leaving you wiped out and breathless in the best way possible. The only problem was that surfing was a solitary sport, and she didn’t want her orgasms to follow suit.
Let me lose control like I’ve never lost control before.
She thought about her prince charming, her hero, her everything rolled into one man, and then thought about how, even though she could more than handle herself, she’d like to be handled by him.
Just take me, dammit.
Yep, fantasy was much better than reality.
“YOU NEED A DATE FOR YOUR sister’s wedding, Carolyn, and so does Evan. I don’t understand the problem.”
No, of course her mother wouldn’t. Carly bit her tongue. For the millionth time that day, she wished she was still getting her stress-relief from a ride on a wave. Catching a sick double-overhead, especially, and riding through to the crest would’ve been the perfect remedy for this situation. But she knew she’d been lucky to have avoided her sister’s wedding hoopla for this long. The day was imminent now, and it was only a matter of time before her command performance as Carolyn Winters, society maven-to-be.
As if the lime-green bridesmaid’s dress wasn’t humiliation enough. And she couldn’t bear to think about the ridiculous hairstyle she’d have to endure on Nicole’s behalf. She’d heard rumors about mini-tiaras, and she hadn’t had the heart to investigate it any further.
“Evan’s not my type,” Carly said.
“But he likes you,” her father pointed out.
For your money, she thought. For me, all by my lonesome, not so much.
“He’s not going to be my date for Nicole’s wedding.” It came out louder than intended. Across the table, her father winced and her mother shook her head with impatience, and Carly was glad they’d chosen to eat in at her house, rather than make a public spectacle of themselves.
She’d fallen in love with the old place the second she’d laid eyes on it, despite the real estate agent’s pleas to forget about it and find something newer. Hurricane-proof was the exact term she’d used. But the small Mediterranean had a charm, a grace one didn’t find easily in a house for sale in this part of Florida anymore. The area was rife with McMansions and ranch houses. It had become her safe haven, close enough to the ocean for her to know it was there, but not too close to cause her concern. Until today’s fiasco.
“Will you please talk to her?” her mother said to her father while waving a perfectly French-manicured hand in the air.
Everything about her mother was perfect. Shelia Winters was still beautiful, still resembled that young woman who’d won the Miss Florida pageant when she was eighteen and caught the eye of the very wealthy Carl Winters III. Today, her mother’s light blue linen suit set off her blue eyes. Her skin seemed untouched by the sun. How someone lived in Florida and managed not to get a tan had always been a mystery to Carly, who only had to think about sun before her skin turned golden brown.
Her mother was already investigating dermabrasion and face lifts for her daughter.
“I’m still in the room,” Carly reminded them, dishing herself another helping of the complicated Shrimp Risotto she’d ordered from the gourmet restaurant in town. Cooking had never been her forte, and she’d lived in and out of hotel rooms and rental houses so often that she’d never had the time nor the inclination to learn to cook.
“Honestly, she’s impossible.” Her mother ran a hand over her own blond hair pulled back in a chic twist.
Carly ran a hand through her mess of blond locks that tumbled loosely around her shoulders. As far from a beauty queen as you could get. Thank goodness her sister had taken on that role willingly, or Carly’s teen years would’ve truly been a nightmare.
“I don’t understand the problem, Carolyn,” her father said. He was a good match for her mother, still handsome with streaks of silver feathering his dark hair. “You two always enjoyed being together.”
“When we were twelve. And it was more of a forced being together, since we were the only two kids of the same age on the yacht,” she pointed out.
“We’ve always talked about the two of you becoming a couple, honey,” her mother tried again in her best I’m-trying-to-be-patient-with-you voice. “It seems so right. You’re single, he’s single…”
Carly sighed, fighting the urge to lie on the floor in the middle of her kitchen and throw a good, old-fashioned temper tantrum. She was a mature, independent and successful woman who happened to be single, but she felt anything but mature right now. Her parents’ nagging about dating always seemed to bring out the worst in her, and she’d promised herself their comments wouldn’t get to her tonight.
A pairing between Carly and Evan Tremont III was always the family joke, since their parents were best friends. She’d run into Evan maybe three times over the past five years, and none of those events had been memorable. Obviously, both families thought that attending a wedding together might spark some ideas. Evan had no problem with this theory, and no backbone, either, since he’d sent her an e-mail offering to be her date. He’d apologized for being out of the country and unable to ask her in person, but knew they’d have a nice time.
A nice time. Not a great time, an awesome time, a killer-wicked time, not even a good time, but a nice time.
Ultra-formal, ultra-stuffy and ultra-boring. Carly could not live her life like that at all. Evan needed a healthy dose of Candy Valentine and then some.
Evan would’ve been perfect for Nicole, but her sister always managed to find her own suitably wealthy men their parents approved of. The man she was set to marry in two weeks’ time was no exception.
“We’re only trying to help, honey. It’s been a long time since we’ve heard about you dating anyone,” her mother spoke up.
“I go on dates,” Carly insisted. “I didn’t realize I had to file a report every time I went out with someone.”
She’d had exactly two dates since she’d been back. One was a double date with Samantha and Joe and one of Joe’s friends, an experience she’d never repeat. The other was a blind date, the son of someone she knew from the magazine. A total and complete disaster. She’d find her own dates from now on.
“We think you need to start doing something serious with your life, some settling down,” her mother continued.
“I was doing something serious. I had a career, remember?”
Her mother rolled her eyes as though she’d sooner forget and her father patted her hand. “Yes, sweetie, but it was time for you to give that up. There’s important charity work for you to do in the family’s name. People are counting on you.”
Inwardly she cringed at the thought of her entire career being so easily dismissed even though she should be used to it by now. Besides, in surfing, you were only as good as your last ride.
“And I spoke to a plastic surgeon. He said he could remove that with no problem.” Her mother pointed to the small tattoo of a shark Carly had on her right ankle as though it were a disease spreading over her daughter’s body. “I’m sure he could do something about those, too.” This time, her mother pointed to the constant reminders of the accident on
