Page 4 of One Bed

When he grinned, she realised she’d spoken out aloud. ‘So I’ve been told,’ he drawled.

She blushed, and dropped her eyes, cursing her bright cheeks and the splotches blooming on her chest and neck. Well,obviously. He was in his mid-to-late thirties, gorgeous, and if he hadn’t picked up some bedroom skills, she’d be disappointed. How would his hands feel on her skin? Would he taste as good as he looked, and could his rough-looking stubble be softer than it appeared?

Right,definitelytime to move on. ‘I’d offer to pay you, but I have no cash on me,’ she told him.Why are you reacting like this, Bea? He’s waaaayyyy out of your league!

‘I wouldn’t take it, so don’t worry about it,’ he said, shutting the back door to her hatchback. ‘I hope the rest of your trip is drama-free.’

Since she was dealing with Golly, she had zero chance of that happening, so she smiled and nodded. He strode to his Jeep, climbed in and started it up. After pulling on his seatbelt, he looked at her again, smiled and lifted his hand.

And with that, he was gone. And she’d never see him again.

ChapterTwo

Gibson Caddell glanced in his rearview mirror, watching as the wind plastered her white and brown patterned dress to her shapely body. Puncture Girl was tiny, five-three or five-four, she didn’t even reach his shoulder, but she was a sexy woman. A casual glance would peg her in her mid-twenties, but the fine laughter lines at the corner of her amazing eyes – were they blue or grey? – made him revise his estimate upward, putting her in her early thirties.

She disappeared from view as he rounded the corner and Gib shoved his shades into his hair to rub one eye, then the other, trying to ignore the flash of lust, the punch of want. Was that what sexual attraction felt like? It had been so long, he’d forgotten. When was the last time he had sex? Six months ago? He rolled back through his memories and realised it was closer to a year.

Fuck me.

Or, to be accurate, no fuck me. And, if anyone needed him to, he could testify that solo sex didn’t make you go blind.

Dating himself was all he had time for this past year. As the CEO of Caddell International, the production company his father and uncle had established that now included a worldwide talent agency, an event company, a PR consultancy firm and a music label, he had a million balls in the air. He’d just come off a four-day conference on AI and, before that, he’d spent two weeks in company seminars, one in London, one in New York. He was peopled out.

All he wanted to do for the next two weeks was spend time on the water in the kayak, drink the odd beer and read the odd book. Binge-watch a series. Contemplate his navel.

What he didn’t want to do was to talk to anybody. Aboutanything.

As the new face of Caddell International, he’d stood in the limelight for the past year and had batted away questions about his love life, his past, his parents’ deaths when he was sixteen, where he intended to take the company and how far. He happily answered questions about Caddell International, but ignored any about his personal life. His being an orphan (and his guilt), and whether he was in a relationship (not on the cards) had no bearing on how he did his job.

He was super sensitive –thanks, Mom!– to any invasion of his privacy and personal questions made him feel defensive and uneasy. And after a year of non-stop curiosity about how he lived his life, and who was in it, he was stick-a-fork-in-himdone. He badly needed time out, and hiring the cottage on Golly’s Santorini estate was his way to get the quiet he needed.

He was so burned out that even talking to Puncture Girl had been an effort. The only people he could stand to be around were Navy and Navy’s dad, Hugh. But Navy had his hands full with his agency and his author clients, and Hugh, now Chairman of the Board of Caddell International, was covering for Gib as he took some much-needed time out.

Life would’ve been easier for him if Navy was still with the company, but both he and Hugh knew Navy would one day jump ship to follow his lifelong dream of working in the publishing industry. While Gib loved the cut and thrust, the high-octane lifestyle of running a massive international company, Navy did not. It was Hugh – smart and supportive – who’d pushed his son into following his dream, who gave Navy permission to walk away from the company that Hugh and his brother, Gib’s father, established and Hugh built and grew.

Gib’d met Golly at The Ivy in London. He’d been keeping Navy company while he was waiting for Golly to arrive for their lunch meeting. She wore an aqua sheath with an acid-yellow half jacket, biker boots and carried an unlit cigarillo. Her fingers ended in inch-long, vampire-red nails and her accent was Upper West Side arty. Her attitude was pure Brooklyn street fighter.

After a drink at the bar, a G&T that was heavy on gin and light on tonic, she demanded Gib join her and Navy for lunch. He agreed, and she reminded him they’d met before, when he and his dad had stayed at her villa when he was … what? Eleven? His father’s best friend was a friend of Golly’s, and he and his partner had joined them for a holiday on Santorini, where they’d stayed in the villa’s cottage while Gib and his dad had slept in the main house.

Memories, warm and comforting, rolled over him. It had been the best summer of his life, the besttimeof his life, six weeks of pure fun. His mom hadn’t joined them, he couldn’t remember why not, so he’d been free of her never-ending, intrusive conversation and he’d run wild. Without his mom’s scrutiny and intensity, his father relaxed and let himbe, and those were his best memories of his dad. The only fly in the ointment of that summer having to share a bedroom with a solemn, far-too-serious kid. Agirl.

After that holiday, his father immersed himself in establishing Caddell and he rarely saw him. When he did, he was exhausted and stressed, and there were many nights when he never made it home at all.

That meant there had been no one to deflect the spotlight off him.

During lunch, Golly went on to quiz Navy about his literary agency. During their rapid back and forth, Gib discovered she was retiring and was sussing out literary agents for her special clients. Navy diplomatically asked her whether an author – Patrick, no Parker … Kane? – would consider signing with him when Golly retired.

‘I have no idea what she intends to do, the stubborn girl!’ Golly had said. ‘But I have a list of recommendations.’

‘Am I on that list?’ Navy asked, far too eagerly. Gib’d wanted to smack the back of his cousin’s head and tell him to play it cool. While Gib had the reputation of being imperturbable and nerveless, unreadable, Navy was an open book.

Golly’d narrowed her heavy, kohl-lined eyes. ‘Maybe, but you are new to the game. I know the other agents, but I don’t know you.’

‘What can I do to change that?’ Navy demanded.

Golly ummed and ahhed but trying to get an answer out of her was equivalent to stapling slime to a wall. She told Navy she’d consider him, but Gib wasn’t convinced. When they moved on to discussing her retirement bash and her home on Santorini, she invited them to attend. Navy had another commitment, but the thought of a Greek island break appealed to Gib. There was no way he could recapture the halcyon days of his childhood, but if he could sharpen those memories by being back on the island, he’d consider that a win.

Unfortunately, the only time he could take for a vacation coincided with Golly’s birthday bash, but he had no intention of attending. He did, however, ask for a recommendation on where he should stay on the island. Golly tipped her head to the side, smiled and insisted her cottage was his for however long he wanted it. He countered her offer by offering to hire it, and she’d eventually agreed.

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