Secrets in Sunset Beach 1 Read online

  secrets

  In Sunset Beach

  IVY RIGGS

  Secrets in Sunset Beach

  Book 1

  Ivy Riggs

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  “Secrets in Sunset Beach is an amazing story, and I can’t wait to read the rest of the series. I am totally in love with Derick! Keep up the great stories, Ivy.” Jen S.

  Copyright © 2020 by Ivy Riggs - All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including but not limited to being stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of Ivy Riggs.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, groups, businesses, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Warning: This book contains sexual situations and other adult themes that may not be appropriate for readers under the age of 18.

  You can find Ivy on Facebook, follow her on Twitter, or contact her by email at [email protected].

  Derick Fischer’s mother always said he was the only one she knew who could be miserable in paradise. Sunset Beach is a playground for the rich and famous, but it’s not quite as fun when you’re down on your luck and struggling to get by.

  Heather Montgomery grew up with a silver spoon in her mouth. As the owner of one of the hottest bars on the beach, she decides to hire the handsome loner she met on the beach to tend bar. Even though she has a policy against dating employees, sparks fly between them.

  As they navigate crazy bar nights, flashy cars, hot sex, felonies, past-due rent checks, and shore parties, can these two people from very different backgrounds find some common ground?

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter One

  S unset Beach was nothing short of paradise.

  In this hideaway along the sunny coast of California, forests splash across the mountains like haphazard paint, blending into beautiful golden coasts that have been featured in more than one getaway brochure. In a cluster of mansions, movie stars, former beauty queens, and inner-peace seekers flocked and gathered whenever the winter ended, the temperature rising to a constant, comfortable seventy degrees.

  Derick Fischer’s mom had always said he was the only person in the world who could be miserable in paradise. But he was a realist. He didn't live in Sunset Beach with stars in his eyes and a Rolex on his wrist.

  The night was warm, a gentle breeze coming in from the happy-lapping waves that licked and teased at the edge of the beach. A sandcastle, built during the day by a child, was beginning to erode. Footprints traced across the sand like a greeting card.

  There was a bonfire, perfectly constructed in the way of Sunset shore parties. Seasoned veterans of the winter months had been posting flyers for the first party of the season, and people ranging from teenagers to their thirties had begun to gather. Every party brought a cooler, and one group had brought a grill, filling the air with the scent of burgers and vegetable skewers.

  He lounged on a deck chair he'd brought from his front porch, a beer in one hand, the other idly tugging at the fraying edges of the cupholder. He wore a polo shirt and board shorts, his flip flops tucked safely beneath his chair, toes dug into the cool, clumping sand.

  "Derick!" He lifted his head as he heard his name and saw his younger brother Jake running to him, skidding to a halt in a spray of sand. In the orange light of the fire, Jake's black chest tattoo looked like a hole in his heart. His grin was wide, cheeks red from running around. Someone had hooked up a speaker system, thumping generic, pulsing house music around the gathered party. "Come on, man, don't just sit there like a wallflower. Get up and dance!"

  "With you?" Derick replied, brow arching. He took another sip of his beer. It was cheap and tasted more like water, slow to hit and barely able to give him more than a light buzz, but it was enough to take the edge off, He was three into the six-pack he'd brought for himself and Jake. Jake had a habit of leeching off others, and he was much more of a lightweight, so Derick wasn't surprised to see him already stumbling over his own bare feet, in that way drunkards did when they were having a great time.

  Jake laughed and waved him off with a dismissive hand gesture. "Fine, be that way," he said with a roll of his eyes, too caught up in the high of the first good party of the season to let Derick bring him down. Derick had always admired that about him; their mother said Derick was the only one miserable in paradise, but Jake was the kind of guy who would be happy in the darkest pit of Hell.

  Jake disappeared into the crowd again, and Derick's lips pursed. He liked people watching more than actually engaging with strangers. His gaze took in the close-pressed bodies of men and women, grinding together to the pulsing music, laughing loudly, sharing drinks and blunts between them. Some had brought tents, which were already erected and forming a miniature semi-circle around the back of the bonfire, far enough away that even when the tide came in, they would remain dry.

  He tilted his head as a shadow came to a halt at his side, lifting his gaze to see a woman standing next to his chair, her arms folded and her lips pursed in a considering frown. She was wearing a loose-fitting t-shirt that fell to the tops of her thighs, tucked in the front of her high-wasted shorts that were so small the back of her shirt fell farther than the hem did. His gaze slid almost helplessly down her bare legs, noting the tiny ring of ivy tattooed around her left ankle.

  He cleared his throat and she turned to look at him, her hair falling like a mane around her shoulders, obscuring half of her face, the other half hidden from the firelight, so all he could really see of her was the tip of her nose and her askew smile. He lifted his drink in offering.

  Her head tilted, and she tucked her hair behind her ear, letting Derick take in a single, dark, arched brow, a fine cheekbone, a little crease of shadow at the corner of her smile.

  "Got a sealed one?" she asked.

  Derick grinned and bent down to pull an unopened bottle from his stash beneath his chair. He handed it to her and watched, huffing an impressed laugh, as she pulled a little stag-shaped bottle opener from her pocket and expertly opened the bottle, tossing the cap into the fire.

  She tipped the beer back, drinking half of it down before coming up for air, and gave Derick an unimpressed look, nose wrinkled in charming dislike. "You have terrible taste," she told him.

  "No, my brother does," Derick replied, gesturing to where Jake was clinging tight to a girl near the fire, his face buried in her neck and her fingers digging tight into his back as they swayed to the music. The girl's lips pursed again, and she gave him a considering look.

  "I'm Derick."

  "Heather," she replied and playfully kicked some sand Derick's way. "So, what's your poison of choice?"

  Derick smiled and lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "I just like what I like." His mother wasn't exactly known for running a dry house, and he'd had more than his fair share of experiments that could go wrong, or very, very right. Heather nodded like this was a perfectly reasonable thing to say, and Derick gestured to the mound of sand next to him. "Do you want to sit?"

  Heather considered
him for a moment before her face split into a wide grin, like a cat that had just caught sight of a mouse. "Sure," she chirped and circled to stand between Derick's feet. She leaned down, her shirt sagging so that he could see the fabric of her bright blue bathing suit top, and braced her hands on the armrests of Derick's chair, sliding her beer bottle into the empty holder.

  One of her knees came forward, sliding down the outside of Derick's thigh, finding the open space between armrest and seat, and she straddled his lap with a graceful roll of her hips and a pretty, soft sigh. She pulled her hair to one side, falling down her shoulder, revealing her neck and where the collar of her shirt fell wide around the top of her arm, the swimsuit strap on display like a streak of daylight on golden sand.

  Derick blinked up at her, surprised at her forwardness, and Heather laughed. "You looked more comfortable," she purred, her knees sinking back farther as she slid closer to him. One of her hands rested on his chest, her other elbow settling on Derick's shoulder, fingers idly playing with the ends of his hair. The fire was at her back, so Derick couldn't see her face very well, but he could tell she was smiling. "You don't mind, do you?"

  Derick flushed, clearing his throat, and shook his head.

  Heather hummed, one of her short-cut, manicured fingernails finding the soft hollow beneath his jaw, thumb at his chin, tilting it up. "Are you drunk?" she asked.

  "No," Derick rasped. She was warm across him, smelled of coconut and sea breeze, a hint of lime that made his mouth go dry. Her thighs clung to the outside of his, her body slim and small enough that she could easily put their foreheads together, shoulders arched up, spine bowed, causing small fissures of warmth to spread through Derick's chest and down where they were pressed closest. "Are you?"

  Heather shook her head and let out a quiet, breathy noise of pleasure – either because she liked that Derick had even asked, or because Derick had lost the fight with himself. Or maybe his hands had finally caught up with his brain, because he shoved his beer into the sand and rested his palms wide on Heather's hips, fingers splayed out so that he could tease the tips of them beneath the edge of her little shorts.

  Heather's fingers curled in the top of Derick's hair and tugged until it stung. She bit her lip and dragged her other hand down, measuring the edge of his ribs, the tensed muscles in his flank as he did his best to keep her steady in his lap. Their noses brushed.

  She let out another quiet sound, and even though the music was loud and Derick's pulse roared louder, he heard her in perfect clarity. He cupped the backs of her thighs, shivering at how soft and warm her skin was, a little damp like she had been in the ocean recently. Her hair fell forward, blocking out sight for both of them, like they were the only two people in the world.

  Heather bit her lip, moved her hips in a slow, teasing little grind, and Derick groaned through gritted teeth, hands tightening on her. When she tugged on his hair, he eagerly tilted his chin up, baring his neck. Her nails dug into his back as she shoved her way closer, knees pulling up abruptly so she could put all her weight on his hips, and she gripped his chin and kissed him.

  Derick's breath left him all at once, his lungs burning the second their lips met, but she kissed him like she could give him back his air, and his hands spread helplessly up her back, pulling her even nearer until her body lay flat against him, her knees tucked under his arms, body curled up. One of his hands traveled up farther still, found the base of her skull, curled in her thick hair.

  Heather pulled back, breathing heavily, her eyes shining without color as the fire lit her from behind, and the party raged on around them. She bit her lower lip and gave him a charming smile, lashes fluttering when Derick pulled her hair up from her neck, coaxing it to fall back into place over one shoulder. His other hand slid down her side.

  She sighed, smiling still, dark lashes fluttering as she arched into his petting hand. Then she shook her head. "I have to go," she told him.

  Derick swallowed. Though his entire body felt like she had burned him, his heart was racing, and there was a very loud part of him that had risen up and was demanding immediate attention, he let her go. She took her drink from his cup holder and finished it, handing the bottle back to him with another playfully distasteful grimace.

  "Come by the Hummingbird tomorrow," she told him. "I'll show you a real drink."

  Derick blinked at her. "How do you know what I like?" he challenged, grinning.

  Heather laughed, low and soft with promise. "I think we like the same things," she replied.

  Derick swallowed, watching her pull her hair into a twist and throw it over her shoulder with another sigh.

  "Until next time, Derick." She winked at him, grinning wide and off-kilter, and sauntered away, toward the rise that separated the beach from the boardwalk, and then disappeared out of sight.

  Chapter Two

  D erick's mother had always said he could find a way to be miserable in paradise. Three shots into the night, nursing the fourth, he couldn't fault her for being right on the money.

  Then again, paradise wasn't supposed to have things like mortgages and hangovers and worries. There were beautiful people all around him, shooting pool, drinking beer, and grazing at the offerings of chips and peanuts, and they all seemed so much more put together than he was. Paradise had a way of turning everything into diamonds, but people forgot that diamonds only form under pressure, and sometimes a piece of sand became a pearl, and sometimes pressure turned bones into coal.

  He sighed, rubbing his hand over his face, scratching at the stubble on his jaw with a wince. He hadn't shaved since the morning before. His hair always came in coarse and, combined with the grate of sea breezes, it was starting to irritate him.

  He tossed his fourth shot back with a growl, hissing through his teeth. Before he could even set his glass down, the bartender appeared in front of him. She was gorgeous, of course. You had to be in a place like this. Her bleached-blond hair hung in artful waves down to her lower back, framing her sharp-featured face with the thick rings of mascara and eyeshadow, a perfect cat-eye at the corner of each lid.

  "I'm going to have to cut you off soon," she warned him playfully but poured him another shot.

  "Probably for the best," Derick muttered.

  She arched a single golden brow at him and smiled, leaning down and resting both elbows on her side of the bar, widespread. It put her breasts, pushed together by a very dedicated push-up bra and covered in glitter just on the right side of ridiculous, right into Derick's view. He huffed but was drunk enough that staring didn't feel rude. And, well, she had put them right in front of him.

  "Rough night?" she asked. Before Derick could answer, another woman appeared, and his bartender was pushed out of the way.

  "You shouldn't be back here. Go on, get," the newcomer said, pushing at the other girl's shoulder and tsking like she was trying to ward off a particularly relentless dog. The bartender huffed in protest but went, and Derick's eyes rose.

  The woman froze, and they blinked at each other in recognition. It was Heather, from the shore party. Without the fire casting her in shadow, Derick could get a better look at her face. She had a kind face, wide and warm. Heather smiled at him, and her eyes fell to the tequila bottle and full shot glass in front of him.

  "How many have you had?" she asked.

  "Fourth," Derick murmured, gesturing to it. Heather nodded and took the bottle away, setting it down at the back of the bar, out of reach. Derick looked down to see that her bartender friend had, obediently, left the employee side of the bar, and was making friends with a group of girls who were all staring at one phone, tittering to each other.

  Heather wiped her hands on the cloth tucked at her hip like a holstered gun and leaned her elbows on the bar. She was wearing a tank top, black, with the bar's name written in glittering cursive along the front, ripped jean shorts that showed off her long, tan legs, and white tennis shoes that glowed in the soft black light. Dressed to kill, a woman who seemed capable in eve
ry aspect of her life. Derick swallowed, unable to stop himself thinking about how she'd felt in his lap, how tight her grip was, how sharp her nails despite their well-manicured neatness.

  "Four means you had a rough day," Heather said, tilting her head to one side. "Wanna talk about it?"

  Derick sighed. It was such a stereotype, lamenting his life to the hot bartender. Even worse when that same bartender had climbed into his lap not two nights ago and given him the best kiss of his life. And meanwhile, behind him, Jake was trying to hustle their rent money out of a group of tourists. The dumb shit better be careful; there were only so many times you could pull the same trick and keep all the teeth in your skull.

  "Rough week," Derick replied softly. He wrapped his fingers around the shot glass but didn't drink. He was already on the wrong side of fuzzy-headed and didn't trust his feet to stay where they were if he attempted to stand.

  Heather tossed her hair back and gave him a sympathetic look. "If you want to talk about it, that's kind of half my job," she teased, cheeks bulging as she smiled wide enough to show her teeth. She had a crooked smile, left side riding up a little higher. It made her look younger than her years, provocative, though Derick was sure that was just part of the job.

  "I wouldn't want to take you away from…." He gestured but fell silent. It was getting close to last call, and people had found their bedmates or marks for the night. Jake was flirting with that same blonde who had been posing as a bartender until Heather showed up, while his mark lined up his shot. Derick's eyes narrowed; damn it, focus, you idiot.

  "Oh, yeah, I'm slammed," Heather replied with a roll of her bright eyes, drawing Derick's attention back to her. They were blue; he could finally pick out the shade now. Blue like shallow water in sunlight.

  Derick cleared his throat, slouched on the bar, put his elbow on it, and propped his head up with his fist, keeping Jake in his sight. His little brother was smart, had quicker thinking than a fox on a bed of coals, and usually kept himself out of trouble, but the guys he was hustling were huge and even quick thinking didn't always outrun a fist.