“I didn’t stand a chance,” he says, leaning to gift me with a sweet kiss.
“Okay, I guess Sadie wants to see the zebras next,” Mom calls.
Beckham pushes the empty stroller, keeping pace with me as Mom holds Sadie’s hand up ahead.
“What are you thinking about?” I ask. “Awful quiet today.”
He offers a gentle smile, lips closed tight. “Just thinking that it doesn’t get any better than this.”
I thread my fingers through his, pressing my cheek against his arm as we stroll.
“This,” he says. “This is what I live for.”
THE END
Page ahead for a preview of BITTER RIVALS
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
AMAZON TOP 100 BESTSELLING AUTHOR Winter Renshaw recently celebrated her third 29th birthday. By day, she wrangles kids and dogs, and by night, she wrangles words. She loves peonies, lipstick, and balmy summer days. Chips and salsa are her jam, and so is cruising down the highway with the windows down and the air blasting while 80s rock blares from the speakers of her Mom-UV.
She would describe her writing style as sexy, conflicted, and laced with heart. Her heroes are always alpha and her heroines are always smart and independent. HEA guaranteed.
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Page ahead for a preview of BITTER RIVALS! A romance novella coming out November 9th in the POSSESS Anthology! It features Beckham’s best friend, Xavier Fox, and his lost love and biggest rival, Magnolia Grantham!
EXCERPT of BITTER RIVALS – RELEASING 11.9.2015!
CHAPTER ONE
MAGNOLIA GRANTHAM
Shoes.
There are men’s shoes by the front door.
I pull the key from the door of my boss’ Montauk seaside home and crouch to examine a set of tanned leather loafers that shine like the day they were purchased.
“Hello?” My voice echoes through the two-story foyer. The call bounces off the shiplap walls and lands on the wall of windows overlooking the water.
No answer.
I pad lightly toward the kitchen. A tablet and laptop are plugged in and charging, and a breeze carrying sea salt drifts through an open window. The July midday sun blankets the day with warmth and light against the sandy dunes, and all I want after a three-hour Jitney ride is to change into something worthy of summer and dip my toes into the sand of my boss’ private beach.
In fact, that was her order. Addison yelled at me for working too much.
In the two years I’d worked as a real estate broker at Van Cleef agency, never once had I requested so much as a single vacation day.
It took forever to get here, and not just because of the Jitney’s snail pace or the myriad of stops we made during the one-hundred-twenty mile trek. The driver was an older man, retirement age, and when I saw him lugging fifty-some suitcases out from the bus’ storage compartment, I couldn’t let him do it alone. I stayed, handing out luggage and walking a group of little old ladies to the nearest taxi station.
Finally, I’m here.
But clearly I’m not alone.
“Hello?” I call out again. “Who’s in here?”
Puffs of white smoke billow past the window outside, and the smoldering scent of a fired up grill wafts in front of me. I drop my bags by the butcher-block kitchen island and head for the sliders that lead to a wraparound deck.
A shirtless man in navy and white striped board shorts shimmies in front of the grill. The white cords of his ear buds dangle down his shoulders.
His tanned back glistens and his muscles flex beneath taught skin. The round curve of his tight ass keeps his low-hanging shorts in tact and his head bobs to the music faintly uhn-tissing from his ears. He doesn’t hear me.
Damn it!
I’d recognize that thick, russet head of hair, that narrow, chiseled waist and those perfectly balled calves anywhere.
I’m just not sure what he’s doing here…
At our boss’ Hamptons home…
During the long weekend she designated especially for me…
I reach for one of the white cords and yank it from his ear with one fluid pull. A man I haven’t seen nor spoken to in two full years whips around and lifts his Ray-Bans. The corners of his smug mouth fall. He meets my disdainful glare with one of his own the second my face registers in that big, arrogant brain of his.
“Xavier.” I fold my arms across my chest.
“Magnolia.” His fist clenches around a pair of metal tongs.
“What are you doing here? Addison reserved this weekend for me.”
His jaw sets. “Evidently Addison didn’t speak to Wilder first.”
You’d think a husband and wife would talk to one another, but apparently the Van Cleefs have bigger things to worry about besides which employees and friends of theirs they loaned their vacation home to the second weekend in July.
“I’m calling Addison,” I say, whipping out my phone.
Xavier smirks, running a hand through his thick hair before folding his arms. He widens his stance like I’m two seconds from providing his personal entertainment.
“Fine.”
“What?” I ask.
“You’re going to bother your boss in the middle of her St. Thomas vacation with her family because you don’t want to share her five-thousand-square-foot, six bed, seven bath beach house with one of your colleagues.”
He sounds like such a Realtor.
“I don’t consider you a colleague.” I drop my phone. He has a point. Bothering Addison on vacation after she so generously offered her house to me would be rude, and sacrificing tact all to prove a point isn’t my style.
“That’s right. I forgot. We’re rivals.”
His head shakes as he turns to flip the generous portions of fish grilling in a basket over mild flames. His biceps tense and relax in response. Judging by the deep tan coating his smooth skin, I’m willing to wager he’s been here most of the week.
Once upon a time we were partners. A dangerous duo. Unstoppable. Young and driven with just the right amount of naivety to believe we could take over the world.
And then a drunken night at a broker’s conference in Tallahassee changed everything. But it wasn’t time spent between the sheets that did us in: it was what transpired the morning after.
“You make it sound dramatic.” I resist the urge to roll my eyes.
“Adversaries. Competitors,” he says, back to me. “That better for you?”
Every real estate broker in the greater Manhattan area is my competitor. My rivalry with Xavier Fox just happens to run deeper.
It’s a bitter kind of rivalry; defined by disappointment, false hopes, and fallacies.
Xavier plates his fish, clicks off the grill, and closes the lid, all while humming a carefree little tune from his perfectly full lips. It’s not like him to be so blithe, and I swear he’s doing it to taunt me.
“If you don’t mind.” He says after turning around. His hands are full with tongs and his plate, and he nods toward the door.
I grip the handle of the slider and yank it open for His Royal Highness. He brushes past my shoulder in a cloud of sea spray and coconut sunblock and freshly caught seafood.
He smells like vacation.
My vacation.
The one I fantasized about the entire three-hour ride here. The one I meticulously packed for all of last night. The first one I’ve had in over two years.