“I bet your hair and nails are always perfect,” Jared teased.
“Is there something wrong with a professional appearance?”
“Not when you’re being professional, I guess. But I think—and maybe this is just me—you’d look great messed up.”
“Messed up?”
“Maybe mussed up.” Jared leaned close. “You know, tousled, disheveled …” He stroked Victoria’s cheek with the tip of his finger. “Thoroughly pleasured.”
Heat raced through her body. “Are you always this forward with women you’ve just met?”
He grinned. “Not always.”
“Most of the time, I bet you are.”
She wished she could find a reason to step away from him and not give in to the urge to touch him. Still, she laid her palm on his chest. “You aren’t my type.”
“You aren’t mine, either.”
But he wrapped his arm around her and kissed her anyway.
Dear Reader,
Welcome to the beach and more tales from the Robin Hood gang! My trio of friends, like the legendary characters, are ready to fight injustice again.
But while the concept seems simple, the solution isn’t.
In this chapter, the ladies are escaping the stifling NYC heat and are off to the shore for balmy breezes, although Victoria isn’t the toes-in-the-sand, beer-in-my-hand type. She’s in beautiful, peaceful Southampton to do what else—work!
Unfortunately, her host—and a wily jewel thief—have other plans.
Victoria has the support of her best friends, of course, and the added perk of a gorgeous, adventurous cowboy, Jared McKenna, who can’t keep his hands off her, but in between moonlit cruises, she discovers everything is changing. Her perception of right and wrong, her realization of what really matters in life, and the love she might find in a very unlikely place.
Don’t miss the exciting conclusion of the FLIRTING WITH JUSTICE series: Calla and Devin’s story, Undone by Moonlight, is arriving in November.
Wendy Etherington
About the Author
WENDY ETHERINGTON was born and raised in the deep South—and she has the fried-chicken recipes and NASCAR ticket stubs to prove it. An author of nearly thirty books, she writes full-time from her home in South Carolina, where she lives with her husband, two daughters and an energetic shih tzu named Cody. She can be reached via her website, www.wendyetherington.com. Or follow her on Twitter @ wendyeth.
Breathless on the Beach
Wendy Etherington
1
“It is the spirit and not the form of law that keeps justice alive.”
—Earl Warren
New York Tattletale Labor Day Weekend Edition Those Who Have, Do! by Peeps Galloway, Gossipmonger (And proud of it!) Well, kids, with summer winding down, tradition dictates the posh and influential of NYC gather in Southampton for one last gasp of fun and sun.
I hear (from sources I’d have to give away my priceless collection of original Versace gowns if I revealed—not gonna happen, BTW!) there’s a new product coming from the prestigious firm of Rutherford Security that’ll change the way the rich and famous store their gems and secrets.
No doubt more will be heard by those lucky enough to have received a coveted invite to the longtime Southampton socialite Rose Rutherford’s fabulous house party.
Mrs. Rutherford’s husband, Raymond, made his money in Texas oil in the eighties, but though he met his fate nearly fifteen years ago in the arms of his stripper mistress, he had the decency to invest in lucrative beach-front property, providing Rose with the perfect locale for entertaining. Among the high-end guests will be her son, Richard (yes, everyone in the family has the R moniker), who chose the lovely and tasteful Ruthanne as a mate.
Also of interest on the guest list is the inclusion of two (yes, dos!) executives from Coleman Public Relations. Both Peter Standish and Victoria Holmes (of the Holmes Family Cardiac Wing at Midtown Memorial) are attending the weekend house party.
Is Mrs. Rutherford just that generous to PR execs or do we smell heated competition for something?
Hmm …
Certainly jealousy will rear its ugly (but column-worthy) head, which is much more fun than a leisurely cocktail hour by the pool, anyway. So stay tuned!
On the agenda are wild water excursions provided by Flaming Arrow Adventure Tours. Calls from this office by yours truly for details were unreturned (as if that would deter your loyal and tireless columnist!?!), but don’t you worry, dear readers, I’m on the case!
I’m informed that Jet Ski riding, scuba diving, boating and other activities involving the potential for bodily harm have been scheduled. (Dear heaven, count me out!) But then I hear the adventure guide is none other than Jared McKenna, and trust me, rabid followers, he is hot, hot, smokin’ hot. So maybe extreme sports are a hobby to consider after all …
Kiss and tell—please!
—Peeps
P.S. Catering to be provided by Shelby Dixon (recently highlighted in this column!)
TAKING HER FOCUS OFF THE clogged Manhattan traffic at a stoplight, Victoria Holmes shifted her hard, determined gaze between her two best friends. “I’m getting this contract or else.”
“Or else what?” Calla Tucker asked, folding up her newspaper and placing it neatly on her lap.
“Or else she blames us,” Shelby Dixon answered.
Pleased her pals had gotten the point so quickly, Victoria stared through the windshield of her Mercedes and ordered her stomach to cease its churning.
She was going to get the contract—and the promotion. Like her mother before her, she’d given everything to Coleman PR.
But your mother’s a legend, and you don’t quite measure up, do you?
Didn’t she? Victoria always worked nights, weekends, holidays. She brought in high-dollar clients with high-dollar campaigns. She oozed ambition and confidence, even though her mother had been the youngest senior VP in the history of the firm and nobody ever let Victoria forget it.
She schmoozed. She demurred when necessary. She represented the firm with the utmost in professionalism. She deserved her own senior VP title and corner office. She’d earned the right to step from behind her mother’s long shadow and prove she hadn’t clung to her coattails to attain success.
Didn’t she?
“This Rutherford contract will put me over the edge,” she muttered.
“She’s talking to herself again,” Calla said from the backseat.
“Let her be,” Shelby said. “She’s barely slept in the last week. She’s punchy.”
Victoria scowled. “You both know I can hear you, don’t you?”
Calla patted Victoria’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, sister. We’ve got your back.”
Shelby laughed. “And I’ve got your stomach.”
Despite