Kathleen O'Reilly - Beyond Daring

“What about it?” she asked in a bored voice.

“You don’t want this to happen.”

Sheldon opened the door and watched his face turn a pleasant shade of bone-white that went well with his dark hair. “Grow up, Jeff,” she told him, then performed a sexy little turn. “What do you think?” she asked, cocking a hand on her hip, making sure he could appreciate the curve of her rear.

“It’s nice,” he said, swallowing. He dragged his gaze up and focused on the wall. “You’re okay with the marriage thing, then?”

She took a step closer, letting lace-covered nipples brush against his chest, as much for her as for him. “I live in a separate place from most of the rest of the world. I can’t marry just anybody. There’re family considerations, corporate considerations and genetic considerations.”

“You’re making that up,” he accused, his eyes straying to her cleavage.

Sheldon faced the mirror and pulled at one strap, letting it hang off her shoulder. “The genetic considerations aren’t true, but the rest is. It’s a trade-off, Jeff. I get what I want, and Daddy gets what he wants. What could be better?”

This time his gaze locked onto her face, trapping her there. “What do you want, Sheldon?”

She looked away, deciding she didn’t like the innocent white look on her. No, she needed something with spice. Black. Or her signature red. That would complement her blond hair, not wash it out. “That’s for me to know and you to speculate on for the rest of your days.”

“So you’re going to go through with this?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“You’re sure?”

“Do I need to repeat myself?”

“Well, you do seem to favor a lot of guys for a woman who’s about to get married.”

“It’s not like it’s going to happen next week.”

“And you’re sowing your wild oats?”

She tilted her head. “Absolutely.”

“And that’s your final answer?”

“Yeah, Reege.”

She thought he would argue more. Secretly, she wanted him to argue more, but instead he sighed, giving up on her. “Okay, then we’ve got lots of work to do, but if we focus, we’re cool. I’ve come up with a five-point plan strategically designed to fix your image.”

She slammed the door in his face and stripped off the teddy. “I don’t need to fix my image.”

“You do if you’re going to go through with this,” he answered matter-of-factly.

She flung open the door, because she hated the cool, matter-of-fact tone he used. This was her life he wanted to fix, as if she were some chipped statue, or a knockoff purse with a broken zipper.

“You said no nudity,” he reminded her.

She slammed the door shut. “No, you said that.”

“But you promised.”

“Fine,” she said, picking out the demi-bra and garter belt. “Tell me about this brilliant plan of yours,” she said, sliding on a pair of red panties, gritting her teeth the whole time.

“Okay. There’re five basic areas that we can target—personal life, artistic endeavors, sports, giving back to the community and what I call the “little man.”

Giving back to the community? The “little man”?

Sheldon pulled on the hose, nearly running them, and then snapped the demi-bra in place. “You’ve given this a lot of thought.”

“It’s my job.”

“Of course,” she said, and examined herself in the mirror.

Artistic endeavors? What a crock. She’d show him artistic endeavors. She pulled the bra cup down half an inch, exposing one nicely artistic nipple. Then she opened the door. “Should I get this one?”

He didn’t move.

She waved a hand in front of his face. “Jeff?”

He gave his head one hard shake. “You are so paying for this, Sheldon.”

“For what?”

He pulled at the bra cup, covering her up, but she didn’t miss the way his thumb lingered.

“Nothing,” he answered. “All we need to do is focus.”

Focus. He thought they needed to focus. She knew they needed to have sex. Mad, passionate, glorious sex so that she could exorcise Jeff Brooks from her system before he “fixed” her.

Sheldon went back into the dressing room and pulled on her sundress and sandals, a pleased smile on her face as she remembered the feel of his hands on her. Outside the door, she could hear his pacing. All that restrained tension.

Someday. Someday soon, Jeff Brooks.

Yeah, Sheldon knew exactly what she wanted.

THE SUMMERVILLE ENCLAVE WAS situated overlooking the ocean in the Hamptons. Sheldon had spent every single weekend of her summers there, and the smell of the sea air never failed to stir her senses. The sun was setting over her shoulder, casting a glimmering reflection on the water.

There was something about the solitude of the water that called to her. It was a time when she could turn off all the extraneous aspects of the Summerville legacy—of which there were many—and simply be.

As she sat on the boat dock, watching the gray waters of the Atlantic, she took another deep breath. A seagull perched on a wooden post, waiting for bread crumbs. He’d be waiting for a long time because Sheldon wasn’t the bread crumb type.

Being a Summerville had its privileges, that was for sure. She could jet off to Aspen or the Alps, take off for the Caribbean whenever she got the urge and could spend three times the GNP of Cuba on clothes.

It’d be really, really petty to complain, so she didn’t. She rose and took a few steps closer to the water, the catamarans lazily riding the swells, the gentle lapping of the waves soothing her nerves, clearing her head of all negativity.

Sometimes she thought she should be doing something meaningful with her life. But then she’d go out and tie one on and would eventually come to the realization that there were people in the world destined for meaningful things.

Sheldon wasn’t one of them.

She spotted her sister, Cami, leaving the house, walking down the steps toward Sheldon. As if she needed a reminder of her place in the grand scheme of things.

Camille Summerville, at age twenty-four, was two years younger than Sheldon and a paler, more refined version of her sister. Sheldon still loved her in spite of it. Cami didn’t have the flash of Sheldon, she wore khakis and linen shirts and she gardened. As she walked out on the beach, her sneakers kicked in the sand. Another difference—Sheldon wouldn’t be caught dead in sneakers.

“I’m supposed to tell you that dinner will be served at seven,” said Cami.

“Yeah, sounds great.”

“Monique called an hour ago, and left a message. She wants you to go out with some of her friends.”

Monique was their mother’s tennis coach, Sheldon barely knew her. “What now?”

“I don’t know, but she kept talking about some tennis tournament.”

“I don’t play tennis.”

“I think she’s angling for someone to sponsor her,” admitted Cami.

“Why can’t people just come out and ask? Why pretend to be friends, or to be nice, or to be interested in anything about me? Why not just be honest?”

“Don’t shoot me, I’m just the service.”

Sheldon laughed. “I don’t believe that no one ever hits you up for stuff. Use your influence, Sheldon,” she said in a mocking voice.

“I solved that a long time ago.”

“How?”

“I told them that Dad gave it all to you. I’m the poor, struggling medical student.”

Sheldon swung a mock fist, and Cami dodged. Somehow Cami always managed to escape.

This time her sister gave her a sympathetic look. “The Conrads will be here, too. You should wear something nice. Dad would like that.”

“Yeah, I will. I thought you were in the city for the weekend.”