Summer Heat Wave

  Summer Heat Wave

  Summer Heat - Book 1

  Lauren Smith

  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

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2021 by Lauren Smith

  Cover Design by Sarah Kil Creative Studio

  All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitutes unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at lauren@laurensmithbooks.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

  ISBN: 978-1-952063-94-7 (e-book edition)

  ISBN: 978-1-952063-95-4 (trade paperback edition)

  Prologue

  Paradise Island, the Bahamas

  The waves came rushing along the debris-strewn beach toward Blair Ashworth as the hurricane winds nearly knocked her down. Palm trees bent and whipped beneath the onslaught of the storm. The once pure blue sea was black, and the sand was cold and wet as it dragged her feet down in terrifying suction. Fear seized her heart in its claws, squeezing until she could barely breathe, as another wave surged toward her. They hadn’t seen the storm coming, not this fast . . .

  Water knocked her off her feet, and she fell, her hands hitting concrete as she collided with the resort sidewalk. Strong arms grasped her body, lifting her up and bracing her against a wall of hot, determined male. The intense warmth she felt had nothing to do with the current danger of the storm and everything to do with the man who’d just saved her. A man who shouldn’t have saved her because he despised her.

  “Can you walk?” Denver Ramsey’s deep voice rang out crisply across the howling wind, stilling her panic and the rush of chaotic thoughts in her head. His voice demanded that she respond, that she meet the challenge of being brave.

  “Y-yes . . . I think so.” Blair ignored the stab of pain in her knees and forearms. They had to keep moving and get to safety or risk being pulled out to sea by the next wave.

  “Let me help you.” An arm gripped her waist, holding her close to the hard male body it belonged to. She lifted her head to stare into the devastatingly perfect face of Denver Ramsey. The man she had been sent to seduce . . . into a business deal. A man who hated her with every breath in his body.

  Yet here he was, saving her life as a storm ravaged the beautiful island he called home. Wind whipped his dark hair into his hazel eyes, which looked darker as they reflected the stormy skies above them. His once crisp white dress shirt soaked with the rain and surging seawater, clung to his muscled form.

  “Just a bit farther,” Denver assured her as they trudged down the walkway toward the entrance to the private luxury apartments of the Seven Seas Beach Club. Water swamped the sidewalk, and he held her closer, keeping her on her feet when she might have been knocked down again. The doors opened, and two resort employees in raingear rushed out to help them.

  “Are you all right, sir?” one of the men asked Denver as he handed him a small towel.

  “Yes, thank you. Are all of the guests safe?”

  “Yes, sir. All safe and accounted for. We have implemented the hurricane protection plan. All of the housing is secure as well. The National Weather Service has already downgraded the storm to a category one, and within a few hours we should have clear skies again.”

  Denver still held Blair close, but she shivered as a chill from the icy ocean settled in her bones. Now aware of her shaking, he looked down at her, and without words he used the towel to dry her face and as much of her as he could manage before the towel was soaked.

  “Miss Ashworth and I will be in my apartment. Call me if you need me.” He handed the towel back to the employee.

  “Yes, sir.” The employee returned to the front desk.

  Blair followed Denver through a hallway decorated with stunning seascapes portraying the many faces of the ocean, from gentle surf to raging waves. Just like everything at the Seven Seas, they were top quality, elegant, and like the club’s owner, the pieces also held a bit of mystery.

  Denver released his hold on her waist and lifted his right wrist, which bore a silver metal band. He waved the band in front of the electronic door lock, and it clicked open. Then he opened the door and stepped aside, allowing her to enter.

  It was a bad idea to go anywhere alone with him, though not because he was dangerous. He was dangerous, but not in a way that threatened her. Rather, Denver Ramsey was dangerous to any woman who wanted to keep her head on straight, her heart safe, and her panties on. On his good days, the man looked like a tempting water god, but right then he looked like a vengeful Poseidon. She inwardly flinched, knowing just how deep his dislike of her ran. Hell, one could almost call his cold disdain for her hate. But Denver didn’t know her well enough to truly hate her. No, his true hate was reserved for her father and her uncle.

  Once she was inside his apartment, he closed the door with a frightening finality. He nodded toward a room beyond her, and she turned to find a wide, open sitting room with thick glass doors that revealed a stunning view of the stormy sea.

  “Sit down,” he ordered, though his tone was softer than she expected.

  Blair collapsed onto the nearest armchair and winced at the feel of her wet clothes on the expensive blue-and-white-striped fabric.

  He disappeared down a hall and returned with two fluffy white bath towels and a first aid kit. He quickly dragged a towel over himself before tossing it on the surface of the coffee table. Then he handed the second one to her. She accepted it and wiped her face, her hair, and her clothes, which were hopelessly ruined. The navy-blue sundress with white polka dots and her cork wedge sandals had been a great choice three hours ago, long before she’d known this tropical storm would sweep their way so quickly.

  Denver set the first aid kit on the table and pulled another armchair toward her before sitting in it.

  “Let me see your knees.” He gestured at her skirt, and she lifted the wet fabric up just past her knees. Bloody scratches covered her knees and her forearms. He opened the kit and removed several antiseptic wipes. He wiped at the wounds, and she bit her lip, hiding her reaction to the sting of the antiseptic.

  “Where were you going? Didn’t you hear the storm siren?” he asked, his voice still dangerously soft. He didn’t look at her as he cleaned her cuts and bandaged them. Then he gestured for her arms, which he saw to next.

  “I was out scouting for the best location to do photos for the adjustments on the campaign.”

  “It isn’t worth dying over.” At her gasp, he lifted his gaze to hers, his hazel eyes burning hot.

  “It could be, since my job depends on it,” she muttered.

  “I haven’t even agreed to work with you,” he reminded her. “Our bargain only included that I would give it my honest consideration.”

  “That’s because you haven’t heard my pitch—” she started.

  “Not a chance,” Denve
r snapped, cutting her off. Then his voice gentled. “There’s nothing you could show me that could change my mind.” His scowl shouldn’t have made him even more attractive, but it gave her the most wicked fantasies of what he’d do to her ass while he wore that scowl.

  “Nothing?” A pit formed in her stomach. Blair had been so convinced that she could win him over. The ad campaign she and her team had worked up in the last week was more than solid. It was damn brilliant. Especially now that she’d come here and added her final touches after seeing the magic of his resort and the island through his eyes.

  “There’s only one thing I told you I truly want from you, and we both know that would be a terrible idea.” He was still facing her, his knees almost touching hers as his gaze held hers.

  “Terrible,” Blair agreed breathlessly as his focus moved to her mouth. She couldn’t stop staring at his lips.

  He reached up to cup the back of her neck. His hand was warm, large, and wonderful as he held her neck in a gentle but dominating hold.

  “Then again, maybe this one little mistake won’t change anything,” he mused.

  Blair’s heart pounded, ramming against her ribs like the waves outside battered the shore. There was nothing worse than wanting something—someone—she shouldn’t, but she still wanted Denver Ramsey’s kiss more than anything in that moment.

  Denver closed the distance and captured her lips with his in piratical perfection, like a man who knew he’d conquered her and won. She hated him and loved him for it.

  Yes, it was a terrible mistake, and it would change everything.

  1

  Chicago

  One week earlier

  “Blair, Randall wants to see you.” Kayley leaned into Blair’s cubicle.

  “He does?” Blair immediately tried to quell a flurry of nerves. Even though she had known Randall Ashworth her whole life—he was her uncle, after all—she had never been comfortable around him. He had an underlying meanness to him that made her uneasy.

  “Yeah, he said you should come quick or he would give the new account opportunity to one of his account executives.” Kayley West, who was one of Blair’s closest friends, always had her back.

  “Thanks, Kayley.”

  “No problem.” Kayley stepped back to let Blair past her as she exited her cubicle. “I’m grabbing Hackney’s for lunch. You want to share a soup-and-sandwich combo?”

  “Sure, thanks.” Blair smoothed her black pencil skirt and tweaked her teal blouse into place before making the dreaded walk down the length of cubicles to her uncle’s corner office. His door was closed, so she rapped her knuckles on the thick wood and held her breath.

  “Come in,” Randall barked.

  Blair opened the door and found her uncle seated at his desk, his laptop open. He didn’t look up when she entered.

  “Close the door behind you.”

  She followed his command and stood, rather than sat. She knew better than to sit until this man invited her to.

  Randall Ashworth was a tall, lean man who bore only a passing resemblance to her father, his younger brother. Where her father’s face was lit with warmth, Randall’s was cold, his lips thin and his brows severe. Blair had seen pictures of the brothers as young men, and both Paul, her father, and Randall had been dashing. But her father had kept his good looks longer than Randall. Blair was convinced that her uncle’s greediness had played a role in the way his looks had hardened into such severity.

  “Sit down, Blair.” He waved at the pair of black leather armchairs facing his desk.

  Blair perched on the edge of one, keeping silent.

  “I know you are interested in moving up to an account executive position and leaving the art department.”

  “Yes.” Blair kept her tone neutral. Her uncle wasn’t above dangling an opportunity and then yanking it out of reach when he sensed she wanted it too much. Ever since he had forced her father into early retirement fifteen years ago through a cheap buyout of his half of the company stock, her uncle had only Blair to kick around when he wanted to indulge in family pettiness.

  “Well, I am offering you the position if you bring a specific client in for a five-year contract.” He announced it offhandedly, as though he didn’t even care.

  “Who’s the client?” Blair asked.

  “The Seven Seas Beach Club on Paradise Island in the Bahamas.” He didn’t even pause in examining whatever he was looking at on his computer.

  Blair’s heart skipped a painful beat. “Randall, that’s one of Denver Ramsey’s companies, isn’t it?”

  Her uncle continued to study his laptop screen. “It is.”

  “But—”

  “Do you want the account executive position?”

  “Of course I do,” she answered carefully, desperately searching for the right language that would mollify him and broach the real problem at hand. “But you know we would be the last company that he would take a pitch from, let alone sign with. I would be escorted from his property by security.”

  Her uncle was crazy for thinking that Denver Ramsey would let her near his accounts, not after what had happened between their fathers more than fifteen years ago.

  “Blair, if you can land the Seven Seas account for five years with no termination options, I will sell you your father’s partnership interest at a tenth of the appraised market value.” His deep voice was almost oily, slickly sliding into her head and pulling out the one thing that could make her risk everything.

  Hearing that, the dozens of protests rambling through her head simply vanished. She could get her father’s share of Bay Breeze Creative Solutions back. Her throat constricted slightly. That had been her dream, her true goal for the last five years when she’d first started working here—to earn back what her father had been forced to give up.

  “Well?” Her uncle sat back in his chair, his dark-brown eyes almost a pair of obsidian pools that showed no emotion.

  “Can I have until the end of the day to think about it?”

  She saw the briefest flash of triumph in his eyes. “You have one hour.”

  Blair got to her feet and left her uncle’s office. She returned to her cubicle and nearly collapsed in her seat.

  Could she do it? Could she find some way to convince Denver Ramsey that he should hire her for his advertising campaign? What could she possibly say to him that would change the past?

  Blair turned on her laptop and searched for Denver Ramsey on the internet. She hadn’t kept tabs on him since her father had left the company fifteen years ago. Of course, when that had happened, she’d been only thirteen years old. All she remembered from back then was her mother crying a lot, and that her father had barely survived the shame of what he’d done to the Ramseys. Somehow, her damn uncle had coasted through it all without even a blemish. Life really wasn’t fair.

  The moment she hit search, the screen filled with a dozen articles and photos, all featuring a tall, dark-haired god of a man who wore his suit in a way that made a woman clench her thighs together. She clicked on the Vanity Fair article from two years ago. The main photo in the article showed Denver wearing trousers and a white shirt that was halfway buttoned up as he leaned against the trunk of a palm tree. The azure sea and white sand created a tropical backdrop. The man was painfully beautiful.

  The title of the article read, “Wonder of the World, a True Paradise Escape.” The article went on to describe Denver’s meteoric rise in private equity and his transition to the development of one of the most exclusive island resorts in the world. All starting at the age of twenty-three.

  “Wow . . . Who is that? He looks familiar,” Kayley asked as she popped into Blair’s cubicle and sat in the spare chair that Blair kept for her.

  “That’s Denver Ramsey.” Blair sighed as a headache began to pound behind her eyes.

  “He is seriously hot as hell. Do you know him?”

  “Me?” Blair shook her head. No, she had never met him. But she remembered him. It was hard to forget the picture of
a seventeen-year-old boy standing by the grave of his father, who had died after losing his business because of her father. That image was burned into her brain for the rest of her life.

  “Wait, scroll down. I want to read that.” Kayley scooted her chair closer. “He lost his dad at seventeen and had to leave high school to work full-time to support his mother.”

  A ringing started in Blair’s ears, piercing her skull like a distant train whistle. Kayley kept reading aloud.

  “He got his GED and got into Princeton on a full scholarship and worked part-time while still achieving a double major. Holy shit.”

  Kayley had had no idea. Denver had persevered and prospered after the great tragedy of losing his father and his home. He had built an empire all his own. If Blair hadn’t felt sick at the thought of her father’s part in Denver’s adversity, she would have been honored and anxious to meet such a man and do business with him.

  “Wait, Blair . . .” Kayley’s voice softened as she pointed to a few lines in the article. “That’s your dad’s old company, isn’t it? The one that later became this company?”

  Blair silently read the few lines Kayley pointed to:

  Despite the unethical practices by Bay Water Ad Agency that led to Mr. Ramsey’s father’s advertising agency being closed and investigated for wire and mail fraud and eventually his death, Mr. Ramsey has weathered the death of his father and created a fortune all his own—one above reproach.

  There was a quote from Denver in bold below that.

  “My father was later cleared by the FBI, but by then the damage was done. He died from the stress and trauma of the investigation. I would give anything to go back in time and tell him to stay calm—that it would soon be over and he would be proven innocent—but we can’t go back, no matter how much we might want to.” The quote was accompanied by a moving profile shot of Denver sitting in the sand, his legs bent up and his arms resting on his knees as he gazed at the surf and the setting sun.