Page 6 of One Forbidden Night In Paradise (Hot Winter Escapes)

DAMNIT!

Wincing, Chase Farrar held up his hand and stared at the staple he had just embedded into his finger.

He glared accusingly at the stapler. How the hell had that happened? He gave the staple an experimental wiggle but it didn’t move. Which meant he would need some tweezers. And he should probably wash it first. It would help loosen it.

Yanking open the door to his office, he stalked down the corridor, nodding at Callum, one of the twenty-member crew of theUmbra. There was a medical kit in the sick bay, and at other points dotted around the boat.

He stopped, frowning, a memory of the day before replaying jerkily inside his head.

The medical supplies.

He had left them sitting on the counter at the Cycle Shack. He swore again, this time audibly and with less restraint. He didn’t forget things. Back in New York, his PA had once joked that he should be her PA.

‘Everything okay, boss?’

Callum had stopped in his tracks, and was staring at him inquiringly, and briefly he wondered what the crewman would say if he told him the truth. That a pair of grey eyes had thrown him off track and had him pretending to hire out mopeds for a living. But instead he nodded. ‘Everything’s fine. I just need to get some tweezers.’ He held up his hand. ‘Speaking of which, I forgot to pick up the medical supplies from town.’

There were other things he’d prefer to have forgotten, like how the woman had raised her chin and not just met his eyes but inspected him, briefly and coolly.

Even before she told him she was on holiday he had known she was a tourist, that much was obvious from her clothes. A teacher, maybe, he thought, hearing the put-down in her husky voice. Although not an experienced one. She was in her mid twenties at most although she was trying her best to look older with those glasses and the way she did her hair.

He made a fist with the hand; the same hand that had brushed against the nape of her neck as he loosened her hair. A pulse of heat danced across his skin in time to the throb in his finger.

Not married either. He could spot ‘married’ a mile off, with or without a ring. But why did he care either way?

His eyes narrowed.

He didn’t.

Forcing himself to focus on the package he had left back at the harbour, he locked eyes with the crewman. ‘I need someone to go collect them from the Cycle Shack. Can I leave that with you?’

‘Yes, sir.’ Callum nodded.

He turned and made his way to the sick bay. He washed his hand, and eased the staple out of his skin with the tweezers. The kit was low on quite a few items and he felt another stab of irritation at his forgetfulness.

This was his boat. The crew was his responsibility, and he took their health and safety seriously. Obviously, accidents happened. He knew that better than anyone but that didn’t stop most being avoidable. He was just lucky they were close to shore. Only he didn’t like relying on luck.

Snapping the medical kit shut, he hung it back on the wall.

It had been a long time since any woman had got under his skin like that.

For years now, his life had been clearly compartmentalised. In New York, he ran Monmouth Rock, one of the biggest insurance businesses in the world, and when he wasn’t working, he worked out and slept. Sometimes he dated. Friends of friends. People in his circle. But he made his intentions—or perhaps a better word would be his limitations—clear right from the start and he never allowed things to get serious.

After everything he’d experienced in his thirty-seven years, casual, short-term, contained was all he could contemplate when it came to relationships. And there was no shortage of women who were happy to play by his rules.

Down here in Bermuda, things were even more clear cut. Instead of work, he used his focus and energy and his immense wealth to look for sunken ships. So all in all, life was good. Simple.

But the blonde at the Cycle Shack had made everything feel a whole lot more complicated.

She had some kind of physical effect on him, made him lose his balance, tangled up his thoughts. He had been so distracted—no, fascinated—by the molten shimmer of her gaze that he had forgotten all about the medical supplies. Truthfully, he would have struggled to remember his own name.

His chest tightened as he remembered how she had blushed when he’d taken off her glasses. Watching the slow flush of pink colour her cheeks, he’d been stunned, enchanted, amazed that there was still someone in the world who would respond like that. And for some reason that had made his libido not just sit up straight but fight to slip its leash.

She had felt it too. He could almost see the tension coming off her frame in waves as she fought against it.

Suddenly needing air, he made his way outside. As he took a few deep breaths, his gaze flickered across the deck to the busy harbour, automatically searching for a glimpse of fluttering blonde hair.

It meant nothing, he thought, turning deliberately to stare at the open sea. She had caught him off guard too, that was all. It was always the same at this time of year.

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