Breathless on the Beach. Wendy Etherington

can go on a short dive. If not, there’s plenty of snorkeling equipment to use.”

      As Jared explained all the activities available, the importance of not doing anything alone, and the tentative schedule he’d worked out, he discovered Peter was apparently an expert at everything. And yet Jared would bet his best saddle the guy didn’t know how to swim competently, much less that he’d dived at the Great Barrier Reef.

      “Anybody want to hop on a Jet Ski?” he asked to stall Peter’s next overblown story.

      As he’d expected, nearly everyone refused. He’d discovered city people had to gradually warm up to fun. This crowd would probably walk down the steps of the pool rather than simply dive in.

      Calla, his only volunteer, ran up to the house to get her suit on, but the others wanted to unpack and get ready for dinner. Shelby and Mrs. K had to start making the meal.

      “Steak?” Jared asked hopefully as he descended the ladder toward the Jet Ski floating there.

      “Thai food,” Shelby called down. “Fish cakes, grilled pork satay, cucumber salad, baked shrimp with noodles, and chicken curry.”

      Mrs. K clasped her hands. “Doesn’t it sound exotic? Shelby’s going to show me how to make everything.”

      Climbing on the watercraft, Jared saluted. “Based on the cookies, I have full faith in both of you. But is there steak in my future?”

      “Monday,” they said as one.

      “For future reference,” Shelby added with a wink, “Victoria loves Thai food.”

      Jared had no doubt she did. Exotic and spicy fit her perfectly.

      He started the engine, then glanced up to spot Richard walking toward the house with Peter on one side and Victoria on the other.

      Why the image bothered him so much, Jared wasn’t sure.

      Instead, he focused on his job. He helped Calla onto the Jet Ski, and she held on for dear life as he streaked through the waves, jumped the crests and turned his face to the sun and salty spray.

      The vision of Victoria’s stunning face wouldn’t go away, however. He compared the blue of the sea to her eyes. He remembered the startling black sand of Waianapanapa Beach in Maui, and how her hair would blend into it like an ancient exotic goddess merging with the land. He wondered how she’d fare on the open waters, unconstrained by obligations and ambition.

      Calla had no such restraints and soon was ready to take the controls of the craft herself. Jared stood on the shore, watching to be sure she didn’t run into trouble, and wondering why the buxom blonde didn’t move him the way her friend did.

      In all his travels, he’d learned some bits of truth. Don’t grab live stone crabs without gloves or a high pain threshold. Don’t hang glide with anybody after three cocktails. Don’t trust an African tribal guide who says crocodiles are “babies at heart.”

      To that knowledge he’d add that chemistry wasn’t always a definable concept.

      Calla was delightful. But Victoria was trapped in her orderly, fluorescent-light world, and he desperately wanted to release her.

      “Any chance of getting Victoria on a Jet Ski?” he asked her friend after he tied off the machine and they’d climbed back onto the dock.

      Calla’s gaze met his before quickly skittering away. “I don’t see how.”

      “She’s here on business, not fun.”

      “As always.”

      “What kind of men does she date?”

      Calla’s steps faltered, as if she hadn’t expected him to be so direct, but she recovered quickly. “Jerks,” she muttered with a shrug.

      “Jerks?” he repeated, as if that was music to his ears.

      “Rich jerks.” She waved her hand. “Oh, they all have great hair and pretty faces, successful careers, 401Ks and portfolios. But they’re superficial and—” She clamped her hand over her mouth. “I can’t believe I just said that.” She broke into a brisk stride.

      He caught up to her, bringing her to a stop. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

      “I shouldn’t have answered.”

      “We had a … moment earlier.” He wasn’t sure that was the way to describe the intensity of the spark that had ignited the instant Victoria had touched him, but that was all he had. “I was only wondering if she’d be interested in somebody like me.”

      Calla grinned. “You like her.”

      “Oh, yeah.”

      Calla’s gaze trailed over him. “Great hair and pretty face, check.”

      When she paused, he finished her thought. “But a 401K and portfolio, not so much.”

      “You don’t have either, I guess?”

      He did. But why should that matter? Why did it always matter? “Do I need them?”

      Calla frowned, and he knew she was thinking of a way to let him down gently, to tell him that Victoria was particular and, being a successful woman herself, only hung out with guys who moved in her same circle.

      He could move in those circles. He simply chose not to.

      Too much artifice. Too many hangers-on. Too many people who clung because he had the means to buy a round for the house.

      Been there. College in L.A. had schooled him in more ways than business management.

      “She needs a regular guy,” Calla announced to Jared’s surprise. “Clearly, her pattern of brief relationships with shallow men isn’t working out. And if she ever stops focusing on her career twenty-four hours a day, she’ll see that.”

      “Would she really? I’m a regular guy,” Jared said confidently, since he was—sort of.

      Calla widened her eyes in mock surprise. “Are you? What an amazing coincidence.” She winked. “You two could make a great couple.” She jogged toward the house, calling her thanks as she left him.

      Smiling, Jared turned for the shore. He hadn’t expected details from Victoria’s friend, especially since he’d had no right to ask about her love life in the first place.

      Rich jerks who don’t hang around long, huh?

      Good thing he usually concealed his ownership of the company. His clients thought he simply worked for the firm, same went for the host and guests this weekend.

      One regular guy at your service, Ms. Holmes.

      TWO HOURS LATER, DRESSED FOR dinner, but still missing her usual confidence, Victoria strode into the kitchen. “I need a martini, stat.”

      While Shelby continued to chop vegetables, Calla jumped off the counter where she’d been sitting and headed to the fridge. From the freezer side, she pulled out a filled and frosted glass. Two extra-large olives speared on a toothpick floated inside the liquid.

      Calla handed over the drink. “We figured you’d come asking for this.”

      Victoria took a grateful sip, the harsh bite of the olives and liquor suiting her sour mood perfectly. “Where’s Mrs. Keegan?”

      “In the wine cellar,” Shelby said. “So vent away.”

      “What the hell does Richard think he’s doing?” Victoria asked her friends.

      “Haven’t got a clue,” Calla answered, returning to her perch on the counter.

      Shelby dumped chopped celery into a mixing bowl. “It’s got to be some kind of ego thing. Like having two dates to the prom.”

      “Why would you want to have two dates to the prom?” Calla asked.

      “I