Girl Gear 3: Bound to Happen (11 page)
Well, hell,
Sydney
mused. Why shouldn't she share what she was thinking? She'd definitely be interested in Lauren's reaction. As a friend and as a woman with a different perspective on Ray. "The truth? I was thinking of having a vacation fling."
"With Ray Coffey?"
"No, with Anton."
Sydney
rolled her eyes. "Of course, with Ray. Who are we talking about, silly?"
"Hmm," was all that Lauren said.
Sydney
huffed. "What is that supposed to mean?
Lauren shrugged, then turned back to face the wild bunch cutting up the waves. "I guess I can see you and Ray having a fling. He's definitely a hunk. Perfect fling material."
"True,"
Sydney
said. "Even though you have to admit he's more than a hunk."
For a moment Lauren didn't reply. Then softly and slyly she said, "You don't need a man to be anything more than a hunk if you're only going to have a fling."
When put that way,
Sydney
didn't like the way her plan sounded, which was cheap and sleazy, when what she'd envisioned was definitely hot and sexy. She hated to ask, because the possibility was so farfetched. Still, she was curious.
Casually she turned toward Lauren. "What if it turns out to be more than a fling?"
"Why? Are you thinking long-term? With Ray?" Lauren leaned back on her elbows and lifted her chin to the sun. "I could've seen you with Leo Redding. A corporate attorney is more your type. I'm not sure I can see you with Ray."
Lauren's added comments made
Sydney
sound as if she cared what Ray did for a living. She was in awe of what he did for a living. "I think Ray's profession is totally noble and honorable. Did you know he spent time in
"Give me some credit,
Sydney
. I don't think what Leo does makes him any better than Ray. I just don't see Ray putting up with the fund-raisers for long. He's way too physical." Lauren shook back her hair; the ends dragged over her beach towel. "He could hardly sit still at the Wild Winter Woman fashion show last month."
True,
Sydney
thought, watching as Ray paddled his surfboard out toward Doug's Jet Ski, both managing to trade places without dumping either men or machines into the sea. "Physical" was definitely an adjective that described Ray Coffey. Both in his appearance—his body was amazingly fit and firm—and in the way he moved.
Sydney
so enjoyed watching the way he moved.
"By the way," Lauren said, cutting into
Sydney
's musings, "I did notice
after
the fashion show that he and your father certainly were chummy. You have any idea what's going on with them?"
Sydney
lifted one shoulder in a perfunctory shrug. "My first guess would have to be money. With Nolan, it's usually about money."
"You think he'd try to buy Ray somehow?"
"No way," she said, shaking her head sharply. "Nothing like that. I was thinking more along the lines of a donation. Especially in light of all the funds raised for firefighters this past year."
"Oh." Lauren squirreled around to lie flat on her belly while still facing the sea. "I thought maybe he was buying him for you."
"For me?" The thought had never even crossed
Sydney
's mind. "Why would Nolan buy a man, buy Ray, for me?"
"I don't know. To make sure he gets the son-in-law he wants, I guess. But I doubt that's the case. It doesn't seem Nolan's style, even though I don't know him the way you do."
"Son-in-law? Like I have time in my life for dating, much less for a husband?"
Sydney
shook back her hair. "Right now, I barely have time to take a vacation. And I wouldn't be here if I didn't have faith in Macy, Chloe and Melanie not to let things at gIRL-gEAR go to hell."
And that was the thing. Until this past year,
Sydney
would've agreed with Lauren about what was and wasn't Nolan's style. But during the past twelve months,
Sydney
's father had done a lot of things with his money she never would've expected, as well as not doing the things he'd promised to do.
But
buying
Ray Coffey?
Sydney
found a transaction of that nature hard to believe of either man. Even harder to believe, however, was the irony of the entire suggestion.
Her father possibly buying her the very man to whom she'd lost her virginity? Not to mention the fact that she'd done so in the heat of anger at her mother's daring her to "get the stick out of your ass, have some fun and, for God's sake, get laid?"
Inevitably, inexorably,
Sydney
's gaze moved back to Ray. How would an honorable and noble man react after learning he was a convenient body at the right place and the right time? Despite the tropical heat, she shivered. That was one skeleton best left in her closet.
This conversation wasn't headed in any direction
Sydney
wanted to go. Why couldn't she have her
fling
and enjoy it, without having to take trip after trip down memory lane?
She got to her feet and handed Lauren her head-hugging metallic sunshades. "Hang on to these, will you? I'm going to have a swim."
"I'll put them in here with mine," Lauren said, tucking both pairs down into her woven carryall. "I think I'll join you and see if I can talk Anton into some underwater hanky-panky."
Sydney
stared at the other woman. "I thought you and Anton still had a lot to talk about."
"We do." Lauren stood and made quick work of putting her long hair into a single braid and securing it with a
scrunchie
. "But I can talk with my hands as well as I can with my mouth. And I don't need words to do any of it."
"You're impossible,"
Sydney
said, more than a bit jealous as she watched Lauren execute a shallow dive off the pier.
Sydney
followed, welcoming the refreshing feel of the water.
Coming up for air, she shook drops of salty spray from her face, wishing it was as easy for her to "damn the torpedoes—full speed ahead" as it seemed to be for Lauren. But it wasn't. And it probably never would be. Which meant a vacation fling was just not her style.
But Sydney Ford worked in fashion. And as anyone who had anything to do with the industry knew, styles changed.
BY THE TIME
the dinner hour rolled around, the vacationers were exhausted. A day spent in the sun and the surf guaranteed that none of them had the strength or the energy to do more than sprawl across the braided rug covering the main room's floor or across the sectional sofa.
Having spent less time than the others battling the waves and the powerful Jet Skis, Sydney and Lauren, both freshly showered and smelling like herbal soap and coconut shampoo, headed to the kitchen to help Auralie prepare a light meal of salad and roast-chicken sandwiches.
Ray's stomach was rumbling. He was absolutely starved. But he was also totally beat and knew that a heavy meal would put him out. He wanted to stay awake as long as he could. He wanted
Sydney
to finish up in the kitchen, bring the sandwiches as she'd promised and sit in his lap while he ate.
If she wanted to feed him while she was there, he wouldn't object. He wouldn't turn down a woman's offer of personal service. Like most guys, he enjoyed and could get used to being waited on. But all he really wanted was to have her close.
Funny how his needs had grown simpler over the years and how he'd learned that a woman's companionship, even her quiet presence in the same room, brought a pleasure all its own. Funnier still, how he'd never put
Sydney
into that category until now, watching her with Lauren in the kitchen.
Sydney
had a touch of sunburn on her nose and had pulled the layers of her shoulder-skimming blond hair into a careless ponytail. She'd changed out of that metallic-looking swimsuit that showed off her body in ways her bikini had never managed and now wore a plain yellow T-shirt and a pair of plaid pastel walking shorts.
She was laughing with Lauren as they worked, totally at home in the kitchen and looking nothing like gIRL-gEAR's CEO. Instead of her usual
onehundred
-percent immersion in business, she was having one-hundred-percent pure fun. She wore minimal makeup, only enough to highlight her bright blue eyes and accentuate a complexion that Ray knew had the feel of the smoothest silk.
Great. Now he was waxing poetic about a woman's eyes and skin. Yep, big tough guy, all right, he groused, pulling his gaze from the kitchen and back to the movie. After rifling through the extensive collection of DVDs stored in the main room's bamboo étagère, Jess had grabbed two of the sectional's throw pillows and made himself at home on the floor.
Ray and Anton sat at opposite ends of the sofa, and Doug had commandeered the one and only recliner. He now sat feet up with his head back, half-asleep while the twenty-five-inch screen played Tom
Hanks's
Apollo 13.
Poe sat in the center of the sofa putting tiny braids into Kinsey's hair while Kinsey sat cross-legged on the floor.
The scene was almost surreal and resembled nothing from any vacation Ray had taken before. Of course, it had been years since he'd enjoyed a real vacation. The last one had been a bust, a total disaster from which he'd never recovered, taken three years ago with two of his fraternity buddies and his only brother, Patrick.
Having completed his master's thesis while working as a firefighter in
College Station
,
Houston
and into
Barbados
, ready to party their backsides off with tropical drinks and tropical women. Hot days and hotter nights and late, lazy mornings spent sleeping off the deadly combination of sex and rum.
Paradise
and heaven rolled up in a big fat cigar.
What none of them had counted on was the reality of the myth of modern-day
Caribbean
pirates. Drug runners with no care for property and even less for human life. Buccaneers in golf shirts and cargo shorts, baseball caps and deck shoes, automatic weapons slung across their backs.
Ray shifted on the sofa, glanced across the room toward the kitchen and
Sydney
, then back to the movie, which was nothing but a big blur. Suddenly he couldn't sit still and wait for
Sydney
, sandwiches or not. He pushed off the sectional and headed for the circular staircase that led to the sundeck on the villa's roof.
The evening breeze, which hit him full in the face, was welcome. He shook off his stale musings and drew a deck chair close to the waist-high safety railing, propped his feet on top and, through slats that reminded him of prison bars, stared out across the tops of the coconut palms toward the sea.
He hated thinking of his brother. Patrick was never far from his mind, but he'd learned to keep his thoughts put away. He'd also learned not to let random events shoot the lock he kept on that particular emotional trigger. Even now he didn't know why, except for the vacation comparison, he'd let his thoughts drift to Patrick.
Ray really did know better. What had happened three years ago wasn't his fault, wasn't anyone's fault. But the guilt remained. And guilt was something he couldn't have hanging over his head. Not if he expected to do his job with any level of competence and detachment.
Right now, the last thing he felt was detached. Not from his memories of Patrick, the brother he'd sworn to protect, the brother who would've turned twenty-five last month if he'd been around to have a birthday.