скачать книгу бесплатно
The night Elisa had met Brett, he’d come wandering through the dorm looking for someone to play Scrabble with. She’d leaped at the opportunity. He was cute, with pale green eyes, an intense gaze and symmetrically hewn features, but she’d mostly been grateful to find someone who was as much of a word nerd as she was. He had known all the two-letter words in existence, had produced seven-letter words multiple times per game and had constantly manufactured crazy plays, laying one word alongside another to spawn five new words for thirtysomething points.
“I have an embarrassment of Os,” he had said midway through that first night, turning his tile holder to face her. There they were, four Os in a row, lined up. “They’re like four eyes, staring at me.”
Back then, he had longish hair that fell over his face, and he shook it away periodically in a gesture that was too self-conscious for her taste but had made her palms a little sweaty anyway. “Only—they’re Os, not eyes.”
His own eyes had sparkled and a dimple had appeared in his cheek.
She’d started to laugh helplessly and he’d joined in. They’d stopped, gasping, and then started again until they rolled on the floor, and he’d said, “You’re the best Scrabble partner I’ve found since I’ve been here. Will you play again? Will you play whenever I want?”
She’d shrugged, and because she had pride, she’d said, “When I feel like it,” but in her heart, she’d known she’d always play with him.
That night she’d been pretty sure he felt about her the same way she felt about him. There were moments of prolonged eye contact and real flirtation, and when he had boxed up his game and gotten up to go, there was a long, awkward silence that afterward she thought of as a kiss that hadn’t happened. Over the next few weeks, they had become friends, playing Scrabble almost every night, roller-skating, seeing movies, frequenting the same drunken parties, studying together. Nothing had happened between them, and soon she had begun to understand Brett’s pattern. He liked to date beautiful women. Not cute or pretty or striking in an unusual way, but model-beautiful, the handful of women at their college who were truly glamorous. Or maybe “date” wasn’t the right word. He had collected them. He had wooed them and had worn them on his arm briefly and let them pass out of his life again, as though they were bits of flotsam floating by on a river. She had watched, and she had alternated between ferocious envy and gratitude that she wasn’t the one being used and discarded.
From the first moment Brett Jordan had strolled down the dorm hallway with his Scrabble game in hand and poked his scruffy, beautiful head into her room, she hadn’t been objective.
She wouldn’t lie about that, not to herself and not to her client.
She looked up and saw with a jolt of relief that the flight attendant was headed toward them with a tray of champagne flutes. That would improve things. Not that they could really get much worse.
She collected two flutes from the tray and handed one to Celine. “No,” Elisa finally answered.
And when Celine tilted her head quizzically, she shook her own and said, “You could safely say I’m not objective about Brett.”
4
“CELINE! CELINE!” PAPARAZZI and reporters shouted.
Elisa was still reeling from the bumpy and terrifying descent onto the St. Barts’s airstrip. It would be way too generous to call this an airport. Runway ten—the pilot had referred to it with affection, for reasons she couldn’t fathom—ended in a shock of white beach and aquamarine water.
He’d warned them that the plane’s safety system would protest the landing, but that didn’t stop Elisa’s heart from practically fleeing her chest when he dived over a hill and the warning system blared “Pull up!” She’d held her breath for the entire length of the runway while brakes squealed and flaps flapped, convinced that they’d miss the runway and land either on the highway or in the water. She’d been sure they’d have to climb out of the sea to start their trip.
“Celine!”
Elisa counted maybe ten yammering entertainment buzzards. Pretty good for a minor celebrity, and she felt a twinge of pride. They were here because of the buzz she’d made.
And then the pride deflated like a leaky balloon.
What a waste now, thanks to Brett.
They’d disembarked the plane into a brilliantly sunny, warm paradise, with white sailboats in the harbor, red-roofed houses dotting green hills and palm fronds waving in a light breeze. It had taken them just a few minutes to clear customs and collect their baggage, and now they stepped out of the protective atmosphere of the single-gate airport and into Celine’s world. Media and clamor.
“Celine! Tell us why you’re doing this! What’s a weekend dating boot camp?”
No—Elisa wouldn’t let her work be a waste. She would find a way to make the most of this moment. She’d come this far, and she was not going to back quietly away. Until the weekend was over, this was her show, her chance.
She and Brett and Celine pushed through the minimob. She kept a hand on Celine’s back, moving her forward. Haven Hoyt had carefully coached Elisa on managing this moment.
“Don’t stop walking or they’ll pin you,” Haven had said. “And for God’s sake, smile. Every single second is a photo op, and the last thing you want is a photo of you with a grimace on your face plastered all over the internet.”
They were almost to the cab, a soft-top Jeep Wrangler, a tough-looking jungle car in a sea of cutesy Smart cars. The cab would ferry them straight to the hotel, and then hotel security would take over the work of holding the media off Celine. Elisa’s smile was starting to hurt, but she remembered Haven’s words and kept it in place.
A microphone crowded her face. “Where’d they meet?” It was a blond woman Elisa vaguely recognized from the evening entertainment shows.
“On the town.” Ooh, she was pleased with her answer. So much better than “in a drugstore.”
“Were you with her?”
“She did it herself, using techniques I taught her. Teach a woman to fish...”
Laughter from the peanut gallery. That was good, right? Her smile was real now. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted her videographer, Morrow, hanging back from the pack, and he gave her a thumbs-up. She liked him a lot, and his previous clients, including some heavy hitters, had raved about his work.
The blond woman was a bulldog. “Is it serious?”
What had Haven said? Every question is an opportunity. “They’ve only known each other a few days. But who knows? If things go well, maybe she won’t need me after this weekend.”
More laughter. She looked over at Celine who was smiling brilliantly. Brett’s expression didn’t match. But he was a guy, so instead of looking grim, he looked serious and thoughtful. Authoritative.
That jaw. The fact that he hadn’t shaved this morning made her want to test the texture of his stubble with her tongue.
Her smile had slipped slightly, and she tugged it back on.
“If she’s only known him a few days, why’d she bring him to the Caribbean?”
Excellent question. I wish I knew. “Destination dates are becoming very popular. Rendezvous encourages its clients to pick exciting locations even for first dates. And of course Celine will meet many men and have a whole variety of dates this weekend.”
She’d even gotten her business’s name in without sounding like a total tool. They were at the Jeep, sliding across the backseat, Celine, then Brett, then Elisa, and the relief was as profound as if they’d entered a decontamination chamber. She slammed the door behind them, and the cab pulled away to a chorus of flashes.
“You were great!” Celine said.
“Very smooth.” Brett’s tone was so dry that once again she couldn’t tell if he was mocking her.
She snuck a look at him. In the center seat, he’d leaned toward the windshield and was staring out at the green, brown and blue world. The road was narrow, and people kept squeezing past them in the opposite direction at ungodly speeds. She could blame the rapid trip of her pulse on that, not on the hard length of his thigh pressed against hers.
If he leaned back, his shoulder would trap hers against the backrest. When she’d ridden in cabs with him years ago in New York, the middle seat had kept a safe foot of distance between them.
She was breathless from triumph and hurrying across the tarmac, not to mention the scary driving. The amount of space Brett took up in the cab had nothing to do with it. Neither did the heat pouring off him or the scent of fresh male sweat and that still familiar Old Spice.
She certainly wasn’t breathless from imagining what that hard thigh would feel like, eased between hers, or because she could remember the exact silken slip of his tongue against hers.
He’s your client’s date.
She inched toward the window until there was a narrow strip of space between their bodies. And began to work on slowing her breathing.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out. The text was from an unknown number.
He said yes! (This is Sherry fr plane. Flight attndt.)
A big grin spread over Elisa’s face.
Of course he did. Have fun!
Her phone buzzed right away.
THK U.
Keep me updated.
IOU
Give my card to a friend who lives in NYC.
Will do.
“You text fast,” Brett observed.
Elisa laughed. “Sometimes people desperately need advice in the middle of their dates. I have, like, three seconds to tell them how to keep the date going or end it ASAP. Texting fast is a career skill.”
“What kinds of things do they ask?”
I wore granny panties! What do I do if he wants to come in? “Oh, like, ‘Should I let him pick up the check?’”
“And what do you say?”
Go to the restroom and take them off! “‘There are no rules. Go with your gut.’ Or ‘If he offered, yes.’”
“Not, ‘For God’s sake, woman, don’t do it! He’s probably a jerk, and if you let him pay, he’ll expect sex’?”
She glared at him and resumed paging through her texts.
The next one was from Haven. How’s it going?
Great so far. Didn’t have to wait for cab. On way to hotel.
The phone vibrated in her hand. Glad to hear it.
Can I call you when I get to the resort? Slight complication. Pretty sure I’ve got it under control, just wanted a second opinion.
I’ll be here.
The Jeep zoomed by a small cluster of shops on the right. She was surprised to find the island dustier and less jungle-verdant than she’d been expecting. Not Hawaii—spikier, more arid and windier—but beautiful nonetheless, even with vines and strange succulent plants that looked like they might eat people.
“So what’s the plan, Queen of Hearts? How long do I stick around?”
“Elisa’s going to take off. So you and I can hang out.” Celine smiled her glossiest television smile.
She felt Brett’s surprise. For a moment she let herself enjoy his discomfort. Served him right for picking up celebrities in drugstores and agreeing to fly to Caribbean islands with them. Served him right for—
She had to stop hating him. It was such an impediment to getting over him. She needed to feel nothing. Blank, neutral, maybe a mild irritation, like you’d feel at a housefly that had gotten into your kitchen.
“Celine said she’d like to postpone the boot camp weekend.”
He frowned at Elisa, then turned his head to speak to Celine. “Look.”
Oh, God, this was exactly what she’d been trying to prevent.
“Celine. You’re a sweet girl. And this is an awkward situation.”
He sounded so warm. So smooth. She’d never actually heard him dump a woman before, but it didn’t surprise her that he was as skilled at it as he was at making conquests. Why not? He had abundant experience with both.
“If the circumstances were different, I’d love to get to know you better. Take our time. But this is just—” His gesture encompassed the three of them, the cab, the whole island. The paved road gave way to something bumpier, narrower and altogether less civilized. “This is bad juju. You’re better off letting Elisa show you the ropes. There’s a whole island waiting for you out there, and loads of men who are nicer than I am. Take my word for it.”
Had every woman he’d slept with and dumped gotten this speech? Elisa should be thankful she’d been spared. Maybe walking away from their friendship had been the smartest move she could make. It certainly seemed like genius now.
Celine shifted uncomfortably. Elisa had never realized exactly how small a Jeep could feel. Though—as another car sped by and nearly took off the side of their vehicle—not small enough.
He hadn’t left Celine any wiggle room. It was kind of brilliant, if you admired it coldly from the outside. What could Celine say, really?
Huh.
Then Elisa knew. Ha! Perfect answer. Not that she could convey it to Celine in the confines of the cab—no way to do that discreetly.
What Celine should say was Actually? Nice isn’t my thing.
Of course, if she did say that—and in a tone of voice pitched somewhere between matter-of-fact and mildly suggestive—Elisa would have to throw herself out of the moving cab, because at that point she wouldn’t be the ref in a boxing match, she’d be a dry log caught in the middle of a conflagration. Because that comeback would definitely catch Brett on fire. She couldn’t have said how she knew it, but she knew dirty talk was one of his buttons.
Sometimes, during their friendship, she’d heard come-ons and rejoinders in her head—naughty, flirty words, a hard pressure behind her tongue. Sometimes she’d wished she were a little drunker so she could let them slip out and pretend they were a mistake. She’d wanted to watch the heat rise, see the flare of lust in his eyes. Then she could have let her gaze drop to measure how much her words had affected him.
But always the next morning she’d been glad she hadn’t. And by evening she’d been gloriously thankful, as she watched him make yet another conquest, the starting gun for one more twenty-four-hour relationship.
For all those years, she’d been so careful, knowing that if she ever said the words that popped into her head, if she’d pushed the buttons, if she’d unleashed the heat she sensed in him, she’d only have become another twenty-four-hour girl.
And then that night, the night he’d kissed her, she’d let down her guard. She’d felt the precipice, and she’d hurled herself off it. And she’d gotten exactly what she’d known she would. He’d made her into yet another conquest. Only she hadn’t even lasted twenty-four hours. More like twenty-four minutes, if that.
Beside her, Celine sighed. She lowered her head, stared out the window and said, “Yeah. Okay.”
Elisa risked a glance at Brett. There was a small smile, something like triumph, on his face. And behind Elisa’s tongue, desire that she bit back and swallowed.
5
BRETT SHADED HIS eyes with his hand. Nice scenery. Lush foliage and big tropical flowers and a horizon pool, built to look as if the water went straight on forever. The pool was the same blue as the cloudless sky.
The air was warm but not oppressively hot, and a light breeze blew now and again. He was glad there were some wispy clouds in the sky—otherwise, he wouldn’t believe the scene was real. The resort was unbelievable—gorgeous rooms with white linens, flowers on the credenza and an orchid on the pillow. Thick plush towels in stacks in the bathroom and a white bathrobe behind the door. Flowers and palms and secluded little alcoves with marble benches. And an army of people employed to keep him happy. He’d just have to keep his mind off the tab and enjoy it as long as he could. Until Elisa ousted him from paradise.
Oh, yeah, and then there was the other scenery—a veritable army of bikini-clad women lying on chaises, sipping drinks, lounging on the steps in the shallow water. His mouth was dry, and he wasn’t sure if it was the visuals or the fact that a G&T would be perfect right about now. All he’d have to do to get a drink was to flag down one of the many poolside waiters with trays on their hands and towels over their arms.
Because Elisa had said they should continue this half-assed charade, Celine had come down to the pool with him and was asleep face down on the chaise beside him, her cheek probably imprinted by now with the texture of the chair. He cast a wary glance in her direction. He’d promised to wake her if she slept too long so she could put on more sunscreen. “Celine.”
She didn’t move.
