Girl Gear 3: Bound to Happen
Contents:
© 2002
Prologue
The
gIRLS
behind gIRL-gEAR
by Samantha Venus for
Urban Attitude Magazine
Here we are once again, dear reader, checking in on our
gIRLS
. (Excuse me, our women.) It seems your intrepid reporter is inches away from the bottom of what is going on with Lauren Hollister and that sexy Anton Neville. Could it be we are about to learn that love at first sight is a tad overrated?
And speaking of firsts, my sources tell me that gIRL-gEAR's CEO, Sydney Ford, has spent her summer vacation with the object of her very first schoolgirl crush. (Who's walking whose plank, anyway?) And isn't
that
a romantic blast from the past!
Yes, friends, it would have been just that, had their vacation cruise not turned into a vacation disaster. (Though we here at
Urban Attitude
do not
gET
how anyone can call a week on a tropical island with a veritable menu of beefcake disastrous.) Oh, did we neglect to mention they sailed away on the
Indiscreet?
Inside this issue you will find the complete
scoopage
on both Ms. Ford's and Ms. Hollister's tropical trysts and treats, as well as tips for the ultimate in nude sunbathing! See an exclusive excerpt available online at www.girl-gear.com.
1
I
N A PERFECT WORLD
, thought Sydney Ford, she would plan the most magnificent summer vacation.
She would make her own travel arrangements. She loved the idea of seeing the country by train. She would book her own accommodations. She liked to be pampered, unapologetically so. She would choose her own traveling companion. She longed to share a relaxing week with one of her very best friends.
But the world was not perfect.
Her summer vacation was turning out to be less than magnificent. And she had no one to blame but herself.
Months ago, for some remarkably harebrained reason, she'd had the bright idea to offer a sailing trip on her father's soon-to-be-sold yacht to the winner of the experimental scavenger hunt organized by gIRL-gEAR.com's editor, Macy Webb. Knowing the Web site's
gIRL
gAMES
column would benefit from Macy's test group's enthusiasm,
Sydney
, as gIRL-gEAR CEO, had felt the high-stakes offer made for a savvy business proposition.
One of their mutual friends, Ray Coffey, had won.
And now here
Sydney
stood, stranded on a
Caribbean
island, well aware that complaining only served to give her situation a "poor little rich girl" sting.
What work-weary single career woman wouldn't want to be stranded on a
Caribbean
island? A private island at that. With a tropical beachfront villa outfitted to sleep ten, a live-in staff and four servings of beefcake among her fellow castaways.
Me, me, me,
Sydney
wanted to shout. But she sighed, instead, and boosted a hip onto the foot-wide wooden railing of the villa's first-floor wraparound veranda. A soft evening breeze sifted through her hair and she tucked loose strands behind her ear, inhaling the clean salty essence of the sea.
The sunset was spectacular. She'd never seen a sunset here that wasn't. Tonight, wispy clouds floated on a palette of soft pastels, though
Sydney
knew well the intense beauty of sunsets born in fire. The beach was equally amazing—the sand eggshell white, the water the tropical green-tinged blue never found along the
But even better than the view of the sky and the surf was the view of the three men standing at the shoreline, ankle-deep in the water and staring out to sea. Actually,
Sydney
mused, they were more than likely staring at the catamaran sailing by several miles off the coast. But she was in a contemplative mood and, therefore, allowed to project.
Each man was similarly dressed. Doug Storey wore navy board shorts with a white-and-gray hibiscus print. Anton Neville's trunks were of the same cut, but colored in turquoise and hot-island red. Both Doug and Anton were tall with lanky swimmers' physiques. Anton's blond hair was a riot of curls. Doug's, a shade darker, was longer, looser, inviting the touch of a woman's hands. But it was the last man, the third man, who commanded
Sydney
's attention.
Ray Coffey was a big man and beautifully built. The trunks he wore hit him at the knee and were a bright beach yellow with a black piping trim. The vivid color was the perfect contrast for his olive-hued complexion. His brown hair was the color of espresso, rich and thick and cut to fall softly over his brow, his eyes a dark emerald-green. Even from here
Sydney
could see the way the ocean breeze threaded like a lover's fingers through the strands. She wondered what time had made of the texture. She wondered what else about him time might have changed.
Sitting on the veranda, she drew her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her shins. Her brown-and-gold tribal-print sarong fell open, catching on the shrubbery tucked close to the villa and revealing her leg and hip and the edge of her butter-colored bikini bottoms. A softer hue than the yellow Ray wore. But still, yellow.
Like Ray wore.
The similarity struck her for some strange reason. Especially since she was too practical to believe in intangible, nebulous signs.
The light from the setting sun silhouetted his body, accentuating the breadth of his shoulders and, when he turned to the side …
Sydney
's breath caught. Not unexpectedly, but with a sharp visceral hitch that broke her rhythm. Yet, try as she might, she could find no logical explanation for her unusually fierce physical response to Ray. This overreaction had to be an aberration, the island casting a sensual spell. Nothing else came close to making sense.
She wasn't a stranger to the male body. She wasn't, in fact, a stranger to Ray's. But eight years had passed since she'd known his touch. And eight years meant added definition to the muscles of his chest, a chiseled distinction to his abs. Eight years had also thickened the whorls of hair growing low on his belly as well as, no doubt, the nest of hair cushioning his sex.
His trunks rode low on his hips and, standing as he was in profile,
Sydney
's gaze was drawn to his flat stomach, his waistband and the impressive bulge beneath. Her imagination followed her wandering eyes and she took a deep breath, unnerved by the way her heart beat like a bass drum in her chest. She stretched out her legs along the railing, crossed her ankles, letting her head fall back to rest against one of the veranda's support beams.
A relentless tingle settled unmercifully in the core of her belly. She squeezed her legs together and smoothed her palms down the length of her thighs. Even the feel of her own hands caressing her limbs failed to calm her and did, in fact, heighten the sensations simmering beneath the surface of her skin.
Since Ray had reentered her life, unnerved was not an uncommon state in which to find her emotions, just as aroused was not an unusual condition in which to find her body. Neither were comfortable situations. Both she intended to address during the days of this vacation. She had to get him out of her system before they returned to the States.
This obsessive infatuation was beginning to take its toll; her daydreams had recently crossed the line into erotic fantasy, cutting into her concentration in such a way that she feared her work might suffer. She couldn't allow any relationship, whether one of her imagination's making or one from the past, to color the business decisions or personal choices she made.
Especially after having seen that very thing happen with her father. She refused to sink to his level of disloyalty—to her business, to her friends or to herself—and was willing to do anything,
anything
to make sure it didn't happen. Ray Coffey was becoming the sort of consuming distraction her life didn't need. Which meant it was time to prove to herself that he wasn't the lover her memory declared him to be.
This trip had originally been planned to last just over a week and a half. With the
Indiscreet
docked in Belize City in preparation for its imminent sale, Ray had arranged with the two-person crew for the fifty-seven-foot yacht to circle the western Caribbean, slowly exploring the barrier reef along the coast of Belize before making stops in Jamaica and the Caymans on the return.
In addition to the travel plans, the vacation invitations had been left up to Ray. He'd asked both Anton and Doug to come along, as he was in negotiations with their architectural firm, Neville and Storey, and the trip made for good business, as well as a good time. He'd also asked Jess Morgan, another friend from his core circle of six, all of whom played together on the same adult soccer league.
And then he'd invited
Sydney
.
She'd been more than tempted—by the trip, yes. Until last year's falling-out with her father, Nolan, she'd never turned him down when he'd asked her to go sailing. But she'd also been tempted by the prospect of being confined with Ray on the
Indiscreet.
An intimately innocent confinement, where running from their mutual attraction would mean a trip to the bottom of the sea.