BOUND TO HAPPEN Read online

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  Contents:

  Prologue

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

  © 2002

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  Prologue

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  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.

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  1

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  In 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 Texas Gulf coast.

  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.

  So she'd given him a conditional yes and then invited her three conditions.

  Because the six gIRL-gEAR partners were discussing a possible change to the firm's corporate structure, Sydney had asked Annabel Lee to come along. Annabel, known around the office as Poe, had moved up rapidly through company ranks. She was currently under consideration to replace Chloe Zuniga as vice president of cosmetics and accessories once Chloe launched the new gUTDANCE gIRL mentoring program. Chloe had assured the others that Poe was not the fire-breathing dragon she seemed.

  And getting to know Poe away from the office, woman-to-woman, was Sydney's prime plan.

  She'd also invited Lauren Hollister and had done so for two reasons—one obvious, one personal. The first was Ray's invitation to Anton Neville. After a year in an exclusive relationship, Lauren and Anton had recently split, though it was clear to all their friends that the two were more miserable apart than they'd ever been together.

  Matchmaking always had the potential to backfire, but in this case Sydney was willing to take the chance. Lauren was one of Sydney's gIRL-gEAR partners and she had to consider the company's well-being, as well as that of her friend. And lately Lauren had been coming to work in body only, leaving her enthusiasm and concentration behind.

  But when it came to Lauren, Sydney had an additional consideration. And that was the friendship blossoming between her father and Lauren. The two had been seeing too much of one another for Sydney's peace of mind. As angry as she was with Nolan, she did love him, and the last thing he needed in his life was another creative, volatile woman. Or an impulsive fling.

  Finally, Sydney had coaxed Kinsey Gray into coming along. Kinsey had been a marketing major and had shared several of Sydney's classes at University of Texas. Now the VP of the company's sportswear and party-wear divisions, Kinsey had an innate intuition when it came to trends, an uncanny sense of fashion and a slightly offbeat way of looking at the world, which Sydney felt would be a welcome relief to the trip's inevitable tension.

  The tension had begun immediately.

  The group of eight vacationers had never made it farther than twelve miles before the Indiscreet developed a problem with its hydraulics. Convenient, actually, that twelve miles, because, before the crew nursed the limping ketch back to Belize City for repairs, Sydney and the others had loaded their supplies into the onboard aluminum dinghy and moved their vacation from yacht to island. Specifically, Coconut Caye, the private twelve-acre island Sydney's father owned.

  Coconut Caye had always been the first planned stop on their itinerary. But it hadn't been intended as their final—or only—destination. Again Sydney realized she had nothing to complain about. The island was the epitome of paradise. Looking ahead, she had several days to spend doing nothing more than swimming, snorkeling and sunbathing.

  And now that she thought about it rationally, logically, instead of with the irritation she'd felt this morning when the Indiscreet had given up the ghost, the change of plans might work to her advantage. The island offered more privacy than she would ever have found on the yacht. And privacy would play nicely into her plans to seduce Ray Coffey. Suddenly, Sydney realized, this adventure held more promise than she'd originally thought when forced to relocate earlier today.

  She turned her attention back to the beach, where the three men were now engaged in a round of extreme Frisbee among the coconut palms. She had a dozen other things she could be doing; beach Frisbee was not exactly a spectator sport. Yet, try as she might, she couldn't tear her gaze from Ray.

  He dived to catch Anton's toss, and Sydney drank in the intoxicating visual. Ray's long torso extended, delineating his rib cage and hair-dusted pectorals, emphasizing the length of his scar. His reaching arm stretched, beautifully elongating his biceps and forearms. She took in the spread of his fingers when he palmed the Frisbee down to the sand.

  Blood surged through Sydney until her nerves hummed wildly from fingers to toes. She wanted him in ways she found surprising. Physical ways that had never been a part of her experience, yet lived vividly in her fantasies. Since his return to Houston late last year, Ray had made it more than clear that the attraction remained mutual, which made Sydney laugh. They'd been so young and innocent that first time…

  Sensing movement at her side, she looked up to see she'd been joined on the veranda by Poe, wearing a pair of plain black sarong pants tied well below her waist. Her matching triangle bikini top left little of her porcelain curves to the imagination. She also wore a look of disgust that pulled Sydney's attention from the beach. "Are you okay?"

  "In what context?" Poe asked, dusting her hands together as if to rid them of something unpleasant. "Medically? Financially? Socially?"

  Sydney couldn't help appreciating her co-worker's theatrical flair. Or her predicament. "In this situation? Socially, for sure."

  Poe rolled her eyes. Irises of near black and a slight almond slant to her lids emphasized her exotic Asian-American looks, as did the slashed angles and layers of hair framing her cheekbones. "Considering I was so looking forward to this trip, I can't believe I'm saying this, but…"

  She ruffled both hands through her hair and lifted her chin. "I am thrilled beyond belief to be shipwrecked. We would no doubt have ended up at the bottom of the sea, anyway, once we factored in the weight of the eggshells."

  "Eggshells?" Sydney asked with a frown.

  Poe's elegant brows shot up archly. "To walk on? Don't tell me you thought fifty-seven feet would be enough room for Lauren and Anton's emotional baggage. From what I've seen so far, even your father's twelve acres might be a tight fit."

  Sydney felt a sharp pang of guilt. She hadn't thought the ex-lovers would start tossing verbal barbs the minute the group set sail. And the fact that Anton had been seeing Poe on a casual basis had never factored into Sydney's decision to invite both women—which it apparently should have. Nothing serious was going on between the two, as everyone but Lauren seemed to know.

  "Where is Lauren, anyway?" Sydney asked.

  Poe gave a sideways tip of her head. "She's in the kitchen with Kinsey and Jess. They're working on … dinner."

  "Great. I'm starving."

  This time Poe took a moment to apparently weigh her appetite against the kitchen skills of the temporary help. "Tell me again what's happening with the staff? I saw their boat leave earlier, but I was on the Indiscreet packing my things, so I never did hear for sure what was going on."

  Sydney nodded, then indulged in a private smile. Neither Poe nor any of the guests needed to worry about the quality of the meals after this evening's. "The Duartes. Auralie and Menga. They weren't expecting us to be here but for the one day and had only stocked limited provisions. When they found out we'd be staying, they had to make a trip to the mainland for supplies. They'll be back tomorrow."

  Swinging her legs down from the railing, Sydney got to her feet, settling automatically into the role of hostess, which she'd acted here for Nolan so many times. "Wait until
you see what Auralie can do with tomatoes, roasted chicken and black beans. Unbelievable."

  Poe cast a wistful glance at her audibly protesting stomach. "I was hoping to eat before tomorrow."

  "I don't know about Lauren or Jess, but Kinsey's a decent cook. And if we hurry, we can stop any disaster in the making."

  "If it's all the same to you, I'd just as soon stay out of the kitchen." Poe dug in her heels. "I'm afraid I'm on Lauren's hit list, and I've learned to be picky about who I let shoot me down."

  Sydney threaded her hands through her hair and fluffed. This fiasco she'd created was rocketing out of control. The time had come to play peacemaker—though she had to admit that spending her vacation in mediation held zero appeal.

  There were times she wished she'd inherited less of her father's mind for negotiation and more of her mother's in-your-face style. This was one of those times. "Well, then. We'll just have to trust those three with dinner, won't we? As scary a thought as that may be."

  "Scary isn't the half of it," Poe said with a huff.

  "Dinner will be fine." Sydney adjusted the knot of her sarong. "If not, we can dig into my stash of Rice Krispies treats."

  "And for the next ten days?"

  "We'll have to ration."

  Poe shook her head and moved her hands to her hips. "Not the food. The tension."

  Sydney studied the other woman's wits-end demeanor, sympathizing with Poe's uncomfortable plight. "You're talking about the tension between Lauren and Anton."

  "Between Lauren and Anton. Between Lauren and me. I haven't had a true, nonworking vacation in years. And I am not about to have this one ruined by this unresolved thing between those two." Poe looked out toward the beach where the game of Frisbee was still going on.

  Then she looked back at Sydney and shrugged. "Anton and I are friends, that's it. But if I'm going to be tried and convicted of being more, then why shouldn't I reap the obvious fruits of committing the crime? It's not like he's the least bit hard on the eyes."