Tawny Weber – Navy Seal To The Rescue (страница 2)

But sheer stubbornness, a ton of charm and taking advantage of the varied connections she’d made over the years had finally done the trick.

That, and her family name.

Something she knew pissed her father off to no end.

Loving that small victory, Lila increased her pace to make her way around a pair of locals pedaling their bicycles, with baskets filled with produce.

Now she was in Costa Rica to add another feather to her cap. She didn’t figure it’d take an abundance of charm to convince Alberto Rodriguez, formerly of Miami, Florida, and currently the head chef of the aging Casa de Rico, that he’d like to travel the world as the personal chef to the Martins, a wealthy San Francisco banking family.

Mr. and Mrs. Martin—Joe and Mimi, respectively—had spent a week reveling in Rodriguez’s cuisine on their honeymoon. Food so delicious, they often claimed, that they could still taste it a decade later. Lila had followed up their praise with a little research, which assured her that Rodriguez had a great reputation as a chef who could handle upscale gourmet as well as fusion and regional cuisine. The man was wasted in a one-star restaurant that, from all accounts, was on the verge of bankruptcy. Since research turned up no reasons for him to want to stay, she figured he should be more than ready to make a move.

But just in case, Lila had the charm ready to pour on like syrup.

With that in mind, she pulled her cell phone from the front pocket of her capris and opened the web browser to the hotel’s website. She’d already committed the details to memory, but she was a believer in double-checking.

Before she could scroll through the page, the phone rang.

Corinne Douglass. Socialite, diva and the best friend Lila had ever met.

“How’d you know I was holding my phone?” Lila answered with a laugh instead of a greeting.

“You’re always holding your phone,” her sometimes assistant-slash-roommate answered. “Even if it’s not in your hand, you’re still holding it in some form or other.”

“You have a point. What’s up?”

“How’s Costa Rica?” Corinne asked instead of answering.

Lila frowned at the sidestep, but looked around anyway.

“Gorgeous. The air is just humid enough to be sultry. The sun shining hot enough to sink into the bones. The people are friendly, the locale colorful and, so far, the job is on track.”

“Have you met with the chef yet? Is he interested? Are you coming home soon?”

“Not yet, but I’m on my way to the restaurant now. I’m sure he’ll be interested, once he hears the deal. And why?” Suspicion laced the last question, but Lila figured it was well deserved. She might be a card-carrying optimist, but she’d never be mistaken for Pollyanna. “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing, really,” Corinne hedged. “Just wondering when you’ll be back.”

“This shouldn’t take more than two or three days,” Lila estimated. Which she’d told Corinne when the other woman had dropped her at San Francisco International Airport. “Once again, I have to ask, why?”

“Can’t a friend check on a friend?” Corinne dismissed her with a light laugh that Lila knew she used only when she was nervous.

“What’s wrong? Did you hear from your dad?” Not only did the two women have a taste for designer heels and sappy chick flicks in common, but they also had wealthy families led by overbearing fathers. The only difference was, Corinne wanted her father’s attention while Lila wished hers would forget she existed.

“His secretary,” Corinne confirmed. Arthur Douglass rarely deigned to dial a phone himself. “Some things came up. He’s delayed.”

“So no visit to San Francisco?” “Visit” being friend-code for the man taking an extra half hour to have drinks with his daughter at the airport while his private jet refueled.

“No. I offered to meet him in Milan instead, but he has a full schedule. And, well, you know.”

She did know. Her friend couldn’t afford the trip or to take time off work at the art gallery. Yet another thing she and Corinne had in common was limited funds. Where they diverged was how they dealt with it. Poor Corinne let it bother her, while Lila, well, she didn’t. Much.

“Don’t let it get you down,” she advised. “I’ll be home in a few days and we’ll go out, hit the clubs, drink like crazy and dance our worries away.”

“Guys?”

“Of course.” Lila smiled at the two striding past. Tall, sporting swim trunks and surfboards, they grinned back. “It’s always more fun to dance with guys who know the moves.”

“I wouldn’t know. None of the guys I’ve danced with had much in the way of moves.”

“That’s because you’re always holding out for guys who remind you of your father,” Lila said under her breath.

“Yeah, yeah, you always say that,” Corinne shot back. But her laugh faded fast enough to send Lila’s smile into her toes.

“What else happened?” she asked.

“Well...”

Lila’s stomach clenched when Corinne hesitated. Oh, she knew that hesitation.

“It must be the day for fathers. Did mine leave a message when he called?” she asked quietly. Knowing she was going to need a few moments to get herself together before meeting Rodriguez, Lila dropped onto a vivid pink bench in front of a surf club and waited.

“Three, actually,” Corinne said, her words tight with discomfort. “He’d like for you to return his call.”

“Like me to?”

“Well, more like he demanded that you call. He’s arranged a party at the navy base he expects you to attend. Some sort of celebration for your brother.” Corinne cleared her throat, then blew out a breath. “He said something about your duty to play hostess, expectations to the family name and, um, maybe something about snits.”

Oh, how she’d like to tell her father just where he could shove his snit. Lila had to grind her teeth tight to keep the words from spewing. But the main drag in a small Costa Rican town was hardly the place to mouth off.

“I’ll deal with it later,” she promised instead. “Right now, I have me a chef to woo.”

With that and a goodbye, she tucked her phone away and turned the corner toward Casa de Rico. Lila grimaced when she stopped in front of the restaurant. Heaps of trash spilled out of the alley beside the building, which probably accounted for the smell. The windows were slicked with the same dingy grime as the once-white exterior, giving the whole place a gray coating of neglect. The hand-lettered sign propped into the window claimed that Casa de Rico was open for business, but the silence pouring from the open door didn’t indicate that there were many takers.

She’d take that as a sign of management issues and not the chef, she decided, lips quirking. Which would make convincing Rodriguez to change employers all that much easier.

Still, the beachfront location was ideal. But Lila was pretty sure location and the views were the only things the Casa had going for it. The roof was patched in places, and the railing along the balcony so rusted that it reminded her of a rickety old lady wearing black lace. The landscaping was limited to a few scrubby bushes and, again, that beach view.

Which couldn’t be discounted, she had to admit. It was a pretty gorgeous view.

Wanting—needing—to absorb it a little more before she went inside to scope out her target in his natural atmosphere, she stepped around the side of the building and started down the wooden walkway. When she reached the soft sand, she stopped to step out of her kitten-heeled slides.

In the act of slipping off the second shoe, she had to grab on to the bleached wooden railing to keep her balance.

Because the view just got a whole lot more interesting.

A man stepped out of the surf, water sluicing off muscles that made her want to raise her hands in praise.

Hello, gorgeous, was all she could think.

Gorgeous, hot and sexy, all rolled into one very muscular, very intense package.

The guy was ripped. From his broad shoulders to his lean calves, he epitomized manly perfection. She knew she was staring, but she’d been raised to believe that a work of art deserved appreciation.

And oh, boy did she appreciate him.

Enough to offer a big smile as he slowly made his way across the sand to his towel.

Her lips twitched when he glared in return.

She was too amused to take offense.

As a woman who’d garnered plenty of ogling over the years, she supposed she could understand his reaction. And while it wasn’t like she’d strolled down and grabbed herself a handful of his undeniably pinchable butt, she’d definitely fantasize about licking those drops of water off his flat belly.

But it was lunchtime, and as yummy as he looked, the guy obviously wasn’t on the menu. And she had a job to do.

But her gaze—as unwilling to leave as the rest of her—lingered for a few more seconds. She’d never seen a more visually appealing man. Or, she acknowledged, her eyes flicking over his scowl again, a more discouraging one.

Ah, well, she decided with a philosophical sigh.

At least she’d gotten to enjoy the view.

* * *

Sun, surf and sex.

Once upon a time, Travis Hawkins would have called that heaven.

Now?