Page 17 of One Forbidden Night In Paradise (Hot Winter Escapes)

He frowned. She was leaving?

‘You don’t need to do that.’

She was shaking her head. ‘I knew it was a mistake coming here. This isn’t who I am. I should have never let them talk me into it.’

‘Hey...’ Reaching out, he caught her shoulders and turned her to face him. ‘Slow down. Who talked you into what?’

Her lips quivered. ‘My brother and sister. They booked this holiday for me as a treat and now it’s all ruined.’

The gentlest of breezes was catching her hair and lifting it away from her face and as he studied her profile he felt himself responding, just as he had at the harbour and then again at the bar. He gritted his teeth. But he didn’t have to sort this out personally. He had people on the island who could deal with it. He had people all around the globe to deal with the slightest hiccup in his life, and yet...

‘It’s not ruined, and you shouldn’t go back home. You’ll regret it if you do and there’s no reason for you to do so.’

She sniffed. ‘That’s easy for you to say. You’re not living on a building site.’

‘And you won’t be either. Look, this is just one of those things that happen sometimes. But it’s my builders who ripped a hole in your beach house and your holiday.’

He hesitated. ‘So let me help you.’

‘Help me how?’

‘I have a house here. Not on the main island, on one of the smaller ones.’ She stared up at him, her eyes wide with shock and confusion as if she couldn’t believe what he was saying, and that made two of them because he couldn’t quite believe it either. But now that he had said it, he felt a complete and total conviction that it was the only option.

‘I know what you’re thinking but you don’t need to worry about me being there. I’m taking the boat out tonight and I won’t be back for a good few days, so you can stay there until the work is done.’

Her belly clenched as he stared down into her pale, wary face. ‘Unless that’s going to cause a problem with your boyfriend.’

‘I don’t have a boyfriend.’ She glanced past him to where the waves were rolling against the sand. ‘I don’t do relationships.’

He stared at her profile, saying nothing, wondering why that statement both pleased and agitated him. ‘I don’t do them either so go and get your bag packed because you’re coming with me,’ he said finally. ‘And I’m not taking no for an answer.’

CHAPTER FOUR

DUSKWASFALLING.

Eyes narrowing, Jemima gazed across the water. It wasn’t just the sky that was darkening, the sea was now the colour of new denim except where a dark orange line bled into the horizon.

The speedboat was hugging the coastline of the island, which she had since learned was not an island at all but an archipelago made up of around one hundred and twenty islands. The main island itself was actually eight smaller islands linked by bridges.

But then in her experience things were so rarely what they seemed. Situations, actions and people could all confuse and deceive.

Her pulse darted forward in time to the slap of the waves against the hull. Take Chase Farrar, for example. He was a man who fished but most definitely wasn’t a fisherman. And yet this was his glossy, high-spec speedboat that was scudding across the waves with smooth, expensive purpose. His hands were calloused and rough like a working man’s but he had that backbeat of authority in his voice that made people stand up straighter and listen.

And apparently he owned an island. Her gaze fixed on the fast-approaching curve of pink sand that was just about visible in the fading light. This island: Bowen’s Cay.

Her throat tightened. He had told her that as she got into the speedboat and she still couldn’t quite believe it. But maybe land was cheaper out here.

Flashes of panic at the prospect of staying in Chase’s house made her skin shiver. Although given that he wasn’t going to be staying, this was probably the riskiest part of their time together. Which was why she was keeping her gaze firmly averted from the man driving the speedboat.

Unfortunately she didn’t need to see Chase to be aware of him. She was unnecessarily attuned to his every move. Sometimes she got so distracted she forgot to breathe.

A light offshore breeze was whipping through her hair and she was grateful for the additional oxygen as she wondered, not for the first time, if she’d made the right decision agreeing to stay in his home.

Should she have kept trying to find alternative accommodation? Maybe. But she could tell from the receptionist’s voice that she was highly unlikely to find a room at such short notice. She could have listened to her gut and seen it as a sign that she wasn’t meant to be here at all. And a part of her had really wanted to scuttle back to England to the safety of her own, tiny cottage.

Only then she had looked up into his eyes and remembered how she had scuttled back into the beach house when he’d interrupted her skinny dip and she’d felt ashamed of herself, of her fear and her timidity.

And in that moment she had known that if she went back to England she would always be that timid, fearful person.

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