The Tycoon Meets His Match. Barbara Benedict

yes,” he continued impatiently. “Technically, I did promise Lucie I wouldn’t work this week. But this isn’t our honeymoon anymore, is it?”

      Trae barely heard him, distracted by the man’s ongoing striptease. At the moment, he was in the process of removing his shirt. Hard not to gawk at all that gleaming, taut and surprisingly tanned muscle. Who would have guessed the buttoned-up executive had been hiding such a magnificent body?

      She wondered where a workaholic would achieve such a tan. And that physique. Even if Rhys did carve a niche into his schedule for the gym and tanning salon, surely the effort would require swim trunks and sweats. As far as Trae had seen, the man never wore anything but business attire.

      Though it seemed she was about to get an eyeful of the real Rhys Paxton. As his hands went to his zipper, she backed away from the door, as appalled as she was embarrassed. Trae Andrelini was not a prude, but this was her best friend’s almost-husband. She shouldn’t be watching him undress, and she sure as hell shouldn’t be getting turned on by him.

      “Get started right away,” Rhys finished abruptly. “I’m in a hurry. I’ve got to make that flight.” He slammed down the phone with enough force to crack the slipper had it been made of glass instead of cleverly disguised acrylic.

      Hurrying down the hall to find Quinn and Alana, Trae bristled with new determination. Damn Rhys Paxton and all his money and connections. Apparently, he knew exactly where Lucie had gone and he wasn’t sharing.

      Flight 213, he’d said, leaving at four-thirty for Miami. And after that, the Bayside Marina, slip 337.

      Looked as though they were headed in the same direction.

      “Trae?” Lucie Beckwith gripped the phone late that evening knowing she’d reached voice mail, but hoping her friend would somehow sense she was calling and miraculously pick up.

      “You’re probably busy cleaning up the mess but I’m sitting here on a stool watching these silly flamingos and I got to thinking that maybe I made a huge mistake.”

      No, that didn’t come out right. “I mean, my mistake wasn’t in saying no,” she added promptly—or at least as promptly as three mai tais would allow. “I never should have come here to the Bahamas. Like Rhys wouldn’t look for me here. He knows me so well. He’ll guess in an instant I’d go right to Rosa to get her advice.”

      Twirling the little paper umbrella in her glass, Lucie frowned. Call her a coward but she wasn’t ready to face Rhys yet. “He’ll be so…so disappointed,” she said, thinking aloud into the phone. “We made a deal.”

      At the time, it had seemed the perfect solution. Rhys needed a Rhys IV and Lucie, well, as her mother constantly pointed out, having children would lend purpose to her otherwise aimless life. All evidence to the contrary, Lucie didn’t enjoy being on the fast track to nowhere.

      With her friends having careers and/or families to focus on, lately Lucie increasingly had to fight feeling left out. So when Rhys had suggested it might be time to tie the knot, she could see no reason to argue. Marriage was, after all, what she’d said she always wanted. Hadn’t she always told him as much?

      And she couldn’t ask for a better friend, a more worthy champion. For every childhood problem, for every moment of teen angst, he’d been the shoulder she cried on. When she broke her arm falling off a horse her parents had forbidden her to ride, Rhys had gotten her to a doctor, made sure her parents never learned the true cause of her injury. When her date backed out of the senior prom at the last minute, Rhys had canceled his own important plans to escort her.

      No doubt about it, Rhys was a wonderful man, a rock in the stormy seas she often made of her life, and lord knew any girl at the country club would take her place in a nanosecond. What more could she hope for when she had no real direction in her life? When she had no means of standing on her own, absolutely no experience in that arena? And when, sadly enough, no one had better claim to her affections….

      And there stood Rhys, ready to provide everything a girl could ever dream of, promising the perpetuation of the pampered life her parents had laid out for her. All Lucie had to do was move out of one house and into another, the change of address entailing only one number.

      All so easy. So perfect. So why was she sitting here on a bar stool in the Bahamas, as far away from the groom as possible?

      “I keep thinking about what you told me, Trae,” she said into the bar’s phone. “You know, about finding myself? You’re right, I do deserve to know how it feels to be madly, deliriously, head-over-heels in love. I want that, Trae. I want it so much.”

      She had to stop, emotion bringing tears to her eyes and choking up her throat until she found it hard to speak. To remedy the condition, she took another sip of the mai tai.

      As she did, she had a sudden mental picture of sitting on a similar bar stool in Cancun. Only then it had been margaritas and she hadn’t been alone.

      “Never mind,” she said firmly into the receiver. “Forget I called. I just figured it out, all by myself, and I know what I have to do.”

      Draining the last of her drink, Lucie slid from the stool. “It’s simple, really. I just have to go back in time to when life wasn’t quite so complicated. Back to where I took my first wrong turn. And then I can figure out what the right direction is.”

      She sighed, feeling vastly relieved. “Wish me luck, Trae. I’m going to find B—”

      Hearing a click, Lucie realized she must have used up the time Trae’s cell phone allotted for messages.

      Oh, well, no matter. Who had time for chatting, anyway? Life was waiting. Adventure was waiting.

      Time to be moving on.

      Chapter Two

      Standing on the bridge of his yacht, Rhys struggled not to yawn. What a night. First, the snarl at the Throggs Neck Bridge, backing up traffic for over two hours then the thunderstorms, causing gate hold at JFK until after eleven. By the time he’d gotten out of Miami International airport and over to the marina, it had been the wee hours of the morning. No wonder he could barely keep his eyes open.

      Yet as tiresome and frustrating as the night had been, he was now making good time. Barring any unforeseen difficulties, he should reach the island in a little over an hour, just as dawn was breaking. Quite symbolic, when he thought about it. What better time for him and Lucie to start their future together than the start of a fresh, new day.

      Smiling, he pictured waking her gently. He’d give her all the time she needed, allay her fears, smooth away the doubts. And when he was done, he’d have them both headed in the same direction. The right direction—straight to St. Mary’s Chapel.

      All he had to do was remain positive. Envision success.

      Feeling a sudden need for increased speed, he reached for the throttle. Turning dials and flipping switches, he set the course and put the controls on autopilot. He paused a moment, watching for problems, but the yacht plowed on, maintaining a steady course across the calm, placid ocean. Indeed, the only evidence of any disturbance was a sudden sharp growl from his stomach. In all the excitement, he now remembered, he hadn’t eaten since yesterday’s breakfast.

      Maybe he’d head below, duck into the galley and make himself something to eat.

      He made his way to the master cabin, carrying two suitcases he’d yet to take down, already planning his sandwich. Setting the luggage inside the cabin, he noticed that the closet doors stood slightly ajar. Orderly by nature, he went to close them. Might as well stow the bags inside while he was at it.

      He strode to the closet with the bags, expecting a thud as he tossed them but instead heard a telltale “oomph.” Flinging the doors wide, he discovered the source.

      Trae Andrelini, clutching his carry-on, blinking the sleep from her startled eyes.

      She’d removed her jacket, he noticed as she rose with surprising dignity to her feet.