Family Feud
Barbara Boswell

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Contents

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

One

“Mr. Halford will see you now, Mr. McGrath.” The smoothly polite tone of Miss Phyllis York, Arthur Halford’s secretary, was perfunctory and correct, betraying not a hint of distaste or disapproval.

But Garrett McGrath did not rely solely on what he saw and heard. He had the instincts of a street fighter, acquired from growing up in a series of tough neighborhoods. Those instincts had proven to be an invaluable gift that had always served him well. And though he was no longer fighting in the streets, he’d adapted his instincts to his chosen trade, the hotel business. Sometimes the two had a lot in common.

He’d learned early that smiling faces too often masked hostility and contempt, and Garrett sensed both behind the proper Miss York’s professional facade. Rather than resent it, Garrett admired the secretary’s loyalty to her boss and to her place of employment—the exclusive, exalted, five-diamond, five-star resort, Halford House. He valued loyalty, however misplaced.

And he knew that to Miss York, a longtime Halford House employee, he was probably about as welcome as a degenerative disease. The name McGrath was anathema to Arthur Halford and his brethren at the high-end of the hotel industry, for the McGraths owned Family Fun Inns, a chain of budget motels at the lowest end of the scale. The premier hoteliers’ usual policy of ignoring cheap motels for the masses had been severely challenged by Family Fun Inns, a wildly successful, recession-proof company that refused to be overlooked.

Family Fun Inns had a way of appearing in prime locations dominated exclusively by luxuriously elite resort hotels. The sight of the colorful motels, which resembled a crayon box with each door painted a different brilliant shade, inevitably evoked outraged squawks from high-end resort owners and their patrons. “A lethal weed choking the orchid” was the analogy the apoplectic Blue Springs Resort had issued when a Family Fun Inn joined them on their previously private island.

Garrett McGrath, chief weed, had built his career on encroaching among the orchids over and over again.

He’d worked hard in the beginning—eighteen-hour days, wheeling, dealing, planning, convincing, conniving—and his efforts had been very well rewarded. But lately, success had become too easy. Garrett recognized that he was bored, that he needed a challenge, something different.

Today was certainly providing it. Here he was, Garrett McGrath, commander in chief of the Family Fun Inns, being ushered into the plush executive office suite of the legendary Halford House, hallowed vacation spot of the rich and famous and those who were willing to pay the exorbitant fees to be near them.

His father would’ve loved it, thought Garrett. It amused him to speculate that perhaps the late Jack McGrath had a hand in it all from somewhere in the Great Beyond. The McGraths had a streak of mysticism mingled with a wicked humor, and this situation was rich in both. Garrett McGrath was here to buy Halford House, the very place that had refused to hire Jack and Kate McGrath as wait staff all those years ago because they weren’t considered worthy enough to serve the exalted patrons.

And Garrett was savoring every minute of it.

Obviously Arthur Halford, one of the most urbane and patrician hoteliers in the business, was not. The older man’s smile was decidedly forced and his expression became downright pained as he shook the hand that Garrett offered him. The steadfast Miss York hovered in the background, fixing Garrett with a look colder than ice.

“Today’s the day, Art,” Garrett said genially. “You have some papers ready for me to sign?”

“Mr. McGrath, I thought perhaps we would have lunch first, then meet with our attorneys for a final...” Arthur Halford paused and swallowed hard. “Perusal of the contract. Upon the—” this time he cleared his throat “—signing, I would like to invite you to join me in a celebratory glass of cognac.”

Cognac. Garrett’s eyes gleamed. He’d bet anything that Halford would rather serve him a shot of battery acid. Offering a celebratory drink of cognac was a nice touch. Classy. He’d have to keep that one in mind.

“I’d like to have lunch with you, Art, but do we really need the lawyers around? I didn’t bring mine. Besides, they’ve already picked apart the deal word for word. My general counsel can recite the terms by heart. I assume there haven’t been any changes since....” Garrett paused and stared hard at Arthur Halford.

The older man’s face was flushed, his gaze darting frantically in an obvious attempt to avoid eye contact with Garrett. What a terrible poker player Halford must be, mused Garrett—the required blank poker face, giving away nothing, was clearly beyond him. Old Art had just given away everything, particularly himself. The vigilant Miss York looked alarmed.

“I’m going to take a wild guess and assume that there have been some changes,” Garrett said flatly.

“Well, perhaps, but not exactly. Actually, y-you see—” stammered Halford.

“Don’t try any whitewashing or stonewalling, just give me the cold, hard facts.” Garrett’s smile abruptly disappeared. He could be charming when he chose, but the hint of a double cross brought his fighting spirit to the fore. “What’s going on, Halford?”

“Mr. Halford to you, Mr. McGrath,” Miss York said imperiously, glowering at him like a dragon protecting the castle. “I’m mercifully unaware of the milieu in which you normally conduct your business, but here at Halford House we do not use first names, as if in the schoolroom, nor just last names, as if in a locker room. In the executive suite, we use the correct form of address and until this company changes hands—” she shuddered visibly at the thought “—we will continue to honor our traditions.”

“Miss York, please,” Halford said weakly. “It’s all right.” He looked bleakly at Garrett. “Mr. McGrath, I hope you will forgive my secretary for—”

“Forgive Miss York? I salute her! She’s a dynamo. In fact, if you want to stay on here in your current position, Miss York, the job is yours.” Garrett grinned, his good humor temporarily restored. Only Grandmother McGrath in her prime had ever dared to chew him out so effectively. A warm memory of the stone-faced old woman with the heart of granite suffused him. Good old Gran! He actually missed her sharp-tongued harangues, which had ceased since she’d decided to be fond of her eldest grandson.

“No, thank you.” Miss York scowled, her disapproval unconcealed. “As soon as your team is in place, I’m retiring and that’s final, Mr. McGrath.”

“Too bad. I don’t suppose you have a sister at home just like you? No?” Garrett shrugged. “Well, I hope you enjoy your retirement, Miss York. I’m sure it’s well earned, and if you’re ever in the vicinity of a Family Fun Inn, I want to offer you a discount to stay there as a personal friend of the McGrath family.”

He reached into the pocket of his sport coat and pulled out one of his business cards to hand to her. “Just show them this. Discount guaranteed.”

Miss York stared incredulously at the card.

“Miss York, if you’ll excuse us, I have a personal matter to discuss with Mr. McGrath,” Arthur Halford said in that cultured, well-modulated tone of his.

Miss York wordlessly withdrew. Garrett was heartened that she hadn’t ripped his card to shreds and flung the pieces into the trash can. Instead, she’d tucked it into the pocket of her suit coat as she’d closed the office door behind her.

Garrett smiled. He’d bet this entire Halford House deal that Miss York would take him up on the discount and stay in a Family Fun Inn. And she’d like it, too, especially the oh-so-affordable prices. Another convert would be made. His grin broadened. There was nothing he liked better than winning, be it an argument, a court fight, a business deal, or merely changing someone’s mind in his favor.

Which brought him back to this moment in time. It sounded ominously like Arthur Halford had changed his mind—but not in the McGraths’ favor. Garrett narrowed his eyes, straightened his shoulders and assumed his take-charge, take-over, high-testosterone stance.

Nobody backed out on a deal with the McGraths. This was war. “I want to know what’s suddenly gone sour with the deal, Art,” he said with all the conviviality of a rattlesnake.

The suave and seasoned Arthur Halford seemed to dissolve in front of Garrett’s very eyes. The older man sank down onto the forest green leather sofa, running a nervous hand through his thick silver hair. “My daughter!” he exclaimed miserably. “She’s back! That’s what’s gone sour with the deal.”

Garrett stared at him. “What does your daughter have to do with this? And where is she back from? Outer space? Prison?”

“California!” Halford practically wailed.

Garrett was genuinely nonplussed. “Excuse me, Art, but I don’t get it. You’re sitting here losing it because your daughter is back from California?”

“If you knew Shelby, you’d lose it, too,” Halford intoned glumly. He was using vernacular he’d never used before, but somehow it fit. “And when she learns that I’m selling Halford House...” His voice trailed off, as if the consequences were too dire to voice.

Garrett was suddenly back on sure ground. “She’s sentimental about the place, huh?” He sat down beside Halford. “Hey, let me talk to her. I have five younger sisters, I know something about explaining things to females. There might be a few tears but—”

“Tears? Ha! Shelby doesn’t cry! I don’t remember her ever crying, not even as an infant. She decides what she wants and she goes for it, and God help the person who tries to stand in her way. She has all the subtlety and tact of a nuclear missile.” Arthur Halford shook his head. “She’s as different from our Laney as a...a jackal is from a winsome little Yorkshire terrier. Laney has two, you know. Yorkies. She adores them.” A fond, paternal smile momentarily brightened his face.

Garrett studied him curiously. He’d heard people compared to explosives—he’d even used the ticking-time-bomb reference himself—but he had never before heard a father describe his daughter as a jackal. In fact, as angry as Garrett had sometimes gotten at his younger sisters—and they could rile him plenty—he had never thought of them as jackals. Brats, maybe. Pests, perhaps. But nothing bestial.

He tried to get a mental picture of Shelby Halford but the only image that flashed to mind was one of snarling, sharp teeth and wild, beady eyes. Still, a deal was a deal, and he wanted the challenge and the prestige of adding a place like Halford House to the Family Fun Inn company. It would be the crown jewel in the rock-bottom budget chain, and he wasn’t about to let some spoiled Halford brat ruin his plans. Even if she was a jackal.

Before he could speak, Arthur Halford rose to his feet and began to pace the floor of the office, clearly agitated. “Shelby has some hotel experience, you see. She majored in hotel management in college and has been working in California. For the past several years, our relationship has actually been quite excellent with us living on opposite sides of the country. But just last week she called to announce that she was moving back here to Florida.”

“To work in the family business,” Garrett concluded. “And you neglected to mention to her that you were selling Halford House.”

“You’ve got it in one,” said Halford gloomily. “You’ll remember that we agreed to keep the deal secret until the papers were signed and the press release issued. I’ve told no one but my wife. So when Shelby called...” He shook his head and groaned. “Shelby has a way of dominating conversations. Before I could get a word in edgewise, she’d already told me she had quit her job, given up her apartment, and scheduled the movers. She gave me her date of arrival here in Port Key and told me she was ready to begin working here with me—as a prelude to taking over Halford House when I retire.”

“And now she’s here and you still haven’t told her?”

Halford shook his head. “No, I still haven’t told her. I...need more time. I have attempted to set the stage and ease into the subject, however.”

“And how have you done that?” Garrett asked. Sophisticated, polished types like Halford interested him. He’d learned from experience that they were not pushovers, yet they did their back stabbing with such style. Garrett was the first to admit that he lacked deceptive subtlety; he was blunt, forceful and open. According to his mother, he’d been that way since he had first opened his eyes in the delivery room.

“I regret that my, er, explanation is a bit unorthodox.” Arthur Halford appeared acutely embarrassed. “And so very, very difficult to explain, Mr. McGrath.”

“This is going to be a good one,” Garrett guessed, enjoying the anticipation. “Come on, Art. Spill it. What have you told Neutron Shelby about Halford House?”

* * *

“It’s so wonderful to be home!” Shelby Halford exclaimed exuberantly, striding briskly through the lush gardens of the Halford House grounds. She nodded and smiled at some hotel guests who were enjoying a morning stroll along the meticulously maintained crushed gravel paths.

“Shelby, will you please slow down?” her younger sister Laney complained, half running to keep up with Shelby’s long-legged stride. “The puppies are exhausted.”

Shelby cast a disparaging eye at Laney’s pair of five-year-old overfed, overweight Yorkshire terriers, who were panting from the exertion of their walk. “If they had more exercise and a lot less food, a short walk wouldn’t wind them,” she noted. “You simply have to put those dogs on a diet, Laney. It’s for their own good. As it is, you’re feeding them into an early grave.”

“Stop it, Shelby!” Laney’s velvety dark eyes filled with tears. “You can be so cruel—threatening my puppies with death when you know they mean the world to me.” She turned to the tall, nattily dressed blond man who was walking slightly behind them. “Do you like animals, Paul?” she asked, dimpling prettily.

Paul gazed at her, seemingly mesmerized. His reaction surprised neither sister; people had been stopping dead in their tracks to stare at Laney Halford since she’d been a toddler. Paul had been gazing at her continuously since he’d arrived at Halford House last week.

Shelby viewed her sister more dispassionately. Laney was a classic beauty, a striking combination of Vivian Leigh in Gone With the Wind and Liz Taylor in Ivanhoe—except with enormous dark brown eyes. Everybody always said that Laney should be in movies, too, she was that beautiful. Laney always sweetly demurred; she didn’t want a career in anything, she’d claim. All she ever wanted was to be a good wife and mother—Shelby was the one who wanted to work. The way Laney said it made people look askance at Shelby, as if she were against marriage and motherhood, and the American flag and apple pie, too.

Shelby sighed, remembering. There was so much she’d blocked out since leaving home for college in California ten years ago. But now she was back and everything was coming back to her. Every little thing.

“I’ve been an animal lover since I was a tiny little girl,” Laney was saying to Paul, who was still gazing raptly at her. “I’ve always had a menagerie of dogs and cats and birds and bunnies, but Shelby’s never had any time or interest in pets.”

“You make it sound like I’m suffering from a personality disorder,” Shelby said dryly. Laney was very good at that, she well knew.

“I suppose I’m just the maternal, nurturing type,” Laney continued sweetly. “Shelby’s the tough, competitive career woman in the family. And now she’s back to help run Daddy’s hotel. I’m so glad she brought you along to help her, Paul.”

That seemed to snap Paul out of his Laney-induced stupor. “Halford House is as fabulous as you described it, Shelby,” he said, his voice brimming with enthusiasm. “It’s going to be a dream come true, working here.”

He could have added “with you,” Shelby thought wryly. But he might, given time, she told herself. She set her chin determinedly. He would, given time!

She and Paul Whitley had worked very well together at the regal Casa del Marina in California and their professional relationship had blossomed into a friendship that seemed poised on the brink of something deeper. When she had decided it was time to come home at last, she hadn’t wanted to leave Paul behind, ending whatever hadn’t even had a chance to begin. She’d invited him to join her at Halford House, careful to make no personal demands or expectations. There were no romantic strings tied to her job offer to Paul to become her second in command when she succeeded her father. She had too much pride to attempt to bribe a man into caring for her.

But she did have hopes. She’d always wanted marriage, and motherhood, too, though she had never dared to admit such dreams around Laney. Why couldn’t she run Halford House, be Paul’s wife and their future children’s mother—and even have a dog, too? A healthy mongrel whose stomach wouldn’t touch the ground when it walked.

“I guess Shelby told you that our cousin Hartley was being groomed to take over Halford House,” Laney prattled on to Paul, “but he was killed in a boating accident five years ago. Poor Uncle Hal and Aunt Hillary—his parents—were so devastated, they sold their interest in the hotel to Daddy and moved to Arizona. I still cry for Hart. He was a hero to me, a larger-than-life golden boy.” She sniffed delicately.

“God, that’s so tragic,” Paul gasped. He laid a consoling hand on Laney’s slim white arm. She gazed up at him soulfully.

Shelby swallowed. She had fond memories of their cousin Hart, too, but neither she nor Laney had ever been close to him. Hart had been over a dozen years older and rarely bothered to speak to either of them when he was around. Laney’s hero worship of her late cousin seemed to be a new development. But it played well. As an attention getter, grief was very effective, indeed. As Paul’s tender efforts in trying to comfort her indicated.

“One of the reasons I came back was that I wanted Halford House to be run by a Halford,” Shelby said heartily, continuing the family saga. “Hart’s brother Hal Junior isn’t interested in the hotel business and neither is Laney. So that left me. And here we are.”

“Here we are,” Paul echoed, his eyes fixed on Laney.

“Just like old times, hmm, Shelby?” Lane said sweetly.

Shelby swallowed and straightened her shoulders. “Yes. Just like old times.”

A tanned, teenage bellboy, wearing the Halford House uniform of white polo shirt and white slacks, approached the trio, carefully stepping over the tubby little dogs. His name, Brad, was embroidered on the shirt pocket in dark green thread—the official color of Halford House known as “Halford green.”

“Excuse me, Miss Halford,” he addressed Shelby, though his eyes flicked admiringly over Laney. “I have a message from your father. He wants you to come to his office immediately. He said it’s urgent.”

Shelby nodded. “Thank you, Brad. I’ll change clothes and go straight there.”

“Mr. Halford said to come immediately,” Brad insisted. “Like right this second. He said it was extremely urgent and not to waste any time getting over there.”

Shelby looked down at her red running shorts and white cotton tank top. Running shoes and white socks completed the ensemble that was fine for her brisk walk through the gardens and subsequent run on the beach, but totally inappropriate for a business meeting in the hotel’s executive office. Her hair was all wrong, too, pulled high into a ponytail instead of pinned tightly into her usual efficient chignon.

“You’d better go right away, Shelby,” Laney advised. “You know how mad Daddy gets when you don’t listen to him.”

Shelby knew. Though she was loathe to appear in a business setting in sport attire, angering her father would be worse at this point. At least, it would be until he saw her in this getup, thus embarrassing him in front of his business associates. It was a typical Arthur and Shelby Halford no-win situation, variations of which they’d been playing for years. Everything she did seemed to upset her father, starting with being born a girl instead of the firstborn son he had so desperately wanted.

“I’ll keep Paul company while you talk with Daddy, Shelby,” Laney volunteered. “I’ll give him another tour of the place and quiz him on it afterward.” She smiled adorably, and both Paul and Brad looked ready to swoon.

“Thanks, Laney,” Shelby said grimly. She had another flash from the old memory bank—Laney’s penchant for enchanting any man in Shelby’s orbit. It seemed Laney hadn’t lost the knack. And Paul, that glazed-eyed satellite, was already spinning toward Laney’s magnetic pull.

A few minutes later the door to Arthur Halford’s office swung open and Shelby rushed in. Her father, staring out the wall of windows at the spectacular panoramic view of the sea, gasped and clutched his heart as he whirled around to face her. “Good heavens, young lady, you nearly startled the life out of me!”

Shelby’s heart was pounding, too, her father’s unexpected dramatic outburst having startled her just as violently. Now he was glowering furiously at her.

Defensive and embarrassed, Shelby struck back. “The bellboy, Brad, and three other people stopped me in the garden to tell me to get over here instantly. The minute I stepped in the door, Miss York demanded to know what had taken me so long to get here. You were expecting me, so how could I have startled you?”

“You have a point, but it’s invalidated by your entrance, which was all wrong,” came an amused voice from the other side of the office.

Shelby turned to face the direction of that voice. It belonged to a tall, muscular man lounging against the antique-papered wall. His sardonic grin lit a face of sharply carved features, including a pair of striking blue eyes, cool and assessing with a piercing intelligence and strangely at odds with his dark coloring. His hair was a thick black pelt that matched his eyebrows, which were currently arched high, giving him something of a satanic look. An arresting and very sexy look.

Shelby tried concentrating on his clothes instead. They were not terribly flattering, lacking all traces of expensive flair. His navy sport coat, white shirt and khaki slacks were reminiscent of a parochial school uniform and his striped tie was dull, totally lacking any pizzazz. In one of the exclusive men’s shops in Halford House’s charming shopping arcade were clothes off the rack with far more style and dash. And if a man preferred a custom-designed wardrobe, that was also available.

“Here at Halford House, one always knocks before entering,” the man continued, his tone definitely mocking. Shelby detected an unacceptable trace of insolence in it, as well. “House rules, I believe. And while your offense is not punishable by death, it is a severe infraction that must be dealt with accordingly. Call the breach of etiquette police! Charges will be filed immediately.”

He abruptly removed his boring navy sport coat and tossed it over the back of a chair, then began loosening the knot of his tie. His shoulders were broad and muscular beneath the crisp white material of his shirt, and he rolled the sleeves to his elbows, revealing strong forearms, covered with dark wiry hair.

Shelby’s eyes widened. The man was shedding his clothes right in front of them! She wouldn’t be surprised if he unfastened his belt buckle next. Thankfully, he didn’t, but he continued to tug at his shirt, obviously uncomfortable with the stiff, starched material.

She watched him, unable to tear her eyes away. He emitted an intensity that struck her as demented and dangerous. Everything about him—his looks, his body language and mocking words—called forth an inner instinct urging her to turn and run from the office. It was the first time she’d ever had such a weird, primal reaction to anyone and she was completely shaken. It was as if she had some secret knowledge evoked from an unconscious level that was unavailable and inexplicable to her rational mind.

That irritated her. Anything that was unavailable and inexplicable to her rational mind was useless and unacceptable to her. Shelby prided herself on her analytical skills and keen grasp of logic, not to mention her firm grip on reality. Never once had she even mildly flirted with the New Age theories that had abounded during her ten-year stay in Southern California. The powers of crystals and channelers were not for her, nor were ridiculous primal instincts. Particularly when they involved this man, who was watching her with an arrogant, amused air that both insulted and infuriated her.

Shelby bristled. She would not serve as a source of amusement to anyone! “Who are you?” she demanded coldly.

Garrett did not enlighten her. “You have to be daughter Shelby,” he proclaimed instead.

He walked toward her, laughing, aware of the effort she was exerting to remain still. He guessed how desperately she wanted to back away from him but she stood rigidly in place, not moving a muscle or even blinking as he came to stand directly in front of her.

“You’re not at all what I expected.”

His eyes gleamed as they slowly slid over her, taking in every inch of her from the top of her head to the athletically correct running shoes on her feet. It was absolutely true, Shelby Halford was not the image of the militant battle-ax he’d conjured up from her father’s descriptions.

Instead of the hatchet face he’d expected, hers was heart shaped, with high cheekbones and full lips. And her lively, alert hazel eyes had nothing in common with the beady-eyed stare of a jackal. She had thick, straight, nut brown hair pulled into a ponytail and a layer of bangs that accentuated her big, wide-set eyes.

She was about five foot five, but seemed taller, probably because of her impossibly long legs that seemed to reach all the way to her armpits. Not that he had a single complaint about that, Garrett admitted, studying the enticing curves of her thighs, conveniently exposed for his scrutiny by her bright red running shorts. And not even those clunky sneakers of hers could disguise the fact that her calves were slim and well shaped. He wondered if she ever wore four-inch-high stiletto heels, but decided that this was not the time to ask.

The rest of her body, slender and compact, was as pleasing as her legs. Softly flaring hips, narrow waist and firm, rounded breasts now heaving with indignation against the white cotton of her shirt. Garrett smiled, both intrigued and satisfied. It seemed a whole new dimension had been added to his impromptu agreement to Halford’s plea.

Shelby flushed at the intensity of his stare. She was not accustomed to blatant male once-overs. She took pride that her strict, no-nonsense air had always halted such sexist behavior.

He was so close she could feel the body heat emanating from him. At an inch or two over six feet, he seemed to tower over her, his frame solid and strong. She was not accustomed to such physicality—she needed her personal space. It took every ounce of willpower she possessed to keep herself locked in place, breathing in the scent of him.

He expected her to skittle away from him. In fact, she was certain he was counting on it. Well, she wasn’t going to. If this was a battle of wills, Shelby intended to be the victor. “Stop leering at me!” she ordered, and was pleased she’d made it sound like an executive command.

“I’m not leering at you, I’m slavering over you,” Garrett corrected. “This is leering.” He leaned even closer, screwing his face into an insanely ridiculous grimace.

Shelby felt a wild, quick impulse to laugh and immediately stifled it. “I don’t know whether you are trying to be funny or not, but I assure you that sexual harassment is not a laughing matter.”

Arthur Halford groaned.

“Sexual harassment!” Garrett echoed with delight. “It’s the issue of the ‘90s and this is my very first accusation. I’m in the loop at last! The family will be so proud.”

Shelby swung away from him, her head held high. It didn’t matter that she was the first one to move, she assured herself. It was time to end this stupid game of one-upmanship he’d begun and she was the one to do it. She was in charge here, not him.

“Dad, who is this...this person?” she demanded crossly. There were so many other nouns she would have rather used.

Garrett seemed to know it. He didn’t bother to stifle his impulse to laugh.

Shelby knew he was laughing at her. She fumed.

Arthur Halford reddened, and he cast a worried, apologetic glance at Garrett.

“Please, introduce me to your charming daughter, Art,” Garrett invited.

Two

Halford took a deep breath. “Mr. McGrath, I’d like to introduce you to my daughter, Shelby.” He seemed to gulp for air. “Shelby, this is Garrett McGrath, the owner and CEO of the, uh, Family Fun Inns.”

Shelby stared at him. “Garrett McGrath?” Now it was her turn to gasp. Everyone in the high-end of the hotel industry knew that name—some considered it interchangeable with Mephistopheles.

Garrett nodded his head. “Your father said he told you something about our arrangement, about why and how I’ve come here to Halford House to learn all about the upscale hotel business from my betters.”

He glanced at Art. Poor Halford had cringed when he’d confessed the ruse he had cooked up to keep his daughter clueless regarding the sale. Garrett’s first reaction had been incredulity, then his sense of humor had kicked in. He’d been more curious than ever to meet the demonic daughter who’d driven her father to such lengths. And now he’d met her.

Garrett’s gaze slid over Shelby’s lithe figure, then back to her sultry mouth and flashing hazel eyes. “This should be an interesting experience, to say the least.”

“Interesting is hardly the word I’d choose,” Shelby replied coldly. “The entire arrangement is ridiculous.”

She was frustrated, exasperated. Didn’t her father understand? Garrett McGrath was mocking them. That gleam in his impossibly blue eyes was derision, not friendly mirth. “And I told my father so. Having you stay here to observe the way we run Halford House is a complete waste of your time, Mr. McGrath.” And ours, she added silently but implicitly.

Garrett arched his black brows higher. “Sounds like you’re implying that nothing I learn here will be of any use to me in running Family Fun Inns.”

“You know it won’t,” Shelby said tightly.

“I assume rich people have families and want to have fun, just like the patrons of the Family Fun Inns. So isn’t it possible that—”

“You’re deliberately goading me, Mr. McGrath,” Shelby cut in. “And I—”

“I’m just trying to learn from you, Your Highness.” It was Garrett’s turn to interrupt and he did so, grinning broadly. “So far, I haven’t learned much about running a swank joint like Halford House but I’ve learned that when you’re on the losing side of an argument, you take the offensive. Accusing me of goading you is a good diversionary tactic, although it didn’t work. You still haven’t convinced me why I shouldn’t be here to learn about serving the high and mighty.”

Shelby’s mouth tightened. “Are you always so argumentative, Mr. McGrath?”

“Always,” he assured her. “Usually, I’m even worse, but I’m on my best behavior today. I’m hoping to impress my superiors here at Halford House. How am I doing?”

Her father didn’t give her a chance to reply. “Please don’t take offense at anything Shelby says, Mr. McGrath. She’s wary of new acquaintances and...um...tries to test them. As for me, I’m happy and proud to share my forty-some years’ knowledge of the business with a man as brilliant and innovative as you.”

Shelby stared at her father as if he’d taken leave of his senses. “Dad, may I remind you that this is the Garrett McGrath who put a Family Fun Inn on the same island as the Blue Springs Resort, sending their property value and stock into a free-fall. Who built a Family Fun Inn practically next door to the Snow Bird Hacienda in Aspen and caused its patrons to flee the state. Whose Family Fun Inns and their faithful retinue of T-shirt shops, themed burger joints, frozen yogurt stands and souvenir junk places have taken over formerly quaint little towns and turned them into tourist traps. I can recite the names of them, beginning with—”

“Stop, you’re embarrassing me!” Garrett’s blue eyes taunted her. “There’s no need to tout the spectacular success of Family Fun Inns. Just basking in the glow of your admiration is praise enough.”

“I do not admire you and I’m certainly not praising you!” cried Shelby.

“You take the bait every time, don’t you, honey?” Garrett surveyed her lazily. “Oh, yes, working here with you the next couple of months is definitely going to be interesting.”

“Couple of months?” both Shelby and her father chorused in pure dismay.

“Why not?” Garrett shrugged. “I haven’t taken a vacation in ages. Of course, I stay at Family Fun Inns all over the country throughout the year, but that’s work, not a vacation. So I think I’ll take one here. Sort of a busman’s holiday, if you will. A high-end one.”

Shelby felt a peculiar panic ripple through her, growing stronger the more she contemplated the prospect of a steady daily diet of Garrett McGrath. “You can’t stay here, Mr. McGrath,” she blurted out.

“Shelby!” There was nothing well modulated or polished in the roar that Arthur Halford emitted as he glared at his daughter. “Mr. McGrath is our guest. Our honored guest. He is welcome here as long as he cares to stay.”

The smile Garrett flashed at Shelby set her teeth on edge.

“Thanks, Art. I’ll take that cottage you so graciously offered me earlier and settle in. Of course, I’ll be flying home to our corporate headquarters in Buffalo for a day or so every week to stay in touch, but with faxes and teleconferences, I’ll be able to manage things very well from down here.”

“Your corporate headquarters are in Buffalo?” Halford repeated with forced joviality. “I hadn’t realized that.”

“The first Family Fun Inn was in Niagara Falls,” Garrett explained. “My family had ended up in Buffalo, after living in a string of cities. We were sort of like Gypsies, traveling from place to place.”

“That certainly fits,” muttered Shelby. She could easily visualize caravans of McGraths descending on one world-class resort after another, fleecing them of their worth.

Her father shot her a quelling glance, then turned to Garrett. “Well, we’re delighted you are here at Halford House, Mr. McGrath.” Halford was once again the quintessential host welcoming his guest. “September is an ideal time to learn the ropes of running, um, a place like this. Our peak season is in winter and early spring when freezing weather up north brings our guests here to Port Key for some sun and warmth.”

“Summer is peak season for Family Fun Inns,” Garrett said, “although we do well during school holidays, especially Christmas break. Our inns are swarming with kids during school vacations.” He smiled. “Speaking as the oldest of nine, I think kids are great. There can never be too many of them around. What are your facilities for children here at Halford House?”

Shelby and her father exchanged uneasy glances. When he hesitated to reply, she stepped in to tackle the question. “We don’t get very many children here,” she admitted. She felt as if she’d been called to the principal’s office, condemned by a failing grade. “Many of our guests are older,” she hastened to explain. “Their children are grown, with families of their own. We do have a wonderful children’s boutique in our arcade of shops that is filled with unique gifts for doting grandparents to buy. It does very well,” she added lamely.

“I’ve seen some of the guests around here and they aren’t all grandparents,” Garrett challenged. “There are younger people staying here.”

“We have many childless, two-income couples who like to come here to relax.” Shelby wondered why she felt so defensive and was irked that she did. “Then, of course, there are the couples who do have young children but who come here to be alone.”

“Leaving the kids behind,” Garrett said flatly.

“Where is it written that parents can’t take a vacation without their children?” Shelby flared.

“Shelby, you’re talking to a man who has built a chain of motels dedicated to the proposition of parents vacationing with their children,” her father reminded her. “We sincerely respect your position, Mr. McGrath, and we admire your incredible success,” he added with a fulsome smile.

Her father sounded like a fawning sycophant! Shelby gaped at him. Could this be the same man who’d always expounded at length on the horrors of having to cater to guests under twelve? Who’d considered banning teenagers from the premises—unless they were working here at less than minimum wage. It was safe to say that Arthur Halford did not dote on children. Shelby could personally attest to that, having grown up as one of his own.

Garrett glanced at his watch. “I have some calls to make,” he announced abruptly. He grabbed his sport coat and headed toward the door.

“Shelby will escort you to your cottage,” Halford offered at once. “And she will be at your disposal until we meet for lunch at one. I have a table reserved on the terrace—if that meets with your approval?” He glanced deferentially at Garrett.

“Lunch on the terrace at one sounds good to me,” affirmed Garrett.

It didn’t sound good to Shelby. It was just ten o’clock, which meant that she was doomed to spend three whole hours with the insufferable Garrett McGrath before passing him along to her father. She couldn’t do it, Shelby decided.

She turned to her father. “Dad, as you know, you gave me this morning off and I’ve already made plans. I can’t possibly—”

“Change your plans,” her father ordered, glaring balefully at her. “In case you’ve forgotten, I am still the one to give orders around here and I am ordering you to devote yourself to Mr. McGrath’s service.”

He turned to Garrett, all smiles once more. “You’ll be staying in cottage 101,” he added, naming one of the largest, most elegant and newly refurbished cottages on the grounds. Like the rooms and suites in Halford House’s main lodge, the outlying cottages comprising the complex had the full range of hotel services.

“I’m sure you’ll feel quite at home there, Mr. McGrath,” Halford continued expansively. “Presidents and royalty have stayed in 101 and been very pleased with the facilities.”

“Presidents, royalty, and now a McGrath,” Garrett remarked as they left the office, Shelby trailing slightly behind him. He seemed to be laughing at his own private joke.

And the joke was on her, Shelby was certain of that. They passed Miss York’s desk and Garrett bade her a cheerful goodbye. Unsmiling, the secretary acknowledged him with a grim nod.

“At least Miss York is still in character,” Shelby muttered as they approached the main desk in the main lobby.

“According to your father’s description, so are you.”

Shelby asked for and received the keys to cottage 101, then strode briskly from the building into the bright Florida sunshine. She knew Garrett was ambling behind her and she paused to wait for him by a tall palm tree. She had to ask, she couldn’t put it off another minute. “What did my father say about me?” she demanded.

“That you’ve just returned from a ten-year stay in California among other things.” Garrett faced her squarely.

“And those other things are?”

He shrugged. Though it might surprise those who had previously accused him of heartlessness and lack of tact, he wasn’t about to tell her that her own father considered her as feral as a jackal. “He mentioned that you’re different from your sister Lacey, or Lynnie, or something like that.”

“Laney,” Shelby corrected. She was appalled that her father had been discussing her with this man. And if he’d been comparing her to Laney, she could well imagine which sister had fared the worst. “Her name is Maclane but she’s always been Laney.”

“Shelby and Maclane. Sounds like a law firm.”

“Garrett McGrath. Sounds like an aspiring country music singer.”

“Merely an aspiring singer?” Garrett complained mildly. “How about a country-music legend instead?”

Shelby shook her head. “An aspiring singer. One who never even gets to make a demo tape and ends up as a dishwasher at a Nashville diner.”

“Ouch! Okay, then Shelby and Maclane are a pair of disreputable ambulance chasers rather than a staid, established firm.”

Shelby scowled at him. “This is the most ridiculous conversation I’ve ever had.”

“Really?” Garrett shrugged. “It’s fairly typical for me.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” She glanced at him curiously. “Are you really the oldest of nine?”

“Sure am. In descending order—Glenn, Gracie, Fiona, Eilish, Devon, Caitlin, Brendan and Aidan. Are there just you and your sister Laney?”

“Just the two of us. She’s fourteen months younger than me,” Shelby said flatly.

“And she loves cute little dogs. You, on the other hand, eat them for breakfast. Metaphorically speaking, of course.”

Shelby groaned. “What else did my father tell you about me?”

“It wasn’t so much what he said as the way he said it. I admit that I don’t know the man very well, but from what I’ve seen so far, Arthur Halford is a first-rate hotelier, but definitely loses in the father sweepstakes.”

Shelby’s temper, too close to the surface around Garrett McGrath, flared once again. “I can’t believe you have the gall to criticize my father after he’s offered you the hospitality of Halford House and agreed to allow you a kind of on-the-job training in its operations.”

“He’s something of a dud as a dad, but you defend him,” Garrett observed. “You’re a very loyal daughter. Is that why you came back from California, Shelby? For the opportunity to work side by side with your father and—”

“Why do you ask?” she cut in sharply.

“I’m curious as to why you decided to return to Port Key and Halford House after living so far away for ten years. Your father claimed he didn’t know the reason, either, that you suddenly announced you were on your way back here.”

“My reasons for returning are personal and none of your business, Mr. McGrath,” Shelby said stiffly. She turned away from him, taking a path into the lush tropical gardens.

“If you make it a mystery, you’ll only encourage me not to give up until I know everything,” warned Garrett, right at her heels. “There’s nothing I like better than a challenge.”

“And all along I thought your favorite thing was slapping up dirt-cheap motels where they aren’t wanted.”

“It’s not the dirt-cheap motels snobs like you object to, it’s the people who stay in them. You don’t want working-class people, the lower and middle classes, anywhere around you.” Garrett moved closer and caught her wrist, bringing her to an abrupt halt. His blue eyes were glittering. “We do get some upper middle-class folks who want a good bargain and don’t care about status, but status and flashing big bucks are all you spoiled little rich girls and your cohorts care about. That and the thrill of excluding everyone who doesn’t meet with your rigid class standards of approval.”

“I’m not a snob!” Shelby protested. “And I’m certainly not spoiled. My parents paid for my education but they never showered me with presents or made me feel like I was better than anyone else.”

On the contrary, she usually felt she wasn’t as good. She flinched at the painful insight and pushed it away to resume her defense. “I’m twenty-seven years old and I’ve had to work hard to achieve everything I’ve accomplished from...” Her voice trailed off. “I don’t have to defend myself to you.”

“True,” agreed Garrett. “Although you seem to feel the need, don’t you?”

He had a point and she could think of no suitable reply. After all, why should she care what Garrett McGrath thought of her? If he wanted to believe she was an elitist snob, it shouldn’t matter to her at all.

His hand was still clamped around her wrist and Shelby jerked it free. She didn’t say another word as she led him through the gardens to the secluded grove where cottage 101 was artfully landscaped with an assortment of riotously colored flowers, bushes and shrubs. “Here’s the cottage, here’s your key.” She shoved it into his hand. “Goodbye, Mr. McGrath.”

“Not goodbye,” he countered. “According to your dear old dad’s explicit orders, you’re supposed to be at my disposal until I meet him for lunch.”

Shelby took a deep breath. “Mr. McGrath, you don’t like me any more than I like you. We’re incompatible, and you can’t possibly want to prolong the misery. Besides, you have phone calls to make. You said so in my father’s office.”

“I lied,” Garrett said bluntly. “I was getting bored listening to your father sucking up to me. And call me Garrett, because I refuse to call you Miss Halford, even though Miss York read me the riot act on proper terms of address here at Halford House.”

He inserted the key into the lock and pushed open the door. “And who says I don’t like you? I’m quite selective in choosing my enemies and I don’t know you well enough to consider you one.” He stepped inside the cottage. “Come on in,” he ordered, motioning her to follow him.

Shelby stood in the doorway and watched him prowl around the room like a restless tiger moving in on new territory. The living room was spacious and luxurious, a sunny, airy room with white wicker furniture, the color scheme Halford green and complementing shades of yellow and peach.

Garrett disappeared down a small hallway that Shelby knew led to the kitchen, bathroom and bedroom. Another turn to the right led to the larger master bedroom suite. Her mouth felt oddly dry and she remained in the doorway, her fists clenched tightly at her sides.

“Help yourself to something in the refrigerator, I’m sure it’s fully stocked,” Garrett called from the back of the cottage. “And close the door. You’re air-conditioning the state of Florida and wasting electricity.”

Leave, Shelby advised herself. Turn around and march out right now. She almost did it. But instead she stepped inside, closing the door behind her. She really had no choice. Garrett McGrath was unpredictable; he might simply go about his business after she’d left or he might call her father and report her defection.

And her father was a man capable of great wrath when things were not to his liking. Shelby was quite aware of that because much of what she did was not to his liking. But could pleasing Garrett McGrath possibly be to his liking? Shelby sat gingerly on the edge of the flowered chintz sofa and pondered that astonishing concept. Why was her father trying to ingratiate himself with Garrett McGrath?

She couldn’t buy her father’s fulsome declarations of respect and admiration for the man. Though she’d been living away from Arthur Halford since the age of seventeen, they’d maintained telephone contact and the occasional visit. She still knew her father well enough to know that he considered low-end, fast money-makers like Garrett McGrath the bane of the hotel industry.

“Ready?”

She was lost in thought and gave a startled gasp at the sound of Garrett’s voice. He was standing beside the arm of the sofa, towering above her. Shelby jumped to her feet and moved a safe distance away from him. He had changed into dark blue running shorts and a white cotton tank top similar to her own.

Shelby stole a sidelong, furtive glance at him. His legs were long and muscular and covered with dark, wiry hair. The tight shirt showcased his broad chest and shoulders and his hard, muscled arms. Her gaze slid up to his face, taking in his strong jaw and disturbingly sensuous mouth. Their eyes met, and for one long moment Shelby gazed into their dark, deep blue depths. She felt the frisson of sensual electricity surge between them and immediately turned away.

“You’re going to work out? We have an excellent exercise spa, all sorts of state-of-the-art workout equipment, a sauna, and a masseur.” She paused to breathe. She couldn’t seem to stop talking. “We also boast a fully—”

“I’m going to run on the beach. And since you’re under paternal command to stick to me like superglue, so are you.”

Shelby heaved a martyred sigh.

Garrett laughed. “Don’t even try to pretend this is some big sacrifice for you. You were on your way to run when your daddy summoned you to his royal headquarters.”

“How do you know what I was going to do?” Shelby challenged. “Are you now claiming to be psychic?”

“Just observant. I can tell by the way you’re dressed. You seem like the type who would make a point of dressing correctly for whatever you’re doing and wherever you’re going. So if you were going to play tennis, you’d be wearing tennis whites. If you were going to the exercise spa, you’d be in a bright spandex leotard and tights. If you were golfing, you’d—”

“All right, I get your point! I was planning to run on the beach,” she admitted crossly. “I try to run every morning, although this is later than usual for me.”

“Because your father gave you the morning off,” concluded Garrett. “Until he rescinded it and stuck you with me.”

Shelby shot him an exasperated glance. “Precisely.”

* * *

They jogged in silence along the wide white span of sandy beach, side by side, keeping a steady pace. There were a few bathers sunning themselves on Halford House canvas beach chairs. A lifeguard was on duty in a wooden kiosk but there were no swimmers in the ocean.

“I can tell you run every day,” Garrett said at last.

“How?” Shelby asked dryly. “By my impeccably correct attire?” She was sorry to break the silence that had grown almost companionable as they headed around a curve, out of sight of the Halford House facilities. A long expanse of deserted beach stretched before them.

“You’re not winded and you’re doing a nice job of keeping up with me,” stated Garrett.

“That’s funny, I was about to say the same thing about you.”

“I wasn’t patronizing you, I meant it as a compliment.”

Shelby gave him a saccharine smile. “Now why would I ever think otherwise?”

They lapsed into silence once more, jogging farther along the uninhabited beach. The only sounds to be heard were those of the surf breaking and the gulls crying. It was peaceful and quiet, and Shelby felt the tension begin to slowly drain from her, the exercise working its loosening magic.

“So, are you going to tell me what prompted your sudden return to Halford House?” Garrett’s voice shattered the peace.

Shelby tensed again. “I will if you’ll tell me why my father seems to have suddenly become your number one fan.”

Garrett grinned. “Suspicious about that, are you?”

“I’m not as stupid or gullible as you may think, Mr. McGrath.”

“Garrett,” he corrected. “And I don’t think you’re stupid or gullible at all. Quite the contrary.” He stopped running, and because she was at his disposal, Shelby stopped, too.

“I want to cool off. Let’s go swimming.” Garrett stooped to untie his running shoes.

“In the ocean?”

He looked up at her. “Where else?”

Shelby bit back a smile. It had been a stupid question, what with the ocean just a foot away. “I’m not going into the water.”

“Because you aren’t properly dressed for the proposed activity,” Garrett surmised. “I’m going to tell you something shocking, Shelby. You don’t have to wear a swimsuit to go into the water.”

“If you’re talking about taking an uninhibited skinny-dip in the ocean, forget it. I won’t do it. And don’t bother pointing out that my father has placed me at your services. My services do not include—”

“You’re awfully bossy,” Garrett complained. He’d already removed his own shoes and socks and had started to untie the laces of her shoes. He was close enough for his shoulder to brush her leg as he worked. Shelby gulped. The feel of his skin against hers and the scent of his clean male sweat evoked a sharp, hot pang deep within her.

Shelby closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She would not, could not, be attracted to this man. What she was experiencing was not sexual excitement but ragged nerves, caused by apprehension and anxiety and lack of breakfast, she assured herself.

When he tried to take off her shoe, she resisted the impulse to kick him and moved swiftly out of his reach. “So, I’m sure a staunch advocate of family fun like you must have a wife and children—stashed away in Buffalo, perhaps? And what will they think of your months’ long vacation away from them? Unless, of course, you intend to bring them to Halford House to join you in the cottage?”

Garrett rose to his feet. “Ah, the inevitable question. Am I married or not? That was a less than subtle approach, Shelby.”

“I wasn’t trying to be subtle.” Her cheeks were fiery red. “And I don’t care whether you are or you aren’t.”

“I see. You simply wanted to know how many towels to supply to the cottage. Well, I’ve never been married and I don’t have kids. Hmm, how can I make this more interesting...?” He paused. “I’ve got it. Thirty-six-year-old, single, white male likes frozen yogurt, burger joints and T-shirt shops—”

“Cheap souvenirs, taffy and fudge shops and family fun,” Shelby added. “Don’t forget to mention how you love to sit in front of a roaring fire, listen to rain on the roof and go for long walks on the beach.”

“I run on the beach, I get too hot sitting in front of a roaring fire, and the sound of rain annoys me. It means a ruined vacation. I prefer sun or snow, seasonable weather in seasonable places.”

They looked at each other and laughed. Their gazes locked and lasted after their laughter faded, crossing the intangible line into sensual awareness. Garrett’s breath caught in his throat. Shelby’s eyes were shining, her mouth wide and soft and tempting. His blood seemed to thicken and surge hotly through him, pooling in one hard throbbing strategic area. Now he needed the shock of a cold water plunge.

Shelby felt the sexual tension stretch between them. Her pulse accelerated and her breathing quickened. She quickly looked away from him.

“So, now that you know I’m a wholesome, honorable, single guy instead of a married cad bent on cheating on his wife, will you go swimming with me?” Garrett said huskily. “With our clothes on.”

“Just run right into the ocean wearing our clothes?”

“Well, you made it pretty clear that you weren’t interested in skinny-dipping.”

Shelby hesitated. It occurred to her that she had never swum wearing anything but the appropriate attire, a swimsuit. During staff parties at Casa del Marina, managers and senior staff were sometimes rowdily tossed into the pool, fully dressed, by some exuberant revelers. Not Shelby, though. She’d never even been approached. She was not the type to inspire anyone, not even a wildly exuberant reveler, to pick her up and throw her into the water.

“You have no choice, you know.” Garrett’s voice sounded above her head. “I’ll give you thirty seconds to take off your shoes and socks and then I’m dragging you into the water, with or without them.”

Without saying a word, Shelby pulled off her socks and shoes and tossed them aside. “I’ll race you into the water,” she called over her shoulder as she sped into the waves.

It was an unfair contest as she was already on her way before she issued the challenge, but Garrett responded at once. He ran into the surf, water splashing high around him.

“I win,” sang Shelby, standing knee-deep in the water. It was lukewarm and felt refreshing against her overheated skin.

“You cheated,” Garrett countered.

“Don’t be a sore loser. After all, it’s not whether you win or lose, it’s if you play the game.”

“How you play the game,” amended Garrett.

“Whatever.” Shelby shrugged. “There aren’t any waves today. The ocean is as still and clear as a swimming pool. Which is where you should be, if you wanted to swim today,” she added, casting him a reprimanding glance.

“But you can’t do this in a pool.” Suddenly, without a hint of a warning, Garrett placed his hands around Shelby’s waist.

Shelby felt heat flare within her. Their eyes met and held and a heavy silence engulfed them. Was he going to kiss her? she wondered. Did she want him to? Her heart was thundering madly against her ribs so hard and so loud, the beats echoed in her ears.

As she was pondering those questions, she felt his strong fingers tighten around her waist, felt him lifting her up, up off her feet. A dizzying, disorienting moment later, she was flying through the air and then plunging back into the water several feet away from him. She went under and came up spluttering.

Shelby grabbed a handful of her wet hair and pushed it out of her eyes. “You threw me!” she gasped.

“You’ve got a keen grasp of the obvious.”

Shelly waded through the water, which lapped around her waist, back to where Garrett stood. He was grinning down at her, unrepentantly.

She found herself grinning back. “It was fun. Do it again.”

Three

Garrett obliged. He picked her up by her waist, raised her out of the water and tossed her as easily as a beach ball. Once again, Shelby experienced the rush of sailing through the air and crashing back into the warm, clear water. Once again, she waded back to him.

“Again?” he asked.

She nodded. He picked her up and threw her again. Shelby emerged from under the water, laughing.

“One more time?” suggested Garrett.

He didn’t wait for her reply but waded over to her, picked her up and tossed her back into the ocean. “Now it’s your turn to throw me,” he said when Shelby surfaced.

She eyed his solid, hard frame. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Come on,” he urged. “You at least have to try.”

“What do you think I am? A sumo wrestler? I can’t pick you up!”

“You can in the water. It negates gravity or something.”

“‘Negates gravity’?” Shelby repeated scornfully. “I’ll bet you were a whiz in physics class with theories like that.”

“I never took physics,” Garrett confessed. He cupped his hand and splashed a spray of water at her. “I wasn’t into science. My talents lay elsewhere—like in the cheap-motel industry.”

“And in unassailable concepts like family fun,” Shelby added. She vigorously splashed him back. “Personally, I’ve always considered family fun to be an oxymoron. You know, a complete contradiction in terms.”

“Having met your father, I can understand why. Are your mother and sister as bad or worse?”

Shelby used both hands to shower him with blasts of water. “My mother is a dear. Everybody loves her. My sister is...” Her voice trailed off. How to describe Laney?

Garrett drew his own conclusions. “A jackal?” he suggested.

She shouldn’t have laughed, Shelby scolded herself after she’d already done so. She tried to repair the damage. “Wait until you see Laney. You’ll be tripping over your tongue as you spout accolades to her beauty.”

“I never spout accolades,” Garrett assured her.

He glided swiftly through the water to stand before her. “Are you going to toss me or not?” he challenged.

“I told you, it’s impossible. Look.” Shelby tentatively placed her hands on his waist. Her fingers locked around his wet skin, she felt his hard warmth beneath her palms. “See, I can’t budge you. You’re solid as a...a...” The husky thickness of her voice surprised her, and she lost her train of thought.

Her eyes flew to his face, just as he lowered his head to hers. Before she had a chance to speak or move or even think, Garrett’s arms came around her and his mouth took hers.

For a split second Shelby was so startled she stood rigid in his embrace, her eyes wide open, her lips closed. She was pressed so tightly against him that she could feel him everywhere, enveloping her in his seductive masculine heat. She was achingly aware of the virile, burgeoning strength of him throbbing against her, of the muscular hardness of his chest crushing her breasts.

His mouth was seductively firm and tasted of saltwater, his big hands moved slowly and sensuously over her, molding her ever closer against the taut male planes of his body. Shelby’s eyelids drifted shut as her arms crept around his neck. Her mind seemed to have short-circuited, giving her body free reign to do as it liked. And it most definitely liked these exciting, enthralling feelings coursing through her. A glowing warmth flamed deep in her belly, and she felt a secret intimate ache that swelled and throbbed within her.

Her lips parted for him and his tongue penetrated the warm wetness of her mouth, deepening the kiss. Shelby moaned when his tongue rubbed hers, stroking in tantalizing sensual simulation.

He slipped his thigh between hers and she yielded to him, parting her legs to accommodate the thrusting male pressure. Hot, sweet pleasure streaked through her. Shelby clung to him, drowning in a smooth silky sea of desire. As if of their own volition, her hands moved over the taut muscles of his back, reveling in the solid masculine feel of him. Her fingers dared to move lower, to the strong muscular curve of his buttocks.

Garrett lifted his mouth from hers and, groaning, buried his lips in the soft, damp curve of her neck. He was breathing hard and his heartbeat was hammering in his ears, as if he’d been running in a high-speed race. He clutched her possessively, caressing her, inhaling her sweet and salty scent.

The feel of her soft hands on him was so arousing that his mind seemed to splinter. When she uttered a small, sexy moan, he took her mouth again. He tilted her head back, slanting his mouth more securely over hers to deepen the kiss and heighten the intimacy.

Shelby kissed him back with an ardor and a passion she had never before experienced. Her senses seemed to be excruciatingly attuned to him, to their kiss and her own wild responses. Her breasts were pressed against the wall of his chest, and their sensitive tips tightened with aching pleasure. Shelby twisted feverishly against him, rising on tiptoe to fit herself even more intimately into him. A syrupy warmth flowed through her. His mouth was hot and hard and demanding, and she loved it.

They kissed hungrily, fiercely, their kisses growing wilder and hotter and longer, one blending into another. Garrett’s hands were in constant motion, touching her all over, caressing the curve of her breasts, her waist and hips. Cupping the rounded firmness of her bottom, his long fingers kneaded through the wet cotton covering her. He longed to strip it off, to see her, to feel her without the restricting material. He stroked the backs of her thighs, up and down in a sensually mesmerizing rhythm, then slipped his fingers under the wide-cut hem of her shorts.

Shelby felt his fingertips trace the elastic leg band of her panties, then slip audaciously underneath. The intimacy was shocking enough to jar her sense of time and of place back to the fore. Abruptly, she jerked herself away from him, her withdrawal so quick and unexpected that Garrett had no time to prevent her.

And he definitely would have prevented her from pulling out of his arms, he admitted, as he stared dazedly down at her. She was looking at him, her lips moist and slightly swollen from their kisses, her hazel eyes cloudy with passion. A shudder of desire racked him. He wanted nothing more than to yank her back into his arms and kiss her until they were both senseless.

And Shelby knew it. The intensity in his blue gaze made her quiver. “I—it’s broad daylight and we’re right here in the ocean,” she murmured shakily. “Anyone walking along the beach could see us....” Her voice trailed off. She was shaken and off-balance by her wild uninhibited response to him, and more than a little unnerved by the completeness of her surrender.

Garrett’s mouth curved into a slow, sexy smile. “Do you want to go back to the cottage and continue this there?”

“No!” Shelby exclaimed, horrified. She had regained full control of herself. The unbridled passion that had sparked between them only moments ago now seemed impossible and inconceivably out of character for her. One moment they had been playing and splashing in the water together and the next they’d been locked in a hot embrace.

Shelby frowned. When was the last time she’d played and splashed in the water? When she’d been three? Perhaps four? Certainly by the time she had reached kindergarten age, she had learned to take swimming seriously and had abandoned all water play.

“Are you sure?” Garrett reached out his arm to run his thumb along the length of her bare arm. Shelby jumped away from him, as if he’d burned her with a match, the pathway of skin he’d traced, hot and tingling.

“I’m positive!” she snapped. “I—I don’t even like you!”

“You don’t, hmm?” Garrett arched his brows. “You could’ve fooled me, honey.”

A hot bolt of anger streaked through her. “Don’t call me honey! I’m not one of your floozies!”

“Floozies?” Garrett laughed out loud. “Where did you come up with that one? Masterpiece Theater?”

Shelby glared at him. “I suppose this is standard operating procedure for you—your obligatory pass at the boss’s daughter. But let me tell you it’s disgusting and demeaning. Do you need to...to validate your masculinity by making a pass at every woman you meet?”

“Your father is not my boss,” Garrett said calmly. “And I had no doubts about my masculinity, although if I had, your passionate response certainly would’ve...um...validated it.”

He moved closer, close enough to trace the taut outline of her nipple, which was defined and straining against the double layers of wet cloth plastered to her. He touched the pad of his thumb to the tight center and rubbed gently.

Shelby gasped as fiery sparks of pleasure flared and burned deep in the most secret part of her. She immediately slapped his hand away, as enraged by his unspeakable boldness as by her own traitorous response to it.

“I’m leaving,” she announced, turning to the shore. “I refuse to spend another moment in your company. You can entertain yourself until your lunch with my father.”

“Shelby,” he called.

Shelby didn’t stop walking, though she looked over her shoulder to glower imperiously at him. “If you try to stop me, I’ll fight you,” she promised. “I took a self-defense class and I can do major damage.”

“I’m letting you go,” Garrett called back, “because I want to, not because I’m even remotely worried about your fighting ability.”

He watched her wade out of the water and storm up the beach to snatch her shoes and socks. She didn’t bother to put them on, but broke into a run along the sand in the direction of the hotel.

Garrett stayed in the water, watching her until she disappeared from view. He wasn’t as cool as he’d led her to believe. He was thoroughly flummoxed by his incendiary response to her. He had kissed her on impulse, but he’d never expected her passionate response, which, in turn, had sent him soaring into the sexual stratosphere.

There was something downright fateful about the whole thing. His Grandmother McGrath was big on fate, always seeing its determining hand in everything, Garrett recalled with a smile. He was more prosaic and pragmatic himself. What Gran called fate, he called timing. The timing had to be right in buying and selling, just as timing was everything in sex, love and friendship.

Right now, the timing seemed highly auspicious. His first venture into the high-end hotel business had led to an encounter with a woman who interested, amused and aroused him.

He didn’t take it lightly. The motel business was Garrett’s real love and he’d come to accept that. He never expected to meet a woman as compelling to him as his business dealings.

Not that he had much opportunity to look for one. He was simply too busy to spend much time on his social life. There were too many other demands on his time. Since business took him all over the country, he was never in one place long enough to cultivate a serious relationship, though he’d had a certain number of no-strings, temporary ones. What red-blooded single man who’d reached the age of thirty-six hadn’t?

Lost in thought, Garrett slowly retraced his path to the hotel. Timing, he thought again. For the past year he’d been growing tired of the way things were and had finally decided to halt his descent into boredom and make some changes in his life. Adding the Halford House to the Family Fun Inns had been a professional change but it seemed that it might be time to make other changes, as well. Changes involving his personal life and those no-strings, temporary relationships.

Would Shelby Halford be part of those changes or was she merely the catalyst for what was to come? He didn’t know the answer but the question intrigued him.

* * *

Halford House’s formal dining room overlooked the ocean, providing a spectacular view for the diners. A smaller, more casual dining room known as The Grill was centrally located in the complex, surrounded by two huge, crystal blue pools, complete with cascading waterfall and poolside bar. Also on the premises were tennis courts, a golf course and a spa, all equipped with their own staff. A dock and marina adjacent to the private beach made sailboats, Jet Skis and catamarans available for hourly or daily rentals. The arcade of exclusive shops and the nightclub with live entertainment and dancing provided diversions for those guests uninterested in land or water sports.

“I’m impressed,” Garrett said as he toured the facilities with Shelby, pretending that it was the first time he’d seen them.

“It’s like a world unto itself,” Paul Whitley enthused. “A perfect world. Only the very best for the very best people.”

Garrett glared at him. When Arthur Halford had instructed Shelby to give Garrett a detailed, guided tour of the facilities this afternoon, he hadn’t mentioned that this bronze, blond surfer in the ice-cream suit would be part of the group.

Only the very best for the very best people. Whitley’s elitist sentiment instantly grated on Garrett. He visualized a 1940s version of Paul Whitley informing young Jack and Kate McGrath that they couldn’t be hired to serve the revered patrons of Halford House because they didn’t qualify, classwise. Only the very best for the very best people.

“Exactly what is your function here, Whitley?” Garrett asked, and received an icy look of disapproval from Shelby for his slightly challenging tone. But he was genuinely puzzled. Arthur Halford had made no mention of Paul Whitley, though he seemed to have some sort of official function around here. And some sort of connection to Shelby. Garrett frowned.

“Paul was the evening assistant manager at the Casa del Marina Resort in California,” Shelby replied before Paul had a chance to. “He was highly thought of there, and we here at Halford House are very fortunate that he was willing and able to join us.”

“And do what?” Garrett pressed. “Be the evening assistant manager? Do they need an assistant manager on every shift? Seems like bloated staffing, if you ask me.”

Shelby refrained from pointing out the obvious: that no one had asked Garrett “Cut Rate” McGrath anything. Yet he was the one doing all the asking, and offensively, too.

She glanced from Paul’s immaculate summer suit to Garrett’s inappropriate cutoffs and hideous banana yellow T-shirt imprinted with bright oranges and a palm tree, with Florida emblazed over the tacky scene in multicolored letters. She didn’t allow herself to concentrate on his muscular build or to remember the virile strength of him when he’d held her in his arms. She didn’t dare let her eyes linger on his hard, sensuous mouth or his deep, dark blue eyes. And most of all, she refused to even think about those impulsive, tempestuous kisses they’d shared in the ocean that morning.

Instead, she concentrated on his offending attire. No one wore jeans at Halford House, and as for his T-shirt...such an item had to have been purchased at an airport gift shop at best, or at worst, from one of those tourist-trap junk shops littering the coast. Thank goodness such places had not infected unspoiled Port Key—yet.

Shelby had a sudden horrible thought. “You’re not thinking of trying to build a Family Fun Inn here on the island, are you?”

Was this his standard operating procedure? she wondered nervously. To come to a resort as an “observer” while casing the surrounding area like a burglar planning a follow-up sneak attack? She didn’t know, Shelby realized. She knew nothing of how Garrett McGrath and his ever-successful Family Fun Inns broke into a new market. Her lack of knowledge suddenly seemed a dangerous oversight.

“Where did that non sequitur come from?” Garrett asked, amused. “Oh, wait, let me guess. You were giving my T-shirt the evil eye.... It naturally follows that your thoughts would jump from tacky T-shirt stands to Family Fun Inns.”

“The presence of a Family Fun Inn would devalue Halford House, perhaps even leading to a similar crisis which befell the Blue Springs Resort,” Paul Whitley said in alarm. “When the masses descend, they demand their usual prole vacation trappings—the junk food and souvenir places, the water slides and miniature golf.” He shuddered, as if discussing a particularly gory mass murder.

“I seem to be experiencing a case of déjà vu,” Garrett said dryly. “I had this same conversation with Shelby earlier this morning. Don’t you high-end types talk about anything else? How about the weather? Or the local ball club?”

“You didn’t answer my question, Garrett,” Shelby pressed, anxiety gnawing at her. “Are you planning to put a Family Fun Inn here on Port Key?”

He liked the sound of his name on her lips, Garrett decided. This was the first time she’d addressed him as such and it pleased him that she was beginning to think of him on a first-name basis, though he doubted that she was aware of it herself.

His lips quirked. “No, Shelby, I promise I am not planning to put a Family Fun Inn anywhere near Port Key or Halford House.”

It was a vow he could make with a clear conscience. He and Art Halford had signed the sale papers at lunch. He now owned Halford House. There was no way he was going to bring in a Family Fun Inn to compete with his own property.

“I wish I could believe you,” Shelby murmured worriedly.

“I’ll provide you with a sworn affidavit signed in blood, if you’d like. I, Garrett McGrath, do solemnly swear to keep Port Key free from Family Fun.”

“Gentleman’s word of honor?” Paul Whitley suggested, offering his hand to shake.

Garrett shook his hand. It would have been churlish not to. But Whitley still irritated him. “What’s Halford House to you, Whitley? You never did get around to telling me.”

“Paul is going to be my assistant, my right-hand man, so to speak, when my father retires,” Shelby hastily replied.

Couldn’t the man speak for himself? Garrett was tempted to ask. He didn’t, though. Shelby would probably answer for him again. His respect for Whitley plummeted further.

“And when is your father planning to retire, Shelby?” Garrett asked curiously, his eyes gleaming. He knew the answer, of course. But what fiction had Halford told his daughter? This should be interesting; old Art had proven himself a creative liar.

Shelby and Paul exchanged uncomfortable glances. “We don’t know the exact date of my father’s retirement,” she confessed reluctantly. “But it will be soon, Mother assured me. She and Dad want to move to Arizona. We have relatives out there.”

“Your father’s brother Hal, his wife Hillary, and their loafer parasite of a son who wanted no part of a career in Halford House,” Garrett added knowledgeably. “Your dad has mentioned them.”

Arthur Halford had ranted on and on about his “idiot nephew,” blaming his indolent lack of interest in the business as the reason for the sale of Halford House. Garrett stared at Shelby, who currently looked the part of the quintessential business executive in her no-nonsense gray suit, cheerless beige blouse buttoned to the neck, and sensible gray pumps. She was even wearing hose, no matter that the temperature was in the high eighties and stickily humid. Her hair was pulled back tightly into an uninviting, untouchable chignon.

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