Risky Pleasures - Brenda Jackson [2]
When she reached what she considered a good spot, she casually glanced around. This stretch of private beach was shared only by whoever was living in the house next door and so far the place appeared empty. According to Helen, Cheyenne’s housekeeper, the house had changed ownership several times, and rumor had it someone had recently purchased it.
Helen had gone on to say that a few years ago, the house had been owned by some gorgeous Italian jet-setting playboy by the name of Chardon Argentina. And if you went along with what everyone believed, a number of seductions had taken place in that house. It was even rumored that many of Hollywood’s leading ladies had been overnight guests.
Vanessa shrugged as she spread the huge towel on the sand and sat down. She was glad she didn’t believe everything she heard. Besides, what had happened in that house was not her business. After placing the huge straw hat on her head and situating the brim in such a way as to block what was left of the sun, she glanced toward the ocean, thinking she could definitely get used to this. She’d never had an entire beach to herself. She was glad that Cheyenne had invited her to stay.
She, Taylor and Cheyenne had always been close, but it was Vanessa who had decided to stick with the family business instead of pursuing other careers as her sisters had. She had returned home to Charlotte and the Steele Corporation after getting a grad degree from Tennessee State.
Taylor, who was twenty-four, had graduated from Georgetown with a degree in business and a grad degree in finance. After college, she’d moved to New York to work at a major bank as a wealth asset manager and was doing quite well for herself.
After obtaining a degree in communications from Boston University, Cheyenne, who was twenty-two, had taken a reporter position at a television station in Philly and in less than a year, her looks, personality and keen intelligence had gotten her a promotion to the position of anchorwoman on the morning news. That job was short-lived as she had suddenly realized she wanted to do something different and had become a model. Modeling meant a lot of traveling and living in some of the most beautiful and exotic places in the world. A year ago, Cheyenne had been doing a photo shoot in Jamaica when she’d stumbled across this particular house, fallen in love with it and purchased it.
Vanessa leaned back on her arms with her legs stretched out in front of her. She tilted her head back to enjoy the feel of the evening sun on her face, as well as the salty spray from the ocean on her cheeks and lips. She couldn’t help wondering what was happening back in Charlotte. Had Cameron arrived yet? Had he discovered her gone? Was he upset about it? Why did she even care?
She was deep into her thoughts when a movement caught her eye, and she turned her head. In the distance, in front of the property next door, she could see a man standing close to shore. With the palm trees partially blocking her view, she couldn’t make out his features, but she could tell he wore only a pair of swimming trunks. And he was overpoweringly male.
She sat up as her heart began pumping wildly in her chest, and she wondered what on earth was wrong with her. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t seen good-looking men before. So what was there about this tall, broad-shouldered, long-legged, fine-as-they-
come brother whose aura was seeping out to her over stretches of sand? And what was there about him that seemed so oddly familiar?
Biting down on her lip, she fought against one particular ultra-sexy male image that tried forcing its way into her mind. She simply refused to go there. She would not let Cameron creep into her thoughts. Tilting her head, she refocused her attention as she continued to gaze at the man, not seeing as much as she would like due to the shade cast by the palm trees, the fading evening sun and the emergence of dusk.
Since this was a private beach she quickly assumed he was the owner of the house next door and wondered