Perfect for the Beach (22 page)

“Uh-uh, pal. You seduced
me.”

“What?”

“Well, you did! It’s your own fault, being so cute and all.”

“Well,” he said modestly, “that’s true.”

She bopped him lightly in the ribs. “Conceited creep.”

“That’s also true.”

She yawned against his neck, and he cuddled her closer for a moment. Then he asked, “Well, now that we have, as you so quaintly put it, the sex thing out of the way—”

“Um, I dunno, there might be some remnants …”

“—do you have any ideas?”

“Actually,” she admitted, “I was thinking it’d be nice to do the sex thing again. That’s about as far as I got.”

He snorted. “I’m thirty-eight, sunshine. I’ll need a few minutes at least.”

“Ancient! God, you’re practically decrepit.”

“Oh, that’s nice. How old are you?”

“Twenty-six.”

“Great. On top of everything else today—including missing my conference—I’ve robbed the cradle.”

“Good. Serves you right. I should be stealing something right this minute, but instead I’m obsessing over your dick.”

“Progress.”

“Sure,” she said, and laughed.

Chapter Seven

John left, at Robin’s insistence. She wanted a nap, and to regroup. He should use the opportunity to “catch a seminar, or whatever it is you were going to do this weekend.” Funny how being kicked out of his own room didn’t bother him. If she wanted to rest, it was completely fine with him. She’d earned it.

But what did “regroup” mean, and how many laws would be fractured while she did it?

He strolled through the lobby, wondering exactly how a citizen’s arrest was performed, and if the participants had to be naked, when he spotted a small placard propped outside a conference room. THE CHICAGO MARRIOTT WELCOMES THE NSA!

Ah, the NSA … the National Society of Accountants. His herd. Was that right? What did one call a group of accountants? A herd? A calculus? An audit?

He sidled closer; they hadn’t shut the doors to the conference room yet and he could hear the keynote speaker. There were at least a hundred suits in the room—literal suits; from where he was standing, they were a sea of black and gray shoulders.

It was funny—he should be one of the suits. He certainly had the wardrobe for it. There was plenty of time; he hadn’t missed much. And he’d paid over six hundred dollars of his own money to attend. It was one of the disads of owning his own company—stuff like this came right out of his pocket. The six hundred big ones didn’t even count the hotel room he was sharing with Robin.

Ah … Robin. It was all her fault. It was tough to get excited about ASO management roundtables and earning sixteen hours of CPE credit when he’d just rolled around in the sheets with a charming, larcenous redhead. A woman utterly unlike anyone he’d ever met. A woman he’d known less than a day, and yet, couldn’t get out of his head. Always before, he’d bedded them and been done with them, but Robin was different. He was beginning to appreciate just how different—

“Mr. Crusher.”

He nearly walked into a pillar. There was the dreaded Uncle Rich, looking like a benign southern gentleman. Tan suit, closely trimmed salt-and-pepper beard, dark hair shot with skeins of pure white. Blue eyes—Robin’s eyes.

“You look like you’re waiting for someone,” John observed.

“Not at all.” Rich shoved a chair out with his foot. “Why don’t you sit down in this handy chair, talk a bit with an old man?”

“You’re almost as terrifying,” he said, taking the proffered seat, “as your niece.”

“Oh, stop it,” Rich said modestly. “She’s
much
scarier than I am. You’re missing your conference.”

John looked over Rich’s head to the conference room doors, which were now swinging shut. Odd, to be on
this
side of the doors. Odder, he didn’t mind. “Yes, I—I was just thinking that.”

“Well, they’ll have another one next year.”

“Yup.”

“A charming young lady, my niece.”

“I’ll go along with that.”

“But lonely.”

“It’s not fatal. You don’t die from it.”

Rich’s eyes actually twinkled—twinkled! The man was able to do something with his face, with his laughing blue eyes, which made him look lovable and roguish. It was uncanny. Suddenly John had to fight the urge to hand over his wallet. “Ah, you know a bit about that condition yourself. It’s no wonder you found each other.”

“Uh … she sort of found me. And by ‘found,’ I mean—”

“I’m familiar with her
modus operendi.”

“How do you do that thing with your eyes?” he asked, unable to resist. “You must have zero trouble bilking people out of millions.”

“John, I’m hurt!” The hell of it was, the guy
sounded
hurt.
Looked
hurt. “I’ve been waiting down here for some time hoping to have a nice chat with you.”

“Spinning your web like a spider waiting for a big fat bug …” he prompted.

“Oh, now you’ve been listening to my niece’s side of things,” Rich said reproachfully.

“How did you get it back so quickly? And what is
it?”

Rich waved the questions away. “Something that belonged to my brother. He died without a will, and there were some … problems … with property disbursement. So I decided to keep the item in question until Robin came of age. She disagreed, and stole it. I stole it back. And so on. And so on. And now I look around, and ten years have gone by.”

“That’s some screwed-up family you’ve got there,” John said, not unkindly.

“You’re right, and wishing things were different doesn’t help. But sometimes … sometimes new players come to the game. And things can change.”

“I’m not a player,” John said, astonished. “I’m an accountant.”

“And thus, the crookedest of us all.”

“I’d like to be able to kick your ass for that,” he admitted, “except a glance at the headlines will prove your point, and so I’m just going to sit here and sulk for a few minutes and pretend things like Enron didn’t wreck my industry’s credibility.”

“As you wish. Would you like a drink while you sulk?”

The question was so solicitous, John laughed in spite of himself. “Yeah. Let’s see, what’s ridiculously expensive …? I’ll have a shot of Dewar’s over ice.”

“Ice in your glass … barbarian.” Rich grumbled, but waved the concierge over, and in another couple of minutes, John was sipping Dewar’s. Neat.

“Control freak SOB,” he mumbled into his glass.

“But isn’t it much nicer without ice water diluting the taste?”

“It’s like drinking room-temperature piss,” John said politely. “But thank you anyway.”

“Arrogant pup.” Rich coughed into his fist.

“I heard that. You’re about as subtle as a brick to the temporal lobe.”

“Getting back to Robin—”

“Oh, were we?”

“—do you have any idea how often she’s hooked up with a gentleman during our country-wide jaunts?”

“We haven’t had much time for get-acquainted chitchat.”

Rich put his thumb and index finger together, forming an
O.
“Zero times. Cracking has been her life—to my sorrow.”

“What? According to her, you raised her after her father—”

“Yes, and I did a damned poor job of it,” Rich snapped. “Brought her up to be a no-good thief like me, like her old man—what the
hell
was I thinking? That I didn’t know how else to do it,” he said to his lap, answering his own question. Then he looked back up at John. There was no friendly twinkle in those blue eyes now. “So here we are, an old man and a woman in her prime, and she thinks this is
normal.
And so it is, for her. But she also stole you, and that’s interesting, isn’t it?”

“Stole me?” He had to grin; the mental image was just too delicious. Still, it wasn’t an entirely inappropriate observation. “Is that what she did?”

“The question is, what next?”

“Uh … she’s going to steal it back. Whatever it is. And then …”

Rich waved that away impatiently. “And then, and then … too right, and then another ten years have gone by. No, it’s enough. I’ve made too many mistakes. But there might be enough time. It’s the one thing you can’t steal, you know.”

“No, I didn’t know, and this is the oddest conversation I’ve ever had. And that’s saying something, because I’ve also chatted with your niece. Which is why I’m not in there,” he said, jerking his head toward the closed conference room doors. “It’s quite a bit more interesting out
here.”

“That’s telling, you know.”

“So you’re—what? Putting an end to it? This life? Why now? Why this time?”

Rich gave him a look. “Well, now there’s you, isn’t there?”

“What does
that
have to—”

Rich stood, and John rose, as well. “It’s been enlightening,” he said, and to John’s surprise, the older man stepped forward and hugged him.

“Uh …” John extricated himself. “I guess we’re going to have the ‘personal space’ discussion now …”

“No need,” Rich said cheerfully, and walked away.

With my drink in his hand,
John noticed about six seconds too late.

Damn! How did he
do
that?

Chapter Eight

Robin sat up as soon as he walked into the room, and bounced excitedly on the bed when she saw him. He couldn’t help it; just seeing her made him smile.

“Finally!”

“I’ve been gone less than half an hour,” he pointed out.

“Tell me about it. It’s
soooooo
boring in here without you.”

“You kicked me out, remember?” He grinned. “Now stop it, I’m getting misty. Even more alarming, I ran into your uncle downstairs.”

“Check your wallet,” she said immediately. “Do you have all your credit cards? Missing any cash? Limbs? Organs?”

“No, it wasn’t like that. And I checked in the elevator—nothing’s missing. We had—actually, we had a very
weird
talk, but it was nice. Interesting, anyway. He seems fond of you.”

She shrugged and toyed with the sash of her robe.

“And he seems like he has regrets. With, ah, with regard to your childhood.”

Her eyebrows arched, reddish gold feelers against her pale skin. “Yeah, he gets like that once in a while.”

“‘Like that’?”

“You know, the whole ‘woe is me, shouldn’t have raised her to be a crook, bad, bad’ thing. But he’s never told a stranger about it.” She stared at him thoughtfully. “That’s kind of weird.”

“It’s a weekend for change, it seems,” he said cheerfully. “Also, he walked off with my drink.”

“A true bastard,” she said, then ruined her scowl by giggling.

“Well, he is. So, in an awkward yet endearing attempt to change the subject, are you wearing anything under my robe?”