Private Party (7 page)

Julie crinkled her nose at that. Chris had been right about one thing. Casual sex was not her thing, and she hadn’t thought of her night with Chris as such. It was one thing to have no-strings-attached sex with an old friend, and an entirely different one to do it with a complete stranger.

But…“It would be nice to have some time alone on a beach to figure things out,” Julie conceded.

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Wendy saw that she was caving, and a smile spread across her face. “Let’s get you packed.” Since she had already been packed for her honeymoon, Julie figured she was pretty much ready to go.

But Wendy had different ideas.

“Oh my God, what is this?” Wendy pulled out Julie’s new black linen sheath dress and her khaki walking shorts. “Beach cruise with Ozzie and Harriet? And this?” She held out the offending garment, a tropical print camp shirt. “Please tell me this is not Tommy Bahama.”

“What? Those clothes are fine.”

“Yeah, fine if you want to fit in with the geriatric set.” Wendy sniffed scornfully at the one-piece tank suit Julie had packed.

That afternoon, Wendy took her on a marathon shopping spree, interspersed with a full gamut of salon treatments at one of San Francisco’s most exclusive day spas.

“Are you absolutely sure I need the Brazilian?” Julie had asked uncertainly after the aesthetician explained the procedure in graphic detail.

Wendy stood firm. “Absolutely. Even if you did insist on a full coverage bikini,” Wendy rolled her eyes at Julie’s lingering conservativeness, “It’s better to be safe than sorry. It’s easier to relax when you’re not worrying about stray hair.”

No worries there
, Julie thought later as she winced out of the treatment room, denuded of all hair except for a tiny little patch on her mound.

Then it was off to Nordstrom, where Wendy had worked her way through college and law school as a personal shopper. She loved nothing more than to spend other people’s money, and she had a ball breaking Julie out of her tasteful, elegant rut. By the end of the day Julie’s vacation wardrobe was so well stocked, she would have to change outfits five times a day to get through everything.

Wendy had loaded Julie’s Louis Vuitton luggage with flirty dresses from Chloe and Narciso Rodriguez, La Perla lingerie, sexy strappy sandals from Jimmy Choo, and what had to be the world’s largest box of condoms. Earlier this morning, she’d dropped Julie off at San Francisco International with admonishments not to forget her sunscreen when she was having wild sex on the beach.

Julie closed her eyes, feeling the tension ease from her body as the ferry traveled through the calm blue waters. The murmur of the other guests increased in volume, and Julie opened her eyes to see that they were approaching the dock at Holley Cay.

One would think that having grown up visiting and working at some of the finest resorts in the world, PrivateParty

Julie would be immune to the sight. Nevertheless, she let out a low whistle of admiration at her first view of Chris’s domain.

It looked exactly like the brochure, and yet the brochure couldn’t possibly convey the scent of the sea, the warmth of the sun, the soothing rhythm of waves gently lapping on the shore. A huge pale pink stucco main building sat perched on a hill above the beach. Bungalows ranging in size from small cottages to near-mansions nestled among the palms. The sugar sand beach stretched for hundreds of yards, and guests occupied lounge chairs and umbrellas set up to provide everyone with more than enough space and privacy. Julie knew that there were several smaller, more secluded beaches around the island, including the one that was right in front of the bungalow Wendy had reserved. She couldn’t wait for her first swim in the warm, crystal clear sea.

She didn’t see Chris until they were almost to the dock. Several yachts were moored nearby. Some must have belonged to guests, but most, she had learned from the brochure, belonged to the resort and were available for guests to reserve for private excursions.

“Chris, you have really outdone yourself,” she said under her breath as the ferry pulled up to the dock.

He was there, waiting to meet the new arrivals, like a modern day Mr. Roarke from
Fantasy Island
. But instead of a white suit, Chris was the epitome of island casual. A loose blue-and-white tropical print shirt hung from his broad shoulders, untucked from the waistband of his wheat-colored shorts. His large, tanned feet sported flip-flops, and his eyes were hidden behind a pair of mirrored Oakleys.

Not to mention he was sexier than Mr. Roarke had ever been. His coffee colored hair was streaked through with auburn from the Caribbean sun, his body was tanned and hard. He exuded a masculine charisma that went beyond mere good looks.

And Julie already had firsthand knowledge that he could make all her fantasies come true.

“Oh my God,” exclaimed a tall blonde to her group of three female friends. “Is that the owner? He’s so hot.”

Apparently she wasn’t alone in her thoughts.

“Yes, that’s Chris Dennison. He built this place from the ground up.” Julie winced at her tone. She sounded like a proud parent.

“I heard that he came here with a few friends and returned home with a business plan,” said the blonde with a friendly smile. “But with his connections his success isn’t all that surprising.”

“This place has no connection to D&D Resorts, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Julie said. “He did all this on his own, no help or influence from his father.” PrivateParty

“You sound like you know him pretty well,” the blonde said. Now her three friends were looking at Julie as the group moved toward the front of the ferry.

Oh great, way to keep a low profile. “Our families know each other,” she said, hoping they wouldn’t press for details.

The blonde’s eyes grew round. “Wait, I know who you are! You’re Julie Driscoll! I’m Amy, by the way.” The blonde offered her hand. “I read about you in the—
the Chronicle
. Your wedding, I mean. I saw the write-up in
the Chronicle
.”

Julie appreciated the attempt at tact, but she was pretty sure Amy recognized her from a much less reputable publication than the San Francisco paper. “You’re from San Francisco?”

“Napa, actually. My father owns a winery.” She named a vineyard that Julie was familiar with. “I just want to say, I so admire you. Brian Dennison is a total male slut, and he deserved a lot worse than cake in his face.”

Her friends nodded and murmured in agreement.

Julie’s smile brightened. She may have been busted, but at least these women seemed inclined to be allies. “Thanks. I’m sure you’ve seen some of the other stuff they’ve been writing about me.” They grimaced sympathetically. “Part of the reason I’m here is to get away from all of that, so I’d really appreciate you not telling anyone back home that I’m here.” Amy looked almost offended at the suggestion. “Of course not. You totally deserve a break from all that crap. We won’t say a word.” She looked at her friends for their agreement, glaring particularly hard at a tall, sultry looking brunette who frankly looked bored by all the talk. Her face was vaguely familiar, but Julie couldn’t place her.

“I’m getting married in a few weeks—this is my bachelorette party.” Amy quickly introduced the rest of her group and continued. “I know how caught up you get in the wedding stuff. It takes a lot of balls to stand in front of everyone and just say screw it, you know?” Julie couldn’t help liking Amy and her blunt but friendly manner. She’d never been good at sticking up for herself, and it was nice to have someone, even a total stranger, back her up.

“You’re here alone, aren’t you?”

Julie nodded. “Yep, taking an escape from reality while I wait for my annulment to be finalized.” PrivateParty

They all four alternately chuckled in understanding or nodded sympathetically.

Jennifer, an athletic looking redhead, patted Julie’s shoulder amiably. “Well, if you decide you want company, come find us. Amy can’t do anything,” Jennifer slanted a look at the group of four good looking guys gathering up their bags behind them, “but I guarantee you the rest of us will be having lots of fun.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Julie said with a grin.

Julie felt her breath hitch as she and the other guests proceeded down the dock, closer and closer to where Chris stood. Chris’s cousin, Carla, a pretty woman with dark, curly hair, stood next to him in a simple floral patterned sundress.

Quickly Julie stepped aside to check her appearance, allowing several more guests to pass her. She fluffed her hair and dabbed her nose with oil blotting papers. Sun or no, Julie didn’t want Chris to see her sweaty. Well, not yet anyway.

What would he say? He would be happy to see her, wouldn’t he? After all, like Wendy said, she was offering no-strings-attached sex, and what red-blooded man would say no to that? Especially when they both knew how absolutely awesome it would be?

Still, she wasn’t able to rid herself of the tiny, nagging, uncertainty that gnawed at her belly. Taking a deep breath for courage, she slipped the strap of her Vuitton Murimaki “Eye Love You” bag over her shoulder and started down the dock.

Chris struggled to maintain his polite, friendly smile as he greeted the twenty-five new guests who had just arrived. He was grateful for the sunglasses that hid the dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. He was supposed to convey an image of relaxed luxury, and it wouldn’t do for the guests to see him looking so haggard.

“Smile,” Carla, his cousin and the resort’s assistant manager, hissed through her own grin.

“I am,” he hissed back.

“No, you’re not. You’re baring your teeth.”

Chris pulled up the corners of his mouth.

“Better,” she said.

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Chris sighed and shook hands with a couple from London. The man was a musician or something. It didn’t matter anyway. Part of the appeal of Holley Cay for the rich and famous was that the staff never let on if they were star struck.

Cowboy up, he told himself. It wasn’t even the high season, and already he was beat. But in the ten days since his return from San Francisco, he’d lost both his bookkeeper and his catering manager. All while trying to plan the top-secret, lavish wedding of one of television’s most popular actresses. Both he and Carla had been pulling fourteen-hour days to try to keep up.

It didn’t help that when he finally fell into bed, exhausted, he couldn’t sleep. Not with images of Julie keeping him awake and frustrated.

It had been a real bonehead move, taking her to bed. Forget the fact that she had been the aggressor. He was more experienced, he was the one who should have known better. But Julie was so pretty, so sweet, and he’d wanted her for so long. Making love with her—and that was what it was, not doing, not nailing, not merely having sex with—had been one of the most incredible experiences of his life. He could remember everything about that night, the way she’d tasted, the way she smelled, every move of her beautiful body. Where all of his other lovers faded into an indistinct but pleasant blur, every moment with Julie stood out in brilliant, vivid clarity. Before, she’d existed vaguely in his subconscious, emerging to torment him through erotic dreams. Now memories of Julie invaded his consciousness like living things. Her sweet, salty taste, the buttery softness of the skin of her inner thighs, the hot little pants that burst between her lips when she came, all of it replaying incessantly in his head. Like an idiot, he’d thought one night with her could make up for all the years of unsatisfied lust. Instead, it had left him aching, hungry, and craving more.

But no matter how many times in the past ten days he’d considered calling her to invite her here or hopping a flight to San Francisco, he knew it was best to keep his distance. Nothing good could come of their being together, and he had too much going on right now to risk getting tangled up in Julie’s pretty little web.

Dragging his thoughts back to the guests he was supposed to be greeting, he looked down the dock, scanning the rest of the group. A group of four women, all young and attractive, was making its way to him, and Chris tried to conjure up a spark of interest. In the past he had enjoyed brief affairs with female guests—discreetly, of course. As far as he was concerned, if a single, beautiful woman was looking for an island fling, and the interest was mutual, who was he to say no?

Maybe that was what he needed, scanning each woman in turn. Someone new to get the taste of Julie out of his mouth. But as he looked the women over, he found he couldn’t muster up much enthusiasm.

Jesus, what was wrong with him? One night with a woman was not supposed to ruin him for life.

Admittedly, it was one wild, hot, insane night with the woman who embodied every adolescent and adult male fantasy he’d ever entertained, but still.

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He was politely greeting the group of women when his gaze lit on the last passenger making her way down the dock. He felt like he’d been sucker punched. It couldn’t be! It had to be an insomnia-induced hallucination. The petite blonde with the purple tinted Gucci glasses only
looked
like Julie. Her hair was loose and curly, falling an inch past her jaw. She wore a white cotton halter top and a matching, low slung skirt that gave him a nice view of her flat, tanned abdomen and a navel decorated with a tiny jewel.

Any more crazy fantasies that it might be Julie fled. Chris could claim intimate knowledge of Julie Driscoll’s navel, and it was most definitely unadorned.

Chris’s smile turned genuine as he felt the first stirrings of interest. He knew he couldn’t have Julie, but there was nothing wrong with having fun with her sexy look-alike.

Finally she reached him, and he felt all the air escape from his lungs when she slipped off her sunglasses.

Something like joy exploded in his belly, followed almost immediately by a hard, cold knot of dread. It was a miracle. It was a disaster. He was completely, irrevocably fucked.

“Hi, Chris,” she said, ignoring his outstretched hand and hugging him instead. “You have an amazing place here, and I know I’m going to have a great time.” Julie stepped back and tilted her head to look up at Chris’s face. It wasn’t easy. When she’d wrapped her arms around him it was all she could do not to nuzzle her face into the vee of skin exposed by his open-collared shirt.