Breathless on the Beach. Wendy Etherington

      WITH HIS HANDS FULL OF THE elegant and volatile Victoria, Jared fought to keep his touch soft. Being tentative wasn’t really in his nature, but though his instinct was to press her against the nearest wall and ravage her like some randy cowboy who’d ridden the range for far too long, he didn’t think that impulse would fly.

      He pulled her close, and angling his head, slid his tongue past her lips. He kept his moves slow, steady … enticing. She let a low moan escape, and desire shot through him as if he’d touched a live wire.

      He moved his hands down to her hips, holding her against his erection. The pressure felt both amazing and frustrating.

      Breathing hard, she jerked back.

      He’d pushed too hard, too fast. Shoving his hands in his back pockets, he grappled for composure. Hell.

      “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice strained. “I shouldn’t have—”

      He held up his hands. “I made the first move.”

      “I wanted you to.” Clearly regretful, she shook her head. Her perfect, creamy skin was flushed. Her crystal blue eyes reflected confusion. “We have nothing in common.”

      His gaze met hers. “No, I’d say we have exactly one thing in common.”

      She didn’t flinch. He hadn’t expected her to. “I guess we do.”

      He licked his lips and tasted cotton candy. His palms tingled with the need to touch her again.

      “It’s my lip gloss,” she said, obviously realizing the nature of his struggle. “It’s flavored.”

      “Like candy? I would’ve laid money on you preferring steak au poivre.”

      “Meat-flavored lip gloss?”

      “Right.” He reconsidered. Obviously, he had steak on his mind. Or his stomach. “Champagne?”

      She gave him her first genuine smile. “That’s more like it.”

      He extended his hand, which she took. “I bet we can find you some in this palace.”

      “That’s an adventure I can get excited about.”

      They headed downstairs, and though she let go of his hand when they reached the ground floor, he felt they’d crossed a bridge together. He wouldn’t have bet cotton candy and smiles could come with a single kiss, but he figured if he was going to pursue this attraction—and he was—he ought to get used to surprises.

      In the parlor, most of the other guests were assembled for the cocktail hour.

      The men, with the exception of Peter, were drinking whiskey, while the women, plus Peter, enjoyed champagne. Jared and Victoria exchanged a knowing glance, but he otherwise kept his distance.

      This contract was important to her, and he wasn’t going to be the one to spoil her plans.

      Especially since he had his own ideas for her. And them.

      Bottled-up stress required a release, after all. He’d be happy to provide her plenty of physical activity to burn off the tension. A Jet Ski or boat-related outing would do her wonders.

      Rose, as she was famous for, made a dramatic entrance.

      Wearing a peacock-blue silk gown, completely overdone for both the season and the occasion, she swept into the parlor when everyone was half into their drinks and Mrs. K had already brought a round of hors d’oeuvres.

      “I’m so sorry to be late,” Rose said breathlessly. “I couldn’t seem to get my hair to do anything tonight.”

      Her deep red hair was perfect, as always. But trouble with her style wasn’t likely to be the main topic of conversation, since around her neck lay a stunning diamond-and-sapphire necklace. The fathomless blue center stone was octagonal-shaped and easily the size of an egg.

      As the women stared—Peter’s wife, Emily, let out an actual gasp—Richard smiled indulgently at his mother’s antics and poured her a glass of champagne.

      “You’re not the last to arrive, Mother,” he said, handing her the cut crystal. “Sal isn’t here yet.”

      Rose’s pink-painted mouth moved into a pout. “I can’t imagine what’s keeping him.”

      “He’s probably looking for his sunglasses,” Ruthie said in an uncharacteristic show of bitchiness.

      The necklace was a bit blinding.

      Richard quickly covered his wife’s gaffe by introducing Rose to her guests. Jared got a flirty smile, which he was used to with Rose. He wondered if boyfriend Sal, who could be anywhere from twenty to eighty, given Rose’s predilections, was the possessive type.

      “I trust you have everything you need to give my guests an unforgettable weekend?” she asked.

      “I do.” Jared brushed his lips across her powdered cheek. “But you’ll be the one who’s remembered.”

      “Jared,” Peter said, his tone teasing, “you can’t have the keys to the boats and the full attention of our beautiful hostess.”

      More smoothly than Jared would have previously given him credit for, the executive led Rose to a settee and launched into a string of compliments about the estate.

      Having already become buddy-buddy with Richard on the golf course, apparently the PR man had decided to move on to bigger, more powerful prey. It was a smart choice. Richard was certainly a momma’s boy. If Rose preferred Peter over Victoria, the Rutherford Securities contract would go to him.

      Victoria didn’t miss a beat and positioned herself next to Richard. “Is it rude to talk about business before dinner?”

      “Not if that’s what you want to do,” he said graciously. Bracketed between his wife and the stunning Victoria, he seemed, in fact, more than pleased. He directed a wink at Calla. “I assume we can count on your discretion about our developing products and strategies.”

      “I’m a reporter at heart,” she said in her twanging Texas accent. “I know how to protect my sources.”

      With three women focused on him, and Jared as a standby to impress, Richard gave a description of his new safe. The words state-of-the-art were used five times and breakthrough technology no less than three. “The digital control panel can be configured for your own four-digit code, voice print or, on the superior model, a retina scan. It’s breakthrough technology.”

      Okay, four.

      “Fascinating,” Victoria said, looking for all the world as if she believed it.

      “Interesting” was Calla’s neutral response, just before she shot her friend a questioning look and took a sip of champagne.

      Ruthie smiled indulgently at her husband. “Isn’t he clever?”

      Actually, a team of engineers and computer techs were clever.

      Twenty years ago.

      The whole fawning business turned Jared’s stomach. Because one of the fawners was the woman he wanted? Probably.

      But not completely.

      Jared’s conscience warned him to sip his whiskey and say nothing. But he couldn’t keep his reservations to himself. Victoria would probably wind up promoting this flawed product. “Don’t many governments, including our own, already use codes with much higher numbers than four, plus voice prints and retina scans for access to sensitive rooms and data?”

      “Perhaps,” Richard admitted. “Not that they’re willing to share the technology behind their developments. The area of personal security is largely ignored for higher purposes. It’s time we take back control of our own lives and valuables. My safe will allow the common man to dictate his own destiny.”

      Why would he need a PR firm? It seemed