Californian Kings. Maureen Child

did he have to smell so good? And did his eyes really have to be the deep, dark blue of the ocean? Did his smile have to cause dimples in his cheeks? And why had the sun bleached out lightercolored streaks in his dark blond hair? Wasn’t he gorgeous enough?

      “You’ve got some nice stuff in here,” he said, looking down into the glass display case at the sunglasses, flip-flops and tote bags. “Good eye for color, too. We’re a lot alike, you and I. My company makes swimwear. So do you.”

      She laughed.

      He scowled. “What’s so funny?”

      “Oh, nothing,” she said, bracing her hands on the glass countertop. “It’s just that my suits are handmade by local women from custom-woven organically sound fabrics and yours are stitched together by children hunched over dirty tables in sweatshops somewhere.”

      “I don’t run sweatshops,” he snapped.

      “Are you so sure?”

      “Yeah, I am. I’m not some Viking here to pillage and burn,” he reminded her.

      “Might as well be,” she muttered. “You’ve changed the whole face of downtown in less than a year.”

      “Andretail shopping is up 22 percent. I should be shot.”

      She simmered like a pot about to boil over. “There’s more to life than profit.”

      “Yes, there’s surfing. And there’s great sex.” He grinned again, clearly waiting to see if she’d be affected.

      Bella would never let him know just how much that smile and his dimples did affect her. Or the casual mention of great sex. Women came too easily to Jesse King. She’d learned that lesson three years ago, when she’d been a card-carrying member of that adoring throng.

      The World Surf competition had been in town and Morgan Beach partied for a week. Bella had been on the pier, watching the waves, when Jesse King had strolled up. He’d smiled then, too. And flirted. And teased. He’d kissed her in the moonlight, then taken her to the small bar at the end of the pier where they’d toasted each other with too many margaritas.

      She could admit now that she’d been flattered by his attention. He was gorgeous. Famous. And, she’d thought back then, really a very nice guy underneath all the glamour.

      That night, they’d wandered together along the sand, until the crowded pier and beach were far behind them. Then they stood at the ocean’s edge and watched moonlight dance on the waves.

      When Jesse kissed her, Bella was swept away by the magic of the moment and the heat and the delirious sensation of being wanted. They’d made love on the sand, with the sea wind rushing over them and the pulsing throb of the ocean whispering in the background.

      Bella had seen stars.

      Jesse had seen just one of the crowd.

      She’d actually gone to see him the following day, in the harsh glare of sunlight. She’d wanted to talk to him about what had happened.

      He’d said, “Good to see ya, babe,” and walked right past her. He hadn’t even remembered having sex with her. She was too stunned to even shout at him. She’d simply stared after him as he walked out of her life.

      Bella looked at him now, and remembered every minute of their night together and the humiliation of the day after. But even that hadn’t been enough to take away the luscious memory of lying in his arms in the moonlight.

      She hated knowing that one night with Jesse had pretty much ruined her for other men. And she really hated knowing that he still didn’t remember her. But then, why would he?

      But not her.

      At least, not again.

      Everyone made mistakes, but only an idiot made the same mistake repeatedly.

      Inhaling sharply, Bella told him, “Look, there’s no point in arguing anymore. You’ve already won and I have a business to run. So if you’re not here to tell me you’re evicting me, I really have to get back to work.”

      “Evicting you? Why would I do that?”

      “You own the building and I’ve done nothing but try to get rid of you for months.”

      “Yeah,” he said, “but as you pointed out already, I’ve won that battle. What would be the point of evicting you?”

      “Then why are you here?”

      “To let you know about the coming rehab.”

      “Fine,” Bella said. “Now I know. Thanks a bunch. Goodbye.”

      He grinned again and Bella’s stomach pitched wildly.

      “You know,” Jesse said, “when a woman doesn’t like me, I’ve just got to find out why.”

      “I’ve already told you why.”

      “There’s more to it than that,” he said, his gaze fixed on her. “Trust me when I say I will figure it out.”

Chapter Two

      Jesse couldn’t figure out why he was still thinking about Bella. Why the scent of her still clung to him. Why one badly dressed woman with magic eyes was haunting him hours later. Clearly, he told himself, he’d been working too hard.

      “According to research, women’s beachwear outsells comparable styles for men two to one,” Dave said.

      Jesse’s train of thought cut off as he leaned back in his desk chair. The fact that he actually had a desk chair hardly bothered him anymore.

      “Dave,” Jesse said, as patiently as he could, “I’ve told you already. I don’t have any interest in catering to women—in the stores at least,” he added with a smile.

      “You’re missing out on a gold mine, Mr. King,” the short, balding man said hurriedly. “And if you’ll just give me one more moment of your time, I could show you what I mean.”

      Dave Michaels was the head buyer for King Beach and was constantly trying to push Jesse into expansion. But Jesse had a firm policy. He only sold products he knew and used personally. Products he believed in. Growing up as a King, he’d learned early on that success meant loving what you did. Knowing your business better than anyone else.

      But he realized that Dave wouldn’t give up until he’d had his chance to make a pitch.

      “Fine, let’s hear it.” Jesse stood up, though, hating the feeling of being trapped behind a desk. Even though his desk was a sleek combination of chrome and glass, it always called up memories of his dad behind a mahogany desk the size of an aircraft carrier, waving at his sons, telling them to go and play, that he was too busy to join them.

      Irritated at the memory, he turned his back on Dave to wander the perimeter of his office. Absently, he noticed the shelves filled with the trophies he’d won over the years. On the dark blue walls, there were framed photos of him in competitions, seascapes of some of his favorite beaches and assorted shots of his family. His lucky surfboard was propped up in one corner and the windows behind his desk offered a view of Main Street and the ocean beyond.

      As if he needed that connection with the ocean he loved, Jesse moved to the windows and fixed his gaze on the water. Sunlight glinted off the surface of the sea and seemed to spotlight the lucky bastards waiting for the next ride atop their boards. That’s where he should be, he thought wryly. How had he come to this, he wondered, not for the first time. How had he ended up exactly in his father’s place?

      His brothers were probably laughing their asses off just thinking about it.

      “There’s a store here in town with the kind of products we should be carrying,” Dave was saying.

      Jesse