Christie Ridgway: Beach House No. 9

USA TODAY bestselling author Christie Ridgway introduces a sizzling new series set in Crescent Cove, California, where the magic of summer can last forever…

When Jane Pearson arrives at Griffin Lowell’s beach house, she expects a brooding loner. After all, his agent hired her to help the reclusive war journalist write his stalled memoir. Instead, Jane finds a tanned, ocean-blue-eyed man in a Hawaiian shirt, hosting a beach party and surrounded by beauties. Faster than he can untie a bikini top, Griffin lets Jane know he doesn’t want her. But she desperately needs this job and digs her toes in the sand.

Griffin intends to spend the coming weeks at Beach House No. 9 taking refuge from his painful memories—and from the primly sexy Jane, who wants to bare his soul. But warm nights, moonlit walks and sultry kisses just may unlock both their guarded hearts….

Praise for USA TODAY bestselling author

CHRISTIE RIDGWAY

“Kick off your shoes and escape to endless summer. This is romance at its best.”

—Emily March, New York Times bestselling author of Nightingale Way, on Bungalow Nights

“Sexy and addictive—Ridgway will keep you up all night!”

—New York Times bestselling author Susan Andersen on Beach House No. 9

“Ridgway’s feel-good read, with its perfectly integrated, extremely hot, and well-crafted love scenes, is contemporary romance at its best.”

—Booklist on Can’t Hurry Love (starred review)

“Sexy, sassy, funny, and cool, this effervescent sizzler nicely launches Ridgway’s new series and is a perfect pick-me-up for a summer’s day.”

—Library Journal on Crush on You

“Pure romance, delightfully warm and funny.”

—New York Times bestselling author Jennifer Crusie

“Christie Ridgway writes with the perfect combination of humor and heart. This funny, sexy story is as fresh and breezy as its Southern California setting. An irresistible read!”

—New York Times bestselling author Susan Wiggs on How to Knit a Wild Bikini

“Christie Ridgway is delightful.”

—New York Times bestselling author Rachel Gibson

Dear Reader,

This California girl invites you to a very special California place…your own cottage, right on the sand, where the Pacific Ocean races forward to give your bare feet its cool kiss. The keys to Beach House No. 9 are at your fingertips. Turn the page and you’re in!

Some years ago, the title Beach House No. 9 popped into my head. Busy with other projects, I scribbled it on a piece of paper and pinned it to my office bulletin board. And there it was, waiting for me, after I took a jaunt up the coast and found a very special cove that became the inspiration for the Crescent Cove in my back-to-back-to-back trilogy. Yep, the next two books in the series, Bungalow Nights and The Love Shack, are coming right up—and offer more No. 9 magic. The romances are sexy and fun, but I expect a tear or two may be shed…making the happy-ever-afters all the sweeter.

In this book, heroine Jane Pearson is everything I love in a woman—she’s talented and she’s no pushover, not even for a gorgeous man with a chip on his shoulder. Griffin Lowell tells himself she’s all wrong for him…enjoy watching him find out how right she really is.

Here comes the sun!

Christie

Beach House No. 9

Christie Ridgway

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Acknowledgments

I sold my very first book to Harlequin

and it’s with great pleasure that I continue our association. Many thanks to Margaret Marbury,

who showed such enthusiasm for the idea and

made it happen. Another round of the same to

my editor, Margo Lipschultz, who has taken the time

to get to know me and my books and

who has made this trilogy so, so much better.

Last, I must raise my glass to Harlequin’s

art department. The beautiful covers for this series perfectly capture the enchantment of Crescent Cove.

To the brothers in my life:

my own, my husband and his brother, my two sons.

I’ve seen what’s underneath those all-guy exteriors—deep family bonds and strong yet tender hearts

that are reflected by every hero in my stories.

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

At last we are in it up to our necks, and everything is changed, even your outlook on life.

—Ernie Pyle, Pulitzer Prize–winning war correspondent

Love makes your soul crawl out from its hiding place.

—Zora Neale Hurston, 20th century author

CHAPTER ONE

THE SALT AIR, Jane Pearson realized, was hampering the success of her impending mission. First, it made her normally normal hair fuzzy. Not such a big deal, she supposed as she picked her way downhill, taking the narrow track of crushed shells that led from the coastal road to the picturesque cottages of Crescent Cove, but it was also wilting the white linen dress she wore.

At home, the garment had seemed perfect I-mean-business wear for a June late afternoon. It had short cap sleeves and a collar she’d buttoned tight to the neck, but the swing hemline no longer moved crisply about her knees, instead clinging damply to her thighs. By the time she reached Beach House No. 9, she feared she wouldn’t appear the no-nonsense professional. Kleenex ghost might be a better comparison, the kind that kids made at Halloween—this one spritzed with water and topped with frizzy blondish tendrils.

No matter, she thought. Her determination remained firm. Despite the state of her attire, she wouldn’t soften when facing the man she was here to confront. Griffin Lowell had been ignoring her calls—all eleven of them!—and she wasn’t willing to wait any longer for a response. According to his literary agent, the writer was way behind on his memoir. Jane had been hired to cure his critical case of deadline denial and then help shape the pages she prodded him to produce. It was time to get started.

He needed her.

You need him too, Jane, a little voice in her head added.

She ignored the unwelcome reminder and focused instead on her surroundings. Crescent Cove wasn’t a hardship to visit. It was actually an amazing find in this Southern California county notable for the recently built, oh-so-alike housing developments and shopping malls that sprouted like beige-stuccoed fungi along the Pacific Coast Highway. About those red terra-cotta tile roofs…didn’t anyone realize that too much of a good thing made a bad thing?

By contrast, this beach colony was straight from another time. The fifty or so unconventional bungalows and colorful cottages were prime examples of beach vernacular architectural design—she’d read that—and snuggled the bluffs along a two-mile stretch of sand. Each appeared as cheery and appealing as the bougainvillea that grew like weeds around them in colors ranging from pale salmon to the brightest scarlet. The prevailing sound at the cove was the rhythmic shush of the waves, as the growl of tires on the highway above was screened by a stand of tall eucalyptus. Their medicinal tang mingled with the scents of seaweed, sand and ocean.