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eBook Category: Romance
eBook Description: Sometimes nothing goes your way. Interior decorator Summer Stevens knows that all too well. In the course of one short week Summer has lost her job, discovers her fiancé is sleeping with her best friend and finds out she's adopted. Acting on impulse, Summer takes a job decorating a Jamaican summer home. All she wanted was a change of location to pick up the pieces of her life, but she never thought her job would provide one more challenge: the sultry, seductive Gavin Pagne. Her employer is one man who would not pass up a challenge and he's in for the fight of his life with Summer. Will Gavin's embrace help to repair Summer's shattered life or will it destroy her forever?

eBook Publisher: e-reads, Published: 1999
Fictionwise Release Date: June 2001

23 Reader Ratings: Great Good OK Poor

Available eBook Formats [MultiFormat - What's this?]: Adobe Acrobat (PDF) [1.3 MB], eReader (PDB) [293 KB], Palm Doc (PDB) [286 KB], Rocket/REB1100 (RB) [253 KB], Microsoft Reader (LIT) [235 KB] - PocketPC 1.0+ Compatible, Franklin eBookMan (FUB) [284 KB], hiebook (KML) [661 KB], Sony Reader (LRF) [305 KB], iSilo (PDB) [234 KB], Mobipocket (PRC) [292 KB], Kindle Compatible (MOBI) [329 KB], OEBFF Format (IMP) [381 KB]
Words: 89082
Reading time: 254-356 min.
Microsoft Reader (LIT) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
Adobe Acrobat (PDF) Format:  Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud DISABLED
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED

Summer Stevens circled the parking lot again. The rows and rows of cars were beginning to make her dizzy. It was Murphy's law, pure and simple. There was not a free space in sight anywhere, and she was in serious danger of being late. Of course this would happen on the most important day of her life. It didn't matter that she had been stuck in traffic on the 405 freeway for more than an hour, or that she had subsequently driven at a hellish pace down Sherman Way, breaking several local speed limits. It didn't matter that she had even cut short the very extensive fittings that were needed on her wedding gown just so she wouldn't be late. The chairman of Aztec International, who by all reports was a stickler for perfection, would most likely give the project to another design firm if she, the head designer, rushed in sweating and out of breath, in the middle of the presentation.

She closed her eyes and said a quick prayer. She would not be late. There was still time. If only someone would come out of the building right now. She eased her foot down on the gas, and the little red Miata surged forward. She checked her watch again, and a bead of perspiration broke out on her nose. It was becoming increasingly clear that she was either going to have to park the car in the middle of the lot, and deal with the problems that would cause later. Or, park it in the forbidden loading zone at the back of the building.

She took a steadying breath. Her heart was beating like a trip-hammer. What could happen after all if she did park there? Maybe a couple trucking companies might be a bit late in making deliveries. That wasn't so very terrible, was it? She spun the wheel and decided. There was nothing else to do. It was just shameful that such a large office building should not have adequate parking to accommodate both staff and visitors. On the best of days, there were probably only one or two empty spaces in the entire lot. God forbid that there be a meeting of any sort. Clients were actually forced to use metered parking on the street. Those, of course, were all taken today because of the meeting.

Summer pulled around the corner in a screech of rubber. The nose of a large and very battered car appeared around the opposite corner, at almost the exact moment, effectively blocking her way forward. Summer honked impatiently.

The large man in the driver's seat turned his head to look in her direction. She pointed at the loading area that his car was now blocking. He seemed not to understand, for he proceeded toward her in the most unhurried fashion.

Summer rolled down her window, and prepared to lean out. The wind blew several long strands of hair across her face, and she pushed the tendrils back with an impatient hand.

"Sir ... excuse me, sir. I'm..."

The man turned away from her, and with expert precision, swung the nose of his battered car into the very spot she had intended taking. Summer leaned heavily on the horn. She couldn't believe it. Some people were simply unbelievable. The only spot available in the entire lot, and he was going to take it.

She pulled her car to a halt, and slid out. She was tall and slender, and appeared even more so in her well-fitted navy pinstriped suit. The stylishly slung cream scarf about her neck, and thick gold hoops hanging from each ear, gave her a very high-fashion look, and her long legs looked very well indeed in the sheer silk stockings and shiny black pumps.

Adjusting her sunglasses, then taking very brisk steps, Summer walked toward the wreck and its rude owner. The man paid not the slightest bit of attention to her. In fact, it almost seemed as though he were going to great pains to ignore her completely. He had by now, of course, snugly maneuvered himself into the spot, and was preparing to get out.

She knocked sharply on the driver's side window. Through the glass, she could see that there were papers strewn across the passenger seat. A trace of irritation rippled across her brow. The bum quite probably lived in his car. She knocked again, and waited with barely concealed impatience. Surely he was not deaf.

He continued to shuffle his papers for a few moments more, then, with what seemed like deliberate leisure, stacked them into a neat pile, and secured them with a thick paper clip. Only then did he turn to lower the window by just a fraction, to inquire in a cold and somewhat humorless manner: "Yes?"

Summer took a long, slow breath. So, this was the reason for his abominable behavior. He was drop-dead gorgeous, and quite probably well used to thinking that the entire world revolved around him exclusively. Hordes of women probably threw themselves at his feet daily.

Well, he was in for a surprise. Her eyes flickered over him with analytical thoroughness. His deep black eyes did nothing at all for her. Granted, his cheekbones appeared to be exactly the right distance apart, and his nose was the very image of what every nose should resemble; not to mention the fact that his lips were just tailor-made for kissing ... among other things.

None of this, though, made one iota of difference to her. Men were men, and the handsome, conceited ones in particular were often in need of a good dose of shock therapy. From his general demeanor, it was very evident that this one just oozed with that certain quality of arrogance and conceit that just made her blood run completely cold. She would have to remember not to lose her temper though, no matter how generally unpleasant he was. The situation would not be helped at all, if she flew into a tearing rage and was forced to tell him a few home truths about his gender.

Maybe a softer approach might work. If she asked him nicely, perhaps explained how very important it was that she park exactly where he was now situated. Surely no red-blooded man would refuse such a very reasonable request.

She gave her watch a lightning glance. In exactly ten minutes, she would be officially late. She gritted her teeth, and plunged in. "Sir ... I've got a really important meeting that I've just gotta be at...." Her lips parted to reveal beautiful white teeth, and a soft pink tongue. "I've been driving around for fifteen minutes, searching for somewhere to park. I know this is a lot to ask, but ... I really need this spot ... it's very important...." She let her words taper off with just the right hint of helplessness.

The face looking up at her was completely unresponsive. For a minute, Summer wondered if he had even heard her. His eyes flickered over her person with what she was certain was extreme distaste. Then, in a voice as deep and as cold as gravel, he said: "Step back, please."

For a second, she could only gape at him. "Wha ...?"

"Please step away from the door. I'd like to get out."

Summer's tight control slipped a fraction.

"Did you hear what I said?" she bellowed at him through the crack. The black eyes looking up at her were utterly calm, and completely devoid of any trace of concern.

"I would think," he said, once she was through hollering, "that if your meeting was as important as you say it is, you would have had the sense to get here in good time."

And, with that, he neatly closed the window and returned to his papers.

Summer stood where she was for a moment more, then she spun on her heel and walked quickly back to her little convertible. She could feel the blood singing wildly in her ears. What a rude, condescending, utterly insufferable oaf. Well, two could play at that game. She threw her car into gear and roared forward, pulling to a screeching halt directly behind the battered blue thing. She cut the engine, collected the black leather portfolio lying beside her on the passenger seat, and stepped from the car, slamming the door behind her with excessive force.

The man was now standing at the driver's door of the blue monstrosity, and for the first time, she appeared to have his full attention. Summer tilted her head up, flung her scarf across her right shoulder, and walked past him in a cloud of expensive perfume. As she passed, she was certain that the corners of his lips curled upward into a whisper of a smile.

In a few minutes, she was in her office in the Design International suite. She rang her secretary's extension, and hit the speakerphone button.

"Am I late?" she asked.

The crisp, efficient voice of Jessica Andrews came back. "No. There's been a delay. They haven't started yet. It'll probably be another half hour or so. I'll let you know when they're ready."

Summer looked at her watch again. Thank God. The swine downstairs hadn't really ruined a thing. There was still time to freshen up a bit too. She pressed the button on her phone again. "Jess, could you bring in the mail?"

Summer was in the little efficiency powder room attached to the office when the outer door opened. For a moment, she listened to the soft thud of sensible shoes. A fond smile flickered across her face. Jessica Andrews was a marvel. They had worked together for the last several years, and never once, even under the most trying conditions, had she ever lost her aplomb. She was never late to work, had never missed a day, and was always in the best of humor.

Summer smoothed a dab of powder onto a shiny spot on her nose and gave her reflection a considering glance. When the contract negotiations with Aztec were concluded, she would make a point of recommending her secretary for a raise. It was only right. She had helped so very much with the project.

"Anything really important Jess?" she asked as the footsteps retreated.

"No. There're a few design magazines ... some invoices. But nothing earth-shattering."

"Uhmm ... good," Summer said, and went back to her busy activities.

In five minutes, she had repaired the damage the wind had done to her sleek shag of black hair. Her makeup had been freshened, and a new coat of mascara added to the thick fringe of black lashes surrounding her fawn-colored eyes. Every immaculate inch of her looked the part of the beautiful sophisticate.

She gave her shiny burgundy nails a final critical look before returning to her desk. A neatly stacked pile of mail awaited her there. Before starting in on it, she made a short note in her daily planner. A visit to the manicurist was in order, and possibly a relaxing hour spent at the masseuse. Saturday would be ideal for both.

Summer found herself humming softly as she waded through the short stack of envelopes. For the first time in weeks, she could actually see the light at the end of the tunnel. The bidding war which had ensued over the Aztec contract had required all of her creative skills and business savvy. Several dozen design firms had made bids and counterbids. Each one promising to create the most comfortable and efficient work environment for Aztec's fifty-odd offices. She had decided to take the most senior corporate manager at Aztec to dinner. She had wined and dined him on huge slabs of steak, pink lobster tails, honey-glazed potatoes, and ample quantities of robust cognac. During the course of the evening, while expertly fending off various sexual advances, she had managed to astutely determine the kind of office environment that Aztec required.

The following day, she shut herself away for eight hours, and step by very painstaking step, designed a scaled down, completely color-coordinated model of a typical office suite. By the next day, the model, along with a very attractive bid proposal, was sitting on the desk of the chief executive officer of Aztec. The call had come in almost immediately. They were interested, but not convinced. Another design firm had sent in a very enticing CD-ROM catalog with state-of-the-art point-and-click capabilities. And they were just as competitive cost-wise. So, a final decision between the two companies would be made, based on an oral presentation.

Summer had listened to all this, then together with her team of designers, set to work on the oral. They had worked twelve-hour days, and many weekends. She scoured the hardware stores and specialty shops, taking copious notes on shades of paint, fabric, venetian blinds, office furniture, and plants, carefully cataloging and pricing each item.

There were many nights when she had returned to her condo and just fallen into bed, too exhausted to eat. On these days, she had come to fully appreciate the wonderfully considerate man she was engaged to marry. Kevin supported her efforts fully, and would often call her during the long workday, just to give her a pep talk or a gentle mental nudge when her spirits were beginning to flag under the tremendous pressure. It wasn't unusual to walk into her office in the mornings to find a bouquet of mixed roses sitting on the polished lacquer surface of her desk, with a large I Love You balloon attached.

Kevin understood her. And she respected him. There would never be any grand passion between them. At least, not from her end of things. Romantic love was a silly creation dreamed up by Hollywood gurus. It had no place in her life or in her plans for the future. All that talk about hearing music and feeling chills racing up and down the spine actually made her angry. She had never heard even the faintest chime or experienced one solitary shiver when Kevin touched her. Their lips fit well enough together, and their bodies were of a similar type. They enjoyed opera on lazy Sunday mornings, fresh Italian pasta with thick tomato sauce on Friday nights, and the occasional smothered steak with generous helpings of macaroni and cheese and corn bread on special occasions. They both wanted the same things: a condo in the city; a house at the beach, maybe in Laguna Niguel; and eventually, when Kevin made partner, two children; a rabbit; and a cocker spaniel. Their lives were well on course, and there was absolutely no reason for juvenile suggestions about "true love" and "soul mates," to muck everything up.

The well-modulated ring of the phone interrupted Summer's train of thought. She had been right in the middle of opening the final piece of mail, when she had drifted off. She looked at the flashing red light, then lifted the telephone receiver. "Are they ready?"

Jessica Andrews' cheerful voice came back: "Yes. Everything's set. Mr. Cameron would like to see you first though. He wants you to meet the designers from our competitor before going in."

Summer suppressed a sigh. "Thanks. I'll be right there."

This was the part of the job she hated. It was such a very competitive, cutthroat industry. There were always lots of smiles and handshakes all around, but none of them were ever genuine. Her job could be made decidedly easier if her boss did not force her to resort to tactics bordering on industrial espionage. The only reason he wanted her to meet the designers before the presentation was so that she might pick their brains, maybe whittle out a trade secret or two. He knew very well that because of her face, her success rate with male executives was always high. It often took little more than a direct glance from her soft golden eyes, or a gentle touch on the arm from well manicured fingers, and a flash of good white teeth, to encourage a confidence. The general power she had over men was something that not even she fully understood. But she acknowledged it, and had come to rely on it during tricky business negotiations. And, now more than ever, she would need to bring all of her considerable skill to bear, if they were to bring home the ten-million-dollar Aztec account. Everything had to be just so. Including the way she looked.

With that in mind, she made a quick stop in the attached powder room. Her hair was immaculate, but she still gave it a final brush, and a quick blast of hair spray. The smallest hint of gloss was added to her lips, then expertly blotted away with a square of tissue. Her favorite fragrance was squirted into the air so that just a hint of it remained with her. Then, she hiked up her skirt and carefully perused the golden-brown length of each leg. Once she was satisfied there were no runs, she returned to her desk to gather her things.

Minutes later, she was nodding a polite good morning to her boss' executive secretary.

"Is everyone in the conference room?"

Francine Turner smiled at her. "They're all present and accounted for. There's coffee and Danish, too, if you'd like to have a bite to eat before the presentation begins."

Summer wrinkled her elegant nose. "Nothing for me, thanks. My stomach is doing back flips right now."

Francine laughed. Of all the designers on their current roster, Summer Stevens was her favorite. Even though she was a trifle ritzy, and probably used a bit too much makeup, she was a pleasant, well-mannered young woman, who was by all accounts extremely talented. She was too thin by half though, and maybe a little too aware of her looks.

The secretary picked up the phone. "I'll let them know you're here."

Summer thanked her with a smile, and perched daintily on the corner of a burnished leather chair. On most mornings, she could have walked right into Mr. Cameron's office. But today, all the necessary office protocol would be strictly observed.

Francine Turner replaced the receiver in its cradle. Her softly wrinkled face creased into lines of encouragement. "You can go on in now."

Summer stood, took a deep breath and said, "This is it. Wish me luck."

Francine gave her hand a little pat. "There's no such thing as luck dear. You've done all the work. Just trust yourself and trust God."

Summer nodded. Francine was right. All the work had been done. Every angle had been thoroughly explored. Design International, with her at the project's helm, was the best company for the job. There wasn't any doubt in her mind now that they would get the contract.

She knocked on the polished-oak door, and entered when her boss' booming voice bade her: "Come in."

She scanned the huge office. The senior Aztec manager whom she had so thoroughly charmed during dinner was not there. A thoughtful frown puckered her brow for a moment. It was still a mystery which of the senior executives would make the final decision. She had tried in vain to find out, but that information had been closely guarded.

She clipped smartly across the room. It did not bother her a bit that she was the only woman present. Quite a few years spent in the corporate environment had shown her how to use this to her advantage. She gave the entire gathering a beautiful smile. Mr. Cameron was standing behind the elaborately curved wet bar, dropping thick chunks of ice into four neatly arranged glasses. He waved her toward a stool. "This is our resident genius, gentlemen. Summer Stevens."

The two men at the bar greeted her warmly. She recognized one of them. He was known as simply Adrian. He was small and frail, and gave the appearance of being in a state of perpetual nervousness. His designs were well-known in Los Angeles. And the rumor mill had it that he had been commissioned to redecorate several of the private rooms at the White House.

The other man, Summer did not know. He was about the same height as she, and looked more like a football player than an interior designer. His eyes were hard and calculating, and when he extended his hand to engulf hers, and said in smooth dulcet tones, "Brian Massey," she knew that he would be no pushover for her.

She selected one of the glasses of club soda, seated herself between the two men and commenced chatting about nothing of particular consequence. Cameron retired to his desk, and out of the corner of her eye, she watched him aimlessly shuffle papers. She knew that he was listening very carefully to every word that was being said. She very dutifully prodded the conversation into more interesting waters, making sure that she divided her attention equally between the two men. With deliberate intent, she occasionally crossed and recrossed her long, shapely legs, all the while taking mental note of the many times the eyes of the taller designer lingered on the soft curve of her calf. A little smile flickered around the corners of her lips. It was always the same with men. They were so very typical. With a little skillful prodding, she would undoubtedly be able to get Brian Massey to talk shop. For now though, she would content herself with idle chitchat.