A hunch kept nagging at him. Mason’s theory that this was all tied to Natasha Kendrick, his ex-girlfriend, was beginning to make more and more sense. It was just too convenient that she happened to be the CEO of Sunset Enterprises, and Sunny Horizons Travel was a direct subsidiary of Sunset. Were Lucy and her coworkers acting as Natasha’s pawns? Were they getting paid to help ruin Mason’s business?
Even that theory didn’t explain all the instances of sabotage, though. There was still a big hole in the investigation.
He glared at the computer screen, willing it to produce some answers, willing himself not to think about one particularly cute suspect.
LUCY PREFERRED to sleep in flannel pajamas. In fact, she had a nice pair of gray plaid ones at home in her top dresser drawer. But last night she’d been forced to sleep in nothing but her cotton panties, because Claire had neglected to pack any sleepwear. Sure, there was that black lacy thing that looked more like a Victorian torture device than a woman’s garment, but Lucy was quite sure it had not been designed to be slept in. And besides, she’d been a little too tipsy to work all the snaps and straps on the thing.
Apparently her friend didn’t include pajamas on her list of life’s little necessities.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, Claire had filled the suitcase with items Lucy blushed just thinking about—thong underwear, lacy push-up bras, slinky dresses that left nothing to the imagination and, worst of all, a colossal box of condoms. It was just like that evil woman to embarrass Lucy with her warped sense of humor—and it did take a sense of humor to even suggest that Lucinda Jane Connors would ever need a hundred-pack of condoms for a one-week trip.
Lucy smiled at her friend’s packing job in spite of herself. That was what she loved about Claire; they were such opposites. Although Claire was often infuriating, Lucy admired her and wished more than a little bit that she could be so outrageous.
This week was her chance. Her chance to find out what it would be like to ignore her every boring instinct—even do the opposite of what the nagging voice in her head automatically told her to do.
Now she had to force herself not to succumb to the urge to cover herself with the nearest napkin as she sat at the poolside bar in nothing but a shameful little black string bikini and a tight, sheer, black cover-up that covered up nothing at all. This, she reminded herself, is what the new Lucy would choose to wear. But the old Lucy missed her navy-blue one-piece with its low-cut hips and high-cut neckline. It might not have drawn stares from the opposite sex, but at least she could rest assured it would keep all the important parts covered when she took a dive into the pool.
Except, she wouldn’t be diving into the pool with the highlights she’d just had put in her hair this morning at the Fantasy Salon, and not with the forty-dollar makeup job she’d had done to conceal the effects of her hangover. It was her birthday today, and she’d treated herself. Aside from the obvious benefits, Lucy hoped her outward transformation would help provide the impetus for a more significant inner transformation. One not influenced by the effects of too much champagne.
Besides, until this morning, she hadn’t had a clue about hair and makeup, but now she had a vague idea of what styles worked well with her face and what makeup colors went with her own natural coloring. Whether or not she’d be able to reproduce today’s results was another matter entirely.
Xavier, the stylist and makeup artist, had spent two hours turning her into, in his words, “The woman she was meant to be.” Lucy hadn’t recognized the woman staring back at her when she’d looked into the mirror to examine Xavier’s handiwork, but whomever it was had fabulous blond highlights and glossy pink lips that were a lot more voluptuous than Lucy’s could possibly be.
She couldn’t help wondering if Xavier’s skill was what had been eliciting the stares of more than a few men since she’d taken her seat at the bar. It was either that or Claire’s R-rated joke of a bikini.
She heard a commotion on the other side of the bar and looked over to see a gaggle of women surrounding one muscle-bound mountain of a man.
The bartender noticed her interest and leaned on the bar near her to comment, “That’s Buck Samson, you know.”
That was the man Claire had intended to have handcuffed to her bed? Long, chestnut hair, a calendar-model face, a deep suntan, obscene muscle development, skintight T-shirt and jeans, he looked as though he’d just jumped off the stage of a strip club. She much preferred Judd’s natural good looks, and if she’d found the real Buck in her bedroom, she might have actually passed out from the shock. And she definitely never would have agreed to come to the ranch.
The Buck Samson fan club—women of every size, shape and age—followed him to the pool and settled on chairs all around him. Lucy turned to stare, but found several men staring back at her instead of the spectacle created by Buck.
To avoid making contact with any of the resident lounge and pool lizards, she focused her eyes on her drink. But that left her to contemplate the way she’d embarrassed herself last night. She could only hope she wouldn’t run into Judd today, even though part of her was dying to see him again. She could remember every detail of the night before with painful clarity, and the memories became clearer as the morning went on.
For heaven’s sake, she’d kissed him! It was the most outrageous, uncharacteristic, stupid, irresponsible, utterly exciting thing she’d ever done. And now she had her whole birthday to spend regretting it. Well, maybe she didn’t totally regret it, but she mostly did. After all, he hadn’t exactly seen it coming, and while he’d behaved graciously under the circumstances, she could tell he’d been thrown off guard by the kiss.
But there had been sparks. It couldn’t have just been the champagne talking, because she had seen in his eyes that he’d felt it, too. And he’d responded, answering her kiss with a little tentative exploration of his own. She’d been surprised by that, and a little empowered by it.
Mostly, she’d been blown away by it. The kiss, that is. Girls like Lucy didn’t go around kissing guys like Judd, but she wanted to do it again. And again and again and again.
She’d emptied her virgin piña colada and was asking the bartender for another one when Judd appeared at her side, trapping her before she could escape.
“You slipped out early this morning. I’ve been looking for—” He stopped midsentence and gawked at her in a most disturbing manner.
Oh, no, her makeup was melting and turning her face into a bad Picasso. “What? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, it’s just that you’ve changed.”
She blushed under his scrutiny. “Oh, that. I found the salon brochure on my nightstand this morning and got an appointment.”
“I didn’t think you needed any beautifying.” He continued to stare, taking in her hair, her makeup, her too-skimpy swimsuit.
Lucy felt her cheeks redden even more from the compliment and the scrutiny. “You didn’t see the dark circles under my eyes this morning, or that lovely hangover glow I had.”
He grinned. “Well, you look great.”
She took a deep breath and turned to face him fully. “Judd, I need to apologize about last night. I never should have—”
“Don’t say another word. We’ll just pretend it never happened.”
It was the same thing he’d said last night at the door of her hotel room as she’d apologized to him over and over again. But last night she’d been giggling throughout her string of apologies, and this morning she was serious. So was he. As far as she could tell, the kiss really hadn’t bothered him.
Maybe that sort of thing happened to ranch employees all the time. The thought gave her a little queasy feeling, on top of the already queasy feeling she’d been dealing with all morning.
“Listen,