Page 3 of Deep Tide

“And kind of wobbly,” she added. “I can carry it, if you’ll just hold the doors as I go in and clear any obstacles.”

“You’re liable to trip in that dress.” He eased past her and smoothly lifted the cake from the cargo space.

“Careful,” she said, her throat tightening as she watched him casually holding more than a dozen hours of painstaking work—the very future of her business—in his hands.

“Where to?” he asked.

She glanced at the door, which was now being held open by the groomsman—who looked immensely relieved not to be tasked with walking a towering wedding cake across a banquet hall.

“The main room, just past the buffet table,” she answered. “There should be a special table set up and—” She looked past the man’s shoulders as a black limousine turned onto the palm-lined driveway. “Crap, they’re here! We need to hurry!” She clapped her hands at him. “Go go go!”

•••

Sean Moran slipped away from the party. The bride and groom had left under a shower of rice, but people were still milling around beneath swags of white lights, drinking the couple’s booze and enjoying the breeze off the water. Sean would have liked another drink, but he needed to get back to his condo. As he crossed the wooden bridge spanning the sand dunes, he spied a woman on the beach with a champagne flute in hand.

Leyla Breda.

Her formfitting dress looked silver in the moonlight, and it shimmered against her body as she strolled toward the surf. Nearing a piece of driftwood, she dropped her shoes to the sand and sat down. She nestled the flute at her feet, then lifted her arms and twisted her dark hair into a knot at the top of her head.

Sean stopped at the end of the bridge. He had about a hundred things left to do tonight, including contacting his boss.

Instead, he walked over to Leyla.

“How’s the champagne?”

She jumped and turned around. Recognition flickered across her face, and her shoulders relaxed.

“It’s good.” She held up her glass. “You didn’t have any?”

“Nope. Can I get you a refill?”

She smiled. “What, are you a waiter now, too?”

He stepped closer. “I’m Sean Moran, by the way.” He held out his hand. “We never actually met.”

“Leyla Breda.” Her handshake was brisk and businesslike, but the warm look in her eyes gave him hope.

“Joel’s little sister,” he said.

“That’s me.”

He turned toward the water so he wouldn’t be tempted to stare down the front of her dress.

“I didn’t get a chance to thank you earlier,” she said. “Things got really hectic.”

“Looked like you had your hands full.”

“So, are you here for Joel or Miranda?”

He looked at her. “Joel.”

She tipped her head to the side as she gazed up at him. “And you know him from...?”

“Work.”

She frowned. “Here?”

“No. We go way back. We were in the same academy class in Houston, spent some time at HPD together.”

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