In fact, that was her order. Addison yelled at me for working too much.

In the two years I’d worked as a real estate broker at Van Cleef agency, never once had I requested so much as a single vacation day.

It took forever to get here, and not just because of the Jitney’s snail pace or the myriad of stops we made during the one-hundred-twenty mile trek. The driver was an older man, retirement age, and when I saw him lugging fifty-some suitcases out from the bus’ storage compartment, I couldn’t let him do it alone. I stayed, handing out luggage and walking a group of little old ladies to the nearest taxi station.

Finally, I’m here.

But clearly I’m not alone.

“Hello?” I call out again. “Who’s in here?”

Puffs of white smoke billow past the window outside, and the smoldering scent of a fired up grill wafts in front of me. I drop my bags by the butcher-block kitchen island and head for the sliders that lead to a wraparound deck.

A shirtless man in navy and white striped board shorts shimmies in front of the grill. The white cords of his ear buds dangle down his shoulders.

His tanned back glistens and his muscles flex beneath taught skin. The round curve of his tight ass keeps his low-hanging shorts in tact and his head bobs to the music faintly uhn-tissing from his ears. He doesn’t hear me.

Damn it!

I’d recognize that thick, russet head of hair, that narrow, chiseled waist and those perfectly balled calves anywhere.

I’m just not sure what he’s doing here…

At our boss’ Hamptons home…

During the long weekend she designated especially for me…

I reach for one of the white cords and yank it from his ear with one fluid pull. A man I haven’t seen nor spoken to in two full years whips around and lifts his Ray-Bans. The corners of his smug mouth fall. He meets my disdainful glare with one of his own the second my face registers in that big, arrogant brain of his.

“Xavier.” I fold my arms across my chest.

“Magnolia.” His fist clenches around a pair of metal tongs.

“What are you doing here? Addison reserved this weekend for me.”

His jaw sets. “Evidently Addison didn’t speak to Wilder first.”

You’d think a husband and wife would talk to one another, but apparently the Van Cleefs have bigger things to worry about besides which employees and friends of theirs they loaned their vacation home to the second weekend in July.

“I’m calling Addison,” I say, whipping out my phone.

Xavier smirks, running a hand through his thick hair before folding his arms. He widens his stance like I’m two seconds from providing his personal entertainment.

 “Fine.”

“What?” I ask.

“You’re going to bother your boss in the middle of her St. Thomas vacation with her family because you don’t want to share her five-thousand-square-foot, six bed, seven bath beach house with one of your colleagues.”

He sounds like such a Realtor.

“I don’t consider you a colleague.” I drop my phone. He has a point. Bothering Addison on vacation after she so generously offered her house to me would be rude, and sacrificing tact all to prove a point isn’t my style.

“That’s right. I forgot. We’re rivals.”

His head shakes as he turns to flip the generous portions of fish grilling in a basket over mild flames. His biceps tense and relax in response. Judging by the deep tan coating his smooth skin, I’m willing to wager he’s been here most of the week.

Once upon a time we were partners. A dangerous duo. Unstoppable. Young and driven with just the right amount of naivety to believe we could take over the world.

And then a drunken night at a broker’s conference in Tallahassee changed everything. But it wasn’t time spent between the sheets that did us in: it was what transpired the morning after.

“You make it sound dramatic.” I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

“Adversaries. Competitors,” he says, back to me. “That better for you?”

Every real estate broker in the greater Manhattan area is my competitor. My rivalry with Xavier Fox just happens to run deeper.

It’s a bitter kind of rivalry; defined by disappointment, false hopes, and fallacies.

Xavier plates his fish, clicks off the grill, and closes the lid, all while humming a carefree little tune from his perfectly full lips. It’s not like him to be so blithe, and I swear he’s doing it to taunt me.

“If you don’t mind.” He says after turning around. His hands are full with tongs and his plate, and he nods toward the door.

I grip the handle of the slider and yank it open for His Royal Highness. He brushes past my shoulder in a cloud of sea spray and coconut sunblock and freshly caught seafood.

He smells like vacation.

My vacation.

The one I fantasized about the entire three-hour ride here. The one I meticulously packed for all of last night. The first one I’ve had in over two years.

A long weekend of eating good food, shopping for quirky antiques, and touring weather-beaten, shingled windmills and lighthouses between working on my tan was all I wanted.

Not sharing a gorgeous beach house with Xavier Fox, arrogant asshole extraordinaire.

I stay planted on the weathered wood deck, breathing in the smog-free air that mixes with remnants of grill smoke. My stomach growls, audible only to me thanks to the nearby crashing waves.

“How long are you staying?” I step inside.

He’s already seated at the reclaimed oak dining table, chewing a tender piece of grilled whitefish.

He swallows. “Until Monday.”

Me too.

My shoulders slump. This isn’t vacation. I didn’t rearrange my appointment and obligations and solicit Skylar to cover my showings just to spend a weekend buried in uncomfortable tension next to the one man who makes my blood boil and my core heat at the same time.

I slink past him, hoisting my bag up and over my shoulder.

“Where are you going?” He rests his fork.

“To find a ride back to the city.”

Easier said than done. I don’t know where the Jitney is or if it’s already left Montauk, but I’ll figure it out.

“You just got here.” He shakes his head. “You hate me that much, do you?”

“I don’t hate anyone, Xavier. Don’t flatter yourself.” I’ve learned to forgive him over the years, but I’ve never forgotten. “I’ve better things to do with my time than sit around hating you.”

Yeah, like knocking you out of the top 1% of listing agents in the city.

He stole that title from me along with ten of my highest profile clients over the past couple years.

“Stay here.” He leans back in his chair, dabbing his full lips with a cloth napkin. A hint of a five o’clock shadow shades his hollowed cheekbones. “This house is big enough for the two of us. You stay out of my way. I’ll stay out of yours.”

This house is not big enough for the both of us. The entire borough of Manhattan isn’t big enough for the both of us.

Publishing November 9, 2015 in the POSSESS Alpha Romance Anthology!

ARROGANT BASTARD

DESCRIPTION

The last time my father beat me to a bloody pulp was the night he walked in on me banging his woman in his bed.

To be fair, she seduced me. And to be honest, I liked it. But to CPS, I was a victim.

They shipped me to Utah where my estranged mother lived with her husband and two sister-wives. And that’s when I met her. My innocent, wholesome, perfect step-sister. Well, one of many. But Waverly stood out because just like me, we’d been fighting a losing battle our entire lives.

Falling for her was a mistake, but shit, it’s not like I ever made good decisions.

Fuck being “family.” I must have Waverly Miller, and I won’t stop until she’s mine.