Making Waves (The Happy Endings Resort Book 20) Read online

  Making Waves

  FIFI FLOWERS

  Champagne Girl Studio

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above author of this book.

  Copyright © 2017 Fifi Flowers

  Kindle Edition

  Cover Design by Susan of Wicked Women Design

  Formatting by BB eBooks

  Published by Champagne Girl Studios

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  www.FifiFlowers.com

  WARNING: This book contains sexually explicit material and is intended for adult readers only.

  Other Books by Fifi Flowers

  – Windows Series –

  A Window to Love

  – Awakening to You Trilogy –

  Awakening to You in Boston

  Awakening to You in LA

  Awakening to You

  – Downtown Series –

  Just A Number

  – Brother Duet Series –

  Drawn to a Cowboy

  – Encounter Series –

  Reclining Nude in Chicago

  Taming the Curator

  Falling in Paris

  – Encounters Holiday Series –

  Love Me Now

  – Hookup Café Series –

  MONDAY: Tall, Dark & Aromatic

  TUESDAY: A Double Shot

  WEDNESDAY: With Lots of Cream

  THURSDAY: Bold, Rich & Strong

  FRIDAY: Laced with Spice

  SATURDAY: Light, Full Bodied & Screwed

  About the Author

  Fifi Flowers, an internationally known artist turn author from the Los Angeles area of California, writes romance novels and paints fantasies with a Parisian flair while daydreaming of her time spent sipping café crème in the cafés of Paris.

  She penned her love of Paris and romance to the pages of her first novel, A Window to Love, published in 2013, when she sat down, and instead of putting paint to paper, put her pen to paper and began her first novel. Since that first novel, Fifi has self-published several steamy contemporary romances and has many more in the works.

  Be sure to Follow Me on Social Media

  Twitter | Facebook | Goodreads | Official Fifi Flowers website | Pinterest | Instagram | Google+ | BookBub | Follow her Personal FB | Join her private FB Reader Group | Sign-up for her newsletter

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you to Ma Maman for supporting me, I Love you! Thank you to my friend Susan for creating this awesome cover! Thank you to my main beta readers, Sheryl and Princess, your help is truly appreciated. Thank you also to Roxanne for your notes and typo finds which are so important. And thank you to Paul for making my books look great.

  Thank you to all of my girls in my Café de Fifi Flowers Reader Group, Give Me Books, B & B Promotions, and Eye Candy Bookstore, love your support.

  And, most of all thank you to ALL OF YOU READERS, I write for you!

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Other Books by Fifi Flowers

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Epilogue

  Chapter One of Haunted Endings by Genevieve Scholl

  Happy Endings Resort Collection Authors

  Chapter One

  Mitzi

  “I swear… I… oh… honestly… love you. You can never… ever… oh, leave me.” I was purring breathlessly, sitting on a funky overstuffed, cheetah print sofa in the downtown Los Angeles studio of Fritzi Mitzi Designer Shoes. My poor, sore feet were happily resting in the strong hands of my business partner Jack. I had a feeling that he must have a foot fetish because anytime I complained about spending too much time in heels, he was more than accommodating with a foot massage. He was always telling me to kick off my shoes and bring my feet into his lap. Who could not love a gorgeous hunk of a man for that reason alone?

  “You need to relax, Mitzi. I can feel the tension in your feet. We should get away. Go to a resort; swim, walk, enjoy the scenery. We need to work on our next collection soon. We can let the resort’s surroundings inspire us to create.”

  “Oh… yeah… right there.” I love his magical fingers. “That sounds great, you take care of it, and I’ll pack my bags.” I was ready to agree to anything he said while he was making me melt right there on the spot. If only I could feel his hands on other parts of my body. I shuddered at the thought.

  “Are you okay there? Seems like I hit a nerve.”

  I couldn’t respond truthfully so I just moaned and sipped my favorite Thai tea, another sweet treat Jack always got for me. He would make the perfect boyfriend. I was jealous of the man that would finally catch him. Totally gorgeous from his nicely built bod all the way up to his wild dark blond mop, naturally highlighted thanks to being streaked by the sun. His habit of catching waves every chance he got since he lived close to the beach, also provided him with an exceptional tan. That was what Jack preferred for his exercise regime while I hit the gym at least three times a week—partially to catch up with my good friend Singer.

  “Why do you torture yourself with such high heels? You told me the reason you only wanted to design fancy flat sandals was because they were the sexy answer to wearing skyscraper heels. Yet, I see you working against yourself… against us. I think it’s time to change up your ways. Fritzi Mitzi is all you should be wearing daily.” He had a very good point and when we were on business trips to sell our shoes I did wear them.

  “I’m afraid you won’t touch me anymore if I don’t have achy feet and I love your hands on me… your devotion to making me feel better.” Maybe my words weren’t good for my libido that was running on overtime and lacking a release from a delicious man since I couldn’t have the one I really wanted.

  “You always lack practicality… logic when it comes to shoes.” That was not for me to worry about as that was his part of our partnership.

  The first time we met was when I was invited to a party at my friend, fashion writer, Frank Fashion’s beach house in Malibu. He failed to mention it was an in-the-sand party with volley ball games and bonfires later. Thinking it was a fashionable gathering, I was improperly dressed in a black three-quarter sleeve dress with an asymmetric skirt that had a red under lining that showed, and wide black belt. Definitely not a walk on the beach outfit, paired with black strappy sandals. Fortunately, I had a fancy, prototype pair of sandals that I had just had made from one of my sketches, and I had thrown them into my big bl
ack patent leather bag rushing to get out to the beach before I was trapped on the freeway for hours. Anyone who lives in LA knows a mile on the road could take, literally, an hour and timing meant everything, or luck.

  “At least the sandals in your hand are a practical height.” A very masculine voice appeared out of nowhere talking about the sample I was about to slip on my feet. Of course, I had to first unbuckle several straps on the sandals that were trapping my feet. “But you could use a better sole that supports your arch. How do you like buckling all of those straps?” I looked up into a perfectly gorgeous face with dark brown eyes—stylishly dressed but far more casual than me, he could be a fashion model.

  “Are you a shoe critic?” I assumed he was one of Frank’s fellow writers.

  “No, but I see so many things that can be improved on ladies’ shoes.”

  He had my full attention sitting on Frank’s deck. I learned that he was a recent structural engineer graduate looking for his niche and in the meantime he was hanging out with Frank and surfing every day. He had done some modeling jobs for extra money thanks to some of Frank’s connections through a column he writes for the Fashionista Forward blog, and Jack’s good looks helped a lot. I was interested in his comments about shoes being ergonomically correct and he liked that I wanted to get away from high heels. My goal was to design and create fashionable sandals in lieu of painful high heels. He preferred flip-flop sandals to closed-in shoes.

  “So what do you know about shoe construction?”

  “Building is building. It all needs a good foundation and going with nature is a smart way to go. Example, when I surf it’s best to go with the wave rather than against it. Shoes should conform to the natural flow. Logic dictates that feet weren’t meant to be in sky-high heels. And if you don’t like high heels, why wear them?”

  “Fashion dictates.”

  “There is a place and time where you should go against the flow. Wear what you want. Design what you want.”

  “I want to design sandals for year-round wear. Nothing bothers me more than not being able to find sandals in any season of the year.”

  “Agreed. Let’s do something about it. Break the mold. Shake things up a bit. There’s nothing better than making waves in a stagnant pool.”

  I instantly liked him. We hit it off immediately after he got over his laughing fit, rolling on the ground over our rhyming names. I took it more as a sign that we were meant to work together if not destined to be together in a coupling status. Once he had regained control, Fritzi Mitzi Designer Shoes—alphabet order, our decided order before moving forward—was established, sealing our partnership and friendship.

  “You two look much too serious, it’s a party, for Christ’s sake.” Frank dashed in to break up our little meeting.

  “We just formed a partnership,” I announced, smugly.

  Frank didn’t miss a beat. “I’m trying to form one of those myself.”

  “You’re silly, Frank. Not that kind.” I raised an eyebrow and tilted my head. “A business deal, that kind of partners.”

  “Oh my gawd! Fritzi Mitzi! That’s fucking brilliant actually, but party now! Work later.” He elbowed Jack, looking at me, waving his hand. “Darling, you’re a little bit overdressed.” Then he walked off after kissing Jack’s cheek and whispering something in his ear that I probably didn’t want to hear.

  “Not my fault, I thought this party would be all about shellfish on ice,” I quipped.

  “With an ice sculpture?” Jack flashed his pearly whites at me.

  “Possibly. But hamburgers and hot dogs on the grill along with s’mores cooked over a beach bonfire wasn’t what I pictured at all.” I was rambling with my hands gesturing here and there.

  Jack laughed. “You look beautiful. Take off the shoes and you’re fine.”

  He reached for my hand after I had kicked my shoes aside, forgetting the flatter ones I had planned to swap out. Okay, I didn’t kick them, I took them off and put them in a soft cloth bag that they came with and put them into my designer beach bag. We spent the rest of the day and night talking, laughing, and eating crap—a great time. Three years later, we were still doing all three of those things daily as I sketched my dream shoes and he tore them apart and rebuilt them.

  “Five more minutes and then we have a cyber meeting with Italy.”

  “Oh, Italy could be good. I’ve never been on the Amalfi Coast. Beautiful hills, colorful houses, beaches, wine… never mind… they have steep cliffs that go with their roads. You driving with racing gloves on, flying around curves. That is off the list.”

  “I’m in charge of building our vacation, correct?” I nodded yes with my eyes closed. “And I am to surprise you, correct?” I nodded again, enjoying the last seconds of Jack’s heavenly fingers that sent zings right up my legs to my… I really needed to think about other things that had nothing to do with sex and the hunky surfer.

  Chapter Two

  Jack

  “I talked to Vittorio the other day. Video chat,” I said, holding my board, walking with Frank toward the water for an early morning surf session. “They told me, ‘send Franco our love.’ You owe them a call. Maria said she’s loving your ‘Franco’ Fashion Friday blog posts and wants to know when you’re going to mention their little leather shop—but no pressure.”

  “Yeah, right, no pressure, Giacomo.” We both laughed as we tossed our boards down and began paddling out to catch some waves.

  We both knew all about the Italian guilt ploy. We lived it with our mothers, but it was far worse being with the older generation in Firenze (Florence), Italy where Frank’s father and my mother were from originally. Our parents had fled the old ways with their parents in search of a new life with more opportunities. Frank’s father stayed on the East Coast while my mother ran off with my father, Don Fritzi—Don Giovanni (Don Juan equivalent), the good-for-nothing, non-Italian, dreamer without a college education.

  I heard all about my mother’s disappointing decision every time my mother sent me to visit during summer. She said that it kept peace and made life easier for her that she had produced a fine Italian boy, they discounted the American side of me. It kind of shocked me as I had blond features more like my father than my Italian mother. And of course they called me Giacomo, the Italian equivalent to Jack. I didn’t really mind going once I meant my fellow American born cousin Franco who begged me to please call him Frank. Funny thing was that I had to go all the way to Italy to meet him.

  Back in the states, we kept in touch writing letters until we got email, and later cell phones as we only saw each other during the summers. When we were eighteen we planned out a whole road trip, skipping that summer in Italy in favor of surfing the US. Our Surfing Safari Summer. It was the start to our surfing adventures and I imagine that we will be a couple of old, wrinkly guys hitting the waves for as long as we can. I couldn’t ask for a better cousin or friend, we confided in each other all of the time and, funny enough, often when we were sitting on our surfboards.

  I was really thankful that he had brought Mitzi into my life. I had no idea what I wanted to do with my career. I thought I wanted to build skyscrapers like my father but the closer I got to graduation, I wasn’t so sure. Who knew that I would find another thing that Frank and I had in common, fashion.

  “So, I’m supposed to plan a getaway with Mitzi. I’ve decided I want to do something completely different. Something involving nature. Maybe backpacking or maybe not, she wouldn’t like the unfashionable pack or carrying it. I can’t carry two. Maybe just camping.” I received the strangest look from him.

  “You’re taking Mitzi camping? The girl who wears high couture to just about anywhere?” He shook his head and laughed.

  He was probably reminding me of the first time I met her. I remember seeing her—wearing an out of place dress—and thinking wow. She was stunning with red lipstick to match the lining of her dress that was cut to show off the underneath fabric. Funky.

  “Who is dressed more a
ppropriate, me or you?” she asked, waving her hand up and down, gesturing to my walking shorts and t-shirt.

  “That would be me,” I answered. Shaking her head, her high ponytail swung from side to side and I tried to assure her that she could fit in. “You have a casual hairdo at least. Ditch the shoes, those look uncomfortable.”

  “This is a beachy hair look… ponytail.” She reached up and twisted her hand around her hair and I wished that it was my hand in her hair.

  “Beachy to me is a messy wave look,” I replied with a grin.

  “Well, you have certainly got that going on with your blond moppy head.” I liked how she smiled and her gray-blue eyes—like a stormy day—sparkled.

  “I’m going to take that as a compliment.” I laughed. “Now, tell me how long it’s going to take you to get out of those shoes with too many straps?” My question turned into an interesting conversation that gained me a business partner… the perfect business partner—gorgeous and smart. The fashionista was probably not going to go for a roughing it kind of vacation.

  “You’re right, she dresses to suit herself in whatever situation.” I scrubbed my hand over my extra-long stubble that I was growing for a photo shoot. Always facial hair it seemed in a variety of lengths.

  “And she pulls it off with her casual attitude and beauty, of course. But camping… really? That’s pushing it a bit far.” Frank was probably right, again.

  “She has mentioned to me on several occasions how she always loved her grandfather’s cabin in the woods.”

  “I don’t know,” he said taking off to catch a wave that seemed to be rolling in perfectly, I let him have it.

  Besides, I couldn’t get Mitzi out of my head since I suggested a non-business but business trip. We had travelled together plenty over the years to go to different markets; Dallas, San Francisco, New York… we even went to a fashion week in Paris once. Our trips were always to different cities, I thought maybe nature was the way to go, something totally different. I loved camping, outdoorsy activities when I was a kid, and maybe she had too and it would be a way to take her back to her childhood. But, I had to work out a not so rough place to go. To be alone with her for a week and probably giving her daily foot massages which I didn’t mind, it allowed me to touch her and I had been doing them since our first San Francisco market week.