Tropical Temptation Read online

  Title Page

  TROPICAL TEMPTATION

  Angela R Sargenti

  Publisher Information

  Tropical Temptation

  published in 2014 by House of Erotica

  an imprint of Andrews UK Limited

  www.houseoferoticabooks.com

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.

  Copyright © Angela R Sargenti 2014

  The rights of Angela R Sargenti to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  Chapter 1

  Samantha flung herself onto her bed to idle away yet another long, dull afternoon.

  “Nothing interesting ever happens to me. Why is my life is such a drag?”

  “You just need to get laid,” her best friend Marianne had advised her a few days ago. “You get laid first, and then you worry about the job. It’s not like your parents are going to kick you out or anything, are they?”

  Samantha was forced to admit that no, her parents were far from likely to do that. In fact, they were very supportive and sympathetic to her plight. And though she’d been searching diligently for a job for several weeks now, the economy happened to be in bad shape just then, so she’d met with no luck whatsoever.

  To make matters worse, her dad was threatening to make her come work for his contracting company as a secretary.

  Samantha wasn’t used to everything going wrong at once and, in addition, she hadn’t had a date in a really long time.

  A really long time.

  She began to feel deeply depressed about the whole situation and wondered aloud how those less fortunately circumstanced than she was managed to make it, wondered upon what inner resources they depended.

  All of a sudden the phone rang.

  She glanced at it carelessly, assuming her mother would pick it up. By the third ring, however, she realized that wasn’t going to happen, so she picked it up herself.

  “Hello?” she answered with a barely-concealed sigh.

  “May I speak to Miss Samantha Wilkes?”

  Samantha, her curiosity piqued, sat up at once, yanked abruptly from her boredom. The male voice coming over the line was very sexy and eloquent-sounding, and Samantha wondered what this mysterious stranger could possibly want with her..

  “This is Samantha,” she told him.

  “Hello, Miss Wilkes. My name’s Alex P. Shannon. I’ve just received your resume for the writer’s assistant job and I’d like to meet with you. I’ll be in town on Wednesday if that’s convenient for you?”

  “Oh yes. Yes, of course.”

  “Good. We can discuss the job over dinner. Can I pick you up at seven?”

  And though she knew she ought to just meet him for coffee, in case he turned out to be some kind of a nut-job, he sounded so intriguing she agreed at once and gave him her address and directions to her house

  She hung up the phone. She’d almost forgotten about sending that resume, but now she remembered it. Feeling more than a little excited, her mind raced ahead to Wednesday and she wondered where he would take her, what she should wear. She’d never been to this kind of job interview before, but she wanted to do it right. And, when Wednesday came, she sank into the bathtub for a long, hot bubble bath in the rose-scented salts she kept for special occasions.

  Indulging herself, she shut her eyes and eased down into the water, breathing in the delicate aroma with a contented yawn.

  Her mind wandered and she stretched out, trying to conjure up a picture of Alex P. Shannon. Unfortunately, she drew a blank.

  She’d meant to Google him, but she’d forgotten to, and now she was out of time. She found herself wondering what he looked like as she reached for the rose-scented shampoo.

  All she could remember was his ad in L.A. Weekly:

  Research/Personal Assistant wanted for published author. Female with English Literature degree preferred. Must be willing to relocate, all expenses paid.

  The name rang a bell, of course. Even she, who favored Chick Lit and Regency-style romances had heard of him. She wondered what sort of books he wrote, but couldn’t even hazard a guess.

  She sighed and rinsed her hair, sitting up in the bath to check her fingernails. She’d given herself a fresh manicure the night before and her nails were perfectly long and elegant.

  Climbing from the tub ten minutes later, she pulled on a thick terry robe and crossed the hall to her bedroom. She sat down in front of her dresser on the old-fashioned vanity stool to do her hair, gently towel-drying it. She knew from long experience not to try blow-drying it since, more often than not, her curls became hopelessly entangled. Instead she raked her fingers through them and arranged each strand until they lay in pretty little corkscrews.

  Going over to her bed, she shed her robe and flung it onto the bed, and then she stepped into a pretty little cream-colored silk teddy she chose just for the occasion. She adored how the soft fabric felt against her skin, and she stopped to check her look in the full-length mirror nearby.

  The silken lingerie clung admirably to her body and, emboldened, she stepped into her dignified little black dress, a feeling of perfect confidence sweeping over her.

  When Alex P. Shannon arrived at her house, Samantha liked him right away, and was instantly struck by his resemblance to her favorite actor, Jesse Dent. He wore his hair a bit shorter than the actor did and there was just the slightest hint of gray at his temples, but he possessed the same kind of sweet, soulful brown eyes and sensuous mouth as Jesse Dent, the same determined jaw, the same mustache and soul patch. And, dressed as he was in an expensive Italian suit, he really did look more like a movie star than he did a writer.

  Her father, of course, could barely stomach the idea of her going off with a complete stranger and started in on his usual nonsense at once.

  Mr. Shannon quickly dismissed his concerns with aplomb.

  “What do you think I’m going to do, exactly?” he asked, his brow creasing. “Rape her or something? I’m pretty sure my girl wouldn’t appreciate that.”

  Her father, overborne by such hard logic, glanced away.

  “A father can’t be too careful these days,” he told Mr. Shannon.

  A short time later, he whisked her off in his rental car and Samantha discovered he was the Alex P. Shannon, author of espionage and historical adventures.

  He drove them to West Hollywood, to one of those fashionable, exclusive restaurants she could only have dreamed of dining at. To her surprise, they didn’t have to wait for a table or anything, even though she knew the restaurant to be notoriously hard to get into. They were escorted to a prime table at once, and Samantha wondered if it was because the maître d’ knew him personally, or because of his resemblance to the actor.

  Once they were seated and their orders were taken, Mr. Shannon addressed Samantha directly.

  “What do you know about gardening?” he asked.

  “Gardening?” she asked, thrown off guard. “Not much. Why?”

  He grinned, sipping from his glass of wine.

  “I like to live off the land at home, Miss Wilkes. I like to grow my own vegetables
. But you know how to type and you can do research, so I guess you can learn to garden. ”

  “I guess so,” she agreed. “But I must say, that’s different. I never expected I’d have to...what, weed?”

  “Weed,” he nodded. “Weed, and water, and pick ripe produce, and plant things. I’ll be the first to admit it’s a lot of work, but I think you’ll find it very rewarding. I do. Not that you have to do it, if you don’t want to. It just happens to be my little thing. I do hope you’ll join me, though.”

  He set his glass down and eyed Samantha carefully.

  “Do you have any objections to relocating? I’m thinking maybe your father wouldn’t approve of it.”

  She waved this consideration away. She was, after all, twenty-three already, old enough to decide how to live her own life.

  “Where is this place?” she asked.

  “Hawaii. Molokai. I don’t know if you’ve ever been there or not, but it’s kind of quiet. I do have a fully-furnished condo in Waikiki, though, and I’ll be glad to pay for a two-week vacation there every six months. You’ll have plenty of free time and the work isn’t all that demanding. In fact, I’m more concerned you’ll find it boring.”

  “Boring? It sounds like my dream job.”

  He chuckled a little.

  “Well, I didn’t want to paint that rosy a picture,” he said, his easy smile fading. She watched as he grew serious, but the waiter was busy refilling their glasses, so Mr. Shannon was forced to wait until he left to continue.

  “What do you like to be called?”

  “Just Samantha.”

  “Okay, Samantha, there are a couple of drawbacks to the place. The island’s small and kind of laid back and there’s nothing much to do. To be honest, that’s why I’m offering so much vacation. I don’t want my next assistant to go stir-crazy like the last one.

  “You’ll make an excellent salary with me, but there’ll be no place to spend it-except for Waikiki-and no one ever dresses up, not even in the best restaurant on the island.”

  Mr. Shannon stopped talking and took a sip of his drink. She saw him cast her an appraising glance, his eyes flitting over her hair, her clothes, and even the jewelry she wore.

  “Do you get your nails done professionally?”

  “No. I do them at home.”

  “Good, because I doubt there’s even a nail salon on Molokai. And please don’t take this the wrong way, but if you like to go out and meet men, you might as well forget it.”

  Samantha thought back to her last boyfriend with a sharp pang. Her brow creased and she swallowed hard, remembering her vow to just swear off men until she got her life in order.

  Plenty of time for a boyfriend later, she told herself sternly, and meeting Mr. Shannon’s gaze, she shook her pretty little head.

  “No. I really don’t go out all that much. I...I pretty much stay home and read.”

  She knew it sounded boring and old-maidish, and she found herself blushing again. Their eyes met and Samantha caught his amused expression.

  “Pretty dumb, huh?” she asked, with a self-deprecatory laugh.

  “The island’s beautiful,” he went on, ignoring her question. “The work’s easy. And I might be a little moody at times, don’t take that personally. That’s just me. There’s a Japanese woman and her grandson who take care of the place, so you don’t even have to bother with the housework. So what do you say, Samantha? I leave next Tuesday. You want to come?”

  She met his gaze.

  “I’d love to, Mr. Shannon, but what about this girlfriend of yours? Won’t she mind us living together?”

  “Listen, call me Alex, will you? I don’t have a girlfriend, Samantha. I just said that so your dad would back off.”

  “Oh. Then all right. I guess I’d love to.”

  Chapter 2

  Now there’s a nice girl, Alex thought, seeing Samantha safely inside her house. He backed the car down the steep driveway and somehow, he knew he’d be comfortable with her living under his roof, felt instinctively she’d be a reliable and industrious employee. He felt they’d be compatible and had known within ten minutes he meant to hire her. And though she was very pretty in an off-beat sort of way, her looks had nothing to do with his decision to hire her.

  No, what he’d felt had been an instant connection with her. She was the type of straightforward, no-nonsense person he liked to deal with. He sensed nothing of phoniness or social climbing in her manner and, best of all, she hadn’t even seemed impressed by his undeniable (though barely admitted-by him, at least) resemblance to Jesse Dent. She treated him like any other normal person, and hadn’t seemed to care about his looks one way or the other.

  She also had good table manners, he’d noticed. She ate daintily, which was something he deeply appreciated, after being stuck sitting across his table from one sloppy young guy after another.

  Jeez. he thought. Doesn’t anybody teach their kids how to behave around others anymore?

  In contrast, Samantha was clean and bright and well-groomed, though not to an extreme. Her curls looked natural, not overdressed, and she didn’t seem very high-maintenance. Also, she wasn’t overly chatty, blathering on and on about nothing.

  No, he really felt he could stand having her around the place.

  He glanced at his watch then. He was supposed to meet Paris in an hour at a club on the Sunset Strip, and if he hurried, he might just make it in time.

  Once Samantha got home, she gave Marianne a call.

  “I’ve got a job,” she announced.

  “Oh?”

  “And you’ll never believe this, but he’s the spitting image of Jesse Dent. He’s a famous writer and he wants to take me to Hawaii to live with him.”

  “Don’t you dare move. I’m coming right over.”

  “Okay,” she replied, “but we have to be quiet. My dad’s getting ready to go to bed. He has to work tomorrow.”

  The minutes seemed like hours as Samantha paced the floor, waiting impatiently for Marianne to show up. There was so much she had to tell her, so much she had to say. When Marianne arrived at last, she was dressed to go out to the club.

  “Were you going out?” asked Samantha, feeling guilty for distracting her from her purpose.

  “Yeah, but to hell with that, Samantha. This is way better.”

  She seized Samantha’s arm and hustled her straight back up to her room. The girls flung themselves down on the bed for a long, cozy chat.

  “So tell me all about it,” Marianne demanded.

  “Well, my parents hate the idea, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “And we’re supposed to leave on Tuesday and, oh, Marianne, I wish you could meet him.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Alex P. Shannon.”

  “Are you kidding? My mom’s husband reads all his books.”

  “Yeah, so does my dad, which is probably the only reason he’s putting up with it. I swear, Marianne, I thought he’d have a stroke when I told him I’m going.”

  Marianne grinned.

  “Well, this definitely calls for a celebration,” she told Samantha. “Come on, get dressed. We’re going out.”

  “It’s kind of late, don’t you think?” asked Samantha, glancing at the clock.

  “No way. This is weekend warm-up. Now get going now, will you?”

  Samantha, finally realizing they only had a few more days together, suddenly nodded and went over to her closet to open it. She rummaged in it for a moment and then she pulled out the outfit she planned to wear.

  Marianne sat up straight.

  “Are you crazy? Not in that. Put on your leather dress.”

  Samantha returned the previous selection to its place on the pole and then she pulled the black leather dress from her clo
set, looking doubtful for just a second.

  One glance at Marianne told her her friend was right, this was a day to celebrate. And she might as well kick off her victory party by looking as hot as she could and going out with a bang. If Mr. Shannon was being half as honest as she suspected, she was in for a long, boring ride as his personal assistant.

  And so, without another word of protest, Samantha slipped on the leather dress, and then she quietly submitted to Marianne’s ministrations as her friend reapplied Samantha’s makeup and fixed her hair.

  When Marianne was done, she handed Samantha a mirror, demanding to know if she wasn’t as pretty as she could be and predicting Samantha wouldn’t have an idle moment once the men in the club got a good look at her. And Samantha, charged with courage, couldn’t even bring herself to disagree. She followed Marianne down the stairs and out of her parents’ house.

  Alex glanced up casually from his table at the edge of the dance floor, a smile on his face as he watched the club’s various patrons drift past.

  He was struck with a twinge of regret, for sometimes he honestly missed the parties and nightlife of L.A., but he was well aware, from long experience, that it was in his own best interest to remain buried in Molokai for as much of the year as he could stomach without going mad. If he didn’t write, if he didn’t churn out one novel after another, where would he be in life?

  He’d be nothing, of course. Just another forgotten novelist whose books ended up in the remainder bin.

  No. He wasn’t nearly ready to go out like that.

  His gaze drifted casually past the dance floor and then he saw her, his newly-hired assistant, sitting directly across from him on the opposite side of the dance floor.

  His face lit up in a delighted grin.

  “Look, there’s that girl I just hired,” he told his own best friend and agent, Paris Anderson, watching the girl as she smiled up at her waiter and accepted the drink he was handing her.

  “Where?”

  “Right over there, with that pretty blonde.”