“Since none of us are sleeping together—yet—let’s have a drink and talk about sex.”
Poe cast a wicked look around the table. Sydney could feel the sexual tension hum amongst the group, but particularly between herself and Ray. And so she wasn’t surprised when Poe grinned and said, “Truth or Dare.”
Sydney leveled her gaze at Ray. “I’m game.” From what she could see smoldering in Ray’s eyes as they met hers, he understood her double meaning and was game, as well. For more than Truth or Dare.
Lauren downed a shot of whiskey. “Fine. I’m in, too.”
“All right,” Doug said, clapping his hands together. He high-fived Jess and Anton while Kinsey toasted the other women.
“Then sex it is.” Poe paused for effect. “Sydney. Truth or Dare? I’m curious to know if you orgasmed the first time you had sex.”
Heat began to spread down Sydney’s body at the memory of that long, hot night with Ray so many years ago. This was exactly what she needed to work out of her system—the unbelievable sex they’d had. The kind of sex she was sure they’d have again before they left this island….
Dear Reader,
Writing romance is a dream come true, a fantasy, if you will. Imagine living vicariously through fictional characters—dream jobs…dream vacations…dream lovers. It’s all there.
My gIRL-gEAR series for Harlequin Blaze has also been a dream to write. I have lived with these characters for months, their likenesses hanging on a bulletin board in my bedroom office. They have inhabited every aspect of my life, including a year’s worth of lunch hours. It’s going to be hard to say goodbye. The pictures will be coming down, much to my husband’s relief…but only until the next story’s characters go up to replace them. (Sorry, sweetie!)
And drop me a line at [email protected] if the girls of gIRL-gEAR have made their way into your heart—the way best friends should do!
Best,
Alison Kent
P.S. Please stop by www.girl-gear.com and visit. Yes, it really does exist!
Bound to Happen
Alison Kent
(Alphabetically—because it’s only fair!)
To Vicia Collins, Jennifer Harbour, Annette John, Carolyn Taflinger. Thanks to your friendship, I’ve survived the last 13 years…. But PLEASE don’t make me stay for 13 more! There are so many things I could say, but I’ll only say one. “I like your hair!”
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Prologue
The gIRLS behind gIRL-gEAR
by Samantha Venus for Urban Attitude Magazine
Here we are once again, dear reader, checking in on our gIRLS. (Excuse me, our women.) It seems your intrepid reporter is inches away from the bottom of what is going on with Lauren Hollister and that sexy Anton Neville. Could it be we are about to learn that love at first sight is a tad overrated?
And speaking of firsts, my sources tell me that gIRL-gEAR’s CEO, Sydney Ford, has spent her summer vacation with the object of her very first schoolgirl crush. (Who’s walking whose plank, anyway?) And isn’t that a romantic blast from the past!
Yes, friends, it would have been just that, had their vacation cruise not turned into a vacation disaster. (Though we here at Urban Attitude do not gET how anyone can call a week on a tropical island with a veritable menu of beefcake disastrous.) Oh, did we neglect to mention they sailed away on the Indiscreet?
Inside this issue you will find the complete scoopage on both Ms. Ford’s and Ms. Hollister’s tropical trysts and treats, as well as tips for the ultimate in nude sunbathing! See an exclusive excerpt available online at www.girlgear.com.
1
IN A PERFECT WORLD, thought Sydney Ford, she would plan the most magnificent summer vacation.
She would make her own travel arrangements. She loved the idea of seeing the country by train. She would book her own accommodations. She liked to be pampered, unapologetically so. She would choose her own traveling companion. She longed to share a relaxing week with one of her very best friends.
But the world was not perfect.
Her summer vacation was turning out to be less than magnificent. And she had no one to blame but herself.
Months ago, for some remarkably harebrained reason, she’d had the bright idea to offer a sailing trip on her father’s soon-to-be-sold yacht to the winner of the experimental scavenger hunt organized by gIRL-gEAR.com’s editor, Macy Webb. Knowing the Web site’s gIRL gAMES column would benefit from Macy’s test group’s enthusiasm, Sydney, as gIRL-gEAR CEO, had felt the high-stakes offer made for a savvy business proposition.
One of their mutual friends, Ray Coffey, had won.
And now here Sydney stood, stranded on a Caribbean island, well aware that complaining only served to give her situation a “poor little rich girl” sting.
What work-weary single career woman wouldn’t want to be stranded on a Caribbean island? A private island at that. With a tropical beachfront villa outfitted to sleep ten, a live-in staff and four servings of beefcake among her fellow castaways.
Me, me, me, Sydney wanted to shout. But she sighed, instead, and boosted a hip onto the foot-wide wooden railing of the villa’s first-floor wraparound veranda. A soft evening breeze sifted through her hair and she tucked loose strands behind her ear, inhaling the clean salty essence of the sea.
The sunset was spectacular. She’d never seen a sunset here that wasn’t. Tonight, wispy clouds floated on a palette of soft pastels, though Sydney knew well the intense beauty of sunsets born in fire. The beach was equally amazing—the sand eggshell white, the water the tropical green-tinged blue never found along the Texas Gulf coast.
But even better than the view of the sky and the surf was the view of the three men standing at the shoreline, ankle-deep in the water and staring out to sea. Actually, Sydney mused, they were more than likely staring at the catamaran sailing by several miles off the coast. But she was in a contemplative mood and, therefore, allowed to project.
Each man was similarly dressed. Doug Storey wore navy board shorts with a white-and-gray hibiscus print. Anton Neville’s trunks were of the same cut, but colored in turquoise and hot-island red. Both Doug and Anton were tall with lanky swimmers’ physiques. Anton’s blond hair was a riot of curls. Doug’s, a shade darker, was longer, looser, inviting the touch of a woman’s hands. But it was the last man, the third man, who commanded Sydney’s attention.
Ray Coffey was a big man and beautifully built. The trunks he wore hit him at the knee and were a bright beach yellow with a black piping trim. The vivid color was the perfect contrast