Life Is A Beach (Mills & Boon Silhouette): Life Is A Beach / A Real-thing Fling (34 page)

When he didn’t answer, Azure went right on talking. “Mr. Santori, I’m sorry but I must meet with you right away. I’m going back to Boston due to unforeseen circumstances, and I’d like to move our dinner to this evening.”

This
evening, which was one day earlier than planned? What should he say? And did Lee know that Azure was planning to go back to Boston?

“I, um, don’t know if that will work,” he said, trying to think.

“Excuse me?”

“I mean, I can’t.” This seemed safe enough.

“You can’t.”

“No. It’s impossible.”

“Impossible.”

Damn! This was like talking with the playback function on a tape recorder. “That’s right. I can’t possibly meet with you this evening. I’ll call you later, how about that?”

“Perhaps another associate from Wixler could serve you better. I can arrange—”

“No!” he said, almost yelling. “I mean, you came highly recommended by Harry Wixler himself.”

“Nevertheless, I can’t wait until tomorrow evening to see you.”

“You have to!” Fleck yelped. “You can’t leave!” Not only because of the consulting job but because it occurred to Fleck that Lee probably
didn’t
know that Azure was leaving. This was the woman he had claimed to love, after all. If he knew she were leaving, he would be with her up to the last minute, father or no father. Lee would have to
be told what Azure had in mind, the sooner the better.

Azure’s tone became very chilly. “I certainly
can
leave,” she said. “You don’t control me, Mr. Santori.”

And then she hung up.

Fleck ran as fast as he could to the main salon, but a nervous Miguel barred his way to the door.

“You cannot go in there!” the steward hissed. “Mr. Santori and Mr. Santori—they left orders not to be disturbed.”

Fleck, discouraged, decided to go back to the media room. He’d watch a couple more music videos, and then he’d try again.

T
HAT
S
ANTORI
! Who did he think he was, anyway? Azure bolted down a couple more aspirin, grabbed her gray gabardine suit off its hanger, and got dressed. While she was pinning her hair into a knot at the back of her head, the phone in the kitchen rang, but she ignored it. There wasn’t anyone in the world she felt like talking to at the moment.

She hauled her briefcase down off the shelf where she had stowed it. A glance in the mirror confirmed that she looked like the wrath of God, but at this point, she didn’t care. She wasn’t trying to impress anyone. Her only goal at present was to hold body and soul together, and, incidentally, hang on to her job.

She stormed downstairs, hoping that it would not be necessary to make polite small talk with Goldy, who would be overly inquisitive about her date last night. Fortunately she realized as she rounded the corner from the staircase, Goldy had a visitor who was hanging over her desk and rapidly firing questions.

“What’s the apartment number? What’s the phone number? Can you at least tell me what
floor
she’s
on?”

That voice, that unctuous voice, that sonorous Argentinianly accented voice that Azure wanted to forget. She halted in midstep, taking in the visitor’s rumpled suit, his bloodshot eyes, the air of exhaustion.

“Paco?” she said, stunned.

His head shot up. “A.J.! Where the hell have you been? You look awful.” He strode forward, but she made her feet move toward Goldy.

“You don’t look so great yourself,” she pointed out, thinking that she had never seen him looking so unkempt or oozing so little charm.

“You wouldn’t look wonderful either if you’d slept in a succession of airports since yesterday. I had to move heaven and earth to get here, A.J. I hope you appreciate it.”

“Don’t count on that,” Azure said. And to Goldy, “Can’t you make him leave?”

“He hasn’t done anything wrong,” Goldy said doubtfully. “He only wanted to see you.”

“Hasn’t done anything wrong? How about breathing?” Azure said.

“Come on, A.J., get off it. I’m through with Tiffany. I want you back,
mi cariña.
”

He was calling her his darling? Ha! “The problem here is that I don’t want
you
back,” Azure said scornfully.

“Come back to Boston and we’ll discuss it.” Paco made a conciliatory move in her direction.

She held up a hand to ward him off. “That’s far enough. I’m not going back to Boston with you.”

He grabbed her hand and pulled her to him. Goldy let out a little squeal of dismay. They heard a few interested clucks, and Fricassee the chicken peeked around the counter.

Azure tried to free herself from Paco’s grasp, but he held
on with angry determination. On top of the remnants of her hangover and the burgeoning of her anger, the fact that he was trying to impede her progress out the door spawned a new determination to let him know that he was no longer of any importance.

With a foot whose strength, thanks to Paco, had been well-honed on flamenco moves, she stomped on his shoe, hard. At the same moment, the chicken let out an earsplitting screech and went into attack mode. Paco released Azure’s hand, and she stomped on his other foot for good measure. Then, without a backward glance, marching in time to the pounding rhythm in her head, she proceeded smartly out the door, thankful that Old Spice was Paco’s favorite aftershave.

S
HE KNEW BETTER THAN TO GO
to the marina where the
Samoa
’s launch customarily landed. Instead she went to a smaller one where there were fewer boats and, she hoped, no groupies.

When she stepped out of the taxi, she looked around for a sign advertising boats for rent. There was none. The marina office was closed for lunch, so no information would be forthcoming from there. Azure refused to be discouraged, however, and hurried down one of the docks hoping to find someone who would deliver her to the
Samoa.

“Are you out of your mind?” the first man she encountered said. “I don’t want to tangle with Leonardo Santori.”

The second one barked something similar and disappeared grumpily into his cabin when it looked as if she might try to persuade him differently. Finally, at the end of the dock, she saw an elderly fisherman unloading his meager catch.

“Excuse me, sir,” she said. “Would you mind taking
me out to that yacht over there?” She shaded her eyes from the bright sunlight with her hand and waved her briefcase in the direction of the
Samoa.

“Take you to the
Samoa?
What for?”

“I need to meet with Mr. Santori.” Quickly she explained who she was.

“How do I know you’re not one of them young groupie ladies who keeps trying to meet him?”

“You don’t, but believe me, if I were trying to get to know Leonardo Santori, I would wear something more comfortable in this climate than a gray business suit. Which is part wool, by the way.” She thought that this statement gave her even more credibility; who would wear wool in Miami Beach in the summertime unless on business?

“I see. Well, this is only a rowboat. I fish over near the buoy almost every day, get me some fresh fish for dinner. Today I caught a nice snapper. Going to fry it.”

Azure let out a sigh of impatience. “Wonderful, but I need to get to the
Samoa.
I’ll pay you if you’ll row me.”

“Nope, nope, I get plain tuckered from rowing out to the buoy and back. Exercise is good for a person, though. Everyone needs exercise.”

“How about if I pay you to use your boat?”

“You’d want to row way out there?”

“I can’t say that I want to, but I need to see Mr. Santori. How about fifty dollars?”

“Fifty dollars? So you can row my old boat? Are you joking?” He seemed taken aback.

She snapped a fifty out of her wallet and pressed it into his hand. Before he could recover, she was climbing into the boat and wishing she hadn’t worn such expensive shoes. The water in the bottom of the boat would ruin them.

The breeze was coming from the direction in which she
was rowing, impeding her progress considerably. The fact that her muscles began to ache when she was halfway to the
Samoa
reminded her that she hadn’t worked out enough lately. By the time she was three-quarters there, they were screaming in protest, and as she approached the yacht, it was all she could do to pull back on the oars. As if that weren’t enough of a problem, blisters were raising on her palms, and the wind had capriciously torn her hair from its knot.

Once she was within shouting distance, the effort to row all the way out to the
Samoa
had made her so tired that she couldn’t help slumping over her oars for a moment. A fine sheen of perspiration filmed her face, and her panty hose had sprung a run. She wasn’t going to make a great impression on Santori, but why worry? On the phone he hadn’t sounded like someone who observed the social niceties or cared how people looked.

She had not anticipated what she would do when she got there. Should she climb aboard? Should she wait until she was noticed? She pushed the loose strands of hair behind her ears and studied the yacht, which was truly huge. It was huger than huge. It was
enormous.
She could not imagine having so much money that you could travel the world in such a fashion.

“Yo!” she hollered up to no one in particular, thinking to attract some attention. “Anybody home?”

A surprised face surmounted by a thatch of kinky blond hair appeared above the railing and stared down at her openmouthed.

“Who are you?”

“A. J. O’Connor,” she yelled back. She
recognized the gritty voice as that of Leonardo Santori.

“Uh, wow. Would you mind proving it?”

She almost broke into hysterical laughter. She had rowed out here carrying a briefcase and dressed for success, and he was questioning who she was? Plus the rocking of the rowboat was beginning to nauseate her, underscoring the unstable state of her stomach.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” she said.

He seemed to think this over. “Okay, okay. Maybe it’s good that you’re here. There’s a ladder off the swim platform,” he said, pointing. “You can climb up.”

She looked where he was pointing. The ladder on the stern of the yacht appeared sturdy enough, so she maneuvered the rowboat closer. Above her, she saw Santori waiting, and at his side hovered a nervous-looking man in a white coat. A steward, probably, Azure thought, having seen enough movies to know that a yacht required several.

The rowboat rocked in a wake from a passing motorboat as she nudged it up to the ladder. The
Samoa,
big as it was, gave nary a lurch. Gritting her teeth, Azure rose in the rowboat, grasping the line in one hand and her briefcase in the other. She’d somehow have to hang onto both as she tethered the line to the ladder.

She looped the line around one of the rungs and prepared to board. As she was heaving herself upward, the rowboat gave a frantic bobble. Unfortunately the sudden motion sent her briefcase flying, and when she tried to recapture it, she did, too. Right into the drink.

She submerged along with a spate of bubbles, hoping that she didn’t resurface under the rowboat. Fortunately she did not. Fortunately, when her head broke the surface of the water, she saw her briefcase snagged on a large clump of seaweed. She
barely managed to pluck it up before it floated away.

“Are you all right?”

“What do you think?” Azure sputtered, struggling to tread water. This might not be the right way to do business, she reflected, but she was determined that Santori would talk to her, like it or not.

Her outstretched hand closed over a rung of the ladder. Hand over hand, somehow still wearing one high-heeled shoe, she made her way upward, water pouring from her clothes. Santori gave her a hand at the top, but the steward did little more than wring his hands and mumble disjointedly in a foreign language.

Finally she stood on the teak deck. Water poured off her and ran away in little runnels, pooled in her shoe, and no doubt made her mascara run. If she had any left, that is.

She eyed Santori warily. “Let’s have that meeting,” she said, wishing now more than ever that she wasn’t chasing the tail end of a hangover.

“I think you’d better wait right here,” Santori said.

The steward looked as if he were about to dissolve into hysterics. “But
he
has left the main salon,” the steward interjected hastily. “I don’t know where
he
is.”

Who the mysterious
“he”
might be, Azure had no idea, but this missing person seemed important to Santori. “I’ll find him,” Santori said, and then, to Azure’s utter amazement, he dodged past her and through a nearby door. The agitated steward followed, uttering what might be curses that she couldn’t understand.

Azure, standing alone on the deck, wrung water out of her skirt and flicked a bit of seaweed from her jacket pocket. She couldn’t help looking around her with curiosity. Too bad she couldn’t have brought that groupie woman Ginger with her to see the yacht; it
was
magnificent.

She peered around the corner. Deck chairs were lined up neatly on the sun deck above, and someone was sitting in
one. Because of the angle, she couldn’t tell who it was, but then he spoke.

“Do you know when she’ll be back?”

Azure felt her stomach swoop down to her wet feet and back up again, and this stomach discomfort wasn’t due to her lingering hangover. It was because she knew that voice. It was the very same voice that had whispered so silkily in her ear last night, the voice that had called her, “My love.”

The realization that this was Lee, the guy who had loved her and left her, was stupefying. What was he doing here?

Cautiously, not knowing what to expect, she made her way up a narrow teak staircase and sloshed lopsidedly around several deck chairs until he came into full view. She knew she must look a fright with her hair wet and stuck to her head, her expensive suit plastered to her body, and missing one shoe. Her appearance, however, was for once not uppermost in her mind.

“What are
you
doing here?” she said, staring down at Lee. He looked wonderful, all tanned and, wonder of wonders, his hair blown smoothly dry. He was wearing a white polo shirt thrown open at the throat and navy-blue shorts. The polo shirt’s embroidered emblem said
Samoa.
His watch was a Rolex, and he wore deck shoes—expensive ones. No socks.