Slammed (2 page)

She sat on the bed and called the front desk, asking to be put through to Dylan Schell’s room. The phone rang and rang but there was no answer. When voicemail picked up, she hung up and bit her lip. Okay. She tried the cell phone number they had for him. Also no answer. Hmm. What to do now?

She could go looking for him. Apparently he was staying in one of the little thatched bungalows out over the water, from the word they’d gotten about his recent activities there. She was curious to see those luxury accommodations. Dylan must be doing okay in the prize money department if he could afford to stay there.

With a last longing look at the bed, she rose and picked up her purse.

Outside in the hotel grounds the sun seared her retinas and she rummaged in her purse for sunglasses. She slid stylish Jackson Cole shades onto her nose and started down a path that curved past lush lawns, carefully trimmed shrubs, bright flowers and of course more palm trees. Warm humid air caressed her skin and soon she was sticky and sweaty in her black pants and white shirt. Damn, she should have changed before she came out here. She was used to warm weather living in California, but San Amaro right on the coast never really got that hot, and off-shore breezes kept it comfortable. This was tropical with a temperature near ninety degrees, and the scorching sun made her black pants feel like a sauna.

She dug into her bag for an elastic band and pulled her hair back into a ponytail, which helped marginally.

Definitely beautiful there though. She passed by tennis courts and then a sparkling turquoise pool and her feet slowed and halted as she took it in—turquoise water lapped on white sand. This was the
pool
? Holy crap!

She shielded her eyes and followed the path. Up ahead she spied more blue water. That must be the lagoon and hopefully where the bungalows were.

Indeed. Again she stopped to take in the sight of the wooden deck that stretched out into the lagoon and the quaint thatched roofs of the huts on either side of it. She sighed. Unless Dylan Schell was outside it wasn’t going to be easy to find him.

She stepped onto the beach, strolling past the small stone wall that separated sand from grassy area. Dammit, these ballet flats weren’t meant for this. Sand inside them scraped uncomfortably on her feet. She stopped and slipped them off, picked them up then continued toward the dock, her feet sinking into silky pale sand. She’d give anything to get out of these clothes and into a swimsuit. But that wasn’t exactly professional attire for an important business meeting, even if this was French Polynesia.

Women in tiny bikinis and sarongs wrapped around their hips strolled along the deck, men in flowered board shorts with some of them. She regarded their casual attire enviously. A family with several small children squealing with excitement headed toward the pool. Brooke studied people, looking for Dylan.

She hadn’t seen him in person for years but she was pretty sure she’d recognize him. They’d gone to the same high school in San Amaro, but that had been ten years ago. She’d seen recent PR photos though, the ones on his website, the ones they used to help market their apparel and other ones on the Internet about the Association of Surfing Professionals World Tour surfers. He hadn’t changed much since high school, according to those photographs. He still had longish dark hair that hung over his forehead and he still had those amazing silvery-gray eyes fringed with thick dark lashes, still had that sexy smile that beamed white in his tanned face.

She wandered down the deck, glancing at the bungalows, unsure which was his. Perhaps she should have left a voicemail. But she had a feeling he wasn’t going to return a phone call from someone from Jackson Cole wanting to arrange a business meeting.

Drunk. High. Orgies. Her stomach clenched thinking about Dylan’s activities lately. He’d always been a bit of a bad boy, even in high school, with girls after him all the time. He probably wouldn’t even remember her. She’d never been one of those lucky girls who’d attracted his attention. Not that she’d wanted his attention. Okay, well, she couldn’t say she would’ve turned him down if he’d noticed her, but really, that was so far outside the realm of possibility she hadn’t even entertained that as a fantasy. He’d been a jock, a surfer, athletic and talented, someone everyone knew was going to make it big. He’d been fearless and exciting, charming and fun.

She blew out a breath. She’d lost patience with this. She returned to the front desk. “Hi,” she said with a smile. “I need to know where Dylan Schell is staying.”

“I’m sorry,” the young woman said, as expected. “I can’t give out that information.”

“You can give it to me,” Brooke said, giving her a businesslike smile. She pushed her card across the desk toward the other woman. “I’m with Jackson Cole, one of Dylan’s sponsors. We need to meet with him urgently about some business matters.”

“Oh.” The woman looked at the card, then back at Brooke, taking in her attire, so different from the casual clothing everyone else there wore. Also taking in her lack of makeup, lank hair and sweaty face. Clearly she wasn’t a beach bunny trying to get with a pro surfer. “Jackson Cole. Really?”

She no doubt recognized the name as one of Dylan’s biggest sponsors. They were well known in California and getting more known in the US, maybe even this far away. After all, the ASP event had just happened there; probably everyone had been aware of the surfers and the big sponsors and all the media who’d been there covering the event.

“Yes.” Brooke kept her smile in face. “It’s pretty important for his career.”

“I could put you through to his room,” the girl said.

“I tried that already.” Brooke leaned closer. “He didn’t answer and…not that I’m worried…but I hope he’s okay. Apparently he’s been pretty…um…busy lately.”

The girl nodded and lowered her eyes. “Er. Yes. He has.”

Flerkinschmidt. She knew it because she’d been with him. Brooke resisted an eye roll.

The girl lifted her eyes and Brooke saw the ire there. Oh damn. The other woman was pissed at Dylan. No doubt he’d blown her off for other girls.

“He’s in bungalow eighteen,” the girl said.

Yes! “Thank you so much.” Brooke slid a U.S. twenty dollar bill across the counter.

She hurried back outside, retracing her steps through the grounds, past the pool, across the beach and down the wooden dock where the bungalows were. Sixteen…seventeen…eighteen. Yes.

She approached the small structure. The door was closed but unlocked. She gave a rap on it then stepped inside. “Hello!” she called. “Dylan? Dylan Schell?”

She shoved her sunglasses up on top of her head. Even so, it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dimmer light inside the bungalow. She blinked a few times, looking around. Her eyes fell on the big four-poster bed and spotted a dark head there, a stark contrast against white pillows. His eyes appeared closed. He was in bed? At this time of the afternoon?

“Yeah, baby, suck me, just like that…” Dylan’s hoarse words reached her ears, but before she could turn and get the hell out of there, his eyes flickered open and met hers. The bedcovers started moving and Brooke’s gaze moved over the shapes beneath the duvet. Oh dear God…

A head emerged from beneath the bedcovers, a woman with long blonde hair, kissing her way up Dylan’s chest, and then another woman emerged, this one with long dark hair.

Heat swept up from Brooke’s chest into her face, scorching her cheeks.

“Hello, sweetheart,” Dylan drawled, his white smile flashing in the dim room. “Have you come to join us?”

Chapter Two

Pretty, but way overdressed. Dylan smiled across the dim bungalow at the woman standing in his door. Her pulled-back dark hair revealed a perfect oval face with big dark eyes and a small mouth. That mouth was now parted in surprise, her eyes going wide enough for her eyeballs to pop out and roll across the floor.

Hell. She apparently wasn’t there to make the threesome a foursome.

“Oh God,” she said. Then she straightened her shoulders and pressed those pretty lips together. “No, I’m not here to join you.” Her gaze flickered to Suri and Lexi. “I’m here on business. And you need to get out of bed and get dressed.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. Who the hell was this? Jesus. This day was going from bad to worse. First Matt called and got him riled up by asking him to be best man at his wedding, the last wedding in the world he wanted to be at, then he’d been so rattled he’d actually had a hard time getting it up with two hot chicks.

“I don’t think so, sweetheart,” he said, pulling Suri and Lexi back down. “We’re a little busy, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“I noticed,” she snapped. “And you’ll have to finish your little ménage à trois later…like maybe in a year and a half when your contract with Jackson Cole expires.”

“Huh?” Jackson Cole?

“I’m Brooke Lowry, Assistant Manager, Marketing and PR,” she told him. “And we have important business to discuss. If you want to keep your lucrative contract with Jackson Cole.”

Annoyance and a quick shiver of fear ran through him. “We can talk later,” he told Brooke Lowry, Assistant Manager, Marketing and PR. Suri went to slide out of bed, and he caught her wrist. “Hey babe, don’t go.”

“I think we’d better,” Suri said, slanting him an apologetic glance. He watched in dismay as both girls walked over to the dresser where they’d left their bikinis. Apparently being naked in front of a stranger didn’t bother them one bit, and they donned their suits and retrieved sunglasses, flip flops and their big beach bags. Then Brooke stepped aside as they exited the bungalow with cheery waves.

“Catch you later, Dylan,” Lexi called.

Well, he didn’t give a shit about being naked in front of a stranger either, and this uptight Marketing and PR manager needed to loosen up a little. He threw back the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed, then stood. Brooke’s eyes dropped briefly to his junk, went wide again and even in the dim bungalow he could see the pink flush that tinted her cheeks.

She half-turned away and folded her arms across her chest. “Put some clothes on. Please.”

“Meh.” He sauntered over to the bar in the corner and grabbed a beer out of the fridge. He had no problem being naked. “I’m good. Would you like one?” He held up the cold bottle.

She glanced over at him, then did that little straighten of her slender shoulders again and turned to face him, although keeping her eyes on his face. “No thanks.”

He leaned casually against the bar and guzzled down half the bottle of icy cold brew. Damn, that was good. “So what’s up, buttercup?” he said, lifting one eyebrow.

Her mouth tightened. “I really think this conversation is one you want to have with your clothes on.”

Alarm bells went off in his head. “What conversation is that, sweetheart?”

“Please don’t call me sweetheart. This is business. Fine, if you want to do this here and now, let’s do it.” She drew in a breath and looked up at the ceiling briefly. “Head office sent me to talk to you about your recent conduct.”

“My conduct?” His insides contracted.

“Yes. Your exploits have made it into the news, which has gotten back to the executives at Jackson Cole. They are not pleased, to put it mildly.”

He kept his face neutral. He hoped. “What ‘exploits’ would those be?” he asked, his voice bland.

“Things like group sex in the middle of the afternoon.”

He narrowed his eyes at her again and lifted the bottle. “Hey. We were in the privacy of my bungalow and
you
came barging in. What I do on my own time in my own bedroom is my business.”

Her cheeks pinkened again and those dark eyes flashed sparks. He wanted to grin. Yet somehow he knew this wasn’t going to be funny.

“Other things then,” she conceded. “The drunken partying. The orgies that people
do
know about. The dope-smoking and nudity on the beach. We’ve managed to smooth things over with the media on some of the other things you’ve done, not the least of which was being arrested for that Quantas Flight having to turn back to Sydney.”

His back teeth ground together a little at the mention of that. Yeah, that hadn’t been one of his more epic moments, even he had to admit. It had all just been in fun, a little flirting with the flight attendants, and yeah, he’d had a few beers, but Jesus, they’d totally overreacted by turning the plane around. It wasn’t as if he was dangerous, for fuck’s sake.

Suddenly being naked didn’t feel quite so comfortable, and he set down the beer on the bar and reached for the board shorts draped over the nearby chair. He stepped into them and quickly tied them loose and low on his hips.

Brooke’s gaze dropped briefly once more, tracking over his abs and the shorts, then jerked back up to his face. “For God’s sake, take those off,” she snapped.

“Uh…” He gave his head a little shake. “Okay, sure sweetheart, but I thought you wanted me dressed.”

“Those are Billabong shorts!” she snapped. “You can’t be seen wearing the competition! Do you have some kind of death wish, or what?”

Her words made his insides leap and he stared at her.

“Where did you get those anyway?” she demanded. “Why would you even
have
them?”

He looked down at them blankly. “I don’t know where I got them,” he said shortly, fingers fumbling with the ties. He let them drop to the floor, kicked them aside and strode over to the dresser. He yanked open the top drawer and grabbed a pair of shorts. He had a fucking hundred pairs of them and he was pretty sure most of them were Jackson Cole. He stepped into the shorts, this pair a black and white flowered pattern. He picked up the offending garment and held it over the waste basket, catching her eye and then dropping it in.

“That’s better,” she said. “Geez.”

“My deepest apologies,” he said in a dry voice. “I didn’t mean to offend you. Who knew my nudity would be less offensive than a pair of board shorts made by the competition.” He held out a hand to the small sofa and chair. “Have a seat. Sure you don’t want a drink? I have water, pop…”

“No thanks.” She did move toward the sofa and took a seat, perching stiffly on the edge.