Sex On Flamingo Beach

“Who is the darker man?” Emilie asked.

“That’s Keith Lightfoot. I’ll introduce you.”

He was already up and heading over to where Keith and the reporter had just been seated. Curiosity prompted Emilie to follow. She might as well see what she was up against.

The men were shaking hands by the time she got to their table.

“Keith, this is Emilie Woodward, my date,” Rowan said, introducing her.

Keith towered above her when he stood. He was long and lean with piercing gold eyes that didn’t appear to miss much. Those eyes were carefully appraising her.

“A pleasure, Ms. Woodward.”

“Emilie.”

“Emilie is the director of leisure sales at the Flamingo Beach Spa and Resort.”

“You don’t say.”

Keith Lightfoot had a clipped way of speaking and an accent she couldn’t quite place. His clasp was firm and his unyielding gaze disconcerting.

“Rowan tells me you’re building a resort that will put mine to shame,” Emily said when the silence stretched out.

“Only time will tell.”

The reporter cleared his throat as if to remind them that he was still there. He was observing the exchange intently and taking mental notes.

This might be her only opportunity. She couldn’t wait for Ian Pendergrass to pave the way. “You’ll need someplace for the builders you’re bringing in to stay. I hope you’ll consider the Flamingo Beach Spa and Resort,” Emilie said, handing him her card.

Remaining noncommittal, Keith glanced at the business card before pocketing it. Rowan’s hand remained on the small of her back as he steered her back the way they’d come.

“Dessert?” he asked when they were seated again.

“None for me. My hips can’t afford it.”

“Babe, you don’t have an ounce of excess flesh on you. All that roller-skating’s done you good.”

Emilie smiled at him and blew a lock of red hair out of her eyes. “You must be spying on me. How else would you know I roller-skate?”

Rowan winked at her. “You’d be blown away at just how much I know about you.” He signaled the waiter for the bill.

Minutes later they were seated in Rowan’s souped-up Ford truck that had all the bells and whistles, zooming down Ocean Avenue as if there weren’t speed traps.

“What’s the rush? Where are we heading?” Emilie asked after a while. She’d assumed Rowan was taking her home but they’d already passed her street.

“To my place for a nightcap.”

“Uh…”

“You don’t trust me?”

“No, I don’t.’

He wiggled his eyebrows. “Nothing’s going to happen unless you want it to, babe.”

“Hmm.”

Emilie had never been to his house and was curious to see how he lived. She’d once been told you learned a lot about people from their living habits.

They sailed by a guardhouse entering a community of newly built town houses. One looked pretty much like the other except some had prettier landscaping.

“This is one of my developments,” Rowan proudly explained. “We’re just about sold out except for the town house I live in.”

“Is it for sale, as well?”

“I’m still up in the air. I’m uncertain whether I’ll be making Flamingo Beach home.”

“You don’t like it here?”

Rowan pulled into the carport and parked before answering. “Home for me is the road. I’m always looking for new terrain to conquer. That’s why Derek and I are such a good team. He’ll take care of business while I scope out new opportunities.”

Rowan James was definitely not the man for her.

She’d had enough of the nomad’s life. She was sick of living out of boxes and couldn’t wait to get settled someplace.

Rowan helped her out of the truck and hand in hand they walked to the front door. They entered a great room with huge fans whirling. A winding stair-case led up to a loft. The furnishings were minimal and the walls could use a picture or two.

“What would you like to drink?” Rowan asked the moment she was seated.

“Water, please.”

“You really must not trust me,” he said, feigning injury.

“If I thought you knew how to make a cosmopolitan that’s what I’d have.”

Chuckling, he left her and entered his state-of-the-art kitchen. Rowan returned a short while later, a beer in one hand and a martini glass in the other.

“Your cosmopolitan, madam,” he said, handing Emilie her drink before he turned on the stereo. He plopped down, throwing an arm around her shoulders. “Here’s to you, babe.”

Emilie sipped her cosmopolitan and eyed him over the rim. It was one of the best she’d tasted. “Mmm. Not bad. You surprise me!”

“I have a lot more surprises in store for you.”

She wasn’t going there. “You’re a good bartender,” she said.

His bushy eyebrows wiggled again. “That’s not all that I’m good at.”

The conversation was getting a bit too intimate for her liking. Glass in hand, Emilie stood. “How about showing me around?”

Rowan gave her the grand tour of his surprisingly neat home. Downstairs, French doors separated the living room from a small office with tons of shelf space. The dining room was an extension of the kitchen, and a half bathroom provided a convenient place to wash up. Upstairs were two spacious bedrooms all with tiny back decks. One bathroom had a Jacuzzi tub as well as a shower. The other was more of a powder room and designed for the lady of the house. Recessed lights illuminated the vaulted ceilings. All in all it was a charming place to live.

“So how’s a big-city girl from Joisey adjusting to small-town life?” Rowan asked when they were seated downstairs again. He’d slipped off his loafers and began poking her with his toes.

She grabbed his big toe playfully, capturing it between her thumb and index finger and squeezed.

“I love it here. This little town’s got style and possibilities,” she said.

“You’ve got style.”

“You never give up, do you?”

On the radio, D’dawg, the popular radio personality, was having a field day picking on Mayor Solomon Rabinowitz.

“Don’t y’all think it’s high time this village loses its idiot?” he drawled. “Hit me up and tell me if you agree. Lines are open y’all.”

One caller after another said their peace. The mayor apparently had few supporters.

“How come no one will ever admit they voted for Rabinowitz, yet he’s serving a second term?” Rowan asked, shaking his head.

“Because he stole the election from Miriam Young, better known as the Flip-flop Momma. She’s a single mom who likes to wear flip-flops. Florida has a reputation for not being able to count votes.”

Rowan guffawed loudly. “You’re funny. Don’t know about you but I’ve had enough. I’m cutting this off.” He took his foot back from her and crossed the room to turn off the radio. Returning to the sofa again, he took Emilie’s glass and set it down. “What if I were to ask you to stay the night?”

“If I said yes, you’d probably run.”

“Try me.”

“Okay.”

“Okay, what?”

“Okay, I’ll stay.”

She didn’t know what had gotten into her. It wasn’t as if she and Rowan would be taking this further. And that was precisely why she’d agreed to stay over. There would be no emotional involvement between them, and so he was safe. It wasn’t as if this was the first time they’d been out, more like their fifth, and she did find him attractive.

“I should have filled you up with cosmopolitans sooner,” he mumbled, taking her hand and leading her upstairs.

“I’m perfectly sober.”

Rowan’s bedroom was comfortably air-conditioned, the sheets fresh smelling and crisp. Fully clothed, Emilie hopped onto the king-sized bed. He climbed in beside her and immediately began helping her out of her shirt.

As Rowan’s rough palms stroked her body and his mouth began an intimate exploration of her flesh, she found herself responding. Soon she was giving as good as she got.

Don’t think, Emilie. Just live in the moment.

It had been almost a full year since she’d been made love to and her body was wired and quickly on fire.

Rowan was making loud noises as she tore at what remained of his clothing. Much as she would have preferred to slow things down, neither of them seemed able to wait.

“Before this goes any further, let me ask the obvious question,” Emilie said. “Do you have protection?”

“Like a good Boy Scout, I’m always prepared.” He showed her the condom that had magically appeared in his hand. Emilie helped him slide it on.

“Get on top of me so that I can see you,” he said, shifting her into the dominant position.

She was quickly impaled on Rowan. He wasn’t at all selfish. In fact he was a giving and considerate lover. She didn’t have a single regret. Emilie closed her eyes and allowed the sensations to wash over her. It could only get better if they were in love. But love complicated things and emotions caused you to make wrong choices.

Rowan James was not the kind of man who would ever settle down. By his own admission he was always off chasing one dream or another, and he was clearly the wrong man for her. But his hands on her flesh caused her to do a sexy gyration. Rowan’s deep baritone, and the next thrust, had Emilie clutching his broad shoulders. Her body came alive as he took her on a wild ride. She’d turned into a bucking bronco.

And he was bucking right along with her, in tune with her body and satisfying her more than she’d ever thought possible. Even their breathing had synchronized.

When Rowan held her around the waist and sat her down hard on him, she bit down hard on her lower lip. Never in her wildest imaginations had she expected it to be this good with a man who was just a booty call.

And as Emilie spiraled out of control, she thought about the old Tina Turner tune.

What did love have to do with it?

Chapter 3

Making love with Emilie Woodward had been a far more moving experience than Rowan had ever imagined. Three days later and he still couldn’t get her out of his head. He was still thinking about her and trying to get rid of the perfumed scent that lingered in his nostrils. He’d been attracted to the vivacious redhead from the first day he’d laid eyes on her. He’d been determined to have her, and not just in a sexual sense.

Fortunately the company she worked for, the Knight Corporation, had hired him to develop the land butting up against the golf course. That had given him reason to saunter into Emilie’s office every chance he got. Eventually he’d worn her down and she’d agreed to go out with him. Their first official date had been Chere Adams and Quentin Abrahams’s wedding.

Initially, Rowan had thought Emilie was white but it was no big deal when he found out otherwise. He was used to dating women outside of his race and in fact that was his preference. He’d married a black woman. The issues leading up to his divorce had nothing at all to do with their different ethnicities.

Emilie was a striking woman with great shoulders and magnificent breasts. He’d be lying if he didn’t admit those full breasts had turned him on from the moment he’d laid eyes on them. But it was her take-charge attitude and outgoing personality that he’d really been attracted to. He wanted to know what made her tick.

Getting Emilie to trust him and realize he was sincere was going to be a challenge. She had her guard up—a barrier he planned on penetrating. Rowan had tried everything to convince her he was cool, and that her ethnicity wasn’t a problem for him, but she either wasn’t listening or he wasn’t getting through. He refused to believe she didn’t care.

What he’d failed to share was that his upbringing was far more humble than hers. He’d grown up in the projects in a tough Brooklyn, East New York, neighborhood. While other white families raced for the suburbs, his parents, both factory workers, stayed put. He’d been left with no choice but to adjust and fit in. And so he’d grown up playing stickball and basketball with black and Latino kids.

As he got older, he began dating his playmates’ sisters, who by then didn’t seem to notice the color of his skin. He knew the urban slang, holding his own with the best of them, and when it came to street brawls he could match the nastiest gang leader blow for blow. Growing up under those circumstances made him appreciate his success even more.

Rowan wondered if helping Emilie fill up her overpriced hotel would guarantee her attention.

Derek Morse, his new partner, was at his door.

“Keith Lightfoot just pulled up,” he said. “Are you ready for him?”

“Sure.” Rowan took his feet off the desk, stood and stretched. It was an important meeting. Rowan needed to convince Keith that although the competition might come in cheaper, James Morse, Inc.’s, work spoke for itself. They would get the job done according to specifications and in the allotted time.

“Hey, Keith,” Rowan greeted, meeting him at the front door of the office he’d leased.

Keith had brought with him a sullen-looking man that he introduced as Stephen Priddy, the Seminole group’s newly hired CFO.

Inside his cramped office, Rowan waved both men into chairs. Derek went off to get them water, and Rowan wondered why his part-time assistant, Blanca, wasn’t doing her job. He hadn’t seen her in at least half an hour.

“Landsdale is interested in working with you,” Keith said, getting to the point. “They like your reputation. But you’ll need to get your pricing in line with the other guys to be considered.”

“Just how far off am I?”

“Way off,’’ Priddy said, slapping down a spreadsheet on Rowan’s desk. He stabbed a finger at a bidder whose name had been whited out. “You’ll need to come in around here for us to even look at you.”

Rowan quickly did the math in his head. “I’m not sure that’s doable,” he said. “You often get what you pay for. My references are excellent and my jobs all come in on time. I would consider taking less of a bonus to make this work.”

“How much less?” Stephen inquired, his calculator of a brain already crunching numbers.

Rowan named a figure and Keith shot Stephen a charged look.

Derek had found Blanca wandering around somewhere. She carried foam cups, water and coffee on a tray. When she bent over to place the items on Rowan’s desk, Stephen Priddy almost lost it. Blanca’s tight, short skirt left little to the imagination. Her ridiculous high heels made her totter.

Rowan had tried talking to her about professional dress, but she wasn’t getting it. Since he was paying her minimum wage, and she could at least type and had computer skills, he’d given up. Good enough that she showed up to work and actually got something done.

“If you want to meet Lansdale’s tight six-month deadline you’re going to need men in place within ten days,” Derek said dryly. “There’s construction going on all around us and you’ll be hard-pressed to find an unemployed builder or laborer for miles. I don’t think we can count on Shore Construction to help out, either. They’re booked solid,” Derek said, referring to his old employer.

“Hmm. Then we’ll need to bring in people from other parts of the country. I have that card from the woman at the resort. Stephen, you call and see if she’ll cut us a deal. Let’s guarantee her two hundred rooms for the next six months.”

“I’m assuming you’re speaking of the Flamingo Beach Resort and Spa,” Rowan interjected, spotting an opportunity here. “It’s the only place in town that can guarantee the number of rooms you require, and they need the business. The added advantage is that it’s a Knight property. Your men can see firsthand how the place performs.”

“They’d get an insider’s view at the competition,” Keith said astutely, following his comment with a chuckle.

“Exactly.”

It was good that he didn’t have to push. The minute the meeting was over Rowan planned on calling Emilie and tipping her off. He’d make sure she knew he’d been the one to put in a good word. Maybe he could even convince her to go to this Saturday’s jam session with him.

Keith stood and shook Rowan’s hand, signaling the meeting had concluded.

“Stephen and I will discuss adjusting the bonus and see if the figures make sense. We’ll get back to you.”

“I’ll look forward to hearing from you,” Rowan said, keeping his voice even. Let them think he wasn’t exactly chomping at the bit to work on their project. He wanted the business, but not that badly that he would discount his services. He and Derek already had their hands full building the enclosed mall.

“Something about those two makes me uneasy,” Derek muttered after they’d left.

“Lightfoot’s okay, but Priddy’s an unknown quantity. It’s getting Landsdale on our client list that has me jazzed. I’m going to run down to the mall and see what progress has been made. Want to join me?”

“Can’t today. I’m chasing some business on Pelican Island and I have to be at a meeting within the hour.”

“Okay, we’ll talk when I get back.”

Both men headed off in different directions.

Rowan made a stop at the construction site and spoke briefly with the project manager and foremen. Satisfied that work on the mall was on track, he decided a surprise visit to Emilie might be in order. He hoped to persuade her to have lunch with him.

He pulled into the resort’s parking lot and made his way to the executive offices. Zoe, Emilie’s assistant, had always liked him.

“Hey, good-looking, long time no see,” he greeted her when he sauntered in.

“Hey, yourself. The boss is in a staff meeting. Want me to page her?”

“No, she’s not expecting me. What’s her lunch schedule look like?”

Zoe checked her computer monitor. “You’re in luck. She doesn’t have anything scheduled until later this afternoon. Why don’t you hang out with me?”

“Okay.” Rowan folded himself into the chair she indicated. “So what’s the boss’s favorite flower?”

“Sunflowers. She’s not your traditional rose girl.”

“Gotta remember that.”

Zoe stuck a pen behind her ear and gave him her full attention. “So what’s up? You took her out to dinner the other night. Now you’re talking flowers. You two must be getting serious.”

Rowan raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Emilie told you we were out?” He wondered what else Emilie had told her assistant. The two seemed friendly enough, but he’d gotten the impression that Emilie wasn’t one to cross the line between business and pleasure.

Zoe laughed loudly as if he’d said something funny.

“Hon, this is Flamingo Beach. Everyone knows everything or makes it up. If you ate at Mario’s you might as well have advertised it in the Chronicle.”

“Something else for me to remember,” he joked. “So how much longer do you think your boss is going to be?” He crossed his arms, preparing to take a catnap while he waited.

Zoe glanced at the clock on the wall behind her. “The meeting should wrap up in ten to fifteen minutes. Where are you taking Emilie for lunch?”

“You ask way too many questions.”

Emilie’s assistant didn’t seem at all bothered by his gentle chiding. “I was going to suggest a place on the Row, Flamingo Row. It’s sort of retro. The carhops roller-skate to the car and take your order.”

“Sounds like fun, but I have something entirely different in mind.”

Closing his eyes, Rowan ended the conversation.

Emilie felt the animosity in the air. It was a palpable thing and had been this way from the moment she walked into the meeting. She’d known it wasn’t going to be easy addressing the business development group, requesting them to get their numbers up. They already thought she was too demanding.

Most had driven in for the meeting from the surrounding towns and they were a group not used to sitting. She’d already reminded them of their quarterly goals and that had elicited loud groans. It was Emilie’s responsibility to keep the team motivated and make sure that they understood what needed to be accomplished. So far every statement she’d uttered had been challenged or met with a negative comment.

“This wasn’t our understanding from the last meeting.”

“How can you all of a sudden change the numbers midperiod?”

Emilie tried explaining that a major increase of sales was needed in order to keep the hotel open and the bills paid.

“We face another challenge,” she said. “I’ve just learned that there are plans to build a casino and resort across town, which means we’ll have to fight that much harder to keep occupancy levels up.”

The business development group uttered a collective groan.

“Isn’t Rowan James, your good friend, the developer heading up that effort?” someone asked.

There were titters. The “good friend” bit was meant to be a dig. She chose to ignore it. Earlier when she walked into the room she’d overheard the mumblings about the “sistah selling out.” They’d quickly shushed when she took her position at the front.

Emilie kept a straight face when she answered. “James Morse, Inc., is one of many being considered.”

Flamingo Beach was still provincial in so many ways. The vast majority of the population was African-American and although they coexisted with other ethnicities, people for the most part didn’t date outside their race.

She’d not hidden her friendship with Rowan. The assumption was that theirs was a budding relationship, and she’d known that would not necessarily go over well with a fiercely proud African-American demographic. Not that it was anyone’s business whom she dated, and certainly not the business of her employees. But Emilie was certain that there was gossip since most made it their business to keep informed.

“Here’s the deal,” Emilie continued. “You are going to have to increase your sales calls to meet the new goal. I’m expecting each of you to do your part to get us there.”

Another audible groan resonated then the reps began whispering amongst themselves. Emilie clapped her hands, bringing the group back to order.

“We can do it. Your incentive is that very attractive trip to Europe that the Knight Corporation offers its top performers. Let’s use the next few days to brainstorm. You’ll break into six groups and select a leader. That leader will e-mail me your collective ideas and plans to execute them by Monday at the latest. The meeting is now officially over,” Emilie said.

This conversation had left Emilie mentally drained and feeling that Tom Burke should have at least been there to give her his support. She stopped to answer questions and clarify points for the sales force. They were panicked and feeling overwhelmed. Tourists did not normally flock to Florida during the summer months and each salesperson knew they had a big job ahead. It was another fifteen minutes before she was able to leave the meeting room.

When Emilie returned to her office she found Rowan, eyes closed, sprawled in a chair across from Zoe. She shook her head and groaned out loud.

“How long has he been here?”

“Maybe a half an hour or so,” Zoe whispered.

“Where did you tell him I was?” she asked, attempting to tiptoe by.

“In a meeting. I thought you’d be done sooner so he decided to wait.”

Emilie groaned again and Rowan opened his eyes.

“I thought you’d be a lot more excited to see me,” his gruff, wide-awake voice called. “I’m here to take you to lunch.”

“Lunch? I may not have time.”

“Sure you do. Your calendar is wide-open until—What did you tell me, Zoe?”

Rowan’s dreamy blue eyes focused on her assistant, who was all of a sudden engrossed in her typing.

Emilie was going to kill Zoe. She’d warned her time and time again not to share her schedule with anyone outside of the corporation. And Rowan was so nervy assuming that because he showed up she would go waltzing off to lunch with him.

“So what do you say?” he asked in his usual cocky manner.

“I say you’re used to getting your way.”

Rowan’s laughter rang out.

He was brash and overconfident, and although they’d slept together she’d had no expectations beyond that. Rowan James was not relationship material, at least not in her book. But her reaction to him now was very confusing, and even more confusing was her suddenly dry mouth. Maybe she should go to lunch and put it on the table.