when she’d put on this miniskirt. She was dressing to seal the volleyball deal. She was out to distract him. For some reason, that irritated him, a whole hell of a lot.

It was high noon, and their gazes now locked. He caught the faint yet manipulative flicker in her dark brown eyes. Earthy eyes, he’d always thought. One of her eyebrows was raised at an aggravating angle; the tilt of her chin was aggressive. She stood beside the booth while he sat. She purposely looked down on him, the position of power.

The lady was out to control their meeting.

Trace couldn’t allow that to happen. He needed to shake her confidence. He chose the unexpected and disarmed her. He met her man to woman and undressed her with his eyes.

His once-over was slow and thorough, even though he’d never taken an interest in her prior to that moment. His sudden attention brought color to her cheeks. Surprise parted her lips. Confusion lifted her chest, and her stomach sucked in. Goose bumps rose on her forearms.

Her mood ring turned red.

He’d hit a sexual nerve.

Satisfaction set his smile—until her scent rolled back on him. Dove soap, along with a steamy image of her naked in the shower, suddenly tempted and aroused. His dick shot up hard against his stomach. He shifted on the seat. He hadn’t expected that.