Knowing the Score Read online

  “Not all of it. I wasn’t expecting you to chase me topless around your yard and dump me into the pool.”

  “That little sprint of yours was the high point of my day, I can assure you.” He eased into the pool with uncharacteristic caution, which amused her when she realized that diving into water was a bad idea for a naked, aroused man.

  He grimaced at the waist-high water, but swam to the five-foot section and set the packet on the pool’s concrete lip. “Come here, honey. I’m ready to fool around.”

  “Oh, Beck, you say the sweetest things.” She fluttered her eyelashes and glided to him. A jet of warm water hit her thigh and she jumped. “What’s that?”

  “You found a nozzle. Come float on your back. I’ll keep you from going under.”

  “I don’t know about that. You’re the guy who dropped me into the pool in the first place.” Despite her teasing words, she leaned against him, her head sliding across the slick hair on his chest. She kissed his strong jaw.

  “And I had you safe the whole time. Trust me, baby. I’d never let you get hurt.” His eyes held desire and something deeper, something she hadn’t seen before. He blinked and broke eye contact. “Now that is a nice view.”

  Ashley followed his stare. Her pink-tipped breasts bobbed at the surface, her nipples taut from the cool water. Beck particularly liked her on top. Good exercise for the glutes and thighs. “I’ve been doing a lot of riding lately.”

  “And as a horseman, I do appreciate it. Now shift a bit.” He supported her upper body and arranged her legs so her feet straddled the nozzle.

  The water streamed against her tender cleft, making her moan. The gentle waves lapped at her like Beck’s tongue, licking and teasing until she twisted in his arms.

  “I thought you might like that. How about this?” He slipped his hands under her arms and cupped her breasts. He circled his thumbs around her nipples, nudging them into a shivery ache.

  Her flexing thighs pushed her body into Beck’s embrace. He held her tightly and slipped his long finger over her clitoris, spreading her wide to the silvery ribbon of water. His chest rose and fell under her cheek, his breath coming hard and fast. She was in danger of coming hard and fast herself, but she wanted to wait until Beck was inside her.

  She spun around in his arms, a tangle-haired mermaid embracing her human lover. Reaching underwater, she gripped his erect penis. The cool water had not interfered with his arousal. She tugged gently on him, guiding him close to the wall nozzle. “Your turn.”

  He shuddered and closed his eyes as the water hit him, playing with his hard shaft and heavy testicles. “I never thought I’d let a woman lead me around by my cock.”

  “I think you like it anyway.”

  “I think you’re right.” He thrust into her hand, his skin gliding against her palm. She wanted to throw caution to the wind and have unprotected sex just once, to have his unsheathed heat slide into her damp flesh. He wouldn’t resist, judging from his slightly open mouth and choppy breaths.

  But sanity reasserted itself and she grabbed the condom from the pool deck. “Put this on. Now.”

  He complied, tossing the empty packet onto the concrete and pulling her into his arms for a hungry kiss. She clung to his shoulders, grateful that she didn’t have to rely on her wobbly knees for support.

  Planting his feet firmly on the pool bottom, Beck cupped her bottom in his big hands. “Hang on tight, honey.”

  She locked her ankles around his waist and moaned as he surged into her. He paused for a second and withdrew slightly, the cool water eddying against her swollen clitoris.

  His next powerful thrust lifted her several inches out of the water. “I’m floating away, Beck.”

  He hooked his fingers over her shoulders. “We can’t have that. I’m never letting you go.”

  She blinked away a sudden tear, grateful that her damp face disguised the salty drop. Maybe he actually meant that, and not only sexually. She was about to ask him when he ground into her, stroking her clitoris with the top of his thick shaft. Lovely liquid tension swirled from where his penis journeyed into her body’s inlet.

  She leaned forward and kissed him hard, her wet mouth sliding over his. He took her tongue deep inside his mouth, groaning in the back of his throat as she squeezed him tight inside her. He responded by dipping his thumb between their bodies and stroking her tender nub.

  She broke free from their kiss, gasping for air. The heat of his body combined with the cool water made her shudder. He ran his tongue around her ear and whispered naughty things, his honeyed drawl unleashing her climax in a wild wave of pleasure. She ground her body against him, hot, wet and abandoned, knowing he wouldn’t drop her. His strong fingers dug into her bottom and anchored her safely to him.

  Meeting her thrust for thrust, he gritted his teeth and stiffened in release. He rocked beneath her, stopping his caresses only when the last orgasmic ripples subsided.

  She clung to him and tried to catch her breath. “Oh, Beck, that was wonderful. I’ll never look at a pool the same way.”

  “Same here.” He was panting as if he’d swum the English Channel. “I’ll be lucky to get through my daily laps without adding some extra drag in my swim trunks, if you get my drift.”

  She smiled and kissed his cheek. Ever since she’d discovered jewelry design, she’d plotted out her life to the extent of digging herself into a rut. Maybe an unscripted summer interlude drifting along with Beck Emery wasn’t a bad idea after all.

  12

  TWO DAYS after their skinny-dip, all thoughts of drifting along in the pool had burned away like morning fog. Raoul had finally called her for a meeting—a meeting to take place the very next day. Ashley had flown into action to coordinate security transportation from her bank vault to the Bruguera Boutique in Palm Beach.

  She had done everything she could—polished her jewelry, her sales pitch and her nails. She wore a robin’s-egg-blue jacket and matching skirt with a gold spiraling choker necklace and a matching bracelet, which was getting quite the workout as she twisted it nervously. She missed her poppy bracelet but it had gone for a good cause. Enough of that.

  Ashley placed her hands calmly on the glass conference table where she had set out her jewelry. It was out of her control now.

  The small conference room behind the boutique had the same luxurious pale-gray carpeting as the sales floor but had fluorescent lighting instead of the specialized track and halogen spotlights. For security reasons, there were no windows.

  “Ah, Señorita Craig!” Enric swept into the room followed by a man who was as slender as Enric was burly. “And this is my right-hand man, Raoul Gutierrez, who has eagerly been looking forward to this meeting.”

  Sure he had. The ponytailed Raoul wore a longsuffering expression and during his phone conversations with Ashley had barely contained his annoyance at auditioning a new designer, especially one whom Enric had met poolside. He probably assumed she had been sunbathing topless and was auditioning with nipple rings or something tacky like that.

  She gave them both her brightest smile anyway and chatted a bit about the upcoming polo semifinals, careful to leave out Beck’s name. She didn’t want to seem like a hanger-on or groupie.

  Raoul wandered over to her jewelry display and stared expressionlessly at her pieces. During a break in the conversation, Ashley tried to engage Raoul by discussing her pieces. She had brought a variety of her best: platinum, silver and various shades of gold, from white to yellow to the reds and greens used more in her floral and fruit designs.

  He asked what she thought was important for the upcoming fall fashion collections and made notes, but no comments on her work. She had brought a black-velvet neck mannequin and showed him several necklaces, using her own hands for rings and bracelets. It was times like this when she wished she could afford to hire a hand model so that she could bite her nails.

  Enric kept up a running commentary on her pieces, but Ashley wasn’t naive enough to think he was being
any less critical than Raoul. Business was business, after all, and a new designer represented a calculated risk to his boutique, in money or in reputation.

  “So Señorita Craig, you have a very nice collection here. Doesn’t she, Raoul?”

  Raoul nodded, his face still deadpan.

  “And she is an honorary Cuban, no?”

  Enric’s provocative statement finally broke through Raoul’s ennui. “Cómo?” He turned to Enric. “Una cubana?”

  “Of course,” Enric blithely continued in Spanish. “She has that same dreadful accent as you.”

  Ashley fought back a smile at Raoul’s affronted look. “I grew up with my adopted parents in West Palm. They own Sabor de las Islas, and I worked there when I was a kid.” If these guys didn’t buy her jewelry, she’d be back there bussing tables, but that was her problem.

  “Sabor de las Islas? Señora Magdalena’s place?” Raoul’s narrow face brightened. “My grandmother is María Montoya, one of her best friends.”

  “Oh, Señora Montoya.” Ashley did remember her. “She likes tres leche cake with toasted coconut on top.”

  “Yes, but not so much anymore since she has the diabetes,” Raoul explained. He and Ashley commiserated about that nasty disease and found friends in common while Enric watched them like a kindly matchmaking uncle.

  “Enric said your designs would appeal to our wealthy Latin-American clients, but I couldn’t see how until now—you have a Cuban eye for style.” That was obviously a great compliment coming from Raoul, so she thanked him profusely.

  Enric glanced at his watch. “Raoul, we have that conference call with Paris in a half hour and I need to discuss the numbers with you now.”

  “Yes, certainly.” Raoul turned to her. “Always a pleasure to meet a fellow Cuban, Señorita Craig.”

  She smiled and shook their hands before packing her jewelry. The security guards took her cases and readied them for escort to the bank vault while she said her goodbyes.

  Once she was in her car behind the security team, she let out a squeal of glee. She had to call Tisha with the hopeful news, but the person she really wanted to call was Beck. But deals fell through all the time, and she decided to wait until she had a contract signed, sealed and delivered. She didn’t want his pity at a lost opportunity and she sure wouldn’t take his money if he offered her any. She didn’t even like using his name for a guest pass.

  Ashley had seen her mother angle after men for money, gifts or treats, ecstatic one day at her new dress and in despair the next because her current guy had brought carnations instead of roses. Nuts to the sugar-daddy bit—Ashley would take care of Ashley.

  BECK WAVED to his teammates and pointed Caesar toward the stables. His head was still full of Ashley all the time, but at least his game had recovered. No more accidents with his polo mallet, although he’d been tempted to rap Diego a couple times during practice.

  Beck dismounted from Caesar and patted his neck. Despite his advancing age, Caesar was a formidable pony, intimidating the other horses with his sheer drive and cunning. He handed Caesar off to the groom and saw Mimi waving frantically at him.

  He veered in her direction. “Hey, Meem, what’s going on?”

  “Your parents are here, Beck. I wanted to give you a heads-up.”

  “They’re in Florida? At their villa?” They owned a home ten minutes from his place.

  “No, dummy, here.” She gestured around them. “I don’t know what you said to your mother, but she’s in high dudgeon.”

  Her choice of words distracted Beck for a second. He’d never actually heard anyone say that phrase.

  Mimi poked him in the chest with the butt of her riding crop. “Make a fast break for the men’s locker room, Beck. Not even your mother will follow you there.”

  “Beckett!”

  “Too late.” He turned to see his mother striding toward him, alone. His father was probably in the bar.

  “You poor chump. If you were that slow on the uptake on the field, you’d be one of the worst players in polo instead of the best.” Mimi waved her crop at his mother and beat a hasty retreat for the stables.

  “Thanks, I think.” He pasted a pleasant expression on his face. “Mother!”

  “Beckett.” She tipped her cheek for a kiss and gave him one in return. “My, you smell of horse.”

  “I’ve been riding hard for an hour. Would you like to wait while I shower and change?”

  “No, that’s all right.” She wrinkled her nose, but whatever strip she was planning to tear off him was more important than his odor.

  “And where is Dad?”

  “He saw one of his sailing acquaintances and stopped by the lounge.” Mother looked around and spotted a bench along the walkway leading to the main clubhouse. “Shall we sit for a minute?”

  He followed, knowing she didn’t enjoy being around horses after being thrown and injured as a child. “I hope you had a pleasant trip.” She was impeccably dressed as usual, this time in a crisp ivory linen tunic and embroidered pants, but even her careful makeup didn’t hide the circles under her hazel eyes, the same color as his.

  “It was fine.” She made a dismissive gesture. “I came to Florida because I wanted to tell you in person: I’ve had an offer to purchase the company.”

  “Your company?” He quickly changed his wording when hurt flashed across her face. “Our company?”

  “The only one we have. I have been approached by a discount brokerage house. I’m sure you’ve heard of it.” She named a company that advertised heavily using TV ads and Internet popups touting its cheap trading fees.

  “Geez, Mother. What does a firm like that want with ours?”

  She quirked a blond eyebrow. “Our good name, of course. Beckett Financial Services is one of the grandes dames of American finance, and they want to improve their own image.”

  “By piggybacking onto ours.” Beck clenched his jaw. The discount brokerage often used scantily-clad models and suggestive commercials. While he wasn’t a prude by any means, a client’s life savings was too important to bandy about like spring-break beer money in nearby Panama City. “Why would you even consider it?”

  “Beckett, the deal looks good. And if you are not going to run Beckett Financial Services, we need to decide on a succession plan.”

  Beck looked at his mother closely. She wasn’t bluffing him—she was seriously considering the sale. He noticed the thinning skin and blue veins on the backs of her hands as she clenched the edge of the bench. “What would you do if you did sell? Retire?”

  She sighed. “Beck.” He started—she hardly ever called him that. “I have been running the firm since you were small. I didn’t want to, but the Securities and Exchange Commission was knocking on the door, and our clients’ money was in danger of disappearing like a puff of smoke. Not to mention all our employees’ livelihoods. By the time things had turned around, you were older and busy with school and your riding. I missed a good deal of your childhood and I do not want to miss any more of your life—or your children’s lives.”

  That was the second time she had mentioned those hypothetical grandchildren. “When do you need my decision?”

  “We start negotiations when I return to New York next week.”

  “So soon?”

  She gave him a sad smile. “I’ve waited long enough.”

  13

  WITH A HAND from the driver, Ashley emerged from the limo Beck had sent to her apartment. He had apologized over and over about not being able to come for her in person, but his pony Vespasian had stumbled and possibly pulled a tendon during the final match. She didn’t mind his dedication to his horses—after all, they had carried Beck and his team to the winners’ circle and he owed them the best care possible.

  The match had been another heart-pounding test of her endurance. Despite Bootsie’s handpats and Mimi’s no-nonsense reassurance, Ashley had dug her nails into her palms at every one of Beck’s daredevil moves. He was an utterly calculating, utterly fearle
ss player who earned the championship with his blood and sweat.

  And here she was, at the ball to meet the prince. She felt regal, a real Cinderella descending from her coach. She hoped it wouldn’t turn into a pumpkin.

  She didn’t see Beck, so she climbed the stairs to the ballroom to find him. He wasn’t there yet, so she selected a champagne flute from a waiter, her heart thumping under the blue silk and silver embroidery.

  Ashley turned her back for a second to look for Mimi and Bootsie, but as sure as if he were a magnet and she were metal, Beck Emery dragged her awareness to him, making everyone’s head turn as he stood at the ballroom entrance.

  Oh, wow. He had changed from his polo gear into a finely cut midnight-black tuxedo that made the other men look as if they bought theirs off a discount-store clearance rack. A blazing white shirt and a scarlet silk pocket square shone against the dark jacket, an obvious homage to his team colors. His hair was slicked back and he looked very chic and intimidating as he scanned the crowd. Yet another facet to this fascinating man.

  He turned his head and caught sight of her, and his face softened. Ashley’s mouth went dry and she barely breathed as he greeted well-wishers and fans throughout the room. Despite the delay, she had no doubt he was coming for her, as intent on claiming her as he was on claiming his wins on the field.

  Finally, he reached where she stood, half-hidden by the pillar. “Ashley, my beauty.”

  “Beck,” she whispered huskily. Like he had earlier, he took her hand and kissed it, his golden gaze never leaving hers. His lips were warm and soft, unlike his hot, burning kisses earlier.

  “You look lovely.” He straightened up from her hand but didn’t release it, lacing his fingers through hers. “I’ve been looking forward to our evening together.”

  “I have, too.” More than she had ever looked forward to an evening.

  He stared at a waiter, who immediately gave them champagne. “Another toast.” He raised his glass. “To Ashley, a vision in blue.”