No Tan Lines (5 page)

Trace left her to her thoughts of what he might or might not do. He slid across the booth and stood, a man of intimidating stature and cool indifference.

He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a money clip. He dropped two twenties onto the table. It was twice the price of the meal. Violet would appreciate the big tip.

Nevertheless, Shaye tried to return his money. “Lunch is on me. ”

His fists closed against her offer. “Next time you can buy, on my side of the street.”

She shivered. She didn’t want to have lunch with him again. Ever. He gave her a final hard look, then angled through the crowd. He never looked back.

Panic pushed her to follow him. Shaye motioned to Violet. “Pack up the coconut cream pie.” She slipped on her flip-flops and scooted off the seat. Vi met her at the door. With the take-out box in hand, Shaye hit the sidewalk. The slap of her flip-flops betrayed her hurried pace.

The celebration in the diner would continue without her. She’d made everyone happy but Trace. And he was one angry man. That bothered her down to her orchid-pink toes. She didn’t care if he liked her. She did, however, need to make amends, however she could.

Pie always made her smile, especially coconut cream. However bad her day, a slice turned things around for the better. She hoped a piece would appease him too. Doubtful, but worth a try.

Shaye moved swiftly down the boardwalk. Saunders Shores differed greatly from Barefoot William. The walkway shifted from cracked cement to cocoa-brown brick. Here, there were no in-line skaters, unicyclists, street singers, portrait painters, magicians, or vendors hawking their wares. There were no rickshaw pedicabs. No one wore swimsuits or ran around barefoot.

Those shopping the main city blocks were dignified and well dressed. Everyone wore shoes. No one browsed; everyone bought. Customers carried designer boxes and bags. The boutique owners flourished.

The Saunders corporate offices stood three stories high, one block off the beach. Bronze-tinted windows shone gold in the early-afternoon sun. The glass allowed those within to look out, but those outside couldn’t see in.

Shaye wondered if Trace saw her coming.

She entered through an old-fashioned revolving door. Wide-open space and high ceilings greeted her. Pale blue walls and vivid artwork surrounded navy leather chairs and short sofas. Arrangements of yellow snapdragons, sunflowers, and blue periwinkle splashed color throughout the lobby. Artsy but dignified.

The gray floor tiles shone with a mirror polish. Shaye caught her reflection. Her hair looked untamed and wild, and her short denim skirt was wrinkled. Her orange flip-flops appeared out of place in this well-heeled world.

Directly behind her, the door again spun slowly. A brunette breezed in, tall and buxom. Sophisticated and feline. She slid her black cat’s-eye sunglasses onto her head and let her eyes adjust from the sun’s glare to the soft lobby light.

The woman’s plain white shift provided a perfect backdrop for her jewelry, Shaye noted. She jingled with her first step. Elaborate gold hoops hung at her ears, ones designed with silver beads and tiny gold bells. The thin metal chains on her three-tiered necklace sparkled with lavender rhinestones and reflective mirror disks. Bangles of charms looped her wrist. A thick, hammered-silver bracelet curved near her right elbow. A triple gold ring with three pearls arched from her index finger to her fourth.

Shaye was in awe of the brunette’s wide leather belt embellished with amber. An assortment of charms decorated the brown satin ties on her wedge sandals. But what made Shaye smile wide was the color of the woman’s toenail polish. Stylish and elegant.

“Glazed Almond,” the new arrival supplied when she saw Shaye looking at her feet. That surprised Shaye, as she hadn’t expected that an uptown woman would even notice her.

She shifted the take-out box beneath her left arm. An uncomfortable vibe rattled her confidence and made her feel out of place. The woman looked cool and collected, while she perspired from her power walk.

Where was the ladies’ room? Shaye needed to splash cold water on her face before locating Trace. With her luck, she’d need to know a secret password to enter the restroom.

“Going up?” The brunette motioned toward the elevator near the security desk.

Shaye shook her head. “Not right this minute, but thanks.”

The tinkle of bells followed the woman into the elevator. She waved to Shaye as the doors closed.

Shaye left the pie box at the security desk, then scanned the lobby for her destination. A short walk down a hallway, and she entered the ladies’ room.

To her relief, no one asked her to leave.

Soft tea rose wallpaper and a burgundy brocade fainting couch made the room feminine and pretty. She glanced into the mirror above a pink marble sink and cringed. Her cheeks were red, her bangs plastered to her brow. Her lips looked dry. She hadn’t brought her purse, which meant no hairbrush or lip gloss. All she could do was straighten her hair band.

She dampened a paper towel and pressed it to her forehead. A welcome coolness soothed her. She immediately felt less harried.

She went on to wash her hands, then proceeded to adjust her clothing. She pulled her turquoise blouse higher on her shoulders and smoothed her skirt. She looked down and wiggled her toes in her flip-flops. Why did her orchid-pink toenails suddenly seem so unfashionable?

She was procrastinating. As her mind wandered, she moved more slowly by the second. She pulled herself together.

She hated the fact she’d soon be admitting she was wrong to a man who believed he was always right. He’d rub her face in her mistake. Most likely in her coconut cream pie.

She glanced at her watch and noticed that twenty minutes had elapsed. She needed to pull herself together and move on.

She retrieved her take-out box from security, then entered the elevator. The smooth ride up did little to soothe her nerves. Too smooth, like everything else on this side of town.

She reached the third floor, and apprehension swamped her. She’d been to Trace’s office once before, and his administrative assistant had announced her. Not so today. It appeared Martin Carson was at lunch. Just her luck.

She moved down the hallway. Trace’s door stood open a foot. Her knock pushed the door even wider. A step inside, and she stopped short and did a double take.

Before her now, Trace and the jewelry lady were getting it on. He leaned back against the edge of his desk, the brunette pasted to him. Their kisses were open-mouthed, hungry. The intimacy branded them as lovers.

She should’ve retreated, but her feet failed her. Her flip-flops sank deeper into the thick carpet. She swore her toenails blushed a deep purple. She looked high and low and away from the couple headed for a nooner.

She cleared her throat, attempting to draw their attention off each other and on to her.
Awkward
didn’t begin to describe her feelings as she stood there like a voyeur. Worse yet, a slow burn hit low in her belly, then spread beneath the waistband of her panties.

Trace was first to notice her. He narrowed his gaze but never broke the kiss. Lazy arrogance arched one of his eyebrows, a sexual taunt.

Damn him. He knew he was turning her on but did nothing to ease her discomfort. He probed even deeper.

He dared Shaye to look away.

She found she could not.

Payback time.

Ten feet separated them, yet she felt surrounded by the man. She was conscious of only him. He had a way of making her feel as if
she
was the woman in his arms, and he made her want more. A lot more. She knew his lips would be firm, his breath hot, the slide of his tongue practiced.

The sensation was surreal.

The familiarity scared her silly.

Sensations stroked like sins. Her breasts prickled, and her nipples puckered. Her nerves stretched thin. Arousal slid up her thighs like a man’s hands. Goose bumps scored her skin. Her pulse quickened.

Her shiver broke the trance, and she let out the breath she’d been holding.

Reality was restored.

Stepping back, Shaye forced a calm she didn’t feel. She hoped Trace hadn’t seen how the kiss had affected her. One look at him, and she knew otherwise. He looked her up and down as if he’d just stripped her naked. She felt the need to cover herself.

Victory flashed in his eyes. He was all smirk and superiority as he set the brunette gently aside.

The woman looked at Shaye but didn’t seem to see her. Her eyes were dilated, her lips parted. No trace of embarrassment. Once focused, she managed an apology. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you arrive.”

Trace was less repentant. Satisfaction cut the corners of his mouth as he introduced the two women. “Nicole Archer, meet Shaye Cates, your new landlord.”

Landlord?
Misgiving sank deep. Concern surfaced as Shaye waited for an explanation.

Nicole was quick to clarify. “I’m a jewelry designer,” she said. “I’ve searched for months for a shop to rent. Today was my lucky day. Trace took you to lunch, and you told him you had a boardwalk storefront available. I can move in shortly.”

Shaye’s breath stalled. The man had crossed the line. She went so stiff, she crushed the take-out box against her left side. The lid popped, and the scent of coconut cream escaped.

Damn Trace Saunders.
He knew that no one outside the Cates family could rent space on the Barefoot William boardwalk. That she had the final say on all agreements. Yet he’d gone ahead and stolen a prime location from her.

Retaliation.
She could barely digest the word. She’d started the dispute by agreeing to the volleyball tournament without his consent. He’d ended their argument by renting real estate without her permission.

She set her back teeth. Coconut cream pie would never have settled their differences. They went deeper than that,
way
deeper. The two of them faced off with century-old baggage.

She was a barefoot kid at heart who loved homemade pie.

He was a corporate suit with back-stabbing finesse.

Their differences were as wide as the Gulf of Mexico.

She was so angry, she couldn’t speak. She pressed the pie box to her hip with such force, the meringue exploded on her denim skirt.

Nicole jumped back, avoiding the bits of shaved coconut and graham cracker crust that flew through the air, then rained down on Shaye’s toes. She pointed at Shaye’s leg. “The pie tin is stuck to your thigh. Wait here. I’ll grab a towel from the wet bar in the conference room.”

Then she was gone.

Stuck and sticky,
Shaye noted. Gooey globs of pie filling clung from the side zipper on her skirt to her bare knee. Any movement, and she’d stain the carpet. It would be costly to clean the thick pile. So she held still.

Trace took an intimidating step toward her. He wore the smirk of bad news. She waited for him to blurt out that the volleyball deal was off and he never wanted her to mess up his life or carpet again.

He did not.

Instead he circled her. His gaze darkened with curiosity, lingering on her butt, then taking a long, leisurely look at her bare legs. He stopped before her.

He inhaled slowly.

She exhaled sharply.

They breathed the same air.

He touched her without warning.

She nearly came out of her skin.

Deliberately slow, he scooped cream filling off her hip with two fingers and sampled the pie. “You taste good ... for a Cates.”

Two

T
race Saunders enjoyed the coconut cream pie as well as Shaye’s unease. Lady was nervous. He continued to eat off her hip. The pie was the best he’d ever tasted. Molly Malone could bake. Small chunks of fresh coconut enhanced the filling, while shredded bits were baked into the pie crust. The pie was creamy yet had a hint of tropical crunch.

He was scraping the last bit of filling from the side zipper on Shaye’s skirt when Nicole returned with a moist bar towel in hand.

Nicole raised an eyebrow. “I see you were hungry. Didn’t you eat your lunch?”

He stepped back. “It was cut short.”

“Can I order you a sandwich from the Garden Café? They deliver,” Nicole offered.

He shook his head. “I’ll survive until dinner.” Unless Shaye killed him first.

Her temper was lit. She wished to lay him low. Unfortunately for her, he was flying high. He could live with the volleyball tournament. It would only last two days, not all summer. He had planned to agree to the event once he’d finished his roast beef sandwich. Yet she hadn’t given him time to fall in with her plans.

Molly Malone had unwittingly spilled the family beans. Shaye’s conniving had caught up with her, and Molly’s announcement had turned the tables in his favor.

He smiled to himself. Shaye’s expression at that moment would stay with him forever. She’d wanted the diner floor to open up and swallow her whole. It had not. She’d been forced to sit and face the consequences of her actions. She’d believed he’d take her down, hard and fast and unforgiving.

He’d let her slide, for the moment. In the aftermath, he gained retail space for Nicole. And eaten pie off Shaye’s denim hip. It was a win-win for him.

Shaye, however, didn’t like losing, even if the loss was justified. She’d come back fighting.

Trace crossed to his clear acrylic desk and took to his chair. A chair that had been specially molded to his spine. His desk was pure science fiction made to order. There were only six such desks available. The transparent frame with its thin glass top gave the illusion that his computer and files floated in thin air. It was designed for both function and the future.

The taupe carpet was new. Sunlight bounced off windows that were recently washed. Grape gourmet jelly beans and patriotic raspberry-lemonade candy corn filled two glass dishes to satisfy his sweet tooth.

He watched as Shaye cleaned her skirt with Nicole’s assistance. Shaye twisted left to get the last of the pie crust off her thigh. She caught him watching her and curled her lip. She looked ready to bite his head off.