He smiled back. “Maybe.”

  She didn’t do anything for a beat, then, in the beam of the light, she reached behind to the tie that circled her bodice several times and had trailed enticingly just off the ground. It loosened as she undid the bow, and Beatrice unwound it from her body before pulling it from her neck, the tails pooling against the sand at her feet.

  Austin, his pulse thumping, his hands trembling, yanked his shirt off over his head and threw it down on the sand. Beatrice followed by peeling the dress off her body, taking her underwear with it. Stepping out of it, she stood before him in nothing but her red cowgirl boots.

  “Jesus,” he whispered, his gaze roving over all her lush curves, the swell of her breasts, the tight scrunch of her nipples reacting to the cooling night air, and the dark patch of her pubic hair.

  She nodded at him. “Now you.”

  Fumbling for a second, Austin managed to step out of his jeans and underwear in a far less elegant fashion than Beatrice. But, when he stood, his boner bobbing out front like a fucking divining rod, her low, appreciative hum made him forget everything but her.

  Bending over slightly, she slid her legs and feet from her boots and pushed them toward the pile of clothes on the ground. With one last glance at his erection, she said, “Race you to the water,” then bolted.

  Austin was far less capable of sudden movement, and it took him a beat or two to respond as he watched the red fan of her hair across her back and the flash of her lily-white ass as she legged it into the lake.

  Her gasp followed by a “God, it’s freezing,” galvanized him into action.

  Despite the chill of the water, she wasn’t turning around, and Austin, finally getting signals from his brain to his muscles, tossed the flashlight on the ground, gave a loud whoop, and followed her in. The water hitting his testicles was excruciating and should have given him an instant soft-on, but not even a plunge into polar ice was going to kill that fucker.

  He sucked in a breath as he immersed his body in the lake and struck out after Beatrice, who was churning the water in a brisk freestyle just ahead of him. He caught her easily, grabbing her by the ankle and pulling her back to him, then kissing the hell out of her as she twined her arms around his neck, their wet lips cool and slippery as they devoured each other.

  After long, drugging moments, she pulled away, smiling at him as she swam just out of reach. Austin enjoyed the tease as she cavorted around him, coming close and kissing him, drifting her hands over him, lingering on his ass and his hips, stroking his chest, brushing her lips against his neck and her fingers along his dick, dragging a groan from his throat before sliding away with a grin and a splash of water.

  There was something about the gleam in her eyes, about her knowing how close he was to the edge and keeping him there, that cranked up his desire. And he returned the favor. Getting in his own touches, grazing the hard tips of her nipples, feeling the roughness of goose bumps beneath his fingertips as he stroked her belly and squeezed her ass. It might be dark, but he could see the glitter of sexual fever in her eyes. Knew it was the same fever reflected in his.

  It appeared delaying gratification was working for both of them.

  They chased and splashed and dived around each other for what felt like forever, his balls as tight and heavy as sinkers. It was excruciating and arousing all at once, and Austin knew when the moment finally came—he was going to utterly disgrace himself.

  “Well,” Beatrice announced casually after they’d frolicked for about half an hour. “It’s getting cold—think it’s time to leave.”

  She grinned at him, clearly knowing the kind of torture that announcement was inflicting, then turned away, flashing her ass at him as she swam toward the shore. Austin laughed at her gold-embossed come-get-me invitation. He waited and watched, moving slowly toward the shore, his feet hitting the bottom but staying low, partly to keep out of the cool air, partly to get ready to spring.

  Water sluiced off her hair and down her body as she rose from the lake, heading to their pile of discarded clothes. She picked up the flashlight, then turned, finding him and catching him in the beam. “You want some of me, Austin Cooper, you better come and get it.”

  With a deceptive grin and then a roar, Austin did just that, springing from the water like an alligator lunging at prey in a huge churn of water. Beatrice squealed in surprise, dropping the flashlight as she turned to run, but Austin was bigger and faster and his need had reached a breaking point. He was on her in several strides, wrestling with her slippery, naked body for a moment as she twisted and tried to evade his grip to no avail. Swinging her up in his arms, he laughed as she squealed in protest.

  “Let me go!” she yelled at the top of her lungs before laughing some more. “Let me go.”

  With her hands anchored around his neck, Austin growled, “Not by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin,” and strode back into the water, sinking down when they got deep enough.

  He hadn’t caught his breath and neither had she when he kissed her, but Austin didn’t care that his heart was hammering and his lungs were starved of oxygen as she slid her legs around his waist and they kissed like the world was about to end.

  Settling her hot, slick core over the top of him, she whispered, “Now.”

  But, even this far gone, Austin was aware they had no protection. He knew she had a contraceptive implant, but he had to be sure. “No condom,” he panted against her mouth.

  “I don’t care,” she also panted. “I’m protected and I need you. I need you more than I’ve ever needed anything.”

  Her eyes were huge and earnest, her pupils dilated with lust, and Austin tried not to read any more into her statement other than the same immediate and urgent need for sexual joining that was burning through his system. He plunged inside her then, bare and hot and wet, and she gasped, her nails digging into his shoulder.

  Austin groaned, withdrawing quickly and entering again, their gazes locked. And he kept doing it, quickly reaching a crescendo with her as they ground together in the cold waters of the lake. Stars blurred overhead. Black holes formed. Galaxies came to life while others sputtered out their last dying breath. In a matter of seconds, Austin had lived and died and was born again, and it was gratifying to hear the same kind of noises from Beatrice as she pulsed around him.

  “Are you okay?” he asked when he could finally speak, holding her close in the water that now felt as warm as a spa.

  She half laughed, and it was low and breathy and spoke volumes about her satisfaction, and he loved it. “Uh-huh.”

  “You want to do that again in your bed?”

  “You have no idea how much,” she replied.

  Except he did know. He wanted to get her alone and naked and horizontal so damn badly. “We’re going to need to get dressed and walk briskly,” he murmured.

  “I’m up for that.”

  He smiled and kissed Beatrice’s forehead as he withdrew on a shared moan. They emerged from the water then, slow and stumbling and laughing at their newborn-foal-like progress. The very last thing he expected as he stepped onto the gritty sand was the harsh beam of a flashlight and a voice barking, “Stop right there.”

  Reacting purely on instinct, Austin shoved Beatrice behind him as he grabbed for his genitals. “What the fuck?” Austin demanded, blinking against the spotlight.

  “Ju… Austin?”

  Austin blinked. “Chief?” Great…this was going to make for awkward conversation at work tomorrow.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Arlo demanded as he quickly dropped the beam of light and turned his back.

  “Who is it?” a woman’s voice somewhere behind Arlo demanded. It was high and no-nonsense. Then there was an “Oh dear,” as Winona’s face came into view, clocking it was Austin—a naked Austin—with Beatrice sheltering behind him, before turning abruptly around, following Arlo’s lead.

  “I thought I told you to stay at the house,” Arlo grouched.

  “Why would I do that?” she demanded.

  “Because it’s a direct police order.”

  Winona snorted. “Settle down, RoboCop. In what universe would I obey your orders?”

  Austin and Beatrice exchanged a look. On any other day, it’d have been cute to witness Arlo being owned by an erotic romance author, but now wasn’t the time or the place.

  “What are you doing here?” Austin demanded as he picked up Beatrice’s dress and handed it to her before reaching for his own clothes.

  “Winona reported that there were lights flashing around down here and a woman yelling let me go.”

  Austin and Beatrice exchanged a guilty look. He’d not realized they were so close to Winona’s place. Sorry, Beatrice mouthed, and Austin almost laughed out loud despite the absurdity of the situation.

  “Well, as you can see,” Austin said, shoving his legs into his jeans, not bothering with his underwear for efficiency’s sake, “there’s nothing to see here.” Not now anyway. “Perhaps we could have some privacy and we’ll head back to town. And maybe…we can never speak of this again.”

  “No arguments from me,” Arlo agreed, his voice laced with relief, like seeing his deputy with his balls in his hand had been the epitome of too much information.

  “Ah…not okay with me,” Winona said. “Bea…call me tomorrow.”

  Austin watched a quick grin curl Beatrice’s mouth. “Sure thing,” she said.

  “Okay,” Arlo announced, flicking the flashlight beam at the ground. “Let’s go, Winona.”

  Winona huffed out a breath and mumbled something about Arlo not being the boss of her, but she departed with him without further incident, although she didn’t go quietly. Their particular brand of bickering banter gradually faded as they moved farther away.

  Austin glanced at Beatrice, who was dressed now, her wet hair slicked back, water droplets from the wet ends dripping onto her shoulders. “That was…unexpected.”

  She laughed, and he joined her, relieved she was seeing the funny side. “C’mon,” she said after their laughter died. “Let’s go home.”

  Home. His breath hitched a little at the word, and Austin suddenly felt warmed all the way through. Did she mean it? Or was it just a generic term for the place she lived? Because Beatrice felt a lot like home to him.

  But was it reciprocated? Or was he just a stopgap?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Bea was admiring her latest sketch for Greet Cute around lunchtime the next day when her phone rang. The sketch featured Cranky Bea and Princess looking their most bedraggled—Princess’s overbite was more pronounced, and Bea’s boobs had hit new lows—but they were both sporting globs of glittery blue eye makeup and big rouged cheeks. The caption was going to read: Too glam to give a damn.

  Just looking at it gave her a little ache in the center of her chest. Of happiness and joy and…accomplishment. Was this how her mom had felt about her creations? Would she—a bona fide artist with regular shows in prestigious LA art galleries—have approved of her daughter’s Cranky Bea and Princess cards?

  Bea wished she knew. She wished her mom was still around to ask her.

  Searching for her phone in the debris of stuff on her cat-hair-strewn duvet—an open, empty pizza box; multiple scrunched-up sheets of paper towel she hadn’t yet gotten around to tossing in the wastebasket in the middle of the floor; art supplies she’d acquired online; her yellow dress—she found it under a sleeping Princess. Hardly surprising given the cat was stretched out across half the bed like some kind of furry Slinky.

  Princess opened her good eye and let out an irritated meow. The phone stopped ringing just as she hit the Answer button, but, glancing at the screen, Bea noted it was from Kim and hit Redial.

  “Hey, you,” Kim said as she answered.

  “Sorry,” Bea apologized. “I couldn’t find the phone.”

  “It’s fine, thanks for getting back to me so quickly.”

  They discussed the dossier of ideas for the next month’s designs that Bea had been working on and had sent off last night just prior to leaving for Jack’s. Bea’s heart fluttered for a moment, thinking about Jack’s, about how she’d felt Austin’s eyes on her body the entire time she’d danced and how damn wonderful it had made her feel.

  “I’ve got another proposal for you.”

  Kim’s words were like a machete severing Bea’s wandering thoughts. “Oh?”

  “We want to get national exposure across all media for Cranky Bea. We think it’s smart to capitalize on the free viral media we’ve got into something more long-term and sustainable. We want to run an ad campaign, and with your advertising background, we want to put you in charge of it; we want you to run the show.”

  Bea blinked. Now that she hadn’t been expecting. It was a smart move—viral sensations had a pretty short shelf life—but…Bea had cut that string a few months ago. “When you say all, you mean traditional media?”

  “Yep. TV. Radio. Newspapers. Billboards. Obviously, our budget is modest, but I think if we’re smart and strategic and keep using social media impressions to drive response to the traditional stuff, we can do it. And there’s nobody in the business better than you for flair, creativity, and cross-media strategy.”

  Bea tried not to let Kim’s flattery go to her head, but it was true. She had several awards to her name for just those things. Which was why missing out on that much-coveted promotion this year had been particularly cutting. “Look, Kim…I’m flattered. Truly. But I’m not in the business anymore.”

  Even as she said it, though, Bea felt that old buzz in her blood, the tingle in her fingertips, the flash of images on her inward eye. The beautiful potential of a new campaign that she got to craft and manage from the ground up. She’d worked collaboratively on many projects over the years, creating advertisements to very specific briefs from clients, working within those parameters and with multiple people in multiple departments, and she’d always delivered.

  But the thrill of running the show herself was tempting. The awards and accolades she’d earned over the years had always come from campaigns where the client had given her free rein. Which was exactly what Kim was doing.

  “It’s not about getting back into the business,” Kim dismissed. “It’s just a one-off campaign that you can do from Credence and fit in around your Cranky Bea designs. We’ll support you with everything you’ll need on this end, including a team to work with, but it’ll be your baby. You’ll be in charge. Everything from the copy through to the hiring of the actors for the TV ads—it’ll be all yours.”

  Bea couldn’t believe how tempted she was—she’d loved doing TV ads the most. Prior to her career coming to a rather ignoble end, she would have said that advertising had given her the best years of her life. But it had also dealt her the biggest blow, and living here, becoming part of Credence—the polar opposite of LA—had made her realize that best was subjective.

  That there were multiple versions of best.

  Thoughts churned and clashed inside her head, about a zillion questions swirling in with the mix. Could she do this? Did she want to? A national campaign under her control, introducing and selling Cranky Bea—essentially her product—to the market. It was an advertising wet dream and would get her back into doing what she was good at—selling product.

  Not creating it.

  Because selling was what she knew. Selling was what she’d lived and breathed. It was what she excelled at. These doodlings had given her something to do and had opened up this opportunity, but they weren’t who she was. She was an ad woman. Not a…creative. And this was a massive chance to prove to the LA advertising scene, to her father, to herself, that she was still the same person. She was just doing it in her own way this time. On her own terms.

  “What time frame are you thinking?” Bea asked.

  “We’d like to have a plan mapped out in, say, about a month?”

  A month…that wasn’t much time to come up with a national strategy, but Greet Cute was hardly Coca-Cola, and Bea had always done her best work under pressure.

  “The aim is to have the campaign up and running by the end of the summer,” Kim added.

  The end of the summer. Even as part of Bea rejected the idea, the other part of her was already becoming invested. Cranky Bea was her. And if anyone could sell the crap out it, she could.

  “Look,” Kim said, “don’t give me your answer now. Let me email you a bunch of information and you can have a think and get back to me in the next couple of days.”

  Bea shook her head. “I don’t need a couple of days. I’ll do it.”

  There was a slight pause on the other end, like Kim had been expecting a no and was trying to regroup. “Really?”

  “Really.” Bea laughed. “Send me what you’ve got and let’s talk some more.”

  Suddenly Bea had never been more sure of anything. She hadn’t known what she wanted and she’d never pictured this—going back to the industry that had used and discarded her. But it was a one-off campaign. Which she could orchestrate from her little apartment here in Credence.

  Sure, it might take up a bit of her time for a few months, but then it’d be over and things would get back to normal and everything would be rosy.

  So, as Austin was fond of saying, why not?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  The footsteps Bea had come to know so well clomping up her stairs made her smile at just after four o’clock. She’d been on and off the phone with Kim all day and was already underway with some preliminary work for Cranky Bea’s advertising strategy, and she couldn’t wait to tell Austin.

  The key turned in the lock, and Bea glanced up from where she was sitting on the couch, the laptop placed in front of her on the coffee table as Austin pushed the door open and stepped inside. His big grin of greeting died a quick death as he looked around him.