So he was building himself a little kingdom here in this small town and the only thing keeping it from being absolutely perfect was Bella Cruz.
“The evil landlord stops by to gloat,” a low, female voice said from somewhere nearby.
He turned around and spotted his nemesis, crouched behind the counter, rearranging a display of sunglasses, flip-flops and tote bags. Her dark brown eyes were fixed on him with the steely look of a woman about to spray a roach with Raid.
“You’re not armed, are you?” he asked, walking toward her slowly. “Because you look as if you’d like to put me out of my misery.”
“Out of my misery is more like it,” she answered wryly. Then she stood up and Jesse took in her latest outfit.
Bella stood about five foot eight, which was good, because he liked his women tall enough that he didn’t get a crick in his neck when he kissed them. Not that he was thinking about kissing Bella. It was just an observation.
She had wavy black hair that fell to the middle of her back, huge chocolate eyes and a lusciously full mouth he had yet to see curved into a smile. Pretty, he thought. Except for the clothes.
Every time he saw her she looked as if she were about to pose for the cover of Amish Monthly: loosefitting cotton tops and full, floor-length skirts. Probably just as well, he told himself. He liked his women curvy and by the look of her, she had all the curves of a box. Seemed strange to him, though, that a woman who made her living designing and selling women’s swimwear looked as if she’d never worn one of her own garments.
“What do you want, Mr. King?”
He grinned deliberately. He knew the power of that smile. Enough women over the years had told him just what his dimples did to their knees. Bella’s knees appeared to be rock solid. Oh, well. He wasn’t interested in seducing her anyway. Or so he kept reminding himself.
“I wanted to tell you that we’re going to start rehabbing this building next month.”
“Rehabbing,” she repeated and screwed up her face as if even the word itself were distasteful. “You mean knocking down the walls? Tearing up the hardwood floor? Getting rid of the leaded windows? That kind of rehabbing?”
He shook his head. “What is it exactly, that you have against well-insulated buildings and sound roofs?”
She crossed her arms under her breasts and Jesse was distracted for a moment. Apparently, she did have at least one good set of curves.
“My roof doesn’t leak,” she told him. “Robert Towner was an excellent landlord.”
“Yes, so I’ve heard,” he said with a sigh. “Repeatedly.”
“You could take lessons from him.”
“He didn’t even bother to repaint the outside of your shop,” Jesse pointed out.
“Why would he do that?” she demanded. “I painted it myself three years ago.”
His mind boggled. “You actually chose to paint your business purple? On purpose?”
“It’s lavender.”
“Purple.”
She inhaled sharply and gave him another glare that should have set his hair on fire. But Jesse was made of sterner stuff. He was a King. And Kings didn’t cave for anybody.
“You won’t be happy until every building on Main Street is beige with rust-colored trim, will you?” Shaking her head, she gave him a pitying look now, but it was wasted on Jesse. Kings didn’t need anyone’s pity. “We’re all going to be Stepfords. Will we all march in lockstep, do you think? Dress alike?”
“Please God, no,” he said, with a glance at her ensemble.
She colored briefly. “My point is, there’s no individuality here anymore. Morgan Beach used to have personality.”
“And wood rot.”
“It was eclectic.”
“Shabby.”
“You’re nothing but a corporate robot,” she accused.
Jesse was stunned that anyone would describe him that way. He’d never set out to be a corporate anything. Hell, he’d gone out of his way to avoid the trap that all Kings eventually landed in. The business world. In fact, the King name had been a pain in his ass for most of his life.
His father, brothers, cousins—all Kings everywhere—seemed to be locked into offices. Didn’t matter to Jesse if those offices were luxurious penthouse suites. He’d never wanted anything to do with that world.
He’d watched his three older brothers slide into the family business concerns as if they’d been molded for the task. Even Justice, on his ranch, was a businessman first and foremost. But Jesse had broken away. Become a professional surfer and damn if he hadn’t loved the life. While his brothers and cousins were wearing suits and running meetings, he was traveling the world, looking for the perfect ride. He did things his way. Lived his life the way he wanted to. He didn’t answer to anyone.
Until his favorite surfboard maker went out of business a few years ago. Jesse had bought up the company because he wanted access to the boards he favored. He’d done the same thing when he’d found the perfect wet suit. And the ideal swim trunks. Pretty soon, he’d actually done what he’d always insisted he wouldn’t. Become a businessman. Not just a drone, either—the head of King Beach, a giant, diversified company that centered around life on the beach. Ironic that the thing he loved had eventually turned him into what he’d never wanted to be.
“Look,” he said quietly, shaking away thoughts that were too troubling to focus on. “We don’t have to be enemies.”
“Oh, yes, we do.”
Damn, she was stubborn. For ten years, he’d been at the top of his sport. He’d won hundreds of competitions, been featured in magazine ads, partied with the most glamorous celebrities and last year had even been named California’s Sexiest Bachelor. He had money, charm and all the women he could possibly want. So why was he torturing himself by standing here listening to Bella Cruz harp at him?
Because she intrigued him. Whether it was her obvious enmity for him, or her sheer hardheadedness, he wasn’t sure. But there was something about Bella that got to him. Felt somehow…familiar.
Jesse pulled in a deep breath, leaned both hands on the counter and looked at her. “It’s just some walls and windows, Ms. Cruz—or can I call you Bella?”
“No, you cannot, and it’s not just walls and windows.” She held out her arms as if physically trying to hug the ratty old building. “This place has a history. The whole town did. Until you showed up, that is.”
She gave him a look that was heat and ice both at the same time. Impressive. She was practically vibrating with banked rage. He’d always found a way around a woman’s temper. Until now.
For months, he’d been trying to worm his way into her good graces. It would have made life easier if she’d agreed to an easy working relationship. She had friends in Morgan Beach. She was successful—in her own, cottage-industry kind of way. And dammit, women liked Jesse King.
“The town’s history is still here,” Jesse told her, “along with buildings that won’t collapse at the first sign of a stiff breeze.”
“Yeah,” she muttered, “you’re a real humanitarian.”
He laughed. “I’m just trying to run a business,” he said and nearly winced at the words. When had he become his brothers? His father?
“No, you’re trying to run my business.”
“Trust me when I say I have zero interest in your company.” Jesse glanced behind her to where one of her custom-designed swimsuits was tacked to the wall.