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“I’m flattered, but really…”
“No buts. I’ve already given them your name. Besides, I think you could use a little time off.” Stacy sat back and gave her a long look. “When was the last time you had a vacation?”
Glynna couldn’t meet her gaze. Her father rarely took time off, and she’d felt obligated to follow his example. She told herself she’d have time for vacations later, when she was further along in her career. Right now, she had too much work to do.
“This wouldn’t exactly be a vacation,” she said. “Not if I’m supposed to be reporting.”
“There’s no reason you can’t have fun, too.” Stacy shoved the brochure back across the desk. “This place has a private beach, gourmet restaurants, nightly entertainment, even a spa.” She smiled. “You can take a few days R & R and write a killer story. Besides, I know you don’t have anything else planned for this weekend.”
Glynna sighed. Stacy knew her too well. “All right. I’ll go. But you owe me.”
Stacy grinned. “You never know. After this weekend, you may feel like you owe me. After all, anything could happen in a romantic paradise.”
“I’m going to work, Stace. I’ll come home with a story, nothing else.”
Stacy laughed. “Then maybe you should try harder.”
JAKE’S BOOTS pounded against the carpet as he made his way toward art director Nick Castillo’s office. He’d been annoyed by Nick’s abrupt summons, and more annoyed still by his encounter just now with Glynna McCormick. Something about the woman always set him on edge.
For one thing, she was as uptight as her old man. He hadn’t missed the way her lips tightened in disapproval when she’d seen the photo. She was what—twenty-five? Twenty-six? Hadn’t she seen another woman naked before?
Had she seen a man naked? He couldn’t recall any office gossip about her dating, but he’d only been with the magazine a short time. He didn’t need any longer than that to have Glynna figured out. Her “don’t touch me” attitude probably kept most men far away. He knew the type—blue-blood princesses who thought they were better than everyone else. She needed a real man to rock her world. To show her what that sexy bod of hers was made for.
He shook off the thought as he turned down the hallway leading to Nick’s office. Why was he thinking about Glynna? He could care less if her world was rocked or not. He had more important things to think about, like getting ready for his first major gallery show.
Nick was barking orders into the phone when Jake poked his head around the door. The art director motioned him closer. “I know how much it costs and I don’t care!” Nick growled. “I’ll worry about the budget, you worry about doing what I want.”
Jake dropped his saddlebag on the floor, settled into the plush leather chair across from Nick’s desk and stretched his long legs out in front of him. As soon as the art director hung up the phone, he said, “What’s the big rush to get me down here this morning? I’ve got half a dozen more important things to do.”
“Yeah. Yeah. You’re the big-shot artiste. Don’t give me that bullshit.” Nick tented his fingers and grinned at Jake. “You won’t be so annoyed when you hear what I’ve cooked up for you.”
“Let me guess. You want me to shoot the Grand Champion Steer at the Stock Show? Isn’t that always a big deal here at Texas Style?”
Nick laughed. “Maybe in the past, but no more.” He leaned forward. “What would you think of an eight-page photo essay? Something edgy and artsy—right up your alley.”
Jake tempered the jitter of excitement that shot through him. “That’s pretty radical for this place. Did Stacy agree?”
“She doesn’t know yet. But I’ll talk her into it.”
Jake shook his head. “I don’t know, Nick. Stacy isn’t one of your little girlfriends you can sweet-talk into anything.”
“No, but she’s smart.” Nick sat back, smiling slightly. “And beneath her hard-nosed facade, she’s still a woman.” His smile widened. “A damned attractive one, even if she isn’t my type. I’ll make her see that this is the kind of thing we need to move ahead of the competition.”
“What about McCormick?”
Nick frowned. “What about him? He said he wanted to revamp the publication. This is what it takes.”
Jake picked up his saddlebag and slung it over his shoulder. “I can’t believe you called me into your office for this crap. Next time, leave a message on my desk.”
“Wait. I do have something for you.” He tossed a brochure at him.
Jake caught the glossy flyer and stared at the young couple making out on the front. “La Paloma Resort? What do you want me to do with this?”
“It’s the cover story for the next issue. A luxury, couples-only resort on Paloma Island. I want you to go there this weekend and shoot the photos.”
Jake scanned the brochure copy, which promised sun, sand and sex. Except that if the place catered to couples, he wasn’t likely to find much of the third. Still, a few days lounging on the beach, aiming his camera at bikini-clad babes didn’t sound bad. “Who’s writing the story?”
“Who else? Ace reporter Glynna McCormick.”
He frowned. Just what he needed—a weekend surrounded by cooing honeymooners while he was saddled with the ice princess.
“What’s the matter? Don’t think you can handle a few days with the boss’s daughter?”
He tossed the brochure back on Nick’s desk. “You take care of Stacy. I’ll deal with Glynna.” He’d make sure she knew he expected her to stay out of his way. Once they laid out the ground rules, there’d be no trouble at all.
2
GLYNNA SET HER ALARM to go off an hour early Friday morning. While she filled a suitcase with swimsuits, sundresses and sandals, she returned three phone calls from business associates, and made dinner reservations for her father and a client at his favorite restaurant. Then she faxed the reservation information and some marketing projections he’d asked her to compile to his office, so they’d be waiting for him when he came in promptly at eight o’clock.
She was headed to her car when she remembered she was supposed to call the dry cleaners to ask them to deliver her father’s suits to his office. She started to turn around and head back upstairs to retrieve the number, then stopped herself. Her father was a grown man. It wouldn’t kill him to call about his own cleaning.
Buoyed by this minor rebellion, she drove ten miles over the speed limit and joined the crowd gathered at Pier Six in Galveston with two minutes to spare.
She stepped into the sea of hand-holding couples dressed in tropical prints and khaki and felt like the lone unicorn in line for the ark. “There you are,” said a familiar, masculine voice. “I was beginning to think you weren’t going to make it.”
She whirled and almost collided with Jake Dawson. Dressed in khaki shorts, a Shiner Bock beer T-shirt and sandals, his shaggy hair tousled by the ocean breeze, he might have been a frat boy on vacation. Only the scuffed leather camera bag slung over his shoulder hinted that he wasn’t your typical beachcomber. “What are you doing here?” she asked.
He hefted the bag. “I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to shoot you in a swimsuit.” His gaze took in the tailored sundress that left her shoulders and legs bare. “This is the first time I’ve seen you out of the corporate uniform.” He grinned. “I like it.”
“As if I was really worried about your opinion,” she said, even as her cheeks warmed in a blush she told herself had nothing to do with his praise or the way his eyes continued to linger on her. She turned away from him, facing out over the bay. A stiff breeze tugged at her hair, bringing the scents of salt, fish and diesel fumes from the shrimp boats trawling in the distance. “Stacy didn’t tell me she’d assigned you to photograph this story.”
“She said she wanted the best. That would be me.”
His arrogance grated, but Glynna had to admit the truth in his words. She should have known Stacy would want their top photographer for this piece. Fine. They each had separate jobs to do. It wasn’t as if they’d be spending a lot of time together this weekend.
“Here’s the Queen Mary now.” Jake moved to stand beside her and nodded toward the large white yacht steaming toward them. He let out a low whistle. “Must be some money in this romantic fantasy business.”
“Do you have something against romance?” she asked.
He adjusted the bag on his shoulder. “Let’s just say my idea of what’s romantic doesn’t necessarily coincide with the hearts-and-flowers schmaltz that’s marketed as such.” He cut his eyes to her. “What about you? Underneath that stern exterior, do you harbor secret longings for pink cupids, red roses and tear-jerking love ballads?”
A laugh escaped her before she quite knew what was happening. His pleased grin sent a rush of warmth through her. She shook her head, still chuckling. “Cupids and ballads I can do without. But what woman doesn’t like roses?”
The yacht had docked and was tying off, so she picked up her suitcase and followed the other couples toward it. Jake strode after her. “Roses are so predictable,” he said. “I thought you’d have more imagination.”
She started to tell him she’d be happy with any flowers any man took the trouble to send her, but thought better of it. She’d had little experience with romance in her life, but he didn’t need to know that.
A Captain Davies welcomed them aboard the Free-bird. “Our travel time to La Paloma is about twenty minutes, so sit back and make yourselves comfortable,” he said.
Glynna settled onto a cushioned bench in the bow and Jake sat beside her, his hip almost touching hers. She wanted to move over, but they were sandwiched between pairs of cuddling newlyweds, so she settled for avoiding looking at him, focusing instead on the white-capped waves scudding toward them. The wind had picked up, and she was forced to twist her hair to one side and hold it back to keep it from whipping into her eyes.
The motor started and the yacht eased out of the slip, then turned and headed across the bay. Glynna gasped as the boat rose and fell in the rough seas. Waves slapped against the hull and spray arched back over the bow, splashing her feet.
Her stomach rolled with the boat, and she wondered if skipping breakfast had been such a good idea. Then again, if she’d eaten, would she feel even worse?
She clenched her teeth and closed her eyes, determined not to embarrass herself by being seasick in front of Jake and all these strangers.
“Don’t close your eyes.” His voice was soft in her ear as he took her hand in his.
Her eyes snapped open and she turned to stare at him. “What are you doing?”
“Don’t close your eyes. It’ll only make things worse.”
She pulled her hand from his and smoothed it down her knee. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t look it. You’re a sickly gray color and you’re sweating.” He put his hands on her shoulders and faced her forward. “Focus on the horizon, not the waves. That will help.”
She did as he suggested, though her stomach still threatened to betray her.
“You never answered me about the roses,” he said, his hands still on her shoulders, his face so close to hers she could feel his breath on the back of her neck. “Are they really your favorite?”
She blinked at this sudden change of subject and tried to think. “Dahlias,” she said after a moment. “I like dahlias.”
“Why do you like them?”
“I don’t know.” She shook her head in annoyance. “What does it matter?”
“There must be a reason. Think.”
She tried to concentrate on the question and not on her queasy stomach or the tossing boat or the slapping waves. “My mother grew them,” she said after a moment. “I can remember her making arrangements of them. Even then I liked the bright colors. They’re…exotic. A little wild.”
He was silent for so long, she wondered if he’d heard her. She looked back at him and found him studying her, the corners of his mouth quirked up in the beginnings of a smile. “Exotic. I can see there’s more to you than I expected.”
She started to ask what he meant by that, but the engines shut off and seconds later, they bumped against the dock. He stood and offered her his hand. “There. You made it. Once you’re back on land, you’ll feel fine.”
She allowed him to pull her to her feet. Already, her stomach felt more settled. As his hand at her back guided her toward the front of the boat, understanding dawned. She stopped and turned to him. “All those questions about flowers—they were just to distract me, weren’t they?”
He shrugged. “Sometimes not thinking about sea-sickness helps.”
“Thank you.” She smiled, surprised and pleased to see this softer, gentler side of him. Maybe there was more to Jake than the sarcastic bad boy he played so well.
“You have a nice smile,” he said. “You should use it more often.”
Was he flirting with her? She wasn’t sure if she liked it or not. She pulled her hand from his, the old awkwardness returning. “I…I guess we’d better get off of here.”
Laughing and talking, the other couples headed down a shell path toward a lattice-shaded building marked Reception, leaving Jake and Glynna alone. A tall, thin African-American woman with razor-cut hair and a figure-hugging white pantsuit stepped forward and greeted them. “You must be Jake and Glynna,” she said, extending her hand. “I’m Marcie Phillips, director of marketing here at La Paloma. Welcome. We’re so glad you could join us for our grand opening.”
“I’m looking forward to seeing your operation here.” Glynna looked around them at the palm-shaded palapas, the rows of colorful sailboats lined up opposite a beach volleyball court and the marble-trimmed swimming pool ringed by lounge chairs filled with sunning couples. “This is quite a setup.”
“I’ve left press kits in your cottage, and of course, I’m available to answer any questions you might have while you’re here.”
She instructed them to leave their bags on the dock for the porter to bring later, and set off down a path. “I’ve put you in one of our deluxe cottages,” she said. “All of our accommodations are right on the beach and feature private whirlpool tubs and shaded verandas.”
Glynna hurried to keep up with Marcie’s brisk pace. “Excuse me,” she said. “Did you say one cottage?”
Marcie scarcely slowed down. “Of course. It’s designed as the perfect couple’s getaway. Each has a king-size bed, plus a well-appointed sitting room with a stereo, DVD player—”
“But there are two of us.” Glynna put a hand on Marcie’s arm, stopping her. “We’ll need two cottages.”
Marcie looked from Glynna to Jake, frown lines deepening on her forehead. “I thought you understood. This is a couples-only resort. I’m sure I made that quite clear to your editor.”
Glynna struggled to keep her voice even. “Jake and I aren’t a couple.”
Marcie shook her head. “We’re completely booked for our grand opening. This is the only cottage we have available.”
Glynna looked at Jake. He’d helped her out on the boat. Would he help her now? He raised one eyebrow. “I can share if she can. After all, we’re both adults, and it’s only for a weekend.”
Glynna’s stomach dropped to somewhere in the vicinity of her knees. Spend the weekend with sarcastic, sharp-tongued and dangerously sexy Jake Dawson? They’d drive each other crazy within a matter of hours.
“That would be wonderful.” Marcie looked relieved. She smiled at Glynna. “Thank you for being so understanding.”
She looked up and found Jake’s eyes on her. “What do you say?” he asked. “Or are you worried I’ll tarnish your virtue?”
Now he’d done it. She had to agree or she’d look like a prude. She held her head up and adopted what she hoped was an air of indifference. “It doesn’t matter to me if it doesn’t matter to Jake. We’ll both be busy working most of the time anyway.”
“Great. Your cottage is right over here.” Marcie started down the path again, and led them to the last in a row of six. The square whitewashed building had blue shutters, porches on three sides and abundant heart and dove gingerbread trim. “How romantic,” Jake leaned forward and growled into Glynna’s ear, the rough timbre of his voice sending a jolt through her.
After giving them a brief tour of the three rooms that made up the cottage, Marcie finally left them alone. The porter appeared seconds later and deposited their luggage just inside the door.
Glynna carried her suitcase into the bedroom. Jake followed. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I won’t lay a finger on you. You’re not really my type.”
She flinched at the remark. Not that she was interested in a man like Jake, but did he have to make a point of telling her she was undesirable?
She opened her suitcase and took out her makeup bag. “I’ll take the bed. You can have the sofa.”
She started toward the bathroom, but he intercepted her. “No way. I’m a foot taller than you. You take the sofa.”
She glared at him, noting not only how tall he was, but how broad his shoulders and chest were. “All right. I’ll take the sofa.”
“Good.” He walked over to the bed and stripped off his shirt in one smooth movement.
She stared, her mouth going dry at the sight of his broad, muscular back. “Wh…what are you doing?” she asked.
“This is the beach. I’m going to change into my swimsuit.” He glanced at her. “I suggest you do the same unless you want to really stick out.”
He headed for the bathroom, leaving her alone. She opened her suitcase again and took out her most conservative swimsuit—a modest tankini with high-cut legs that suddenly seemed incredibly revealing.
She glanced at the closed bathroom door. Should she change now, or wait until the bathroom was free? What if Jake walked out while she was still undressing?
