скачать книгу бесплатно
Room...but Not Bored!
Dawn Atkins
Roommates are off-limits… aren't they?Ariel Adams hates everything about the beach. So when circumstances force her to move into a small beach house, she's convinced life can't get worse. It can. The house isn't empty. Inside, sports gear, dirty towels, a giant dog…and Jake Renner– the sexy handyman fixing up the cottage– fill the rooms to overflowing. So much for privacy! How is she supposed to share the cramped space with too-tempting Jake…and only a sheet dividing their bedrooms?Used to leading the life of a carefree bachelor, Jake knows Ariel thinks he's just another beach bum. To complicate matters, the more time he spends with Ariel, the more Jake finds himself unable to resist her. After a few wild encounters with her, Jake is hooked…and ready to prove to Ariel that they make better roommates when they're sharing the same bed!
Jake wasn’t just a beach bum who lived only to play…
“Taste this, Ariel,” Jake said, holding out a spoon dripping with chocolate, unaware of the swell of hope inside her. He was just going to feed her again, as he’d been doing since the day she arrived, a perfectly innocent gesture.
But this time it would mean more. Ariel gripped his wrist, pulled the spoon to her lips and slowly licked it, holding his gaze, her heart pounding, her pulse racing. What am I doing?
Jake’s eyes flared.
“Mmm,” she said, telling him she wanted more…much, much more. So much more that it would mean tearing down the sheet that acted as a wall between their beds.
“Ariel,” he whispered, then leaned in to kiss her. In the background she heard the phone ring, but this was one time she wasn’t going to answer.
Dear Reader,
This is a story about how love smoothes people’s rough edges, just as the waves polish stones on the beach. And Ariel Adams clearly needs some smoothing—even her name sounds sharp. And Jake Renner, for all his laid-back-beach-bum facade, needs Ariel to show him he’s outgrown looking ahead only as far as the next wave.
I share Ariel’s tendency to be ruled by plans and arrangements. I share her trouble with balancing work and fun, being able to say yes to something spontaneous. Writing about Ariel’s endless lists gave me a good laugh at myself.
And of course I adore Jake—he reminds me of my own husband, who loves water sports, too, and has a keen sense of fun. I love the way Jake nurtures Ariel with food and gives her permission to relax and enjoy life.
I hope you love Ariel and Jake as much as I do.
Best,
Dawn Atkins
P.S. I’d love to hear what you think of this book. Please write me at dawnatkins@cox.net. You can learn about my upcoming books at my Web site, www.dawnatkins.com.
Books by Dawn Atkins
HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION
871—THE COWBOY FLING
895—LIPSTICK ON HIS COLLAR
HARLEQUIN BLAZE
93—FRIENDLY PERSUASION
HARLEQUIN DUETS
77—ANCHOR THAT MAN!
91—WEDDING FOR ONE
TATTOO FOR TWO
Room…But Not Bored!
Dawn Atkins
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To David, for making love so easy
Contents
Chapter 1 (#u50d3a22a-684b-52e7-a608-ad962d5ac549)
Chapter 2 (#u0b5fc3b0-c09c-54af-8d20-582293405ad0)
Chapter 3 (#u700bdf75-2ee5-505a-97c1-fd28ca200eb3)
Chapter 4 (#ucd8a3500-f7fe-5479-8283-33485f98aae8)
Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)
1
IN HEELS AND A BUSINESS SUIT, with two monstrous suitcases in her sweaty grip and her computer bag slung over her shoulder, Ariel Adams stood on the stone stairs that led down to the beach cottage she’d just acquired. She blinked against the silver flash of California sun on gentle waves and wondered what she’d done to deserve this hell.
Okay, so most people would consider the rippling ocean and white-sand beach where a man juggled driftwood for a rapt retriever and seagulls dipped and cried, to be picturesque and enticing—perfect for sunset strolls, refreshing swims and building sand castles. But Ariel Adams was not most people.
To her, the beach was too…beachy. A giant cat box with a shifty surface tough to walk on and a fishy smell. The beach meant grit and mildew and sea salt that scoured, stained and bleached everything.
No, Ariel did not like the beach. And now she had to live there. Her left eyelid twitched from exhaustion. Terminally jet-lagged after the flight from London, all she wanted was to sleep for a week. But she couldn’t afford that luxury. She had to figure out how to start her solo consulting business two years earlier than she’d planned. She sagged against the rusted guardrail, demoralized, until she repeated her mother’s motto in her head: Keep on keeping on.
Job one of keeping on was to cross this beach without ruining the high-dollar silk panty hose she’d bought in honor of her new life in London—the life her partner Trudy had thrown out the window. The twenty-seventh-floor office window of their client Paul Foster to be precise. That high up, the windows didn’t even open.
Paul and I are in love, Trudy had breathed, airy as a romance heroine, as if that were enough to explain how a perfectly sensible woman—Ariel’s mentor in this very male business—had turned into a doe-eyed fool.
Ariel had reasoned with her. Give it six months. Be certain your feelings will last. But no. Two days of harangues hadn’t cleared one iota of the sentimental glaze from Trudy’s face. Paul was taking a world tour of his holdings before he retired and Trudy was going with him. When love comes, you accept it, wherever it may lead, Trudy had said in that feminine trill she’d adopted. Had her hormones gone wonky? Had she been hypnotized? Slipped a cog? What?
This was not the plan. And planning was king at Business Advantage, Trudy’s company, into which she’d invited Ariel six months ago. They’d met when Trudy had been hired to assist with a business consolidation and Ariel had been working in-house for one of the merging companies. Trudy had been so impressed by Ariel’s talent that when Paul Foster retained Business Advantage to go to London to help the Foster Corporation make a strategic shift, Trudy had asked Ariel to become her partner in the firm—to help with the project and beyond.
That had suited Ariel just fine. Her plan had been to work with Trudy for two years—or until she felt ready to be on her own. But that plan was all gone. Trashed by Trudy. For love.
Foster had gone weird, too. Falling in love had made him decide to sell the company and live life to the fullest. Double blech. In his defense, he’d also had a cancer scare—a misdiagnosis, as it turned out—that had made him reassess his values. Ariel was all for businessmen reassessing their values—but to advance their businesses, not abandon them.
She’d so looked forward to the London experience. It was the opportunity of a lifetime to be instrumental in a highly visible corporate evolution, and meant a huge leg up for her business reputation. It would give her cachet, to be elegant about it. Not to mention international contacts. And London itself had been amazing.
But now, only three weeks into the adventure, she’d had to catch a flight back to L.A. to start her business with just a name, Trudy’s file of stale leads and her own bravado.
Before Ariel left, Trudy had given her what was left of Business Advantage, which wasn’t much, since Trudy and she had finished with their U.S. clients before the London move.
And now Ariel was on her own. With a sigh, she descended the sand-scrubbed steps to the beach house in Playa Linda, where she would live until she was financially able to move somewhere more appropriate.
Trudy had felt so guilty about abandoning Ariel, she’d practically given her the cottage, asking a ridiculous price, payable over time, that Ariel couldn’t afford to pass up. Even though living there would be like camping, the property was a prize piece of real estate. Lots of people thought beach living was nirvana.
And at least she had a home. Before the move, she’d given up her tidy apartment, contoured precisely to her habits, and put her belongings in storage along with their office equipment.
Five steps down, Ariel’s heel skidded on grit and she tilted to the side, banging her elbow on the rail.
A guy with a surfboard caught her arm from behind. “You okay, ma’am?”
Ma’am? She was only twenty-nine, darn it, no ma’am. She could be this guy’s date, not his mother. It was how she was dressed, she was certain. Her dark tailored suit, high-necked blouse and efficiently bunned hair made her seem as out-of-place as a Victorian matron in a strip club. “I’m fine,” she snapped, and the guy trotted on without a backward glance.
Ariel finished the steps and started across the sand, stepping carefully so as not to grind sand into her delicate stockings. The cottage was nestled into a low hill, with a basement garage accessible from the narrow street. If Ariel’d had the garage door opener, she could have entered that way and avoided the beach altogether, but some things couldn’t be helped.
With each wobbly step, her sleep-deprived mind churned out more bad thoughts. What if she didn’t get clients right away? She was good, she knew. She’d saved an entire division during the consolidation she and Trudy had worked on together, and the clients she’d handled for the six months she’d been part of Business Advantage had been very happy. The baby clothes boutique had doubled its profits, thanks to her, and her diversification plan had saved a computer parts manufacturer from a painful downsizing.
Handling the clients was no problem. What stopped her heart was the idea of selling herself to them in the first place. That had been Trudy’s specialty. Trudy knew promotion. She knew how to coax and cajole. In that regard, Ariel was lost at sea. A critical liability when starting a business from scratch. What if she starved? No way. She was a survivor and a worker, just like her mother. Ariel’s father had died when she was just three, but her mother hadn’t moped a minute. She’d gotten two jobs—at a laundry and a diner—and always made ends meet.
It sounded grim, but her mother was never discouraged. Adams women kept on keeping on. Ariel had spent many happy hours playing dolls under the diner tables. The waitresses talked to her in their rough, practical way—barking at her to get out from underfoot during the busy times, joining her to act out a quick Barbie and Ken date during the lulls. And to this day, the smell of laundry soap cheered her.
She would survive, all right, Ariel thought, marching forward in the thick sand. If worse came to worst, she’d get a job at a temp service or take some contract work—rare, of course—with another business planner. This was just a setback. Sweat poured down her sides under her expensive suit. That meant a dry cleaning bill. She tried to think cool thoughts as she lunged forward, lugging the bags that wouldn’t roll on the soft sand. Almost there, almost there.
Then, she was there—Trudy’s beach getaway, now her very own. Small, faded and shabby, it looked as if a good wind could topple it. She’d remembered it as more attractive that one weekend she’d spent with Trudy here laying out the plans for their partnership. Her spirits flagged for a second.
Quaint and cozy…with rustic charm. That’s how she would describe it in the real estate ad she intended to place as soon as she was flush enough to move out. You’ll look back on this and laugh, she told herself, closing her eyes for a quick visualization….
She and her husband walking among the roses in front of their ranch-style home in Thousand Oaks. His warm voice in her ear: Remember when you were a desperate newbie in a ramshackle hut cold-calling clients to afford food?
She would tip her face up to his—of course he’d be much taller—gaze into his dark eyes and give a tinkling laugh. Maybe not tinkling. Trudy’s laugh had tinkled. A gentle laugh then.
Look at you now, her dear husband would continue. You’ve hired an associate so you have more time to spend with me, your adoring husband. Shall we swim?
Then they would walk arm-in-arm to their Olympicsized pool with the dramatic black surface and bricked rim and swim slow laps, looking into each other’s eyes. Oh, and their golden retriever would run along the pool’s edge as they swam….
Much better. Ariel sighed and opened her eyes, rejuvenated by her vision of the glorious future she’d push herself to, no matter what. Now to get started. Except she hadn’t slept in thirty-six hours and she was so tired….
Keep moving, she told herself fiercely. You snooze, you lose. She marched up the stairs to the porch, her fingers burning from holding the suitcases, which clunked up each step. Sweaty and breathing heavily, she extracted Trudy’s key from her purse and put it in the lock, only to have the door yanked away from her from the inside. She stumbled two steps forward and into a man, connecting with his warm, solid, naked chest.
He gripped her arms, steadying her, holding on a few seconds longer than necessary while he studied her. His fingers were strong and reassuring, his eyes a Brad Pitt smoky blue.
“Well, hel-lo,” he said, propping her back onto her heels.
Unbalanced by the surprise—and the man—she’d only managed, “Hello,” before a black-and-white bear of a dog rushed past them from inside the cottage. On its heels was a young boy wearing a green baseball cap, who paused to slap the man on his muscular shoulder and yell, “You’re it!” before racing down the stairs and across the beach after the dog.
“Time out!” the man shouted to him, then lowered his gaze to Ariel’s. “Sorry. Jake Renner.” He lifted her limp hand and helped her shake his, his eyes full of laughter at her shock.
“Ariel Adams,” she said faintly.
“Can I help you?” He was a little taller than she was and blond, with a deep tan on a muscular body that was pretty much on full display except for baggy Hawaiian-print swim trunks. He was way too relaxed for someone who’d been caught squatting in Trudy’s empty beach house.
“Is this Trudy Walters’s place?” Maybe she’d arrived at the wrong ramshackle cottage. She could only hope.
Something trilled sharply. For a second, in her exhaustion, she feared it was her brain warning it was about to blow. But it was just her cell phone, good for only two more days before service expired.
Jake Renner leaned against the doorjamb and watched her fumble for her phone.
“What?” she said irritably into it before she’d actually activated it. Pushing the button, she said, “Hello?”
“Ariel?” The faint voice belonged to her love-crazed ex-partner.
“Thank God, Trudy. I’m at the beach house, and, you won’t believe this, but—”
“There’s a man there. I know,” Trudy said. “I didn’t get the chance to tell you. I hired him before we left for London to paint and do some fix-up so I could sell the cottage.”
Ariel glanced at Jake—his hair was beautifully sun-streaked—then turned to the side to make the conversation more private. “I wish you’d said something.”
“I’m saying it now. And there’s one more thing….” Uh-oh. “He might be living there. As part of the deal, I told him he could stay until he finishes.”
“You told him he could live here?” Her voice squeaked. She shot Jake a wan smile.
“It’s good to have someone keep an eye on things. This was killing two birds with one stone.”
“You should have warned me.”
“I was a little distracted, I guess. And you took off so fast…. Jake’s a nice guy—completely trustworthy. He’s done work for my neighbor, watched her kids while she did errands. Very sweet. I talked to him several times.”
“But he’s going to live here?” Ariel whispered through gritted teeth. “With me?” Again, she tried to smile at Jake.
“There are two bedrooms, Ariel. And he’s not going to attack you or anything…unless you want that.” Then her voice went low. “If I’d had the time, let me tell you…wowsa.”
Wowsa? So un-Trudy-like. “Why are you telling me this?” she said, exasperated, hoping the cell phone hadn’t leaked Trudy’s words to her eavesdropper.
“Love is all around, Ariel. Stop and smell the roses.”
Smell the roses? All Ariel could smell were dead fish and seaweed…and maybe a faint coconut scent coming off Jake Renner’s gleaming body. “I’ll get back to you on that,” she said, her saccharine smile going sour. Her partner—who had yanked herself up by the straps of her own Aerosoles and, by the way, had once declared relationships speed bumps on the road to success—was now spouting Zen bumper stickers from her outpost in the Twilight Zone.
