“You mean jetting overseas isn’t one of your pastimes?” I swallowed, trying to pull myself from my heated reverie.
“SandWorks wasn’t exactly handed to me. I spent a lot of time traveling, working paycheck to paycheck, before I thought of the waterproof camera. In fact, that Camry is something of a relic from those days.”
“I have to admit, it wasn’t what I was expecting when you picked me up.”
“I did a lot of traveling in that car, even spent some nights in it,” he said. “But when business took off one of the first things I had to learn was how to manage my money.”
“Isn’t that what you hired us for?” I couldn’t imagine him struggling to learn anything. His business savvy had been obvious since the first day we met.
“Yes, but it wasn’t always easy to know who to trust in the beginning so I had to rely on myself. Something tells me you never had much of a problem with that, though.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, growing defensive at the implication.
“Financial analyst, Harvard girl—your parents must have done well for themselves to be able to send you there.”
My home life wasn’t a point of conversation I enjoyed but I didn’t want him thinking I hadn’t worked hard for my success. “My parents put a lot of pressure on me to do well, but they couldn’t afford private school. I left Texas with some savings from summer jobs but I had to work my way through college; I didn’t pay off my student loans until I landed a job at Waterbridge-Howser.”
“Texas? I knew I could detect an accent.”
“So could everyone in Boston, I spent a lot of time trying to hide it but I guess I got tired of pretending it wasn’t a part of me.”
He turned to me, his gaze smoldering. “You’re a walking contradiction.”
“Excuse me?”
“You say you don’t like to take risks, but it couldn’t have been easy starting a new life on your own.”
I had never considered myself adventurous, my own parents thought it was irresponsible of me to uproot my life, but Vincent seemed unconvinced.
“You’re not exactly easy to figure out either. Vagabond turned CEO? I didn’t see that coming.”
He gave me one of his sly grins. “You can’t be prepared for everything, Kristen.”
A few hours later we landed, the white beaches and swaying palm trees greeting us from the airplane window. We made our way through the small airport to the rental car area. Vincent picked out an Aston Martin convertible, which surprised me probably more than it should have considering I’d just stepped off his private jet. I dealt with wealthy clients on a daily basis and I had some vague idea of the luxuries they could afford, but I’d never actually been wealthy myself—seeing what Vincent’s money could buy had thrown me off a bit.
The drive to the beach served well to distract me from my nagging fears about surfing—the breeze whipping my hair, the taste of the ocean’s salt lingering in the air, and the rolling hills that surrounded us were impossible not to notice. But as we approached a wood slatted surf shop edging the beach, the creeping fear I’d felt earlier came back full force.
“I have to admit, I’m kind of nervous about this,” I confessed as we got out of the car. “Jellyfish, sharks . . . you hear horror stories, you know?”
He took my hand, gripping it reassuringly. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
Vincent was right, he had been surfing for years, and I really didn’t have any reason not to trust him—with my safety at least.
“But you can’t surf in that,” he said, gesturing to my skirt and blouse. “We’ll need to get you a swimsuit.”
After trying on a few swimsuits in the dressing room, I decided on a black halter top bikini with single string bottoms.
My heart nearly sank to my stomach when I caught a glance of the total price of our surfing gear—between new swimsuits and surfboards, Vincent had spent more than Riley and I spent on restaurants in a month.
After I had changed, I met Vincent by the water and was nearly floored by the man who stood waiting for me fitted in nothing but a pair of white boardshorts that clung loosely to his hips. My eyes lingered on his six-pack, the taut ridges of his abdomen leading down to the sharp, downward angle of his pelvic bones. I swallowed as I noticed the nipple rings glinting from his chest and among the various tasteful tattoos around his right arm and chest there was a blackened outline of a diamond on his rib cage. I wondered about its significance; Vincent might have been a risk taker but there always seemed to be a purpose behind everything he did.