Beach Bar Baby (19 page)

She laughed, the sound rich and throaty and full of hope as she clung onto his neck. ‘All right, but only on one condition.’

The quick grin on his lips sparkled with a heady combination of tenderness and wickedness. ‘Seriously, you’ve got another condition? That’s pushing it.’

‘I’ll stay on the condition that I get to give you that just-screwed look I adore.’

He laughed. ‘Yup, definitely pushing it.’

He was still chuckling when he dumped her on the bed a few minutes later and got to work giving her what she wanted.

EPILOGUE

‘That
water
is so warm, it’s incredible,’ Ruby said as she reached for one
of the beach towels and patted herself dry.

Ella shielded her eyes against the sun to smile at her friend
from her spot on the lounger. ‘I know, but we should probably call the guys in
soon, or we’re going to have some very cranky kids on our hands later.’

Ruby turned towards the sea, her smile crafty. ‘Yes, but they
are going to sleep like the dead, once their fathers have put them to bed.’

Ella laughed, her gaze following Ruby’s out to the shallow
surf, where Cooper and Ruby’s husband Callum were busy playing some kind of
splashing war with their children. Cal ran forward, with his four-year-old
Arturo clamped to his back like a limpet, while his daughter Ally shouted
instructions and charged by his side. Her older brother Max seemed to be in
cahoots with Cooper, who had their two-year-old son Jem slung on his hip, as he
and Max launched a new offensive against the Westmore invaders. Jem’s delighted
chuckles were matched by the manic pumping of his little legs as his Daddy
scooped up a tidal wave of water with his free arm and drenched Ally, Cal and
Arturo in one fell swoop.

Ella grinned at the comical scene as Max began to do a victory
dance.

She loved having Ruby and Cal and their family visiting them in
Bermuda for the summer—especially now that she and Cooper had made the decision
to move here permanently and sell the flat Coop had bought in Camden just before
Jem’s birth. It had been a major wrench finally agreeing to let that part of her
life go, not least because she knew she would miss her best friend terribly, but
as Jem got older they’d decided that jetting backwards and forwards between
their two home bases was too confusing for him—and getting him over the jet lag
every few months nothing short of a nightmare.

‘Do the daddies know they’re on bedtime duty?’ Ella asked as
the splashing war went into a new phase, Ally, Cal and Arturo apparently
refusing to concede defeat. She suspected both men were going to be even more
exhausted than the kids come bedtime if the war carried on much longer.

Ruby settled on the sun lounger next to her and sent her a
wicked grin. ‘They won’t have a choice when I tell them you and I still have
lots of important business to conduct concerning the new Touch of Frosting
opening in Hamilton.’

‘But I thought we got everything sorted yesterday?’ Ella said,
remembering the fabulous brainstorming session they’d had discussing recipes and
displays for the opening of her new bakery in two weeks’ time, which Ruby and
her family were staying to attend.

‘Yes, but they don’t know that, do they?’

Ella laughed. ‘Ruby, you’re nasty.’

‘I try,’ Ruby replied, smiling back. Then she reached over to
take Ella’s hand, her smile becoming hopeful. ‘So, Ella, you’ve been so upbeat,
I’m assuming you got good news from the specialist last week?’

Ella gripped her friend’s fingers, and let the moment of
melancholy pass before replying. Ruby knew she and Coop had been trying for
another child for over a year, so of course she would ask. ‘Actually, it wasn’t
the news we wanted.’

Ruby sat upright, her smile disappearing. ‘Ella, I’m so sorry.
I shouldn’t have brought it up, I just assumed...’

‘No, that’s okay.’ She tugged Ruby’s hand to reassure her.
‘Really, it is. We knew it was a long shot.’ She allowed her gaze to drift over
to her two precious guys, still playing like loons together in the surf with the
Westmores, and the smile that was never far away returned. ‘It would be
incredibly selfish of me to expect another miracle in my life.’ She paused, the
smile getting bigger. ‘After the two I already have.’

Because she considered Coop to be as much of a miracle as their
baby. He’d rescued her, she thought, in so many ways, and she’d rescued him.
They had both found something wonderful together, not just in Jem but with each
other, something made even more wonderful by the fact that they hadn’t even
realised it had been missing from their lives until they’d found it.

‘Even so,’ Ruby said, ‘it seems such a shame it should be so
hard for you to have more children when you make such incredible parents.’

‘I know,’ she said, not caring if the statement sounded a
little smug. ‘Which is why we’re thinking of becoming foster parents.’

‘You are?’ Ruby’s smile returned. ‘That sounds like a great
idea.’

‘We think so. It’s early days yet, but we’re both excited about
it. Cooper runs free snorkelling classes at the marina for kids with...’ she
paused ‘...challenging home situations.’ Something he knew far too much about
himself. ‘Anyway, one of the social workers who escorts the kids suggested it to
him—because she’s seen how well he handles them. So we’ve started the ball
rolling. There’s a lot of paperwork and we have to do a...’

The sound of a toddler’s crying reached them, interrupting
Ella’s enthusiastic reply. She sat up, seeing her husband strolling towards her
across the sand, with Jem clinging to his neck and rubbing his eyes—his little
head drenched in seawater.

‘Oh, dear, what happened?’ she said as they approached, trying
not to smile, Jem looked so forlorn.

‘We had to retire from the field,’ Coop announced, casting a
stern eye at Ruby. ‘Thanks to a sneaky stealth attack from
Super-Splash-Girl.’

‘I should have warned you.’ Ruby smiled, handing Coop a towel
to wipe Jem’s face. ‘Ally takes no prisoners, and she always plays to win. I’m
afraid it’s the curse of having two brothers.’

‘Want ice cream, Daddy,’ Jem wailed as if he’d just undergone
an extreme form of water torture.

‘OK, buddy.’ Coop handed Ruby back the towel. ‘I guess you
earned one.’ He rubbed his son’s back as the small head drooped onto his
shoulder. ‘As well as a lecture on the wiles of women.’

Ruby chuckled. ‘Good luck with that.’

‘Do you want me to take him?’ Ella asked, reaching for the
exhausted child.

‘Nah, he’s good. I’ll see if I can sneak a scoop of strawberry
past Inez, then I’ll put him down for his nap.’ Holding his son securely against
his chest, he leant down to press a kiss to her lips, whispering as he drew
back, ‘Then maybe we can have
our
afternoon
nap?’

The heat sizzled happily down to her core as she caressed her
son’s damp blond curls and grinned up at her extremely hot husband. ‘Possibly,
as long as I don’t have to listen to a lecture on the wiles of women.’

‘No problem.’ He winked. ‘I’ve got a whole other lecture
planned for you, sweetheart.’

Saying goodbye to Ruby, he headed towards the beach steps up to
the house.

Ella studied his broad tanned back, the muscular, capable
shoulder where her drowsy son’s head was securely cradled, and then let her gaze
drift down to the wet board shorts clinging to tight buns.

She let out a contented sigh as her happiness combined with the
hum of heat. While her husband would still rather have his teeth pulled than
talk about his feelings—when it came to lectures in bed, she’d never been able
to fault his energy, enthusiasm... Or his expertise.

* * * * *

If you want to read Ruby and Cal’s story, look for
CUPCAKES AND KILLER HEELS
by Heidi Rice available on
Harlequin.com
on eBook.

Keep reading for an excerpt from SEX, LIES & HER IMPOSSIBLE
BOSS by Jennifer Rae.

ONE

The first
time her phone buzzed, Faith Harris was too busy taking photos of a burlesque dancer’s pasties to notice. They were new. Bright red and covered in thousands of dollars’ worth of diamonds. Betty Boom-Boom was very proud of them and swung them from side to side for effect as Faith pointed the camera.

‘Hang on, Bets, I just have to get you in focus—slow down.’ Betty stopped swinging as Faith’s phone beeped again. This time Faith plucked it from her back pocket and impatiently read the message on the screen.

Answer your damn phone. CA

Faith winced. He’d been calling all morning. She knew what it was about. Which was why she hadn’t answered any of his calls. Or his emails. But now he was angry and she wasn’t sure she’d be able to ignore him any longer.

‘Sorry, Bets. I’ve got to sort something out.’ Faith let out a breath as she slung the camera around her neck and stared down at her phone.

Cash Anderson.

The wheatgerm in her smoothie. The run in her stocking. The one bar on her phone.

The man who annoyed her, stressed her out and did her head in more than anyone else.

Cash-freaking-Anderson.

Who was calling her to give her the boot. The man had only been in the job for four weeks but so far he’d upset programming, annoyed advertising and turned the entire editing department into fruitcakes with his constant demands and changes. And now he had his sights set on her and her TV show,
Sexy Sydney
. A show she’d been building for two years. A show that had gained her a reputation for honest, thought-provoking journalism. A show that he now wanted to can.

Faith breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth. Calm. She needed to be calm. She remembered her yoga. Be a bee. She stuck her fingers in her ears, closed her eyes and hummed—just like Sri Sri Ravi had taught her.

‘Mmm...’ she hummed.

She was going to lose her job. She had no savings so she’d have to move out of her flat and then where would she go? She’d left most of her friends behind in England when she’d moved here to follow her dreams. She’d only managed to make a few friends here—her job had taken all her time these past two years.

‘Mmm...’

She’d have to move home. With her mad mother and her disappointed father and her layabout brothers who teased her incessantly about her job.

‘Mmm...’

Then she’d start drinking heavily. And take up smoking and adopt a load of stray cats. And she was allergic to cats so she’d probably end up wheezing and not being able to breathe from all the cigarettes and cats and she’d cark it and they wouldn’t find her until her parents noticed a strange smell coming from her room.

‘Mmm—bloody—mmm...!’

Then she’d be dead and Cash-freaking-Anderson would finally be happy.

She unplugged her fingers. Not helping. Sri Sri and his yoga were useless. As was avoiding this phone call. She dialled Cash’s number and waited, her gut clenched, her neck tense.

‘About bloody time. Where have you been? Where are you now?’ his gruff voice boomed through the phone.

‘I’m interviewing Betty Boom-Boom. I told you I’d be here all day.’

‘Forget Betty Boom-Boom. I need you here.’ Faith felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. His tone was abrupt and demanding. She was reminded of the principal of her boarding school. Unrelenting. Harsh. A man who was incapable of understanding, even when a young girl was miles from home—scared, lonely and unable to fit in. That principal had told her to ‘toughen up’. And she had—which was why she wasn’t going to let this man push her around.

‘I really can’t. I have to get these photos—the crew want to come and shoot tomorrow and I need to do the sheets up.’

‘Faith. I’ll expect you back here in twenty minutes.’ He hung up. Twenty minutes. Yet she was forty-five minutes away. She closed her eyes, sucked in a deep breath and wondered, not for the first time, what the hell she’d got herself into. Only a few short years ago her dreams had seemed so clear. International travel and journalistic awards. They were the only two dreams she’d held her whole life. Ever since she was seven and found herself alone and unable to make friends in a new school full of girls with strange accents who seemed to consider her the resident freak. Back in those days her thick northern country accent, wild hair and outrageous comments made her the butt of many jokes. She’d learned to be small, to disappear and she’d gone to a lot of trouble to develop the thick, tough layer that now surrounded her. A layer she’d need to reinforce to deal with the abrupt, plain-speaking man who was determined to ruin all her plans. The
Sexy Sydney
show was her baby. She’d dreamt it up when she got her first station job back in Newcastle but no TV station in England would run it. Everyone called her bonkers; they’d snickered behind her back. But that was two years ago and everything had changed since then. Her dreams had come true. Escape. Freedom. Recognition. Finally. After being made fun of for so long, she was finally getting on her feet and now Cash Anderson was trying to take it all away.

‘I’ve gotta go, Bets.’

‘It’s not that gorgeous boss of yours again, is it?’

Faith groaned. There was no denying the man was handsome
.
You could cut a piece of cheesecake with his cheekbones. But looks meant nothing to her. This man was a hard-headed businessman who wanted to shut down everything that was good about the station and inflict his stupid ‘cost-cutting’ ideas on them all.

‘It’s the good-looking ones you have to watch, Bets. I’m pretty sure he’s trying to shut my show down.’

‘The bastard!’ Faith preened at Betty’s indignation on her behalf.

‘Right? It’s a good segment. Australia needs to know about this stuff.’

‘Of course they do. We’re artists, not strippers, and what we do is a valuable part of our culture.’

‘Yes! Exactly. But he doesn’t get that. Him and his prudish attitude. You know what he told me at the last editorial meeting?’

Betty held her eyes in satisfying fascination. ‘He said that all a woman needs in the bedroom is a smile. A smile! As if that’s all it takes. That man has no idea how much waxing and plucking and shaping and moisturising goes into making that “smile” look hot. No idea.’

‘Men,’ announced Betty with a sniff.

‘Men,’ agreed Faith.

If only this man didn’t hold her fate in his hands. Then she’d find ignoring him so much easier. But he could no longer be ignored. She’d been summoned to the Devil’s den and if she wasn’t there in twenty minutes, he’d have his staff out to poke her with it.

* * *

The blood pumped furiously in Faith’s ears. It rushed like a waterfall through her veins. Cash was flashing one of those unfair electric white smiles at her. One of those smiles some men possessed that lit up their face and crinkled their eyes, making them seem younger and slightly sexy, which tricked your stupid heart into thinking they could be trusted. Which he couldn’t. Especially not with the big boss of Apex TV in the room.

‘Faith’s segment is popular, I know. But there are some other things I’d like to try,’ purred Cash—his eyes still on her.

She met his gaze and jutted out her chin. She couldn’t trust him one bit.

‘Such as?’ Gordon Grant was an over-tanned man in his sixties. His American accent was smooth and polished and he was so damn sparkly, he had a way of making everyone in the room feel dull and dowdy in comparison.

‘Such as sport. I want to introduce a new show based on Australian sporting legends.’

Faith groaned then looked up quickly as she realised everyone had heard her.

‘You don’t agree, Miss Harris?’ Gordon smiled, his teeth blinding her for a second. His eyes travelled over her face and down to her neck and landed right where the button on her shirt wouldn’t stay done up. She lifted a hand to it and sat up.

‘No, actually. I don’t.’ She glanced at Cash. He was frowning at her. ‘I don’t agree. There are enough sporting shows on television already.’

‘Australians love sport. It’s our culture.’ Matty Harbinger—the station’s sports reporter—spoke up. Faith always thought of a terrier dog when she looked at Matty. All big teeth with his tongue always hanging out. And he talked too fast. ‘Sport is in our blood. Cricket, tennis, footy. We can’t get enough.’

‘Sex is what Australians can’t get enough of, Matty. Studies show that Australians are more interested in sex than any other country. But that Australians are behind the US, the UK and most of Europe when it comes to sexual satisfaction.’ She glanced at Cash, who was now throwing death daggers her way with his eyes. ‘People in this country are more likely to want to try new things in the bedroom than anyone else, but less likely to actually do them.’

Cash raised an eyebrow at her. The way he stood there, looking at her, made the blood in her wrists pump faster and her palms sweat. Betty was right, he was handsome. And tall, and broad-shouldered. She’d heard he was an ex-national rugby player. The muscles that rippled in his back whenever he took his jacket off meant he was still working out like one. He was tall and lean and chiselled and perfect. Except for his left eye. His one imperfection where a little bit of green had crept into the perfect brown rims. Which she was now beating herself over the head for thinking of. Right now. When her career was on the line and everyone was looking at her as if she’d just sprouted a second nose.

‘The Australian public need this show,’ she ended, her voice higher than before. She cleared her throat and swivelled her eyes to Gordon, who was smiling at her. Although leering seemed a more apt description.

‘Is that so?’ He turned away and set his glossy looks onto Cash. ‘Well, Anderson, Miss Harris here would know. She is the resident sexpert—or so they say.’ He tittered at his joke. As did Matty and half the other people in the room. She knew what they thought of her. The oversexed girl who reported on fetishes, orgies and polyamorous marriages. She’d heard all the nicknames. Fellatio Faith. Horny Harris. But she knew what she was. A good reporter. A vital part of this organisation. A woman who wasn’t afraid to talk about sex and relationships and love. And she wasn’t ashamed of what she did. But she was sick of having to defend herself at every meeting she went to lately. The chair scraped on the polished wood as she stood.

‘You’re wrong about this, Cash. The Australian public want to know about sex and love and relationships and communication. They want to know how to save their marriage. They want to feel like they’re not freaks and that they can explore their sexuality without feeling they’re doing anything wrong. And they’re sick of watching grown men play games with their balls!’

The room fell into an uncomfortable silence. Every eye was on her. Felicity—the producer of the breakfast programme—snorted and covered her mouth. Faith’s chest heaved. Her breasts strained against her shirt as it lifted up and down. She let her eyes lift to Cash and he stood there watching her. His eyebrow still cocked, his expression unreadable. Then she felt the breeze as the next button on her shirt popped open and exposed her bra to the table. The one Betty had given her. The one with the bows on the nipples.

‘Bloody hell!’ she cried before tugging her shirt back together, taking one final look around and fleeing from the room.

Copyright © 2014 by Jennifer Rae