Книга - Mistresses: The Consequences Of Desire: Beach Bar Baby / Walk on the Wild Side / Claiming His Own

Mistresses: The Consequences Of Desire: Beach Bar Baby / Walk on the Wild Side / Claiming His Own
Heidi Rice

Natalie Anderson

Olivia Gates


It Takes Two To Make Three!Beach Bar Baby by Heidi RiceElla jets off to sunny Bermuda for a bit of solo R&R… Why say no to a casual date with ripped, tanned and enigmatic Cooper Delaney? Now Coop can’t get the sweet London girl out of his head. A business trip is the perfect chance to see her. Only he finds Ella curvier and keeping a secret…Walk on the Wild Side by Natalie AndersonA fling with sinfully hot champion snowboarder Jack Greene isn’t Kelsi Reid’s normal behaviour…but one glimpse of his wicked eyes has Kelsi throwing caution to the winds. After all, who better to go crazy with than a man who deserves a gold medal for his physical prowess?Claiming His Own by Olivia GatesFrom their first explosive night, Caliope Sarantos and Russian tycoon Maksim Volkov agreed to no commitment. Then her pregnancy changed everything. Though Maksim made the baby his heir, he disappeared. Now he’s back, offering Caliope everything…







Mistresses: The Consequences of Desire

Beach Bar Baby

Heidi Rice

Walk on the Wild side

Natalie Anderson

Claiming His own

Olivia Gates






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Table of Contents

Cover (#uffe5ee29-d465-5cc4-87e5-d6370ae56288)

Title Page (#u7bf71a6a-7831-597c-9c15-84316ab6b91d)

Beach Bar Baby (#uefca4a12-c31c-532f-ae16-b42b18ebd1b5)

About the Author (#uee5dc72e-6a98-574d-b6ae-b058ef0df337)

Dedication (#uf3f11b5b-bd65-51f1-b92b-7b40b20836e4)

ONE (#u9244c0f0-5df7-59e3-8d21-45f14b060289)

TWO (#ufd5694e3-e156-54fc-bb0b-d92b088be20d)

THREE (#u2130847c-45bd-5b9e-89de-d3dbeaa0ccd3)

FOUR (#u747911e1-46e1-53b5-be2c-20bb6716cafd)

FIVE (#ua9d62853-7b63-57dd-bace-a91c556cc69c)

SIX (#u1acda037-0d92-5bbb-b80c-bc2a79b2a7b0)

SEVEN (#uf01e9ca3-cc57-5b28-aee6-1f3694ad9ea0)

EIGHT (#u07c5d558-ec0e-541c-ab6d-9c87777f5251)

NINE (#ud2a67a41-6d88-598f-a15f-761957b737f5)

TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

Walk on the Wild Side (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)

Dedication (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ONE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWO (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THREE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

Claiming His Own (#litres_trial_promo)

Back Cover Text (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)

Dedication (#litres_trial_promo)

Prologue (#litres_trial_promo)

One (#litres_trial_promo)

Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Beach Bar Baby (#uc7b533c5-be73-5780-b283-1d1b0d6cff9e)

Heidi Rice


USA Today bestselling author HEIDI RICE lives in London, England. She is married with two teenage sons (which gives her rather too much of an insight into the male psyche) and also works as a film journalist. She adores her job which involves getting swept up in a world of high emotions, sensual excitement, funny feisty women, sexy tortured men and glamorous locations where laundry doesn’t exist. Once she turns off her computer, she often does chores (usually involving laundry!).


To all those people who asked me when I was going to write Ella’s story. Now you know. I hope it lives up to expectations! x


ONE (#uc7b533c5-be73-5780-b283-1d1b0d6cff9e)

Next time you book a holiday of a lifetime, don’t choose the world’s most popular couples’ destination, you muppet.

Ella Radley adjusted her backpack and flinched as it nudged the raw skin that still stung despite spending yesterday hiding out in her deluxe ocean-view room at the Paradiso Cove Resort in Bermuda—AKA Canoodle Central.

Ella sighed—nothing like getting third-degree sunburn in the one place you couldn’t reach to remind you of your single status. Not that she needed reminding. She stared in dismay at the line of six couples, all in various stages of loved-up togetherness, on the dock ahead of her as she waited to board the motor cruiser at the Royal Naval Dockyards on Ireland Island for what the dive company’s website had promised would be ‘a two-hour snorkel tour of a lifetime’. Unfortunately, she’d booked the tour when she’d first arrived nearly a week ago, before she’d been hit on by a succession of married men and pimply pubescent boys, napalmed all the skin between her shoulder blades and generally lost the will to have anything remotely resembling a lifetime experience.

Her best friend Ruby had once told her she was far too sweet and eager and romantic for her own good. Well, she was so over that. Frankly, paradise and all its charms could get lost. She’d much rather be icing cupcakes in Touch of Frosting’s cosy café kitchen in north London—and laughing about what a nightmare her dream holiday had turned out to be with her business partner and BFF Ruby—than standing in line to take a snorkelling tour of a lifetime that would probably give her a terminal case of seasickness.

Stop being such a grump.

Ella gazed out across the harbour, trying to locate at least a small measure of her usual sunny outlook on life. Yachts and motor boats—dwarfed by the enormous cruise ship anchored across the harbour—bobbed on water so blue and sparkly it hurt her eyes. She recalled the pink sand beach they’d passed on the way in, framed by lush palms and luxury beach bungalows, which looked as if it had been ripped from the pages of a tourist brochure.

She only had one more day to fully appreciate the staggering beauty of this island paradise. Maybe booking this holiday hadn’t been the smartest thing she’d ever done, but she’d needed a distraction... The trickle of panic crawled over her skin, making her aware of the familiar clutching sensation in her belly. She pressed her palm to the thin cotton of her sundress, until it went away again. She needed this day trip—to get her out of her room before the panic overwhelmed her or, worse, she became addicted to US daytime soaps.

The line moved forward as a tall man appeared at the gangplank wearing ragged cut-offs and a black T-shirt with the dive company’s logo on it, his face shadowed by a peaked captain’s cap. Ella stopped breathing, her eyes narrowing to minimise the glare off the water, astonished to discover that the steely-haired Captain Sonny Mangold, whose weathered face beamed out from the photo on the website, appeared to be in amazing physical shape for a guy pushing sixty. Talk about a silver fox. Not that she could see his hair from this distance.

Captain Sonny began to welcome each couple aboard, his gruff American accent floating towards her on the still, muggy air, and sending peculiar shivers up Ella’s spine, even though she couldn’t make out what he was saying. The couple ahead of her, looking affluent and young and very much in love, were the last to block her view. As the captain helped them both aboard Ella stepped forward, anticipation making her throat dry. She took in the staggeringly broad shoulders and long muscular legs encased in denim cut-offs as his head dipped to tick off the list on the clipboard in his hand. Wisps of dark blond hair clung to lean cheeks and a square, stubbled jaw, confusing her even more, then his head lifted.

All thoughts of nightmare holidays, canoodling couples and silver foxes blasted right out of her brain.

Goodness, he’s stunning. And not much over thirty.

‘You’re not Captain Sonny,’ she blurted, the wake-up call to her dormant libido blasting away her usual shyness too.

‘Captain Cooper Delaney at your service.’ The rich jade of his irises twinkled, and the tanned skin round the edges of his eyes creased. His arresting gaze dipped, to check the clipboard again. ‘And you must be Miz Radley.’ The laconic voice caressed her name, while his gaze paused momentarily on its journey back to her face, rendering the bikini she had on under her sundress half its normal size.

A large, bronzed hand, sprinkled with sun-bleached hair, reached out. ‘Welcome aboard The Jezebel, Miz Radley. You travelling on your own today?’

‘Yes.’ She coughed, distressed as the answer came out on a high-pitched squeak. Heat flared across her scalp.

Good Lord, am I having a hot flush? Can he see it?

‘Is that okay?’ she asked. Then realised it sounded as if she was asking his permission.

‘Sure.’ His wide sensual lips lifted but stopped tantalisingly short of a grin—making her fairly positive he knew exactly how he was affecting her.

The blush promptly went radioactive.

‘As long as you don’t have any objections to me being your snorkel buddy?’ He squeezed her fingers as she stepped aboard. ‘We don’t let clients dive alone. It’s safer that way.’

The pads of her fingertips rubbed against the thick calluses on the ridge of his palm. And the tips of her already constricted breasts tightened.

‘I don’t have any objections,’ she said, feeling stupidly bereft when he let go of her hand—and thinking that even on their ten-second acquaintance she’d hazard a guess that Captain Cooper Delaney was the opposite of safe. Why for the first time in a long time she should find that exhilarating instead of intimidating made her wonder exactly how stressed she’d been in the last week.

‘How about you sit up front with me?’

It didn’t sound like a question, but she nodded, her tongue now completely numb.

His palm settled on the small of her back, just beneath the line of her sunburn. He directed her past the other passengers as she struggled not to notice the hot tingles generated by his touch and the fresh scent of saltwater and soap that clung to him. Bypassing the single space left between the couples wedged onto the benches that rimmed the hull, he escorted her to one of the two seats in front of the console in the boat’s cabin.

‘There you go, Miz Radley.’ He tipped his cap, the gesture more amused than polite thanks to that tempting twinkle, then turned to address the other passengers.

She listened to him introduce himself and the two wiry teenage boys who were his crew for the day, then launch into a relaxed spiel about the twenty-five-minute voyage to the snorkel site called Western Blue Cut, the history of the sunken wreck they’d be exploring, the ecology of the reef and a string of safety tips. But all she really heard was the deliciously rusty texture of his voice while her mind wrestled with the question of exactly what being someone’s snorkel buddy might entail.

It couldn’t possibly be as intimate as it sounded. Could it?

But when he climbed into the seat beside her, his hand closed over the rounded head of the gear stick on the console and she swallowed past a constriction in her throat that felt a lot like excitement.

He adjusted the stick down, tapped a dial, pressed a button and the boat roared to life. She grabbed the rail at the edge of the console to stop from tumbling onto her butt. He slanted her an amused look as she scrambled back into her seat. Then hid his mischievous gaze behind a pair of sunglasses.

All the blood pumped back into her cheeks—not to mention the hot spot between her legs—as the motor launch kicked away from the dock, edged past the other boats in the marina, and left the walled harbour to skim over the swell towards the reef.

He flashed her an easy smile—that seemed to share a wicked secret. ‘Hold on tight, miz. I’d hate to lose my snorkel buddy before we get there.’

The answering grin that flittered over Ella’s lips felt like her first genuine smile in months—filling up a small part of the gaping hole that had opened up in the pit of her stomach over a week ago.

Maybe going on a holiday of a lifetime solo didn’t completely suck after all.

* * *

‘Well, honey, you’ve certainly captured Coop’s attention.’

Ella’s cheeks burned at the comment from the plump middle-aged woman in bright pink Bermuda shorts and an ‘I Found My Heart in Horseshoe Bay’ T-shirt who joined her at the rail as the boat bobbed on the reef.

They’d reached their destination ten minutes ago and were waiting for Captain Delaney and his crew to finish allocating the snorkelling equipment before they dived in.

Ella had to be grateful for the respite, because sitting in such close proximity to the man for twenty minutes had caused her usually sedentary hormones to get sort of hyperactive.

‘Do you know Captain Delaney?’ she asked, hoping to deflect the conversation while studiously ignoring the blip in her heartbeat.

After careful consideration, she’d figured out that Captain Delaney’s attention had nothing to do with her and everything to do with his job. She was the only single passenger on the boat, and he was just being conscientious, ensuring she got her money’s worth and enjoyed the trip. They hadn’t been able to talk much on the ride out because of the engine noise, thankfully. Those sexy—and she was sure entirely impersonal—smiles he kept flashing at her were more than enough to tie her tongue in knots. A reaction that had propelled her back in time to the excruciating crushes of her teens when she’d always been rendered speechless in the presence of good-looking boys.

This was precisely why she preferred guys who were homely and safe rather than dangerous and super-hot. Being struck dumb on a date could get old really fast.

‘We’ve known Coop for nearly a decade,’ the woman said in her friendly mid-western drawl. ‘Bill and I been coming back to St George every year since our honeymoon in ninety-two. And we never miss The Jezebel’s snorkel tour. Coop used to work as a deck hand for Sonny as a kid, got his captain’s stripes a while back. Now he just pitches in from time to time.’ The woman offered a hand. ‘Name’s May Preston.’

‘Ella Radley, nice to meet you.’ Ella shook the woman’s hand, comforted by her open face, and easy manner—and intrigued despite herself by the unsolicited insight into the hot captain’s past.

She recognised May from the resort. May and her husband Bill, whom she liked too, because he was one of the few married men at Paradiso Cove who didn’t have a roving eye.

‘You’re a cute little thing, aren’t you? And with that lovely accent.’ May tilted her head, assessing Ella in that direct and personal way that only American tourists seemed able to do without appearing rude. ‘I must say, I’ve always wondered what Coop’s type was. But you’re quite a surprise.’

The blush headed towards Ella’s hairline. ‘I wouldn’t say I’m his type.’ Perish the thought; her heart would probably stop beating if she believed that. She might find him extremely attractive, but dangerous men had never been good for her mental health. ‘It’s just that I’m a woman on my own and he’s being polite and doing a good job.’

May let out a hearty chuckle. ‘Don’t you believe it, honey. Coop’s not the polite type. And he usually spends his time peeling the single female clients off him, not offering them a personal service.’

‘I’m sure you’re wrong about that.’ Far from stopping, Ella’s heartbeat hit warp speed—stunned disbelief edging out her embarrassment.

‘Maybe, maybe not.’ May’s smile took on a saucy tilt, which was about as far from doubtful as it was possible to get. ‘But this is the first I’ve ever heard of the snorkel-buddy safety rule. And that’s after twenty years of coming on this tour.’

* * *

Ella bided her time while wrestling with May’s shocking comment, until the captain and his two deckhands had seen off all the other snorkellers. While fitting fins and masks, giving instructions about how far to stray from the boat, demonstrating some basic hand signals, advising people on how long they had before they should head back, and how to identify the paddle wheel from the wreck of the sunken blockade runner they’d come to see, Cooper Delaney appeared to be the consummate professional. In fact, he seemed so relaxed and pragmatic while handling the other passengers, Ella convinced herself May had to be mistaken about the snorkel-buddy rule—and wondered if she should even question him about it. Wouldn’t she sound impossibly vain, bordering on delusional, suggesting he’d offered to partner her for reasons other than her own safety?

But then he turned from the rail, took off his sunglasses and his slow, seductive smile had all the blood pumping back into her nether regions.

She fanned herself with her sunhat. Goodness, either she was suffering from sunstroke or that smile had some kind of secret thermal mechanism.

He crossed the deck towards her, his emerald gaze even brighter than the dazzling expanse of crystal blue water.

‘So, Miz Radley, you want to strip down to your swimsuit and I’ll get you fitted up, then we can head out?’

He leaned against the console, his large capable hand very close to her hip.

She sucked in a sharp breath as her lungs constricted, only to discover the fresh sweat darkening the front of his T-shirt made his salt and sandalwood scent even more intoxicating.

Courage, Ella, just make a general enquiry so you know for sure where you stand.

‘Is that absolutely necessary?’ she asked.

‘’Fraid so. The salt water’s bound to ruin that pretty dress if you don’t take it off. You didn’t forget your swimsuit, did you?’ His smile tipped into a grin.

‘No, I meant us snorkelling together.’ Her nipples shot back to the full torpedo as his gaze drifted south. ‘Is that necessary?’

One dark eyebrow lifted in puzzled enquiry, the smile still in place.

‘It’s just that May Preston said she’d never heard of that rule.’ The words tripped over themselves to get out of her mouth before her tongue knotted again. ‘You know, about it being necessary for people to snorkel in pairs for safety’s sake...’ She began to babble, her tongue overcompensating somewhat. ‘I know it matters with scuba-diving. Even though I’ve never actually scuba-dived myself...’ She cut off as his lips curved more.

Get to the point, Ella.

‘I just...I wondered if you could confirm for me, why it’s necessary for us to be snorkel buddies? If I’m only going to be a few yards from the boat?’

‘Right.’

The word rumbled out and seemed to echo in her abdomen. He muttered something under his breath, then tugged off his captain’s cap, revealing curls of thick sun-streaked hair damp with sweat flattened against his forehead.

‘What I can confirm...’ he slapped the cap against his thigh, the smile becoming more than a little sheepish ‘...is that May Preston’s got one hell of a big mouth. Which I’m going to be having words with her about as soon as she gets back aboard this boat.’

‘It’s true?’ Ella’s eyes widened, her jaw going slack. ‘You really did make it up? But why would you do that?’

* * *

Cooper Delaney watched the pretty English girl’s baby blues grow even larger in her delicate, heart-shaped face—and began to wonder if he was being taken for a ride.

Shy and hot and totally lost, with that tempting overbite, and her lush but petite figure, Ella Radley had looked cute and sort of sad when he’d spotted her at the back of the boarding line an hour ago. Then her skin had flushed a ruddy pink as soon as he’d so much as smiled at her and she’d totally captivated him.

That nuclear blush had been so damn cute, in fact, that he’d been momentarily mesmerised and the snorkel-buddy rule had popped into his head and then spilled out of his mouth without his brain ever even considering intervening.

But seriously? Could any woman really be this clueless? Even if she did have eyes big enough to rival one of the heroines in the manga comic books he’d been addicted to in middle school? And her nipples peaked under her sundress every time he so much as glanced at her rack? And her cheeks seemed to be able to light up on cue?

No way. No one was that cute. It had to be an act.

But if it was an act, it was a damn good one. And he could respect that, because he’d dedicated his life to putting on one act or another.

Unfortunately, act or no, she’d caught him out but good.

Thanks a bunch, May.

He resigned himself to taking his punishment like a man, and hoped it didn’t involve a slap in the face—or a sexual harassment suit.

‘If I said because you looked like you could use the company,’ he began, hoping that humour might soften the blow, ‘would you buy it?’

The instant blush bloomed again—lighting up the sprinkle of freckles on her nose. ‘Oh, yes, of course, I thought it might be something like that.’ She shielded her eyes from the sun, tipping her chin up. ‘That’s very considerate of you, Captain Delaney. But I wouldn’t want to put you out if you’re busy. I’m sure I’ll manage fine on my own.’

It was his turn for his eyes to widen at the earnest tone and the artless expression on her pixie face.

Damn, did she actually just buy that? Because if this was an act, it ought to be Oscar nominated.

No one had ever accused him of being considerate before. Not even his mom—and he’d worked harder at fooling her than anyone, because she’d been so fragile.

‘The name’s Coop,’ he said, still not convinced that he’d got off the hook so easily, but willing to go with it. ‘Believe me. I’d be happy to do it.’ He tried to emulate her earnest expression. Although he figured it was a lost cause. He’d learnt at an early age to hide all his emotions behind a who-the-hell-cares smile, which meant he didn’t have a heck of a lot of practice with earnest.

Her lips curved and her overbite disappeared. ‘Okay, if you’re absolutely sure it’s not a bother.’ The blue of her eyes brightened to dazzling. ‘I accept.’

The smile struck him dumb for a moment, turning her expression from cute to super-hot but still managing to look entirely natural. Then she bounced up to pull her sundress over her head. And the punch of lust nearly knocked him sideways.

Bountiful curves in all the right places jiggled enticingly, covered by three pitifully tiny triangles of purple spandex that left not a lot to the imagination—and had that cheesy sixties tune his mom used to sing on her good days about a teeny-weeny polka dot bikini dancing through his head.

Damn but that rack was even hotter than her smile. Her nipples did that bullet-tipped thing again and he had to grit his teeth to stop one particular part of his anatomy from becoming the total opposite of teeny-weeny.

But then she turned, to drop her dress into the purse she had stowed under the dash, and he spotted the patch of sun-scorched flesh that spread out between slim shoulder blades and stretched all the way down to the line of her panties.

‘Ouch, that’s got to hurt,’ he murmured. ‘You need a higher factor sun lotion. The rays can be brutal in Bermuda even in April.’

She whisked around, holding the dress up to cover her magnificent rack—and the nuclear blush returned with a vengeance. ‘I have factor fifty, but unfortunately I couldn’t reach that spot.’

He scrubbed his hand over the stubble on his chin, playing along by pretending to consider her predicament. ‘Well, now, that sounds like a job for your snorkel buddy.’

A grateful smile lit up her face, and he almost felt bad for taking advantage of her...until he remembered this was all some saucy little act.

‘That would be fabulous, if you don’t mind?’ She reached back into her tote and pulled out some lotion.

Presenting her back to him, she lifted the hair off her nape as he squeezed a generous amount of the stuff, which had the consistency of housepaint, between his palms, and contemplated how much he was going to enjoy spreading it all over her soft, supple, sun-warmed skin.

Well, hell... If he’d known the good-guy act came with these kind of benefits, he’d have given it a shot more often.


TWO (#uc7b533c5-be73-5780-b283-1d1b0d6cff9e)

Do not purr, under any circumstances.

Ella bit back a moan as Cooper Delaney’s work-roughened hands massaged her shoulder blades. Callused fingers nudged under the knot of her bikini to spread the thick sun lotion up towards her hairline. Tingles ricocheted down her spine as his thumbs dug into the tight muscles of her neck, then edged downwards. She trapped her bottom lip under her teeth, determined to keep the husky groan lodged in her throat where it belonged.

‘Okay, I’m heading into the red zone.’ The husky voice brushed her nape as his magic touch disappeared and she heard the squirt of more lotion being dispensed. ‘I’ll be gentle as I can, but let me know if it’s too much.’

I could never have too much of this.

She nodded, knowing any further attempt at speech would probably give away how close she was to entering a fugue state.

‘Right, here goes.’

Light pressure hit the middle of her back as his palms flattened against the burnt patch. She shuddered, the sting nothing compared to the riot of tingles now rippling across her skin and tightening her nipples.

‘You okay?’ The pressure ceased, his palms barely touching her.

‘Yes. Absolutely. Don’t stop.’ She shifted, pressing back into his palms. ‘It feels...’

Glorious? Blissful? Awe-inspiring?

‘Fine...’ she managed, but then a low hum escaped as he began to massage more firmly. His thumbs angled into the hollows of her spine, blazing a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

She’d been far too long without the touch of a man’s hands. That fabulous sensation of flesh on flesh, skin to skin. She stretched under the caress, like a cat desperate to be stroked, the tingles rippling down to her bottom as his thumbs nudged the edge of her bikini panties. She closed her eyes, willing the firm touch to delve beneath the elastic, while the hot heavy weight in her abdomen plunged.

Arousal zapped across her skin, and she had to swallow the sob as the exquisite, excruciating sensations pounded into her sex after what felt like decades on sabbatical.

Then disappeared.

‘All done.’

Her eyes snapped open too fast, making her sway. His hand touched her hip, anchoring her in place—and snapping her back to reality.

‘Steady there.’ The amused tone had the blush firing up her neck.

Oh, no, had he heard that strangled sob? Could he tell she’d been hurtling towards a phantom orgasm?

Humiliation engulfed the need.

She was so going to unpack the vibrator Ruby had bought her for the trip, and test-drive it in her room tonight. Deciding she wasn’t highly sexed enough to need artificial stimulation had obviously been way off the mark. And Ruby had once sworn by hers—before she’d found her husband, Callum.

‘That should keep you from getting barbecued again, at any rate.’ The rough comment intruded on her frantic debate about the merits of vibrators. And the blush went haywire.

She stretched her lips into what she hoped looked like a grateful smile—instead of the first stages of nymphomania. ‘I really appreciate it.’

She watched as he snapped the cap onto the lotion bottle. Only to become momentarily transfixed by the sight of those long, blunt, capable fingers glistening in the sunlight from the oily residue.

‘There you go.’ He held out the lotion bottle as another inappropriate jolt of arousal pulsed into her sex.

Locating her backpack, she spent several additional seconds shoving the bottle back into it, pathetically grateful when her hands finally stopped trembling. Maybe if she drew this out long enough the blush might have retreated out of the forbidden zone too.

‘Thank you, that was...’ She groped for the right word—awesome being definitely the wrong word, even if it was the one sitting on the tip of her tongue.

‘You’re welcome.’

Her lungs seized at the glow of amusement in the deep green depths of his eyes. The blip of panic returned as she got lost in the rugged male beauty of his face—the chiselled cheekbones, the shadow of stubble on the strong line of his jaw, the tantalising dimple in his chin.

How could any man be this gorgeous? This potently male? It just wasn’t fair on the female of the species.

The sensual lips twitched, as if he were valiantly suppressing a grin.

Get a flipping grip. The man offered to be your snorkel buddy, not your bonk buddy.

‘So we’re all set?’ The rough question echoed in her sex.

‘Unless you need me to return the favour?’ She coughed, when the offer came out on an unladylike squeak. ‘With the sun lotion, I mean. So you don’t burn.’

The suggestion trailed off as his eyebrows lifted a fraction and the edge of his mouth kicked up in one of those sensual, secret smiles that had been making her breathing quicken all morning. It stopped altogether now.

Shut up. You did not just say that? You sad, sad, sex-deprived nymphomaniac.

‘Forget it, that was a silly thing to say.’ She raced to cover the gaff. ‘I don’t know why I suggested it.’ Cooper Delaney’s sun-kissed skin had the healthy glow of a year-round tan weathered by sea air. He’d probably never had to use lotion in his entire life. ‘I’m sure you don’t need to worry about sunburn. Perhaps we should just—’

‘That sounds like a great idea.’ The easy comment cut through her manic babble.

‘It does?’

His lips kicked up another notch. ‘Sure, you can never have enough protection, right?’

Was he mocking her? And could she summon the will to care while she was barely able to breathe?

‘Um, right. I’ll get the lotion, then.’ She dived back into her bag, rummaging around for what felt like several decades as she tried to locate the lotion before he changed his mind. She found it just in time to see him lift the hem of his T-shirt over his head and throw it over the console.

All the blood rushed out of her brain as she stood, poised like the Statue of Liberty, clutching the lotion like Liberty’s torch.

Oh. My. God. His chest is a work of art.

Sun-bleached hair curled around flat copper nipples as if to accentuate the mounds of his exceptionally well-defined pecs. She followed the trail down between the ridged muscles of his six-pack, then swallowed convulsively as the thin strip of hair tapered beneath the waistband of his cut-offs, drawing her attention to the roped sinews that stood out in bold relief against the line of his hip bones.

No wonder it’s called a happy trail. I feel euphoric.

‘Thanks, honey. I appreciate it.’ His gruff words interrupted her reverie as he presented her with an equally breathtaking view of his back.

His spine bisected the slabs of packed muscle, sloping down to the tattoo of a Celtic Cross, inked across the base of his back, which peeked out above his shorts. Her gaze dipped lower, to absorb the sight of a perfectly toned male ass framed in battered denim.

She cleared her throat loudly, before she choked to death on her own drool. ‘Is, um, is factor fifty okay?’

He lifted one muscular shoulder, let it drop. ‘Whatever you’ve got is good.’

The low words seemed to rumble through her torso, making her pulse points vibrate.

She squeezed a lake of the viscous white liquid into unsteady palms. Taking a deep breath, she flattened her palms onto the hot, smooth skin of his back, while her lungs clogged with the tempting scent of cocoa butter and man.

The muscles tensed as she spread the thick lotion, and absorbed the heat of his skin, the steely strength beneath.

Moisture gathered in the secret spot between her thighs, which now felt as if it was swollen to twice its normal size.

As she spread the white liquid over the wide expanse of his back, and massaged it into his skin, she timed her breathing to the beat of the timpani drum in her ear, in a desperate attempt to stop herself from hyperventilating.

And passing out before the job was done.

* * *

Cooper touched Ella’s arm, signalling with his index finger to draw her attention to the blue angel fish darting beneath the shelf of fiery orange coral. Her eyes popped wide behind the mask and her expressive mouth spread into a delighted grin around her mouthpiece.

As they hovered above the reef he watched her admire the brilliant aquamarine of the fish’s scales, the white-tipped fins, and the pretty golden edging on the tail, while he admired the open excitement on her face and the buoyant breasts barely contained by purple spandex.

His groin twitched, the blood pumping south despite the chill of the seawater. The sudden flashback, of her stretching under his hands, her breathing coming out on a strangled groan as he caressed the firm skin, didn’t do much to deter the growing erection.

He adjusted his junk, grateful for the wet denim of his shorts. Which had been holding him in check ever since he’d dived into the ocean, leaving Dwayne to fit Ella’s flippers and snorkelling gear, before she spotted the telltale ridge in his pants.

They’d been out on the reef for over half an hour now, and he’d mostly got himself under control. But the sight of that shy, excited smile, every time he showed her some new species of fish, or the barnacled wreck of the Montana, had been almost as mesmerising as the feel of her fingers fluttering over his bicep whenever she wanted to point something out to him, or the sight of all those lush curves bobbing in the waves.

The woman was killing him. So much so that his golden rule about hooking up with single lady tourists was in danger of being blown right out of the water.

As she pointed delightedly to a shoal of parrot fish flicking past he recalled why he’d made his golden rule in the first place.

Single ladies on holiday generally fell into one of two categories: those on the hunt for no-strings thrills, or those on the look-out for an exotic island romance. As both scenarios invariably involved lots of sex, he’d been more than happy to indulge in hook-ups with the clients when he’d first arrived on the island a decade ago. But back then he’d been eighteen going on thirty with a chip on his shoulder the size of a forest, not a lot of money and even fewer prospects.

In the intervening years, he’d worked his butt off to leave that messed-up kid in the dust. As the owner of a lucrative and growing dive-shop franchise, he sure as hell didn’t need to look for acceptance in casual sex any more—or the hassle of pretending to be interested in more.

Which meant single lady tourists had been off limits for a while, unless he knew for certain they weren’t after more than the one night of fun. Usually, it was easy enough to figure that out. In fact he’d become an expert at deciding whether a woman had lust or stardust in their eyes when they hit on him. But Ella Radley didn’t fit the profile for either.

For starters, she hadn’t exactly hit on him despite the obvious chemistry between them. And he still hadn’t figured out whether that enchanting mix of artless enthusiasm, sweet-natured kookiness and transparent hunger was all part of an act to get into his pants—or was actually real.

Unfortunately, he was fast running out of time to make up his mind on that score. Sonny had two more fully booked tours scheduled right after this one. And with the old guy’s arthritis acting up again, Cooper had agreed to step in and captain them. It was a responsibility he couldn’t and wouldn’t duck out of. Because Sonny and he had a history.

The old guy had offered him a shift crewing on The Jez, when he’d been eighteen and had just spent his last dime on boat fare to the island. He’d been sleeping rough on the quayside and would have sold his soul for a burger and a side order of fries.

He’d done a half-assed job that afternoon, because he’d been weak from hunger and didn’t know the first thing about boats. But for the first time since his mother’s death, he’d felt safe and worth something. Sonny had given him hope, so whatever debt the old guy called in, he’d pay it.

All of which meant he had to make a decision about Ella Radley before they got back to the dockyards. Should he risk asking her out tonight without being sure about her?

She swam back towards him, her eyes glowing behind the mask, then made the sign for okay.

He gave her a thumbs up and then jerked it towards the boat. They’d run out of time ten minutes ago. Everyone else would be back on the launch by now ready to head back to the mainland. Which meant it was past time for him to make his mind up.

But as she swum ahead of him, her generous butt drawing his gaze with each kick of the flippers, heat flooded his groin again, and he knew his mind had already been made up... Because his brain had stopped making the decisions a good forty minutes ago, when those soft, trembling hands had stroked down his spine and hovered next to the curve of his ass. And he’d heard her sigh, above the rush of blood pounding in his ears.

* * *

Ella gripped the rail as the launch bumped against the dock and her snorkel buddy sent her one of his trademark smiles.

He laid his palm on her knee and gave it a squeeze, sending sensation shooting up her thigh. ‘Hold up here, while I get everyone off the boat.’ The husky, confidential tone had her heart beating into her throat, the way it had been doing most of the day.

She forced herself to breathe evenly, and take stock, while he and his crew docked the boat and he bid farewell to the rest of the passengers.

Do not get carried away. It’s been an amazing morning, but now it’s over.

The snorkel tour, the epic beauty of the reef and its sealife had totally lived up to the hype. But it had been Cooper Delaney’s constant attention, his gorgeous body and flirtatious smile, that had turned the trip into a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

He’d made her feel special—and for that she couldn’t thank him enough. Which meant not overreacting now and putting motivations into his actions that weren’t there.

She gulped down the lump of gratitude as she watched him charm May Preston, and give her husband a hearty handshake. Once they’d gone, it would be her turn to say goodbye.

May waved, then winked—making the colour leech into Ella’s cheeks—before handing a wad of bills to Cooper. He accepted the money with a quick lift of his cap.

A tip.

Shame tightened Ella’s throat as Cooper folded the bills into the back pocket of the jeans he’d changed into. Of course, she should tip him. That would be the best way to thank Cooper for all his attention. And let him know what a great time she’d had.

She grabbed her backpack, found her purse, then had a minor panic attack over the appropriate amount. Was twenty dollars enough? Or thirty? No, forty. Forty, would work. After all, he’d surely need to share it out with the boys in his crew. She counted out the money, her palms sweating, hoping she’d got the amount right. She wanted to be generous, even though she knew that any amount couldn’t really repay him for what he’d done.

For two amazing, exhilarating, enchanting hours she’d completely forgotten about all her troubles—and felt like a woman again, a whole, normal, fully functional woman—and for that no tip, however generous, could be big enough.

Slinging the pack over her shoulder, she approached him with the bills clutched in her fist. Now, how to hand it over without blushing like a beetroot?

He turned as she approached, that killer smile making her pulse hammer her neck. The appreciative light in his eyes as his gaze roamed over her had her bikini top shrinking again.

‘Hey, there.’ The killer smile became deadly. ‘I thought I told you to stay put.’

She pursed her lips to still the silly tremble, unable to return the smile. ‘I should get out of your way.’

‘You’re not in my way.’ He tucked the curl of hair that had escaped her ponytail back behind her ear—in a casually possessive gesture that only made the tremble intensify. ‘But I’ve got a couple more tours to run today. How about we meet up later? I’ll be at a bar on the south side of Half-Moon Cove from around seven onwards...’

Blood thundered in her ears, so she could barely make out what he was saying.

‘What d’you say?’ he continued. ‘You want to hang out some more?’

She nodded, but then his knuckle stroked down her cheek.

Panicked by the clutch of emotion, and the insistent throb of arousal, she shifted away from his touch. Time to make a quick getaway, before the lip quiver got any worse.

She thrust the bills towards him. ‘I’ve had an incredible time. The tour was amazing. Thank you so much.’

His gaze dropped. ‘What’s this?’

‘Umm, I hope it’s enough.’ Had she miscalculated? Was it too little? ‘I wanted to thank you properly, for all the trouble you went to this morning.’

A muscle in his jaw hardened. And she had the strangest feeling she’d insulted him. But then he blinked and the flash of temper disappeared.

‘Right.’ He took the bills, counted them. ‘Forty dollars. That’s real generous.’ She thought she detected the sour hint of sarcasm, but was sure she must be mistaken when he tipped his cap and shoved the bills into his back pocket. ‘Thanks.’ For the first time, the easy grin looked like an effort. ‘I’ll see you around, Miz Radley.’

The clutching feeling collapsed in her chest, at the formal address, the remote tone.

Had she just imagined the invitation for later in the evening? Or, worse, blown it out of all proportion? Obviously it had been completely casual and she’d made too much of it.

She stood like a dummy, not knowing what to do about the sudden yearning to see the focused heat one more time.

The moment stretched out unbearably as he studied her, his expression remote and unreadable.

‘I suppose I should make a move,’ she managed to get out at last.

Get off the boat. He probably has a ton of things he needs to be doing.

‘Well, thank you again.’ You’ve said that already. ‘It’s been so nice meeting you.’ Stop gushing, you nitwit. ‘Goodbye.’ She lifted her hand in a pointless wave that immediately felt like too much.

‘Yeah, sure.’ He didn’t wave back, the words curt, his face blanker than ever.

She rushed down the gangplank, refusing to look back and make an even bigger ninny of herself.


THREE (#uc7b533c5-be73-5780-b283-1d1b0d6cff9e)

Ella held the plastic column, flipped the switch. Then yelped and dropped it when it shivered to life with a sibilant hum. She signed and flicked the switch back down to dump the vibrator back in its box.

Damn, trying out the sex toy had seemed like such a good idea when she’d been with Cooper, while all her hormones were jumping and jigging under his smouldering stare.

But after their awkward parting, she wasn’t feeling all that enthusiastic about discovering the joys of artificial stimulation any more.

Plastic just didn’t have the allure of a flesh and blood man. Plus the way things had ended had flatlined all the jiggling. She just felt empty now, and a little foolish, for enjoying his company so much when it hadn’t meant anything. She racked her brains to figure out what had happened. Because one minute he’d been laid-back and charming, oozing sex appeal, and asking her if she wanted to ‘hang out’ later and the next he’d been cold and tense and dismissive.

The phone rang, jolting her out of her dismay. She groped for the handset, grateful for the distraction, especially when her best friend’s voice greeted her.

‘Ella, hi, how’s things in paradise?’

Ella smiled, happiness at the sound of Ruby’s voice tempered with a surge of homesickness. ‘Ruby, I’m so glad you called.’ She gripped the phone, suddenly wishing she could levitate down the phoneline.

Other than this morning’s snorkelling trip of a lifetime with the gorgeous—and confusing—Captain Cooper, her trip to Bermuda had been a disaster. She wanted to go home now.

‘Is everything okay? You sound a little wobbly.’

‘No, everything’s good. I guess I’m just over paradise now.’

Ruby laughed, that rich, throaty, naughty laugh that Ella missed so much. ‘Uh-oh, so I’m assuming you still haven’t met any buff guys in Bermuda shorts, then?’

‘Umm, well.’ The image of Cooper’s exceptionally fit body, his low-slung cut-offs clinging to muscular thighs, that mouth-watering chest gilded with seawater, and the devastating heat in his eyes, popped into Ella’s head and rendered her speechless.

‘You have met someone, haven’t you?’ Ruby said, her usual telepathy not dimmed by thousands of miles of ocean. ‘Fantastic! Auntie Ruby needs to know all the details.’

‘It’s nothing, really. He’s just a cute guy who was captaining the snorkel tour I went on this morning. We flirted a bit.’ At least, she thought they’d been flirting, but maybe she’d got that wrong too. ‘But he’s not my type at all. He’s far too sexy.’ She recalled his callused hands, massaging the thick suncream into her skin—and wondered if Ruby could sense her hot flush from the UK.

Ruby snorted. ‘Are you on crack or something? There’s no such thing as too sexy. Ever. And clarify “a bit”—does that mean there might be an option for more?’

‘Well, he did sort of ask me out.’

‘That’s fantastic.’

‘But I don’t think I’ll follow it up.’

Her mind snagged on their awkward parting. As flattering as Cooper’s undivided attention had been, and as exciting as she’d found snorkelling with him—cocooned together in the exhilarating cool of the ocean as he used sign language to point out the different colourful fish, the sunken wreck of an old schooner and the majestic coral—it hadn’t ended all that well.

She pictured again the tight line of his jaw when she’d handed him the hefty tip, and winced at the memory of his curt goodbye.

‘Why not?’ Ruby asked. ‘I thought that was the whole point of this holiday. To have a wild, inappropriate fling and kick-start your sex life?’

‘What?’ Ella could feel the blush lighting her face like a Christmas tree. ‘Who told you that?’

‘You did. You said you needed to get away, and rethink your priorities. That you’d become too fixated on finding the right guy, when what you really needed was to find a guy,’ Ruby replied, quoting words back to Ella she couldn’t remember saying.

She’d been in a fog at the time, probably even in a state of mild shock after visiting her local doctor. She’d booked the holiday at the last minute, packed and headed for the airport the very next day, partly because she hadn’t known how to tell Ruby her news. For the first time ever, she’d been unable to confide in her best friend, and that had been the scariest thing of all.

‘I thought that’s what you meant,’ Ruby finished, sounding thoroughly confused now. ‘That you were heading to Bermuda to get laid.’

‘Not precisely.’ Ella felt the weariness of keeping the secret start to overwhelm her.

‘So what did you mean?’ Ruby’s sharp mind lasered straight to the truth. ‘This has something to do with the doctor’s appointment you had the day before you left, doesn’t it? I knew something had freaked you out. What aren’t you telling me?’

Ella could hear the urgency in Ruby’s voice and knew her friend’s natural tendency to create drama was about to conjure up a terminal illness.

‘Whatever it is, you have to tell me, Ell. We can sort it out. Together. We always have.’

‘Don’t worry, Rube.’ Ella began talking her friend down from the ledge. ‘It’s nothing terrible.’ Or not that terrible.

‘But it does have something to do with the appointment?’

‘Yes.’

‘Which is?’ Ruby’s voice had taken on the stern fear-of-God tone she used with her three children, which instantly made them confess to any and all infractions.

Ella knew she wouldn’t last two seconds under that kind of interrogation. Even from four thousand miles away. ‘Dr Patel took some tests. I’ll get the results on Monday.’ She blew out a breath, the hollow pressure that had dragged down her stomach a week ago feeling as if it had become a black hole. ‘But given my mum’s history and the fact that I haven’t had a period now in over three months, she thinks I might be going into premature menopause.’

‘Okay,’ Ruby said carefully. ‘But it’s just a possibility? Nothing’s certain yet?’

Ella shook her head, the black hole starting to choke her. ‘I’m pretty certain.’

She’d done something cowardly in her teens, that she’d always believed she would be punished for one day. And sitting in Myra Patel’s office, listening to her GP discuss the possible diagnoses, the prospect of a premature menopause had been both devastating, and yet somehow hideously fitting.

She placed her hand on her abdomen to try and contain the hollowness in her womb, and stop it seeping out and invading her whole body. ‘I’ve left it too late, Ruby. I’m not going to be able to have children.’

‘You don’t know any such thing. Not until you get the tests back. And even if it is premature menopause, a couple of missed periods isn’t suddenly going to make you infertile.’

She did know, she’d known ever since she was eighteen and she’d come round from the anaesthesia in the clinic to find Randall gone. She didn’t deserve to be a mother, because the one time she’d had the chance she’d given it up to please a guy who hadn’t given a hoot about her.

‘I suppose you’re right,’ she said, humouring Ruby.

‘Of course I am. You’re not allowed to go the full drama until you get the results. Is that understood?’

‘Right.’ Her lips wrinkled, as she found some small measure of humour in having Ruby be the one to talk her off the ledge for a change.

‘Now.’ Ruby gave an exasperated sigh. ‘I want to know why you didn’t tell me about this? Instead of giving me all that cryptic nonsense about finding a guy to shag.’

‘I never said shag.’ Or at least she was fairly sure she hadn’t.

‘Don’t change the subject. Why didn’t you tell me about this before? Instead of running off to Bermuda?’

It was a valid question, because they’d always shared everything—secret crushes, first kisses, how best to fake an orgasm, even the disastrous end to her college romance with Randall, and Ruby’s rocky road to romance with the sexy barrister who’d rear-ended her car on a Camden street seven years ago and turned out to be her one true love. But Ella still didn’t know how to answer it.

‘I just couldn’t.’ Her voice broke, and a tear escaped. One of the ones she’d been holding captive for over a week.

‘Why couldn’t you?’ Ruby probed, refusing to let it go.

‘I guess I was feeling shocked and panicky and inadequate...’ She sucked in a breath, forcing herself to face the truth. ‘And horribly jealous. Of the fact that you have such a wonderful family and three beautiful children and I may never have any.’ She let the breath out. There, she’d said it. ‘I felt so ashamed to be envious of you. Because everything you have with Cal and the kids, you’ve worked for and you deserve.’

The self-pitying tears were flowing freely now. She brushed them away with the heel of her hand. Hoping Ruby couldn’t hear the hiccoughs in her breathing. ‘I couldn’t bear for this to come between us in any way.’

‘That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.’

‘Why?’ The question came out on a tortured sob.

‘Well, for starters, you don’t want Cal. He’s far too uptight and bossy for you. His insistence on being right about everything would make you lose the will to live within a week.’

‘Cal’s not uptight and bossy. He’s lovely.’ Ella jumped in to defend Ruby’s husband, whom she adored, if only in a purely platonic sense—because he actually was a little bossy.

‘Only because he’s got me to unwind him on a regular basis, and boss him about back,’ Ruby replied. ‘But more to the point.’ Her voice sobered, the jokey tone gone. ‘You don’t want my kids, you want your own. And if I deserve my little treasures—not that Ally and Max were particularly treasurable this morning when they decided to declare World War Three on each other using their Weetabix as nuclear warheads—then you certainly do.’

Do I?

The question echoed in her head, but she didn’t voice it, Ruby’s passionate defence counteracting at least some of the guilt that had been haunting her for over a week.

‘You’re going to make an incredible mum one day,’ Ruby added with complete conviction. ‘And, if you have to, there are lots of possible ways of achieving that.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘You know, like artificial insemination, IVF, donor eggs, surrogacy, adoption, that sort of thing.’

Ruby’s matter-of-fact response shrank a little of the black hole in her belly. She hadn’t considered any of those options yet, the prospect of infertility too shocking to get past. But why shouldn’t she? If the worst came to the worst and Myra’s diagnosis was correct?

‘I guess you’re right, I hadn’t really—’

‘But frankly,’ Ruby interrupted, ‘I think we’re getting the cart before the stallion here.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Ella, your biggest problem when it comes to having a child of your own is not the possibility of a premature menopause. It’s the fact that every guy you’ve been out with since that tosser in college has been so mind-numbingly dull even I couldn’t be bothered to flirt with them.’

Ella frowned, picturing the handful of guys she’d dated in the last decade. And realised that Ruby’s outrageous statement might not actually be all that far off the mark—because she couldn’t recall a single one of them with any degree of clarity.

When had dating become such an effort? And sex such a chore?

Was that why she’d had a rush of blood to the head at Cooper’s casual suggestion of a drink later? Flirting with him had been exciting, exhilarating, and yet she’d totally freaked out when he’d offered her the chance to take it further.

What was that about? She was thirty-four, for goodness’ sake, not ninety.

‘The thing is, Ella,’ Ruby continued, ‘I know sexual chemistry isn’t everything in a relationship—and Randall the dickhead is a case in point.’

Ella winced at hearing Randall’s name spoken aloud—a name they’d both avoided speaking for sixteen years. But the gaping wound her college boyfriend had caused—which she’d believed then would fester for the rest of her life—had scabbed over in the years since. Because the mention of his name didn’t hurt any more; it only made her feel ashamed, that she’d fallen for him so easily, mistaken a couple of really spectacular orgasms for love, and then let him bulldoze her into doing something she would later regret.

‘But sometimes chemistry can come in very handy, if you need a serious pick–me-up in the dating department,’ Ruby continued. ‘Which brings us right back to Captain Studly from your snorkel tour.’

Didn’t it just?

‘So tell me again,’ Ruby continued. ‘Why exactly can’t you take him up on his offer of a date?’

‘Because I’m not entirely sure he meant it.’

‘And why would you think that? Talk me through it.’

‘Well, he asked me if I’d like to hook up for a drink at this local hang-out after he finished work at seven and I panicked.’ She’d chickened out, because Cooper Delaney had been more man than she’d had the guts to handle in a very long time—it all seemed so obvious now. ‘And then I had to get off the boat, because he was busy. But it was all very casual, and we never agreed on anything specific.’

Even if the memory of Cooper’s offer of a date thrilled her now, instead of terrifying her, the memory of his face, closed off and impassive, when she’d said that final goodbye wasn’t far behind.

‘Did this local hang-out have a name?’ Ruby probed.

‘No, but I think...’ She searched her memory; hadn’t he told her where it was? ‘Half-Moon Cove.’ The location echoed in her head in his deep American accent. ‘He mentioned it was on the south side of Half-Moon Cove.’

‘Fantastic. That’s all we need.’

‘It is?’

‘Yes, now shut up and listen to Auntie Ruby.’ Ruby paused, and the tickle of excitement in Ella’s belly began to buzz as if she were being stroked by the vibrator. ‘Captain Studly most definitely did invite you on a date. Time and location are all the specifics you need. And you are flipping well going to go on it.’

‘But what if—?’

‘No buts.’ Ruby cut her off. ‘It’s way past time Ella Radley started dating the sort of man candy that might actually have some hope of exciting her enough to get her past first base.’

‘I’ve been past first base in the past decade,’ she said, indignantly—even if she couldn’t remember the events in any great detail. ‘But I don’t think—’

‘Uh-uh-uh, didn’t you hear the “no buts” stipulation?’ Ruby paused, but not long enough for Ella to form a suitable response. ‘That goes hand in hand with the “no panicking” initiative. If you feel yourself starting to hyperventilate because Captain Studly is too Studly, just think of him as a test run. You need to get your flirt on, Ella, and he sounds like the perfect guy to practise on.’

And just like that, the buzz in Ella’s belly sank even lower and became a definite hum.


FOUR (#uc7b533c5-be73-5780-b283-1d1b0d6cff9e)

‘You sure you’re okay here, ma’am? The Rum Runner isn’t much for the tourists, just a local hang-out. I could take you to some nice places in Hamilton, where the cruise ships dock, no extra charge?’

‘No, thank you, this is perfect, Earl.’ Exhilaration fluttered in Ella’s chest as she stepped out of the cab and surveyed the ramshackle bar at the end of the rutted beach road.

The twinkle of fairy lights on weathered wood added enchantment to the haphazard structure, which stood drunkenly, mounted on stilts over the water, as if it had downed one too many rum punches. The scent of the sea freshened the cloud of smoke and sweat as the customers spilled out of the saloon-style doors. The densely packed crowd smoked and chatted on the porch, while she could see couples dancing inside past the tables, swinging and swaying to the infectious soca beat, making the boardwalk pound beneath her sandals.

‘You’re sure this is the only place on the south side of Half-Moon Cove?’ She handed Earl, her taxi driver, his fare and a generous tip through the cab window.

‘Uh-huh.’ Unlike Cooper, he sent her a wide smile as he tucked the money into the top pocket of his Hawaiian shirt. ‘Cove’s yonder.’ He nodded towards a wide beach that began past the rocks at the end of the country road.

Edged by palm trees and vines and curving round the headland into the darkness, the cove lived up to its name, looking impossibly romantic as moonlight shimmered off the gently lapping surf.

‘Ain’t no other bars down here that I know of.’ Pulling a card out of his pocket, he handed it to her. ‘You give Earl a call when you need to get back. Not much traffic this way.’

After waving him off and watching the cab lights bounce out of sight down the unpaved road, she slipped the card into her bag, and slung the strap over her shoulder. Then she sucked in a fortifying breath and let it out in a rush.

Whether or not Cooper was here, she intended to enjoy herself. Ruby had given her the pep talk to end all pep talks, back at the hotel.

It was way past time she started living again, took the power back and charted her own course when it came to choosing the men she dated. And stopped boring herself to death with safe and secure and invited a little danger in. Bermuda with its colourful, chaotic nightlife and studly boat captains had to be the perfect place to start. Not least because if tonight went tits up, this particular dating disaster wouldn’t be able to follow her home.

Ruby’s words of dating wisdom had bolstered her courage as she’d showered, and waxed, and moisturised, and primped and perfumed. After far too much debate, she’d picked out an understated ensemble of skinny pedal-pusher jeans, heeled sandals and a lace-edged camisole. She’d pinned up her unruly hair, and plastered on a lot more make-up than she usually wore—as per Ruby’s specific instructions—then dug out her favourite waterfall earrings and the cascade of cheap but cheerful bracelets she’d bought at Camden Market two weeks ago to complete the outfit.

The simple ritual of getting ready had helped temper her terror with a heady cocktail of excitement and anticipation.

Edging past the people milling around on the porch, she made her way to the bar. She’d have a couple of drinks and then, if Cooper didn’t show, she could always ring Earl back and call it a night. At least she would have got to see something of the island before leaving.

The Rum Runner had a funky, relaxed vibe that reminded her of Sol’s Salsa Joint on Camden Lock where Ruby and she and their wide circle of friends had once congregated on a Friday night to kick back after the working week. Ruby didn’t go out much any more because of the kids, and most of their other friends had settled down and/or moved away in the last few years, so she’d slowly stopped going to Sol’s too, but she’d always loved to dance and it occurred to her she’d missed the weekly ritual.

Her hips swung in time to the blast of horns and the fast infectious drum beat as the band on the stage in the far corner went into another number. She grinned as she wound her way through the packed tables—the soca rhythm an irresistible blend of joy and seduction—and felt the optimism that had always been so much a part of her personality seep back into her soul.

Slipping past a group of loudly dressed guys at the bar, she smiled back when one of them touched his beer bottle to his forehead in a silent salute.

‘What’ll it be, miz?’ a barman addressed her once she had managed to inch past the crush of people and found a spot to rest her elbows on the bar. The thin layer of sweat on his dark skin made the red ink of the snake tattoo on his bicep glisten.

She tapped her toe to the bass guitar riff while checking out the names of the drinks scrawled on the chalkboard behind him—only a few of which she recognised. ‘What would you recommend?’

‘For you?’ The lilting Caribbean accent matched the friendly twinkle in the barman’s café-au-lait-coloured eyes. ‘Only a Rum Swizzle will do.’

‘That sounds wonderful.’ She had absolutely no clue what that was. But tonight Ella Radley was on a mission, to get her flirt on and set it free. And for that, a Rum Swizzle sounded like just the ticket.

He returned a few minutes later and presented her with a tall icy glass of tangerine-coloured liquid, garnished with a chunk of pineapple, a swirl of orange peel and a maraschino cherry. She took a sip and the potent flavour of rum, fruit juice and liquor zinged off her tastebuds. So that was why they called it a Swizzle.

‘Delicious,’ she shouted over the music. ‘How much do I owe you?’

‘Not a thing.’ A gold tooth winked in the pearly white of his smile. ‘Your first Rum Swizzle in my place is always on the house.’

‘You own this bar?’

He nodded. ‘Sure do.’

A shot of adrenaline rushed through her to add to the hit from the rum. And Ruby’s voice seemed to whisper in her ear.

Above all be bold—and seize the initiative—flirting is much more fun if you own it.

‘Do you know a guy called Cooper Delaney?’

‘Coop? Sure I know Coop. What do you want him for?’ He sounded a bit put out. ‘That boy’s nothing but trouble.’

That was what she was counting on, she thought, the adrenaline more intoxicating than the Swizzle. She took another fortifying sip of the delicious concoction. ‘Is he likely to be in tonight, do you think?’

She heard the eagerness in her tone but didn’t care if it made her sound tarty. Discovering her inner flirt would be so much easier with a guy she already knew could make her hormones wake up and jiggle. And considering they’d been in hibernation, like, for ever, she needed all the help she could get.

The bartender’s gaze was drawn to something past her shoulder. ‘Yeah, he’ll be in tonight.’

‘Really, you’re sure?’ she said, then bit her lip.

Dial down on the tarty—that sounded a bit too eager.

‘Uh-huh.’ His dark gaze returned to her face.

‘Back off, Henry. You’re poaching.’

Ella spun round at the deep, wonderfully familiar accent—and the shot of adrenaline went into overdrive. Cooper Delaney had looked super-fit that morning in ragged denim, but he took fit to a whole new level in a dark blue polo shirt and black jeans. But then her head carried on spinning and she started to tilt.

A tanned hand shot out to grasp her upper arm and hold her upright. ‘Damn it, Henry, how many of those things have you given her?’

‘Only the one.’ The barman, who Ella’s slightly fuzzy brain had registered must be called Henry, sounded affronted.

‘Oh, yeah?’

Ella blinked, hearing the edge in Cooper’s usually relaxed tone. Was he mad about something? And what did it have to do with Henry, the benevolent barman?

Cooper slapped a couple of bills onto the bar with enough force to make her jump. ‘That’s for the rum punch, man. The lady’s with me.’

Really? Fabulous.

So she hadn’t imagined his offer of a date. The spurt of joy at the thought was quickly quashed, though, when his fingers tightened on her arm and he slanted her a look that didn’t seem particularly pleased to see her. ‘We’re out of here.’

‘But I haven’t finished my drink.’ She pivoted on her heel, making a grab for her glass. But missed as he hauled her away from the bar.

‘You’ve had enough.’

Henry shrugged and shouted after them, ‘Sorry, miz. I told you he was no good.’

‘You didn’t have to pay for that,’ she said, racing to keep up with his long strides as he marched past the tables and headed out into the night, dragging her along in his wake. ‘Henry said it was on the house.’

‘Yeah, I’ll just bet he did.’ Was that a snarl?

A succession of people called out a greeting to him or shouted across the crowd, but other than throwing back a quick wave of acknowledgement he barely broke stride. By the time they stepped off the deck and he swung her round to face him, she was breathless, the happy glow from her Swizzle fading fast.

‘Okay, let’s have it.’ His shadowed face looked harsh in the half-light from the bar as he grasped both her arms, and made full use of his superior height. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I...’ And just like that her tongue swelled up, rendering her speechless. And all Ruby’s advice about how to put her flirt on got washed away on a tidal wave of mortification.

He didn’t look remote, the way he had when they’d parted that morning. He looked upset.

She’d made a terrible mistake—coming here when he hadn’t really meant to...

‘Because if you’ve come all the way out here to give me another smackdown, don’t bother. I got the message the first time, sweetheart. Loud and clear.’

Smackdown? What smackdown?

‘I should leave,’ she blurted out, suddenly wishing that the worn floorboards of the bar’s deck would crack open and swallow her whole. Or better yet whisk her back to her nice, quiet, ocean-view room at the resort.

Sticking to safe might be dull, but at least it didn’t get you into these sorts of pickles. She’d never managed to piss off any of the guys she’d actually dated to this extent.

She sent a wistful glance back at The Rum Runner—the joyous dance music pumping out into the night. The lively bar had contained so many exciting possibilities less than five minutes ago. But as she stepped past him he didn’t let go.

‘Hey, hang on a minute.’ The edge had left his voice. ‘You didn’t answer my question.’

‘Was there a question in there?’ she asked.

He didn’t look mad any more, which she supposed was good.

But as his emerald gaze raked over her the focused attention made her breasts tighten. Humiliating her even more. Obviously her nipples were completely immune to his disapproval.

But then his wide lips quirked. ‘It was never meant as a smackdown, was it?’

She tugged herself loose, and stepped back—starting to get annoyed. Okay, so she’d misinterpreted his offer of a date. Although how she had, she still wasn’t sure. And her big coming-out party was officially a washout—but did he really have to gloat? And what was all this nonsense about a smackdown? ‘I really have to go.’

She went to walk round him again. But his large hand wrapped around her wrist and drew her up short. ‘Hey, don’t... Don’t go.’

He stood so close, the delicious scent of seawater and soap surrounded her. Making it a little hard for her to process the words. Was he apologising now? After all but biting her head off? ‘Captain Delaney, I don’t think—’ she began.

‘Call me Coop,’ he murmured, the husky tone sending those tempting shivers of reaction back up her spine.

She drew in a breath, not able to recall a single one of Ruby’s careful instructions as he stared down at her with the glint of appreciation in his eyes—and fairly sure she didn’t want to any more. This evening had turned into a disaster.

She might as well face it, she would never be as good a flirt as Ruby, even if she took a degree course. She huffed out a breath. ‘Listen, I genuinely thought you asked me here, and I had such a nice time this morning, I don’t want to sour it now.’ She hooked a thumb over her shoulder, feeling stupidly bereft at the thought of her party night ending so soon, and so ignominiously. ‘But I really think I should go now.’

Because I’m a little concerned you might have a borderline personality disorder.

* * *

She came here to see you. You dumbass.

Warmth spread across Cooper’s chest like a shot of hard liquor but was tempered by a harsh jolt of regret as he registered the wary caution in Ella’s eyes—which looked even bigger accented with the glittery powder. Her lips pursed, glossy with lipstick in the half-light, as if she were determined to stop them trembling, crucifying him.

What the hell were you thinking? Behaving like such a jerk?

Even he wasn’t sure what had gripped him when he’d walked into the bar and spotted her chatting with Henry, with that flushed excitement on her face. But the word that had echoed through his head had been unmistakable.

Mine.

And then everything had gone straight to hell.

Of course, his crazy reaction might have had something to do with the severe case of sexual frustration he’d been riding ever since she’d stepped aboard the boat that morning, but that hardly excused it. And the truth was he’d been handling it just fine, until the moment she’d handed him that wad of bills on the dock.

That was the precise moment he’d lost his grip on reality.

He’d been snarky and rude, acting as if she’d offered to kick him in the nuts, instead of giving him a forty-dollar tip.

He accepted tips all the time, to hand over to the kids who crewed the boat. Just the way Sonny had done for him when he was a kid.

He’d founded his business on the generosity of tourists like May Preston and her husband, who came back every year and always showed their appreciation way above the going rate. But when Ella had done the same, somehow he’d lost it. Instead of seeing her generosity and thoughtfulness for what it was, he’d been thrown back in time to the humiliation of his high-school days and the never-ending stream of dead-end jobs he’d taken on to keep him and his mom afloat. Back then, his teenage pride had taken a hit every time he had to accept a gratuity from people he knew talked trash about his mom behind his back. But he’d brushed that huge chip off his shoulder years ago, or at least he’d thought he had.

Why the weight of the damn thing had reappeared at that precise moment and soured his final few moments with Ella, he didn’t have a clue, and he didn’t plan to examine it too closely. All that mattered now was that he didn’t blow his second chance with her.

That she’d come down to The Rum Runner at his suggestion was one hell of a balm to his over-touchy ego. The least he could do now was show her a good time. And given how cute and sexy she looked in those hip-hugger jeans and that skimpy tank it wasn’t exactly going to be a hardship.

He raked his hand through his hair, trying to grab hold of some of his usual charm with women, and think of how best to engineer his way back into her good graces after acting like such a douche.

Then he recalled how she’d been moving that lush butt while chatting to Henry, rocking her hips in time to the music. His pal Oggie’s band played the opening sax solo, backed by the manic drum beat, of their best dance track. And he hoped he had his answer.

‘You can’t go back to the hotel. Not before you’ve danced to some real Bermuda soca with me.’

‘I don’t know...’

She glanced back at the bar, but he could hear her hesitation.

‘Sure you do. It’ll be fun.’ He took her hand, lifted it to his lips and buzzed a quick kiss across her knuckles. ‘You’ve come all this way. And I’ve acted like a jerk. So I owe you.’

‘That’s really not necessary.’ She chewed on her bottom lip, the indecision in her voice crucifying him a little more.

‘Sure it is. One dance. By way of an apology? That’s all I’m asking.’

The shy smile was enough to tell him she’d forgiven him. But the sparkle of anticipation was tempered by caution. ‘Okay, I don’t see how one dance could hurt.’

‘Awesome.’ He placed his hand on her waist to direct her back into the bar, the spike of lust making his throat go dry when her hip bumped his thigh.

‘It may be thirsty work, though,’ she shouted above the bump and grind of drums and bass. ‘Perhaps I should go back and get my Rum Swizzle?’

‘Let’s work up a sweat first,’ he said, placing firm hands on her hips as he slotted them both into the packed dancefloor, the sweat already slick on his forehead. ‘I’ll buy you one later.’

Dancing with her was bound to be really thirsty work, but he didn’t plan to let her have any more Rum Swizzles. Those damn things were lethal, especially on an empty stomach—and with her tiny frame and that little stumble at the bar after only half a glass, he would hazard a guess Ella Radley was a really cheap drunk. He wanted her fully conscious for the rest of the night, so he could enjoy her company—and anything else she wanted to offer him.

Her perfume—a refreshing mix of citrus and spices—drifted over him as she placed her hands lightly on his shoulders and rolled her hips to the riotous bass beat in a natural, unaffected rhythm that was more seductive than original sin.

She grinned up at him, the cute smile a tempting mix of innocence and provocation, then jerked up on her toes to shout in his ear. ‘Aye-aye, Captain. But be warned. I’m on a mission tonight to get whatever I want.’

His hands tightened on her hips as her belly bumped against him and his groin throbbed in time to the music. ‘Not a problem, sweetheart.’

Because so am I.

* * *

‘That’s enough of that.’ Coop lifted the sunshine drink out of her hand and held it easily out of reach. ‘I want you able to walk out of here.’

Ella sent him a mock pout, but couldn’t disguise her happiness as his gaze settled on her face. The way it had been doing all evening, with a gratifying combination of possessiveness and desire.

They’d danced until they were breathless to the band’s medley of soca anthems, then eased into the seductive moves of the soul tunes when they slowed the pace later in the evening.

It was well after midnight now, and the bar had begun to empty out. His large group of friends, most of whom had come over to their table to banter with Coop or introduce themselves to her, had mostly drifted away, leaving only a small group of die-hard couples on the dance floor still bumping and grinding with gusto and a scatter of people by the bar.

She’d danced with a few of the other guys, enjoying that relaxed, casual camaraderie that reminded her of her own friendship group back in Camden. But most of all she’d enjoyed the feel of Cooper’s gaze on her throughout the evening—that said to everyone they were a couple. That—how had he put it?—she was with him, for the night. It had made her feel as if she belonged here, even though she was thousands of miles from home.

But more than that, his constant attention and that quick easy smile had both relaxed her and yet held a delicious tension, a promise of what was to come. Because she had no doubts whatsoever about where this was all headed. The smouldering looks, the proprietary touches, the irresistible scent of him, tangy and salty and spicy, wrapping around her in a potent blend of pheromones and sweat. And the delicious press of his erection outlined by the slow, seductive, sinuous moves of his muscular body as they danced.

The coil of desire had been pulsing in the pit of her stomach for hours now. Ready for him to make the next move—and if he didn’t, she was ready to take the unprecedented step of making the move for him.

It was official. Ella Radley’s flirt was now fully operational, the intoxicating buzz of the Rum Swizzles nothing compared to the glorious buzz of anticipation.

‘And where exactly would I be walking to?’ She arched an eyebrow, her tone rich with a confidence she’d thought had died inside her a lifetime ago.

His thumb brushed her cheek, his irises a mesmerising moss green in the bar’s half-light. Resting his forehead on hers, he closed his fingers over her nape, that wandering thumb caressing the frantic pulse in her neck. ‘My hut’s down at the other end of the cove. You ready to take a stroll with me in the moonlight?’

It was the invitation she’d been waiting for, but the surge of excitement still made her giddy. She could already feel those rough, capable fingers on the slick flesh between her thighs. She wanted to taste him, touch him, inhale that delicious scent, and take the impressive ridge in his pants inside her. Her sex clasped and released, hollow and aching with the need to be filled.

Touching her lips to his, she licked across the seam of the wide, sensual mouth that had been driving her wild all day. The shot of adrenaline was as stimulating as the pulse of reaction when she heard him drag in a ragged breath. His fingers plunged into her hair, then clasped her head so his tongue could plunder.

She let him in, her tongue duelling with his as they sank into the ravenous kiss.

He broke away first, the pants of his breathing as thready as her own. ‘I’m going to take that as a yes.’

She nodded, not sure she could speak around the joy closing off her throat.

Standing, he gripped her hand and hauled her out of her chair. He tossed a few dollars on the table, and sent Henry a parting salute. She waved her own goodbye at the barman, who was stacking glasses, a rueful smile on his face.

‘See you around, pretty lady.’ Henry waved back, shouting over the murmur of goodbyes being thrown their way by the bar’s other remaining patrons. ‘And don’t you be doing anything I wouldn’t, Coop.’

Coop dragged her outside, sending her a wicked grin over his shoulder as the night closed over them. ‘Given what you would do, man,’ he whispered for her ears alone, ‘that gives me a hell of a lot of options.’

For some strange reason she found the comment riotously funny, her chuckle blending with the fading beat of music and the sound of the rolling and retreating tide as they stepped off the deck onto the beach. He laid his arm across her shoulders, tugged her into his side to lead her along the sand and into the darkness.

Crickets and night crawlers added an acoustic accompaniment to the flickering light of the fireflies in the undergrowth and the hushed lap of the water. She kicked off her sandals, picked them up, and let her toes seep into the damp sand.

The walk in the moonlight he’d promised went past in a blur, neither of them speaking, the only sound the sea, the insects and the rhythmic bump of her own heartbeat. A one-storey shack raised over the beach on a wraparound deck appeared as if by magic out of the undergrowth on the edge of the sand. A lamp suspended from the porch rail shone like a homing beacon, illuminating the rudimentary clapboard structure.

He dropped his arm from around her shoulders, to lace his fingers through hers and lead her up the steps onto the porch.

‘You live here?’ she asked, enchanted by the spartan dwelling.

‘Yeah, mostly.’ He held open the screen door to reveal a large, sparsely furnished, but tidy room. A sofa with well-worn cushions made up the living area, while a large mattress, the sheets neatly folded across the bottom, stood in front of the open deck. A tiny kitchenette cordoned off by a waist-high counter took up the hut’s back wall, next to a door that she deduced must lead to a bathroom.

But it was the open deck, blending the hut’s interior with the beach outside, that took her breath away. The silvery glow of the moon dipped over the horizon, shimmering over the water and making the dark sand look as if it disappeared into oblivion. The fresh scent of sea and salt and exotic blooms only added to the feeling of wild, untamed freedom that was so like Cooper himself.

‘It suits you,’ she said.

He huffed, the half-laugh both wry and amused. ‘Why? Because it’s cheap?’ he said and she heard the cynical edge.

‘No, because it’s charming and unpretentious and unconventional.’

He turned up the lamp, giving the modest hut a golden glow.

Walking to the open deck, he closed two large shutters and then slid the screen door across, cocooning them in together against the Caribbean night. Only the sparkle of moonlight and the sound of surf and chirping insects seeped through the slats.

‘Don’t want to risk getting our butts bitten off by mosquitos,’ he said, crossing the short distance back to her.

She laughed, the rough stubble on his jaw ticklish against her neck as he gripped her hips and nuzzled the sensitive skin beneath her ear.

‘Especially such a cute butt,’ he added, giving the butt in question an appreciative squeeze.

She wrapped her arms around his lean waist and slipped her fingers beneath the waistband of his jeans, to caress the tight muscles of the backside she had admired that morning in wet denim. ‘I can totally get behind that sentiment.’

He chuckled, warm, callused palms sneaking under her camisole to glide up to her ribcage and send a series of tremors through her body.

‘Flattery will get you everywhere,’ he said. Before placing his mouth on hers at last.

Releasing his bum, she lifted arms lethargic with lust and draped them over his broad shoulders; driving her fingers into the soft curls at his nape, she let him devour her. He angled his hips and the thick ridge in his pants rubbed against her belly.

Oh, yes, I want this so much.

To be taken, to take. She wanted to let her body do the asking and have his answer, in the primordial mating ritual of two animals in need of an endorphin fix. The fact that she liked him, that he seemed a genuinely nice guy, didn’t hurt. But right here, right now, as the building firestorm made the pulsing ache in her sex unbearable, and her nipples tighten into hard, swollen nubs, all she really cared about was satisfying the driving hunger.

His large hands rose from her waist to frame her face and she revelled in the primitive need making his eyes darken and the muscle in his jaw flex and release.

‘Before we take this any further...’ he trapped her against the hut’s wall, the heavy ridge thickening even more ‘...I need to know if you’re on the pill.’

Crushing disappointment cut through the fog of rum and arousal. ‘You don’t have any condoms? I don’t either, I didn’t think—’

‘Hey, don’t panic,’ he interrupted. ‘I’ve got condoms.’

‘Oh, thank God.’ Relief gushed like molten lava between her thighs.

‘But I’m a belt and braces kind of guy. Condoms break.’ He scooped her hair off her neck, pressed those clever lips to her collarbone, shattering her concentration. ‘That’s how I happened. I’m not looking to father another me.’

She heard the note of regret, and had the sudden urge to soothe. ‘But you’re so beautiful.’ She cradled his lean cheeks between her palms, drew her thumb over one tawny brow and grinned into those piercing emerald eyes—which had crinkled at the corners with amusement. ‘Your mother must have been so pleased to have you,’ she said, loving the rasp of the manly stubble on his cheeks as all her inhibitions happily dissolved in the sweet buzz of Rum Swizzles and pheromones. ‘Even if you were an accident.’

She heard his chuckle. Had she said something funny? She hadn’t meant to.

‘Not really.’ He sent her the secret hey-there-gorgeous grin that he’d sent her when they were underwater and exploring the reef. Then it had flattered her, as if they were the only two people in the whole ocean allowed to explore its treasures; now it made her heart muscle squeeze and release, exciting her.

‘Has anyone ever told you you’re great for a guy’s ego when you’re hammered?’

‘I’m not hammered,’ she said, sure she wasn’t. He’d only let her have two more Rum Swizzles, which he’d insisted on mixing himself behind the bar. And they hadn’t tasted nearly as alcoholic as that first one. Plus she’d pigged out on the popcorn shrimp, some delicious jalapeño cheese things and the chips and dips and other nibbles that had appeared at their table as if by magic between dance sets. Right now she was pleasantly buzzed, but her senses felt heightened, more acute, not dull or fuzzy.

He touched his nose to hers. ‘If you say so, miz,’ he said in a perfect echo of Henry the friendly barman’s Bermudan accent.

The spontaneous laugh turned to a staggered moan as his hands snuck under her camisole and cupped her breasts.

‘Oh, yes.’ She arched into the bold caress as his thumbs brushed her nipples, making the rigid peaks ache. ‘That feels fabulous.’

He laughed. ‘Stop distracting me and answer the damn question.’

She opened her mouth to ask what question, but then he plucked at one pulsating nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, and all that came out was a groaned, ‘Yes.’

‘Hallelujah.’

His teasing fingers left her breast to drag her top over her head. And unclip the hook of her bra. He tugged his shirt over his head and tossed it over his shoulder, revealing the naked chest that she’d imagined touching all day.

Hallelujah indeed.

He boosted her into his arms, her back bumping the wall, as he wedged the hard ridge between her thighs, pressing it against the damp gusset of her jeans. She gripped his shoulders, her head spinning from the sensory overload. Then he ducked his head to capture one thrusting nipple between his lips and suckled hard.

Fire roared down to her core and she writhed, swivelling her hips to increase the pressure of his magnificent erection on that hot, sweet, swollen spot.

He blew across her wet breast, the cool air making it tingle and tighten more. ‘Damn, but you’re gorgeous.’

‘So are you,’ she said, admiring the bulge of his biceps as he held her up, the bunched pecs and sculpted abs, and the happy trail that bloomed into a forest of dark blond curls where his low-slung jeans had slipped down under the pressure of her clutching thighs.

‘Can I see you naked? Please?’ she asked.

His answering laugh sounded strained. ‘I guess so, seeing as you asked so nice.’ He dropped her suddenly, clutched her arm as she stumbled. ‘Race you.’

She giggled as he hopped around on one foot, wrestling to get his boot off.

‘Don’t just stand there.’ He tossed the boot across the room. ‘Lose the damn pants or you’ll have to pay a forfeit.’

Unbuttoning her jeans, she slipped them over her hips, going for the full stripper effect as she wiggled out of them, and loving the way his nostrils flared as he lost the other boot.

His wicked grin spread, and her heart rate accelerated, as he unhooked his trousers, shoved them down and kicked them off, not once taking his eyes off her.

Her gaze caught on the magnificent erection, standing proud in the nest of tawny curls. ‘Wow...that’s...really rather exceptional.’

He laughed. ‘Have I told you, I love your accent?’ He inclined his head towards the last piece of clothing she had on. ‘Now lose the panties, before I rip them off.’

She whipped them off, twirled them on her finger and flung them away with a flourish.

‘Good job.’ He grabbed her wrist and dragged her to the bed, lying down beside her on the surprisingly comfy mattress.

She shivered, the light breeze coming through the shutters scented with the ocean.

His thumb trailed down her sternum. Then circled one heavy breast. She lifted up on her elbows to kiss him. The taste of the cola he’d been drinking all evening was as sweet as the weight of that exceptional erection cradled against her belly. Anticipation roared through her system. It had been so long since she’d felt this sexy, this aroused, this playful.

Ruby was right: why had she always been so serious about sex after college? She planned to correct that right now—she licked into his mouth, loving his staggered groan—with this gorgeous, hot, wonderfully reckless guy who was a gift she couldn’t wait to unwrap.

His hands framed her face, his fingers plunging into her hair. She wrapped greedy fingers around the thick erection, slid her hand from root to tip, assessing its girth, its length, imagining it embedded into that aching, empty place between her legs.

But he swore softly as her thumb glided over the plump head, gathering the slick drop of moisture—and grabbed hold of her wrist, to tug her hand away.

‘I’m way too close for that, sweetheart, but how about...?’ His voice trailed off as he traced his thumb between her breasts, circled her belly button, then delved into the hot, aching flesh of her sex.

Moisture flooded between her thighs.

She drew her knees up, let her head drop back, her sobs of pleasure loud over the sound of surf and the rustle of the breeze against their sweat-slicked bodies.

He circled and toyed with the slick nub, teasing the perfect spot. ‘That’s it, baby, I want to see you come for me.’

One large, blunt finger entered her, then another pushed in beside it, stretching her, stroking the walls of her sex as his thumb continued to play, to provoke. Sensation fired across her skin, trapped her breath under her breastbone. The coil of need tightened like a vice, the pleasure turning to devastating, delicious pain as it built to impossible proportions but wouldn’t let her go.

Clinging to his shoulders, urging him on, she pumped her hips into his hand, riding that wonderfully devious touch as she gave herself up to the riot of sensations.

Then he moved down on the bed, and disappeared between her knees. She shouted out in shock and delight as his tongue lapped at her swollen clitoris. Then he captured the slick nub between his lips and sucked. The coil yanked tight and then exploded in a dazzling shower of sensation. She sobbed—the long, thin cry of completion trapped in her throat as his mouth drove her through the last magnificent swell of orgasm.

She pressed her legs together as he lifted his head, collapsing back to earth. Shuddering and shaking, she opened her eyes as he grinned down at her, his lips slick with her juices.

The rumbled hum of his approval folded around her heart like a caress.

‘Sweeter than a Rum Swizzle,’ he whispered, the sensual, playful grin even more beautiful than the rest of him.

The sight was so unbearably erotic, gratitude swelled in her chest, turning her voice into a throaty purr. ‘Thank you.’

His lips tipped up at the edges. ‘No need to thank me, baby, the pleasure was all mine.’ He placed a kiss on the tip of her nose. ‘But we’re not finished yet,’ he added, reaching across her to grab a foil packet from a glass jar on the upturned crate that doubled as a bedside table. He held it up. ‘You want to do the honours, or should I?’

She lifted it out of his hand, her mouth watering at the thought of exploring that magnificent erection. And silently thanking him again for keeping things light and fun. ‘Let me.’

She pushed his shoulder, until he lay on his back, that proud erection jutting up towards his belly button. Holding the packet in her hand, she licked the new bead of moisture off the tip. Savouring the taste of him. And eager to torment him the way he’d tormented her.

But the guttural groan was followed by a harsh expletive and before she could take him into her mouth he clasped her cheeks to hold her back.

‘I’m sorry, sweetheart, but we’re going to have to save that for later. I’m not Superman—and I don’t want to disappoint you.’

He couldn’t possibly disappoint her, she thought. But only laughed at his look of panic. ‘Are you sure you’re not Superman?’

‘I used to be...’ The confident smile returned as he rolled on top of her and snagged the condom packet out of her hand. ‘But you’re zapping all my super-powers.’

Ripping the foil with his teeth, he sheathed himself quickly, before nudging her thighs apart and settling between them. She felt the bulbous head nudge at her entrance as he held her hips, angling her pelvis.

She groaned as the thick shaft speared through the tight sheath, overwhelming her senses as her slick, swollen flesh stretched to receive him.

At last he was buried deep, pushing at her cervix. She gasped, astonished at the fullness, and how right, how exquisite it felt. She stroked his nape with unsteady fingers, enjoying the weight of him, the feeling of intimacy, and unity.

‘I think you’ve boldly gone where no man has gone before.’ She laughed, surprising herself with the ridiculous comment. But her heart felt so full, her body so magnificent, impaled on his. Could she come again? So soon after an orgasm? She certainly never had before, but with Cooper anything felt possible.

He swore, panting, the sinews of his neck straining beneath her fingers as he began to move. ‘Damn it, woman, don’t quote Star Trek at me now,’ he grunted, between thrusts. ‘Can’t you see I’m trying to Klingon here.’

She snorted a laugh that choked into a sob as he stroked a place deep inside that triggered another unstoppable rush towards orgasm.

Goodness. I have a G-spot. Who knew?

‘Touch yourself,’ he demanded. ‘I want you to come with me.’

She spread her own folds, blindly rubbing the stiff nub as he directed, feeling wild and untamed, greedily pursuing her own pleasure as the wave became sharper, sweeter, more glorious.

She rode the crest, his ragged grunts matching her loud moans, and soared towards oblivion with tears of joy and laughter—and staggered astonishment—hovering on her lids.

* * *

She drifted back to consciousness, the euphoria of afterglow slowly replaced by discomfort from the thick penis still lodged inside her.

He lifted off her, making her groan as her tight flesh struggled to release him.

‘That was seriously awesome.’ Flopping over onto his back, he lay with his arm over his face. ‘You’re incredibly tight.’

She felt herself blush, an odd combination of pleasure and acute embarrassment at the intimate comment. ‘Only because you’re so big,’ she said, trying to find the playful tone again.

‘While my ego and I thank you for that...’ he dropped his arm to find her hand and thread his fingers through hers ‘...I’m not that much bigger than the average guy.’

The blush glowed. Maybe it wasn’t just his size that had made him feel so large. Maybe it was because she hadn’t done it with anyone in at least a year. And certainly never with that much energy or enthusiasm.

He turned onto his side, and cupped her cheek, his palm cool against her heated flesh. ‘Has it been a while?’

She blinked, disconcerted by the perceptive comment. ‘Are you a mind-reader?’

He touched her cheek, the tender, curious smile more seductive than the tangy scent of sex that surrounded them. ‘How long?’

She huffed out a laugh, the embarrassment burned away by a new surge of arousal. ‘Far too long, it seems.’

He hooked his thigh over her legs, shocking her when something stiff prodded her hip.

‘Is that...?’ She looked down, stunned to see him hard and ready again still sheathed by the condom.

He lifted her chin, grinning. ‘Yeah, it is.’ The cheeky grin—not to mention his astonishing powers of recuperation—made him seem very boyish. Too boyish.

‘How old are you?’ she asked, before she could think better of it.

His lips tilted. ‘Nearly thirty.’

She propped herself up on her elbows. Good grief, he was still in his twenties. ‘How nearly?’

‘I’ll be twenty-nine next month. Why? You planning to give me a present?’ He cupped her breast, licked at the nipple. ‘I can think of something I’d love to see gift-wrapped.’

‘You’re twenty-eight.’ She scooted back. ‘But that’s...practically a toy boy.’

He chuckled, then grabbed her shoulders and shoved her onto her back, anchoring her in place with one hard thigh. ‘Oh, yeah? So how old are you, then?’

‘I’m thirty-four,’ she said, indignantly.

His gaze drifted over her face. ‘You don’t look it.’

There didn’t seem to be any judgment in the tone, but still she felt...embarrassed. ‘Well, I am.’ Maybe it was only six years but it felt like the wrong six years. ‘Let me up.’

‘Not going to happen, old lady,’ he teased.

She struggled, trying to buck him off, but he didn’t budge. ‘Please, this feels awkward now.’

‘Why? You’re at your sexual peak. And so am I.’

Given the now-prominent feel of his erection, she had to agree. ‘I know, but it feels weird.’

‘It’s not weird, it’s cool.’ He rubbed his shaft against her hip—making it fairly obvious he wasn’t put off in the slightest by her vintage. She looked down at the thrusting erection. ‘Although FYI, I’m not a toy boy,’ he added. ‘You’re a damn cougar.’

A laugh popped out before she could stop it, but cut off when he cupped her sex. His fingers delved, stroking her oversensitive clitoris, the touch light and fleeting but enough to send shock waves of need echoing through her.

She thrust her fingers into his hair as he opened her thighs to position the impressive erection against her entrance. ‘Well, I suppose, if you put it like—’

Grasping her hips, he thrust deep in one long, smooth, all-consuming stroke, stealing her breath and cutting off any more pointless protests.

Oh, sod it.

Six years was nothing, she decided, especially once he’d established a slow, lazy, teasing rhythm that quickly became more intoxicating than the rum.

* * *

Hours later, Ella struggled to focus on the radiant glow of dawn peeping through the shutters. Contemplating the tenderness between her thighs and the soreness in other, previously unknown and now thoroughly exercised muscle groups, she conceded that, while the years might not be a problem, the mileage definitely was.

‘I should go,’ she mumbled, her fuzzy brain latching onto the fact that lingering past daybreak had the potential to be a lot more awkward than their age difference.

But when she lifted one tired limb, a muscular forearm banded round her midriff from behind and hauled her back into his embrace.

‘Nothing doing,’ Cooper’s sleep-roughened voice murmured against her hair. His big body cocooned her, his chest solid against her back, the soft hairs on his thighs brushing the backs of her legs and the softening erection still prominent against her bottom.

She debated arguing with him, but couldn’t fight the thundering beat of her pulse, the fatigue dragging her into oblivion or the novelty of being held so securely. Maybe she could stay and snuggle, for a little bit? Grab one more hot memory to sustain her through the difficult truth she would have to face when she got home?

This was her holiday of a lifetime, after all, and Cooper Delaney—toy boy extraordinaire—her passport to no-holds-barred pleasure.

She relaxed, warmed by the comfort of his embrace. ‘All right, but I’ll go soon.’

Her lips tilted into a smile as he grunted. ‘Shut up and go to sleep.’ His forearm tightened under her breasts. ‘You’re going to need to get your strength up, my little cougar. This toy boy isn’t finished with you yet.’

She choked out a laugh—that became a wistful hum as his arm became slack and her own body drifted towards sleep.

Colourful images collected behind her eyes—the glitter of pink sand beaches, the darting sparkle of blue-finned fish, the tangerine glow of fruit juice and rum, and the piercing jade of Cooper Delaney’s eyes.

She swallowed to relieve the clutching sensation in her chest, and tumbled headlong into the rainbow dream.


FIVE (#uc7b533c5-be73-5780-b283-1d1b0d6cff9e)

‘Hey, Coop, get your butt out of bed, it’s past eleven. And I’ve got exciting news.’

The muffled musical voice intruded on Ella’s dream. She squeezed open an eyelid, grateful when the brittle sunlight hitting her retinas didn’t appear to be accompanied by any pain, despite the definite thumping in her head.

Flopping over onto her back, she squinted at the empty bed beside her, the rumpled sheets striped by the sunlight slanting through the shutters. And heard the thumping again. This time, though, it was definitely not in her head, but coming from the hut’s door, which shook on its hinges as the same musical voice from her dream, lilting with the lazy rhythms of a Bermuda native, shouted: ‘No use hiding, man. Henry told me you’d be here.’

Ella shot upright, clasping the bed’s thin sheet to her naked breasts, and swayed as several questions bombarded her at once.

How long had she been asleep? Where were her clothes? Where was Coop? And who the heck was that woman banging on the door?

The answer to number one was hours, if the brightness of the sunlight was anything to go by. Scrambling out of bed as furtively as possible, she located her clothes in a neatly stacked pile on the arm of the sagging sofa, answering question number two. Questions three and four remained a mystery though, as she dressed as soundlessly as she could manage while continuing to scan the hut for any sign of her host.

She jumped as the banging began again.

‘Hey, I can hear you in there. Avoidance won’t do you a damn bit of good.’

Rats, do you have bionic hearing?

She waited a few more strained seconds, while debating opening the shutters and escaping onto the deck, but eventually discarded the idea—given the girl’s hearing capabilities.

The banging continued, and her not entirely settled stomach churned. What if this girl were Cooper’s girlfriend? Or his wife? Was that why he’d disappeared? Because what did she really know about Captain Studly, except that he was gorgeous, knew how to dance the soca and had magic fingers, a very inventive tongue, and a huge and permanently stiff...

Don’t go there.

Squaring her shoulders, she swung the door open ready to face the consequences, to be greeted by a stunningly beautiful barefoot young woman of about twenty, wearing a pair of Daisy Dukes, a T-shirt with the message ‘Don’t Mess with a Libran’, tightly braided hair decorated with multicoloured beads, and a stunned expression.

‘Hi.’ She craned her neck to search the hut’s interior, having gained her composure a lot faster than Ella. ‘Is Coop around?’

‘Um, no, apparently not,’ Ella replied, opting for the only answer she could give with any confidence.

‘Uh-huh?’ The girl gave her a thorough once-over that had the heat steaming into Ella’s cheeks. ‘I guess he’s up at the big house.’

The big house? What big house?

‘Sorry to wake you,’ the girl said. ‘Henry didn’t tell me Coop left the Runner with company last night. Just that he headed for his beach hut. Suppose Henry was messing with me. And Coop.’

And me, thought Ella, annoyed by Henry the barman’s joke, and acutely embarrassed that this girl now knew she was the sort of woman who got picked up in bars.

What had seemed wildly romantic last night, now felt pretty tacky.

Ruby had encouraged her to let her inner flirt loose, but there had definitely been no mention of getting tipsy on rum cocktails, then getting nekkid with Captain Studly and jumping him four...no, five...oh, heck, make that at least a half-dozen times during the night.

‘You Coop’s new lady?’ The girl interrupted Ella’s panicked reappraisal of her behaviour.

‘Um, no, we’re just...’ What? Snorkel mates? Dance partners? Bonk buddies?

The burning in her cheeks promptly hit maximum voltage as she searched for the appropriate term while recalling in X-rated detail exactly how intimately she and the invisible Coop had got acquainted last night, after very little provocation. ‘Friends,’ she finished lamely.

With benefits. Gold-standard benefits.

The phrase hung in the brisk morning air unspoken, but not unfigured out if the girl’s frank appraisal was anything to go by. ‘Do you know when he’s going to be back?’

Hardly, seeing as I have no clue where he is.

‘I’m afraid not.’

‘Could you tell him I stopped by? I’m Sonny’s daughter, Josie, and I—’

‘Why don’t you come in and wait for him?’ Ella shoved the door wide, determined to make a fast getaway, before this situation got any more awkward. ‘I was just leaving.’

Josie sent her a doubtful look as she stepped into the room. ‘You sure, I—’

‘Absolutely positive,’ Ella replied, grabbing her bag from the hook by the door and slipping past the girl, before she could ask any more unanswerable questions.

‘You want me to give Coop a message?’

Ella paused on the porch, the clutching sensation she’d had as she fell asleep the night before returning. ‘Would you tell him thanks?’ She cleared her throat, the stupid clutching sensation starting to squeeze her ribcage.

For being a friend when I needed one, she added silently as she jumped off the hut’s porch and her feet sank into the wet sand.

Josie called out a goodbye and she waved back as she set off down the beach. But she didn’t glance back again. Knowing it would only tighten the band squeezing her chest.

She’d had an amazing night. Maybe she’d gone a little off piste from Ruby’s plan—and discovered the liberating powers of flirtation, soca dancing, Rum Swizzles and sweaty, no-strings sex in the process. Okay, make that a lot off piste.

But it was all good.

Give or take the odd heart murmur.

* * *

‘Up you get, Sleeping Beauty, breakfast is served.’ Coop bumped the hut’s door open with his butt, keeping a firm hold on the tray his housekeeper had piled high with freshly sliced fruit, French toast, syrup and coffee. It had taken Inez a good half hour to assemble everything to her exacting standards—and quiz him mercilessly about his ‘overnight guest’—during which time he’d got stupidly eager to see Ella again. Enough to question why he hadn’t just woken her up and invited her to his place for breakfast.

The fifteen-acre estate that overlooked the cove, and the two-storey colonial he’d built on the bluff, were a symbol of who he was now. And he was super proud of it—and all he’d achieved, after ten long, back-breaking years of dawn wake-up calls refurbing second-hand equipment, long days spent out on the ocean running back-to-back dives, late nights getting his brain in a knot at the local community college studying for his MBA, all while keeping a ready smile on his face to schmooze a succession of tourists and corporate clients and bank managers and investors.

His business—Dive Guys—had made its first million-dollar turnover five years ago, and he’d celebrated by buying himself a brand-new motor launch, and the beach hut he’d been renting since his early days with Sonny. Three years later, he’d expanded the franchise across the Caribbean and had finally had enough to invest in the construction of his dream home on the land he’d bought behind the hut. He’d moved into Half-Moon House two years ago—but still couldn’t quite believe that all those years of work had paid off in a wraparound deck that looked out over the ocean, five luxury en-suite bedrooms, a forty-foot infinity pool, a mile of private beach and an extremely nosey housekeeper.

Normally, he loved showing the place off to women he dated.

But when he’d woken up with Ella cuddled in his arms, he’d decided to keep the place a secret until after he’d finessed Inez into cooking a lavish breakfast for his overnight guest.

There had been something so cute and refreshing about Ella’s breathless enthusiasm when she’d got a load of his first place the night before. She wasn’t the only woman he’d brought to the hut, but she was the only one who had appreciated its charm and overlooked the used furniture and lack of amenities.

For some weird reason it had felt good to know all she’d seen was him—not Dive Guys, or the things it had afforded him.

‘That looks real tasty, Coop. You shouldn’t have bothered, though—I already grabbed a crab patty up at the Runner.’

Coop swung round, nearly dropping the tray, to find Sonny’s daughter, Josie, perched on one of his bar stools. With her long legs crossed at the knee and a mocking smile on her lips, she should have looked all grown up, but somehow all he ever saw was the fresh kid he’d met a decade ago and who had made it her mission in life to be a thorn in his side ever since.

‘Josie, what are you doing here?’ He dumped the tray on the counter, sloshing the coffee all over the French toast, as he took in the empty bed in the far corner, and the empty couch where he’d folded Ella’s clothes into a pile not more than thirty minutes ago. ‘And where the hell is Ella?’

Josie’s grin became smug as she snagged a chunk of fresh pineapple off the breakfast tray. ‘So that’s Sleeping Beauty’s name. I always wondered if she had one.’

‘Ha, ha,’ he said without heat, used to Josie’s teasing.

‘She’s very pretty. But kind of shy. Not your usual type.’

‘Where is she?’ he asked again, not happy at the news that Josie had met her. Somehow he didn’t think someone with Ella’s insta-blush tendencies would appreciate being caught in his bed by a smartass like Josie. ‘Please tell me you didn’t say anything to make her bolt.’

Josie sucked on the pineapple, shaking her head. ‘Uh-uh. She bolted all on her own. Seemed kind of spooked that you’d disappeared.’

He ran his fingers through his hair. Damn it, he’d only been gone a half-hour and Ella had looked totally done in. After the workout they’d both had last night he would have bet she’d be comatose for hours yet. The thought had him eyeing his uninvited guest. ‘You woke her up, didn’t you, you little...?’

He made a swipe for Josie, but she leapt off the stool and danced out of his reach, laughing. ‘What’s the big deal? You don’t date the tourists, remember? In case they get ideas.’

Not Ella.

The thought popped into his head, and had him stopping dead in front of Josie—the quest for retribution dying a quick death.

What was with that? Sure Ella had been sweet, and eager and inventive in bed, but how had she got under his guard so easily? Knowing what he did about tourists who liked to slum it in neighbourhood bars, how come he had never thought of Ella as one of them? And why had he crept out of bed and harassed Inez into making her breakfast? He didn’t have a romantic bone in his body. Not since... He stared at the ruined toast, the creeping sense of humiliation coming back in an unpleasant rush of memory.

Not since the evening of the junior prom in Garysville, Indiana, when he’d stood like a dummy on Amy Metcalfe’s porch, his neck burning under the collar of the borrowed suit, and a corsage clutched in his sweating palm that had cost him ten of his hard-earned dollars, while Amy’s old man yelled at him to get lost, and his prom date sent him a pitying smile from the passenger seat of his half-brother Jack Jnr’s Beemer convertible.

‘Don’t you want to know why I’m here?’ Josie stared at him, her usual mischief replaced with excitement. ‘I’ve got news.’

Shaking off the unpleasant memory, he clamped down hard on the dumb urge to head out after Ella. ‘Sure? What news?’ He tossed a piece of papaya into his mouth, impressed with his own nonchalance.

The smile on Josie’s face reached ear-to-ear proportions. ‘Taylor popped the question last night and I said yes.’

‘What question?’ he said, trying to process the information while his mind was still snagged on Ella and why the hell she’d run out on him. Wasn’t Taylor that pimply kid Josie’d been dating for a while?

Josie’s eyes rounded. ‘Damn, Coop, even you can’t be that dumb. The “Will you marry me?” question. Duh.’

Coop choked on the mango chunk he’d just slung in his mouth. ‘You’ve got to be kidding me?’ His eyes watered as his aggravation over Ella’s sudden departure was surpassed by horror. ‘You’re way too young to be getting married.’ Plus marriage was for chumps—and Josie was a smart kid—what was she thinking?

Josie whacked him hard on the back, dislodging the chunk and nearly dislocating his shoulder. ‘I’m twenty,’ she said, indignantly. ‘Taylor and I have been dating for four years.’ She propped her hands on her hips, striking the Wonder Woman pose he knew meant she was about to start lecturing him. ‘And we love each other. Marriage is the obvious next step. So we can think about babies.’

‘Babies!’ he yelped, as a blood vessel popped out on his forehead and began to throb. ‘You cannot be serious?’

‘Just because you’re dead set on being the Oldest Player in Town,’ she countered, ‘doesn’t mean everyone’s that cynical and immature.’

‘I’m immature?’ he snapped. Seeing her flinch, he struggled to lower his voice, and regain some of his usual cool.

But damn it, first Ella’s disappearing act, and now this? Had all the females in Bermuda been hitting the crazy sauce while he slept?

‘Honey, I’m not the one planning to get hitched when I’m still in college.’ Not to mention have a parcel of rugrats. Was she nuts?

The look she sent him went from pissed to pitying. ‘Why does the thought of that terrify you so much, Coop? Maybe you should try it some time yourself?’

‘What? Marriage? And kids?’ he scoffed, barely suppressing the shudder. ‘No way.’

‘Not that, not yet, but...’ Josie searched his face, the pitying look starting to annoy him now. ‘Couldn’t you at least try dating the same woman for longer than a week?’ Her eyes shadowed with concern. ‘Haven’t you ever thought there might be more to women than just hot and sweaty sex?’

‘Damn it, give me a break.’ He slapped his hands over his ears. ‘Don’t talk to me about that stuff—my ears are bleeding.’ He’d never kept his dating habits a secret, but Josie butting into his sex life was just wrong. On so many levels.

She glared at him. ‘So who’s being immature now?’

He dropped his hands, having to concede that point. ‘Fine, you win that one, but conversations about sex are off limits, okay?’ The last thing he needed was some snot-nosed kid giving him dating advice.

‘Okay, truce.’ She surprised him by backing down. ‘I’ll butt out of your business. You’re a hopeless cause anyway.’ She sighed, to emphasise the point. ‘I didn’t come here to argue with you, I came to tell you Taylor and I want to set the date for August tenth. If you’re good with us using your land to do the ceremony on the cove near the Runner?’

‘Sure, of course, no problem,’ he said, feeling about two feet tall all of a sudden. He hadn’t meant to piss on her parade; the wedding announcement had just come as a shock, that was all. How the heck had Josie grown up without him noticing?

‘I also wanted to ask you to be my witness,’ she added. ‘If you think you can contain your horror long enough to sign the book?’ The shadow of uncertainty in her gaze shaved another foot off his stature. Hell, he hadn’t meant to be that much of a grouch.

‘You sure you want the Oldest Player in Town there?’ he murmured, relieved when she sent him a cheeky grin.

‘Only if he promises not to hit on the bridesmaids.’

The thought of hitting on anyone brought back thoughts of Ella. And the pang of regret sliced under his ribs. She had to be long gone by now.

He raised his hand as if taking a mock oath. ‘I do solemnly swear not to hit on the bridesmaids.’

‘Cool, we’re all set, then.’ Josie grinned, then planted a kiss on the tip of his nose. ‘I’ll keep you posted on the wedding plans. I better hit the road, though.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘You have no idea how much work goes into organising a wedding in under four months.’

And he didn’t want to know, he thought silently, but decided to keep that information to himself.

‘Oh, by the way,’ she said as she reached the door. ‘Sleeping Beauty left you a message before she ran off.’

‘Yeah?’ The bubble of hope expanded under his breastbone. ‘What message? Did she tell you where she’s staying?’ Maybe if she had, he could give her a call? Get Inez to make a fresh batch of French toast, or better yet some lunch?

Josie shook her head. ‘She just said to tell you thanks.’

‘That’s it?’ The bubble of hope deflated, making his voice sound flat and dull.

Josie nodded, her expression thoughtful as she studied him. ‘If you wanted to contact her, Henry might know where she’s staying if she was at the Runner last night. You know how talkative he is.’

‘No, that’s okay, it’s no big deal,’ he replied, and willed himself to believe it.

‘Are you sure?’

He forced out a laugh. ‘Sure, I’m sure. Not my style.’ He didn’t get hung up on women, even ones as cute and sexy as Ella. ‘Oldest Player in Town, remember?’

Josie rolled her eyes again. ‘Oh, yeah. How could I forget?’

But after Josie had left, and he had dumped the ruined breakfast spread in the trash and collapsed onto the bed, the joke nickname didn’t seem all that funny any more. Especially when he got a lungful of the light, refreshing, lemony scent and the earthy smell of sex that still lingered on the sheets.


SIX (#uc7b533c5-be73-5780-b283-1d1b0d6cff9e)

Ella plucked the tray of Triple Indulgence Brownies out of the industrial oven and dropped it gingerly on the counter—her tummy hitching up towards her throat as the aroma of melting chocolate surrounded her. The rich decadent scent tasted like charcoal on her tongue. Clasping her hand over her mouth, she sliced the brownies into twelve chunks, perched the tray on the window sill to cool, and rushed into the café, her stomach wobbling alarmingly.

Taking deep, measured breaths, she berated herself and her stupid nervous tummy as she stacked the batch of mini-chocolate tarts she’d made earlier—which thankfully didn’t smell too strongly. Ruby would be here any minute and the last thing she needed was more searching looks and probing questions from her business partner—because she’d barfed all over the shop again.

She’d been tense and out of sorts for weeks. Ever since she’d got back from Bermuda and got the diagnosis she’d been dreading from her doctor, Myra Patel. That she was no longer ovulating at regular intervals—which explained the now five months without a period—because the onset of premature menopause was now a reality.

But she thought she’d come to terms with it. Or at least found a strategy to deal with her loss. Even though her biological clock was now ticking at triple time—and Myra had told her that her chances of conceiving naturally were probably remote, and getting remoter by the second—she had referred her to a specialist. Plus she and Ruby had discussed the feasibility of other options, when and if she found a life partner.

The good news was, after her wild night with Coop, there was every reason to be a lot more cheerful about her prospects when it came to relationships. Or at least sexual relationships.

Coop.

Her stomach clutched and released, the queasiness returning.

Maybe it was about time she admitted that her fertility problems weren’t the only thing that had had her down in the dumps? That her nervous stomach wasn’t just a symptom of her stress over the test results she’d got from Myra two months ago, but also her ridiculous overreaction to her one night with Cooper Delaney.

Somehow, she’d got fixated on him, picking over every minute detail of their day and night together—instead of assigning the experience to its rightful place in her past, and moving on with her real life.

So what if he’d disappeared the following morning, without leaving a note to say where he’d gone? They’d had a one-night fling. He’d owed her nothing. They lived thousands of miles apart, and he was only twenty-eight, for goodness’ sake. Not that their age difference had bothered him... Then again, maybe it had, more than he’d let on. Could that be why he’d disappeared so abruptly? Before she’d even woken up? Without bothering to say goodbye?

She folded the oven mitt she’d used into the drawer and slammed it shut.

Stop right there, you’re doing it again.

The hollow feeling of inadequacy opened up in her stomach, and the weary ache in her chest pinched her heart.

Maybe if she had left him a note...

She sighed and glanced up to see Ruby and Cal standing together on the pavement outside the shop—bidding each other goodbye as they did every morning before Cal headed for the tube station and his work as a top defence barrister in the City. The hollow weight became a gaping hole as she watched them.

Ruby threw her head back and laughed at something her husband had said. Callum said something else, that seemed to make her laugh more, but then he gripped the lapels of her coat and jerked her up onto her tiptoes, before silencing the laughter with a hungry kiss.

Ella felt the nasty dart of envy as Ruby’s arms wrapped around Cal’s neck to pull him closer. The kiss heated to scorching, Cal’s hands finding Ruby’s bottom beneath the hem of her coat. Anyone passing by would have mistaken them for newlyweds, instead of a couple who had recently celebrated their seventh wedding anniversary and had three very energetic children ranging in age from two to six.

Ella dropped her chin, and concentrated on rearranging the cookies on the display, feeling like a Peeping Tom as the nausea pitched and rolled in her belly. The doorbell tinkled, then the creak of the café door opened and slammed shut followed by the click of Ruby’s stilettos on the tiled floor.

‘Sorry I’m late. I’ll close up today to make up for it.’ Ruby’s voice sounded upbeat and pleasantly mellow, as it often did first thing in the morning. Ella frowned, dusting icing sugar over the tarts. Hard to remember now that her business partner had once been the biggest grump on the planet until she’d downed at least two cups of coffee in the morning, but that was before her fender bender with Callum Westmore nearly eight years ago.

‘That man sweet-talked me back into bed,’ Ruby added with a huff. ‘After Helga picked up the kids.’

‘Poor you,’ Ella muttered under her breath, then bit her lip to contain the sour note of sarcasm, and the bile rising up her throat.

What was the matter with her? She’d always been so happy for Ruby and Cal. It wasn’t as if their path to true love had exactly been smooth. And as for Max and Ally and Art, Ruby and Cal’s three irrepressible children, she adored them. And adored having a special place in their lives as their favourite ‘auntie’. That relationship would only become more treasured if the possibility of a childless future became a reality.

‘Ella, is everything okay?’

She put down the icing sugar to find Ruby watching her. Far too closely. Oh, no. Had she just heard that cutting remark? How was she supposed to explain it? ‘Yes, of course...’

‘Are you sure? You’re a rather strange colour.’

‘Really, I’m perfectly—’ The gag reflex struck without warning, punching Ella’s larynx and slamming her stomach into her throat. She slapped her hand over her mouth, and raced around the counter and into the restroom—getting there just in time to lose in the toilet the tea and dry toast she’d managed to force down that morning for breakfast.

* * *

‘Okay, deep breaths.’ Ruby rubbed Ella’s spine as the nausea retreated. The cool cloth felt glorious on the back of her neck as she dragged in several deep breaths.

‘How’s your stomach? All finished puking?’

‘Yes, I think so.’ Ella pressed her hand to her belly to double-check. But her stomach seemed to have settled after the retching, the strong scent of the disinfectant in the toilet nowhere near as abrasive as the brownie scent had been earlier.

Ruby flushed the toilet and anchored her arm around Ella’s waist. ‘Good, then let’s get you more comfortable.’

By the time they’d both settled in the two armchairs at the back of the café, Ruby’s careful scrutiny had Ella’s cheeks burning.

‘Any idea what caused it?’ Ruby asked.

Ella took a moment to examine the hands she had clasped in her lap.

‘From that delightful shade of rosé on your cheeks I’m guessing you do know.’ Ruby’s hand covered hers and squeezed. ‘But you don’t want to say.’

‘It’s silly.’ Ella shrugged, forced to face her friend. ‘I’m totally overreacting to a stupid holiday fling—which didn’t mean anything.’

‘Of course it meant something. You wouldn’t have slept with him if it didn’t. You’re not the casual-sex type.’

Ella breathed a heavy sigh. ‘Kind of annoying that I didn’t figure that out before I decided to jump into bed with him for a night of casual sex, isn’t it?’ The clutching sensation in her chest was back with a vengeance. ‘I miss him. I wish I’d hung around to tell him goodbye properly. Got closure. Then maybe I could stop giving myself an ulcer thinking about him constantly.’

Ruby nodded, her expression far too intuitive. ‘All excellent points. But can I suggest another possible explanation for the puking?’

Ella frowned. Why was Ruby looking at her like that? As if she was struggling to suppress a smile. ‘There is no other—’

‘Because you’re no more the highly strung, give-yourself-an-ulcer type than you are the casual-sex type.’

‘Your point?’ Ella replied a little sharply.

‘Look, you’ve been stressing about your holiday fling for weeks, I know that. But isn’t it at all possible—given the extremely hot description you gave me of your bedroom aerobics with Captain Studly—that what we just witnessed might be something more substantial than a nervous tummy?’

‘Such as?’

‘Morning sickness.’

Ella stiffened. ‘You know that’s not possible.’

‘According to Dr Patel it isn’t impossible.’

Ella’s frown became a scowl. ‘It’s only a very slight possibility. And we used condoms the whole time.’

‘As did Cal and I before we got pregnant with Arturo,’ Ruby shot straight back.

‘It’s not the same thing.’ The sour note was back. ‘You don’t have any fertility issues.’

‘I still think you should do a pregnancy test, just to be sure.’

Ella straightened in the chair. ‘I am sure.’ Sure what the result would be. And even surer that bringing back memories of another pregnancy test that she’d taken with Ruby years before would only make her current misery seem even more insurmountable.

‘Well, I’m not.’

Ella threw up her hands. ‘Yes, well, I don’t have a pregnancy test and I don’t have time to go and get one because we open in half an hour.’ Maybe if Ruby wouldn’t listen to her, at least she’d listen to reason.

‘That’s okay, because I do.’ Reaching into her handbag, Ruby produced a blue and white chemist bag from which she pulled out a telltale pink box.

‘Where did you get that?’ Ella stared, her hurt and astonishment turning to dismay.

‘Ella, you’ve been sick three times this week now.’ Grabbing Ella’s hand, Ruby slapped the box into her palm.

Ella wanted to refuse, but as she stared at the box she felt her will power crumbling in the face of Ruby’s determination.

‘Just go pee on the stick.’ Ruby closed Ella’s fingers around the box. ‘Don’t overthink this. Whatever the result is, we’ll handle it. But denial is not the answer. I’ll wait here.’

Ella stood up, her stomach folding in on itself, as the last of her will power ebbed away on a wave of exhaustion. ‘Okay, fine, but you may be waiting a long time.’ She frowned at her best friend. ‘I am so not in the mood to pee on demand right now.’

* * *

It took fifteen torturous minutes before she could get out of the toilet.

‘I left it on the vanity in there.’ She washed her hands in the shop’s sink and dosed them with anti-bacterial gel. ‘Don’t forget to dispose of it before we open,’ she added, brushing the stupid sting of tears off her cheek.

‘Ella, don’t cry. You need to know for sure.’

She didn’t dignify that with an answer, but simply set about filling the icing bag with cream-cheese frosting. She needed to be ready for the nine a.m. rush when they opened in fifteen minutes. She so did not have time for this rubbish.

She was still busy adding cream-cheese frosting in decorative swirls to the carrot cake when Ruby dashed back into the café a few minutes later. ‘I think you better look at this.’

‘Don’t bring it in here,’ she said crossly. ‘It’s covered in pee.’

‘I know that,’ Ruby replied. ‘But it’s not just any pee, it’s pregnant-lady pee.’

‘What?’ Frosting squirted across the counter as her fingers fisted on the bag involuntarily. And her heart jumped into her mouth.

‘You heard me.’ Ruby held the pee stick in front of Ella’s face like a talisman. ‘See that strong blue line? That means Ella’s going to be a mummy in exactly seven months’ time. You’re going to be ringing in the new year with your very own bundle of fun.’

She couldn’t focus, thanks to the sheen of shocked tears misting her vision. ‘But that’s not possible,’ she murmured, her voice hoarse.

Ruby laughed. ‘Um, well, clearly it is. Pregnancy tests don’t lie.’

Ella’s unfocused gaze raised to Ruby’s smiling face. ‘I should take another one. It might be wrong.’

‘Take as many as you like, but there’s no such thing as a false positive with these things. I took six tests with Art. And they all came out exactly the same. Assuming it was definitely you who peed on that stick, it’s definitely you who’s pregnant.’

Ella collapsed into the chair beside the cash register. Her knees trembling now almost as violently as her hands—which clutched the bag of frosting in a death grip as it dripped onto the floor.

‘I’m going to have a baby.’ The words sounded fragile and far away, as if they had been said by someone else, as if they could be extinguished if she said them too loudly.

Ruby stroked her back as she crouched beside her and wrapped her hand round Ella’s wrist. ‘Yes, you are.’

The tears welled and flowed, her whole body shaking now, at the memory of a similar test so long ago. The joy then had felt scary, terrifying, but so small and sweet. This time it didn’t feel small, it felt huge, like a living, breathing thing that couldn’t be contained within her skin, but so much more scary and terrifying too.

Dumping the pregnancy test in the bin, Ruby washed and dried her hands, then tugged a couple of wet wipes from the dispenser on the counter. ‘I take it those are happy tears?’ Ruby took the icing bag out of Ella’s numb fingers and began cleaning the mess of cream-cheese frosting with the wipes.

Ella nodded, the lump in her throat too solid and overwhelming to talk around.

‘Am I allowed to say I told you so, then?’

Ella’s eyes focused at last, and she swept her arms round her friend’s shoulders and clung on tight, too overwhelmed to care about the smug smile on Ruby’s face.

‘I don’t deserve this chance.’ She sobbed as Ruby hugged her.

Ruby moved back, and held her arms. ‘Don’t say that.’ She gave her a slight shake. ‘What you did then, you did for the right reasons.’

Ella folded her arms over her stomach, as if to protect the precious life within and stop the guilt from consuming the joy. ‘I’m not so sure about that.’

Ruby tugged a tissue out of her pocket, to dab at Ella’s eyes. ‘You were eighteen years old Ella, you had your whole life ahead of you, and it was a mistake. You made the only choice you could in the circumstances.’ She placed the damp tissue in the palm of Ella’s hand, rolled her fist over it, and held on. ‘Don’t you think it’s about time to forgive yourself?’

She would never be able to forgive herself, not completely, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t protect this child with every fibre of her being. This time she wouldn’t mess it up. ‘I want to.’

Ruby’s lips quirked. ‘Okay, next question. Because I’m going to assume the “Do you want to have this baby?” question is a no-brainer.’

Ella bobbed her head as the small smile spread. ‘Yes, it is.’

‘Brilliant. So next question, how do we contact Captain Studly? Do you have like a card for his tour company or something?’

‘What? No.’ The joy cracked, like the crumbling top of a newly baked muffin, exposing the soft centre beneath. ‘We can’t tell him. He doesn’t need to know.’

‘Calm down.’ Ruby gripped her fingers tight. ‘There’s no need to panic. You don’t have to do anything yet.’

The memory of his voice, smooth, seductive, husky, and so sexy asking, ‘Are you on the pill?’ seemed to float in the air around the café, mocking her.

What happened if she told him and he reacted the same way Randall had? He was still in his twenties; he lived in a beach hut; he picked up women in bars. He was exciting, reckless, charming, sexier than any one she’d ever met, and probably the least likely guy on the planet to welcome news like this.

‘And he’s not necessarily going to freak out the way Randall did,’ Ruby said, doing her mind-reading thing.

Oh, yes, he will.

‘I don’t want to risk it.’ She tugged her hands out of Ruby’s. ‘Why do I have to tell him?’

‘Because it’s his baby, and he has a right to know,’ Ruby said, in that patient I-know-what’s-best voice that she’d acquired ever since having kids. Ella had always thought it was so sweet. Now she was finding it more than a little patronising.

‘But suppose he’d rather not know?’

‘How can you possibly know that?’ Ruby replied.

She opened her mouth to tell Ruby how he’d asked her if she was on the pill and how the correct answer had somehow got lost in the heat of the moment. But then shut it again. She didn’t want Ruby to think she’d deliberately tricked him, because she hadn’t. But even thinking about that conversation now made her feel as if she had, which would only tarnish the perfection of this moment.

‘He lives in Bermuda. I don’t need his support.’ Especially as he didn’t have any money. ‘I’m more than solvent on my own and—’

‘That’s not the point. He’s the baby’s father. By not telling him you’re not giving him the choice, or the baby the choice to know him when it gets older. Think of how much it screwed up Nick when he found out our dad wasn’t his biological father,’ she said, reminding Ella of her brother Nick, who had run away from home in his teens when he’d discovered the truth about his parentage and had only recently come back into Ruby’s life.

‘It’s not the same thing at all,’ Ella protested. It wasn’t as if she planned never to tell her child who its father was; she just didn’t see why she had to tell the father right this second.

‘I know it’s not, but what I’m trying to say is you can’t keep those kinds of secrets. It’s not fair on either one of them.’

Ella wanted to say life wasn’t fair. But the truth was she’d never believed that. Life could be fair, if you made the effort to make it so.

She wanted to deny he had any right to know. This was her child. Her responsibility. And she didn’t want to consider his rights, his reaction. But even as the panic sat under her breastbone, ready to leap up her throat and cut off her air supply, she pictured Coop’s face, the genuine smile, those emerald eyes twinkling with humour, and knew that not telling him would be taking the coward’s way out.

While she never would have planned to have a child alone, that was what she’d be doing—because fate had handed her this incredible gift. And while it was very likely that Coop wouldn’t want to know about this baby, she had to at least give him the option of saying no. Because she had to give her child the chance to know its father. However slim that chance might be.

Ruby patted her hand. ‘How about we leave this discussion for another day? You really don’t have to do this yet.’

A loud tapping had them both turning to see the whole of the Hampstead Heath Mother and Baby Stroller Work-Out Class crowded around the door, looking sweaty and dishevelled and in desperate need of light refreshments.

Jumping up, Ella headed round the counter, to flip the sign on the door to open and welcome them in. As they smiled and wheeled their babies proudly into the café, chatting about the Hitler who ran the class, Ella smiled back, amazed to realise the lethagy that had dragged her down for days had vanished.

‘Wait, Ella, are you sure you don’t want to go home and rest? I can handle the Yummies,’ Ruby offered as she joined her behind the counter.

Ella grinned back at her, the ball of panic lifting too.

She had time to think about how to tell Cooper; how to break the news to him without making him feel responsible. And really, while the thought of what she had to tell him wasn’t easy, the fact that she had a reason to speak to him again felt surprisingly good. ‘No need. I feel great.’

Ruby laughed back, her own face beaming with pleasure. ‘Just wait till tomorrow morning when you’re crouched over the toilet bowl again. Actually, we better get some buckets for the duration.’

Ella spent the morning chatting to the mums, serving tea and freshly baked cakes and cookies, whipping up a succession of speciality coffees, while she admired their children, and struggled to contain the silly grin at how totally amazing her life suddenly was.

She’d speak to Cooper soon. Ruby was right: it would be wrong not to. But it had been an accident. And really, she didn’t need to think about all the particulars just yet. Right now, all she really had to do was bask in the miracle occurring inside her. And focus on making sure she gave her baby the best possible chance to thrive. And if that meant eventually finding the courage to tell its father about their happy accident, she’d do it, somehow.


SEVEN (#uc7b533c5-be73-5780-b283-1d1b0d6cff9e)

‘Ouch. Damn it!’ Coop yanked his hand out of the casing, and threw the wrench down on the deck. Blood seeped from the shallow gash at the base of his thumb, through the thick black smear of engine grease. He sucked on it, getting a mouthful of grit to go with the metallic taste of his own blood.

‘What’s all the cussing for?’ Sonny’s head peered out from the captain’s cabin.

‘That damn propeller just took a chunk out of my hand,’ he snarled. ‘Cussing’s required.’ He boosted himself onto the deck. Tying the rag he’d been using to clean off the drive shaft around the injury, he sent his friend an angry glare. ‘That lug nut won’t budge—probably because it’s been rusted on for thirty years.’ With his hand now pounding in unison with his head, after one too many drinks last night at The Rum Runner, he was not in the mood to be dicking around with Sonny’s ancient outboard motor.

Sonny tilted his head to one side, sending him a calm, searching look. ‘Someone sure got out of bed the wrong way again this morning.’

Coop ignored the jibe. So what if he hadn’t been on top form lately? Ever since a certain English girl had left him high and dry, her lush body and eager smile had got lodged in his frontal lobe and it had been interfering with his sleep patterns.

Going back to The Rum Runner last night for the first time since Ella had run out on him had been a mistake. Henry had started jerking his chain about ‘his pretty lady’, and he’d somehow ended up challenging the guy to a drinking contest. Staggering home at three a.m., and being violently ill in his bathroom had only added injury to the insult of too many tequila slammers and too many nights without enough sleep.

No wonder he wasn’t at his sunniest.

‘Isn’t it about time you got rid of this bucket?’ he said, letting out a little of his frustration on Sonny’s boat.

Sonny stroked the console with the affection most men reserved for a lover. ‘My Jezebel’s got plenty good years in her yet. And with Josie’s wedding to pay for, she’s going to have to make them count.’

Coop knotted the rag with his teeth, his temper kicking in. They both knew The Jezebel hadn’t seen a good year since Bill Clinton had been in the White House. And that he’d offered to bankroll Josie’s wedding a million times and Sonny had stubbornly refused to accept the money. But after a morning spent with a raging hangover trying to fix the unfixable when he should have been going over his business manager’s projections for the new franchise in Acapulco, he wasn’t in the mood to keep his reservations about Josie’s nuptials to himself any longer either.

‘What is Josie getting hitched for anyway? She’s only twenty and they’re both still in college. What are they going to live on?’

‘Love will find a way,’ Sonny replied with that proud paternal grin that had been rubbing Coop the wrong way for weeks. Hadn’t the old guy figured out yet he was shelling out a king’s ransom to kick-start a marriage that probably wouldn’t last out the year?

‘Will it?’ he asked, the edge in his voice going razor sharp.

Sonny nodded, the probing look sending prickles of unease up Coop’s spine and making his thumb throb. ‘You know, you’ve been mighty bitchy for months now. Wanna tell me what’s going on?’

Months? No way had it been months since his night with Ella. Had it? ‘This isn’t about me, Sonny,’ he said, struggling to deflect the conversation back where it needed to be. ‘This is about Josie doing something dumb and you not lifting a finger to stop her.’

‘Josie’s known her own mind since she was three years old,’ Sonny said without any heat. ‘Nothing I could say would stop her even if I wanted to.’

Coop opened his mouth to protest, but Sonny simply lifted up a silencing finger.

‘But I don’t want to stop them. Taylor’s a good kid and she loves him. And it’s not them I’m worried about.’ Sonny rested his heavy frame on the bench next to Coop, his steady gaze making the prickles on Coop’s spine feel as if he’d been rolling in poison ivy. ‘You’re the one hasn’t been right ever since the night you picked up that tourist girl in the Runner.’

‘What the...?’ Coop’s jaw went slack. How did Sonny know about Ella? The old guy was always butting into his personal life, because he was a romantic and he thought he had a right to. But he’d never spoken about Ella to anyone. Did Sonny have X-ray vision or something?

‘Josie says you seemed real taken with her the next morning. But she’d run off? Is that the thing? You miss her?’

Damn Josie—so she was his source.

‘It’s not what you think.’ Coop scowled, trying to cut the old guy off at the pass before this conversation got totally out of hand.

He didn’t miss Ella, and he wasn’t ‘taken with her’. Whatever the heck that meant. It was nothing like that. She’d just got under his skin, somehow. Like an itch he couldn’t scratch. He could wait it out. Give it a couple more weeks and surely the almost nightly dreams he had, about those bright blue eyes wide with enthusiasm, that sunny smile, that lush butt in the itsy-bitsy purple bikini...

He thrust his fingers through his hair, annoyed by the low-level heat humming in his crotch as the erotic memories spun gleefully back—and the weird knot under his breastbone twisted.

‘It was a one-night hook-up,’ he continued, trying to convince himself now as much as Sonny. ‘We hit it off. But only...you know.’

Just shoot me now.

He shrugged. He wasn’t about to get into a discussion about his sex life with Sonny. The old guy had given him chapter and verse as a teenager about respecting women, and he didn’t need that lecture again. One thing was certain, though: Josie was dead meat next time he saw her for putting him in this position. Whether she had a ten-grand wedding to attend in five weeks or not.

‘I don’t think Ella and I are going to be declaring any vows,’ he said, going on the defensive when Sonny gave him that look that always made him feel as if he had a case to answer.

He did respect women. He respected them a lot. Sonny just had a quaint, old-fashioned idea that sex always had to mean something. When sometimes all it meant was you needed to get laid.

‘She lives thousands of miles away, we only spent one night together and she wasn’t looking for anything more than I was. Plus she was the one who ran out on me.’

Sonny’s eyebrow winged up, and Coop knew he’d said too much.

‘I see. So you’re the boy that can have any woman he wants. And she’s the girl that didn’t want you? Is that what’s got you so upset?’

‘I’m not upset.’ Coop flexed his fist, his hand hurting like a son of a bitch. ‘And thanks a bunch for making me sound like an arrogant jackass.’

Sonny smiled, but didn’t deny it, and Coop felt the flicker of hurt. ‘You’re a good-looking boy with more money than you need and a charming way about you that draws women like bees to a honeypot. You’ve got a right to be arrogant, I guess.’

‘Thanks,’ Coop said wryly. He didn’t kid himself, Sonny hadn’t meant it as a compliment.

Money wasn’t something that floated Sonny’s boat; it was the one thing they still argued about. Because as far as Coop was concerned, money mattered, more than pretty much everything else. It made everything easier, oiled every cog, gave you options, and that all-important safety net that he’d lacked as a kid. He’d craved it for the first twenty years of his life. But now he had it, it meant more to him than just the luxuries, or the good times he could buy with it. It meant respect. Status. It showed people that he wasn’t the worthless little trailer-trash nobody he’d once been. But best of all it meant he didn’t have to rely on anyone but himself.

He liked Sonny, respected the guy more than any other guy he had ever known, but, the way he saw it, Sonny had way too many responsibilities in his life—to his five kids, his three grandkids, all his friends and acquaintances, not to mention Rhona, the wife he’d had by his side for over thirty years. Maybe that worked for Sonny, he certainly didn’t seem to mind it, but, as far as Coop was concerned, that wasn’t something he was looking for. A man could be an island—if he worked hard enough and had enough money to make it happen—and life was a lot easier that way.

‘Aren’t you headed to Europe next week?’ Sonny pushed on, not taking the hint. ‘Why not look this girl up and see how she’s doing?’

Coop stared blankly at his friend. He’d thought about it; of course he had. He had a meeting with some financiers in St Tropez who wanted to talk about franchising options for Dive Guys in the Med. It was only a short hop from there to London, where Ella lived. But...

‘I don’t know. if I went all the way out to London just to hook up, she might get the wrong idea.’ He sure as hell didn’t want Ella thinking this was more than it was.

‘Why would that be bad?’ Sonny’s rueful smile made Coop feel about as smart as the lug nut he’d been trying to shift all morning. ‘If she’s the woman of your dreams.’

‘Damn, Sonny, Ella is not the woman of my dreams,’ he shot back, getting exasperated.

What was with Sonny? Was all this wedding garbage messing with his head and making him even more of a romantic than usual?

He hardly knew Ella. And he didn’t have dreams about women. Well, not apart from R-rated ones. For the simple reason that he was more than happy being an island.

‘If you say so.’ Sonny shrugged, undaunted. ‘But my point is you need to go get your sunshine back.’ Sonny jerked his thumb over his shoulder, indicating the glimmering turquoise water that stretched towards the horizon. ‘And if it’s across that ocean that’s where you oughta be.’ His smile thinned. ‘Because until you do, you’re not a heck of a lot fun for anyone to be around.’

Coop frowned as he finally got the message. So that was it. Sonny wanted him out of the way while him and his family geared up for Josie’s big day.

He felt the sharp stab of hurt. But guessed the old guy had a point. He had been pretty grouchy the last couple of months. Sleepless nights and sexual frustration could do that to a guy. And whatever was going on between him and Ella, it didn’t seem to be getting any better. ‘Have I really been that bad?’ he asked.

Resting a solid hand on his shoulder, Sonny gave it a fatherly pat. ‘Boy, you’ve been bitchier than when you were working all hours to set up your business.’

‘Sorry.’

Sonny squeezed his shoulder. ‘Don’t be sorry, man, go do something about it.’

Coop nodded. What the hell? Trying to talk some sense into Josie and her folks about the wedding was a lost cause. And he could do with more than the two-day break he’d planned for his trip to the Med. Why not book a flight that routed through London? Stop over for a few extra days, book a suite in a classy hotel, see the city, and if he happened to be in Ella’s neighbourhood at some point, why not look her up? If she wanted to throw some more sunshine his way—and maybe give him an explanation as to why she hadn’t stuck around to say goodbye—why should he object?

As Sonny had said, he’d never had a woman walk out on him before now. That was most probably all this was really about. And if that made him an arrogant jackass, so be it. He needed to do something to get himself the hell over this hump he seemed to have got hung up on. So he could come back to Bermuda ready to smile through his teeth during his best friend’s daughter’s wedding.

What was the worst that could happen?

* * *

‘Stop eating the merchandise! I don’t care if you’ve got a cookie craving.’

Ella hastily wiped the white chocolate and macadamia nut evidence off her mouth. ‘Sorry, I can’t help it.’

Ruby sent her a superior look from the cappuccino machine, where she was busy whipping up a storm of decaf lattes and skinny mochas for the tennis foursome who had just arrived after a grudge match at the heath.

‘You should be sorry. I’d love to know how you’ve barely gained an ounce.’ Her gaze dipped to Ella’s cleavage, displayed in the new D half-cup bra she’d splashed out on the previous week. ‘Except on the bust.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Despite having consumed your own weight in confectionery in the last week.’

Ella grinned as she arranged the freshly baked passionfruit florentines on the ‘treat of the day’ display. ‘I’m simply making up for lost time. I could barely keep anything down for three solid weeks.’

Ella stroked the compact bulge that made the waistband of her hip-hugger jeans dig into her tummy. Even though she could not have been more ecstatic about the pregnancy, revelling in every change it brought to her body, puking her guts up every morning had got old fairly fast. And running a cake shop, where the cloying aroma of sweetness and the bitter chicory scent of coffee had been hell on her hypersensitive sense of smell, had been a particular brand of torture she had been more than happy to see the back of. Now she could simply enjoy all the other changes—well, all except one.

Her sex drive seemed to have mushroomed at the same pace as her bosom—if the lurid dreams she had most nights, in which a certain Cooper Delaney was a key player, were anything to go by.

Only last night, she’d woken up in a pool of sweat, her skin tight and oversensitive, her already enlarged nipples swollen and her engorged clitoris pulsing with the need to be touched. She’d never been all that self-sufficient, sexually speaking, before she’d met Cooper, but she’d had to take matters into her own hands more than once in the last few weeks, while visualising Cooper’s honed, ripped body driving into her and hearing his deep laconic voice growling ‘touch yourself’ in her ear.

Heat boiled in her cheeks, at the memory of last night’s frenzied and sadly dissatisfying orgasm. And the guilt that had followed. Was it possible that her body was playing tricks on her, constantly bringing up these carnal memories of her child’s father to push her into contacting him the way she’d planned to do weeks ago?

But that was before she’d done an Internet search on him. And a simple investigation to discover his contact details had brought the panic seeping back.

Because putting Cooper Delaney’s name and the words ‘Bermuda’ and ‘snorkelling’ into the search engine had brought up ten whole pages of references, not just to him but to Dive Guys, the phenomenally successful franchise he owned and operated in most of the Caribbean. A company that had been listed on the New York stock exchange for over three years and was—according to an article in Time Life magazine—one of the fastest-growing start-ups in the region.

She’d been in shock. Then she’d been upset that he hadn’t trusted her enough to tell her the truth about himself... Then she’d thought of the secret child in her womb and she’d begun shaking so hard she’d had to lie down.

Coop Delaney wasn’t a part-time boat captain and all around beach bum living a free-spirited, laid-back, itinerant existence on a Bermuda beach—he was an exceptionally rich and well-connected businessman with the money and influence to buy and sell her and Ruby’s little cupcake bakery several hundred times over.

How could she tell a man like that she was carrying his child? And not expect him to make demands? Demands she might not want to agree to? If he’d been the Coop she’d thought he was, she would have phoned him weeks ago. But now...

‘Check out the suit in the window.’ Ruby’s appreciative whistle woke Ella from her stupor. ‘That guy’s got shoulders even a happily married woman can appreciate.’

Ella’s gaze skimmed the top of the cookie display to see a tall man, with closely cropped hair step into the café. Recognition tickled her spine, then thumped into her chest as he lifted his head and shockingly familiar emerald eyes locked on hers.

She blinked rapidly, sure this had to be an apparition conjured up by her guilty conscience—but then his sensual lips quirked and the warm spot between her legs ignited.

‘Hi, welcome to Touch of Frosting, Camden’s premiere cupcake bakery. What’s your guilty pleasure this morning?’

Ella vaguely processed Ruby’s familiar greeting through the chainsaw in her head. ‘Coop?’ The word came out on a rasp of breath.

‘Hey there, Ella.’ The apparition winked, which had heat flushing to her hairline, before it addressed Ruby. ‘You must be Ruby. The name’s Coop. I’m a friend of Ella’s.’

He held out a deeply tanned hand in greeting as Ella heard Ruby’s sharp intake of breath.

‘Hi.’ Ruby skirted the counter and grasped his hand in both of hers. ‘Cooper Delaney, right? It’s so fabulous to actually meet you.’

Ella heard the perk of excitement in Ruby’s voice and the laconic ease in Coop’s—and everything inside her knotted with panic.

‘Ella told you about me, huh?’ His voice rumbled with pleasure as the green gaze settled on her.

Say something.

Her mind screamed as she absorbed the chiselled perfection of his cheekbones, the tawny brows, the twinkle of amusement in those arresting eyes, and the full sensual lips that tilted up in a confidential smile. Arousal gripped her abdomen as blood pumped into her sex.

But then she noted all the things about this man that didn’t fit: the slate-grey single-breasted suit, the clean-shaven jaw, the short, perfectly styled hair that was several shades darker with fewer strands of sun-streaked blond.

She shook her head, a bolt of raw panic slamming into her chest as he passed his palm in front of her face. He was speaking to her.

‘Hey there, Ella, snap out of it. How you doing?’

I’m pregnant. And I should have got in touch with you weeks ago to tell you.

She opened parched lips, but couldn’t force the words out.

‘Ella’s great, she had her first—’ Ruby began.

‘Shut up, Ruby!’ The high-pitched squeal shot past the boulder lodged in her throat. Ruby’s eyebrows rose to her hairline but thankfully she obeyed the command, while Coop’s grin took on a curious tilt.

Ella skidded round the counter, galvanised out of her trance.

Get him out of here, then you can tell him. Sensibly, succinctly, and privately, without an audience of tennis players, yummy mummies, two giggling schoolgirls and your super-nosey best friend.

She owed him that much.

‘I’m taking a half-day, Rubes.’

Ruby’s brow furrowed.

Oh, dear, she’d have some explaining to do to Ruby, too. But that could wait, she thought, as she came to a halt in front of Cooper.

She tilted her head back, the effect of that lazy smile shimmering down to her toes. How could she have forgotten how tall he was? Taking a deep breath in, she got a lungful of his delicious scent.

He smells the same. Hold that thought.

But then the aroma of spicy cologne and soap and man triggered a renewed pulse of heat and the shudder of reaction hit her knees.

She grasped his arm, as much to stay upright as to propel him back out of the door before Ruby spilled any more confidential information. The bulge of muscle flexed beneath the soft fabric of his designer suit—which didn’t do much for her leg tremors.

He glanced at her fingers and grinned, pleased with her haste. ‘It’s great to see you too, Ella.’ That he didn’t seem particularly fazed by her fruitcake behaviour helped to calm some of the tension screaming across her shoulder blades. ‘I was just in the neighbourhood,’ he added. ‘And I figured we could catch up over....’

‘That’s wonderful, Coop,’ she interrupted. ‘But let’s go somewhere private so we can talk properly.’

‘Sounds good.’ His hooded gaze suggested he had made a few assumptions about her eagerness to get him alone. And talking was not at the top of his current to-do list.

The stupid tingles raced across her skin.

Do not hold that thought. You need to keep a clear head.

She crossed to the door, still clinging onto his arm, but stopped in her tracks when he didn’t move with her.

She swung back, ready to beg. ‘Please, my flat’s just round the corner. I have coffee. And cupcakes.’

Her gaze flicked over his shoulder to Ruby, who had crossed her arms over her chest and was staring at her, the concern on her face making Ella feel small and foolish.

‘Cupcakes, huh?’ He laughed, but then his hands cupped her elbows, forcing her to relinquish her death grip on his arm. ‘I’m a sucker for cupcakes,’ he purred, then yanked her onto tiptoes. ‘But first things first.’ He dipped his head, bringing his lips tantalisingly close. ‘Don’t I rate a “welcome to London” kiss?’

Before she had a chance to confirm or deny, his mouth settled over hers, and every thought bar one melted out of her head.

Yes, please.

His tongue coaxed her lips open in hungry strokes, then tangled with hers. The shaking in her legs shot off the Richter Scale but his arms wrapped around her waist, holding her steady against the lean, hard line of his body. His scent enveloped her, clogging her lungs as she clung to him for balance, and drank in the glorious urgency of his kiss.

As they broke apart she heard the smattering of applause from the group of mums in the corner. The heat rose up to scald her scalp—but he was smiling at her with that appreciative, sexy twist of his lips she remembered so well from Bermuda and she swallowed down the renewed bolt of panic.

She had so much to tell him, and she still had no real clue how he would respond. But kissing him again, having his arms around her, had felt so good, she refused to allow her doubts to resurface. She was having this beautiful man’s baby—and it felt like fate somehow that he had come to London to see her.

He dropped his arms and slid one warm palm into hers. ‘Let’s get out of here.’ He brushed his lips across her ear lobe. ‘I’m dying to taste your cupcakes.’

She grinned, sure her cupcakes weren’t the only thing he planned to taste. ‘You’re going to love them.’

She waved goodbye to Ruby, who sent her a wary smile back, then mouthed, ‘Tell him.’

She nodded, sobering a little.

‘Great to meet you, Ruby. I’ll bring her back in one piece. I swear.’ He sent Ruby a farewell salute as he opened the café door for her and she stepped outside. The sky was dark and overcast, a summer storm brewing, but excitement rippled.

Against all the odds, Cooper Delaney was here. And she would get the chance to tell him her news face to face. Now the initial shock had faded, she knew it was the best possible scenario. She could prepare him properly, before she told him. Explain exactly how it had happened and how much it meant to her, and make sure he understood he didn’t have to be a part of the life growing inside her if he didn’t want to be. That he had no obligations.

But surely him turning up here had to be a sign. Of something good. He’d come all this way to see her, and he’d kissed her with such fervour. The chemistry between them was still so strong, so hot. And there had been definite affection in his gaze too, the way his hands had steadied her, held her close.

He hadn’t forgotten her, any more than she had forgotten him.

He slung an arm across her shoulders. ‘Lead the way, my little cougar. But put a fire under it,’ he said, casting a wary glance at the ominous thunderclouds overhead. ‘It looks like we’re about to get soaked.’

She chuckled, giddy with anticipation and tenderness, as a fat drop of rain landed on her cheek. ‘My road is the second on the left.’ The crash of thunder startled her for a moment, then the deluge of fat drops multiplied into a flood, drenching her T-shirt and jeans in seconds.

Laughing, she darted out from under his arm, the chilly summer rain plastering her hair against her cheeks and running in rivulets between her breasts. ‘Come on, toy boy. I’ll race you there,’ she said, before sprinting off in a burst of energy.

They would work this out. Nothing bad could happen today. She was sure of it.

* * *

‘Come back here...’

Cooper raced up the shadowy stairwell guided by that pert ass outlined in wet denim, his own shirt sticking to his chest.

He tripped, cursed, then finally caught up with her, his crotch throbbing now. Running with a hard-on was never a good idea, but he’d been waiting months to get his hands on her again.

Her light, infectious laugh bubbled through his blood, doing weird things to his equilibrium as he followed her into the shoebox apartment at the top of the stairs. He slammed the door behind him, taking in the compact living room, the kitchen counter, the couch covered in colourful cushions. Then grabbed a hold of one hundred pounds of wiggling, giggling female, and refused to let go.

‘Got you.’ He held her close, taking the time to study the open, heart-shaped face, the huge blue eyes that had haunted his dreams for weeks.

Maybe he had missed her, more than he thought.

‘And you’re not getting away from me any time soon,’ he declared. Although she wasn’t exactly trying too hard.

His lips captured hers in a hungry kiss, while he peeled off the drenched cotton T-shirt to discover the damp lemon-scented female flesh beneath.

He cupped her generous breasts, the pebbled nipples digging into his palms through her bra, then pinched the swollen tips, while his mouth drank in her soft grunts of excitement.

Her fingers threaded into his hair, tugging him back. ‘I have to tell you...’ Her voice came out on a whisper. ‘We have to talk.’

‘Later.’ He nipped her bottom lip. ‘Sex first. Then cupcakes. Talk after that.’

He delved to find the hook on her bra and sent up a silent prayer of thanks as it popped open. Dragging the wet hem of her T over her head, he ripped off the sodden bra.

When she was bare to the waist, her breasts heaved with her staggered breathing, the large reddened nipples like ripe berries, sweet and succulent.

‘Those are even hotter than I remember.’ He lifted his gaze, saw the flush of colour on high cheekbones, the blue of her eyes dilated to dark, driving need.

Cupping one heavy orb in his palm, he licked round the peak, heard her moan, then bit tenderly into the swollen tip, his erection now huge in his pants.

Her back arched as she thrust into his mouth, moaning softly as he suckled harder.

Finding the zipper of her jeans, he yanked down the tab, and delved beneath the clinging, constricting fabric to cup her. She sobbed as his fingers widened the slick folds, and touched the heart of her. She bucked, then grasped his wrist.

‘Stop!’ she cried. ‘I’m going to come.’

‘That’s the general idea.’ Panic clawed at his chest. If she said no now he was liable to die.

She stared at him, her need plain in the wide pupils, the staggered pants of breath. ‘I want you inside me. It’s been too long.’

‘Not a problem.’ He chuckled, relief flooding through him as the tension in his groin begged for release. ‘Then let’s get naked. Fast.’

The sound of frantic cursing, of tearing fabric, of buttons hitting the linoleum flooring filled the small room as they wrestled to get their wet clothes off as fast as humanly possible.

After what felt like several millennia she stood naked before him, her gaze darkening further as those bright eyes dropped to his groin. His erection twitched, the pulse throbbing at its tip, steady and relentless.

He lifted her against the wall of the apartment, wedging himself into the space between her thighs. Clasping her generous hips, he assessed those spectacular breasts. She’d gained some weight since their night in Bermuda and it suited her—the belly that had been so flat across her hip bones now pillowing his erection.

The dumb wave of regret that her body had undergone that small change and he hadn’t been there to see it, to witness it, passed over like a shadow then disappeared as her breasts pressed into his chest—demanding more friction. He ducked his head, to suck at the pulse point in her neck, which beat in frantic flutters. Her addictive scent surrounded him, lemon and spice and all things nice.

His lips curved, holding her as she hooked toned legs around his waist. Her fingers threaded into the short, damp hair at his ears.

‘I haven’t got any condoms,’ he admitted, his mind trying to engage with the need to slow the hell down. To think through the driving urge to sink into her tight heat. He hadn’t had time to stop and pick any protection up because he’d come straight from the airport. And he hadn’t figured things would get this hot, this quickly. But could he risk it? Just this once? She was on the pill? ‘You okay with me using withdrawal? I’m clean, I swear.’

He felt her nod, and lifted his head to see her eyes, glazed with an emotion that made his heart thud against his chest wall like a sledgehammer.

‘So am I,’ she replied

It was all the permission he needed. His shaft jerked against her belly from the kick of desperation. Palming her buttocks, and angling her pelvis as best he could, he thrust home in one long, solid glide. Her slick, wet sex stretched to receive him, then massaged him like a velvet vice. Her head dropped back, thudding the wall, as he began to move, the thrusts jerky, desperate, the need quickly becoming too fast and furious, the need so raw and draining he couldn’t slow down, couldn’t stop now if his life depended on it.

She sobbed, her fingernails scraping his back as she clung on. Her muscles began to milk him, and he knew she was coming.

Don’t pull out. Not yet. Hold on. Damn it.

His seed boiled, driving up from his balls, hurling him closer and closer to the cliff edge, her sobs of completion beckoning him to come faster, harder. And a tiny part of his mind screamed to the animal inside him.

Now. Pull out, now.

He wrenched himself free. Dropping his head against her shoulder, kissing the salt, sweet taste of her neck, the pain of separation as devastating as the brutal, unstoppable roll of orgasm as his seed pumped into the welcoming softness of her belly.

* * *

‘Damn, that was even more awesome than I remember.’

Ella’s gaze shimmered back into focus as a rough palm touched her cheek and blunt fingers sank into her hair. Those deep emerald eyes searched her face, making her chest tighten.

She nodded, gently, feeling stunned, her sex still clenching and releasing from the intensity of her orgasm. Seemed absence didn’t just make the heart grow fonder.

‘Yes,’ she whispered, her throat raw from the wellspring of emotion.

His lips curved, and he placed a tender kiss on her forehead. ‘Come on.’ He hefted her into his arms, bracing his forearm under her buttocks as she held onto his shoulders. ‘Let’s grab a shower. Then I want a cupcake.’

‘But we still need to talk,’ she murmured against his neck.

‘Sure. But first I want to see that magnificent rack covered in soap suds.’

She chuckled, resting her head on his shoulder, and draping her arms around his neck, her emotions too close to the surface to protest. Surely a few more minutes of intimacy, of getting reacquainted, wouldn’t do any harm—she’d waited this long already?

Locating the tiny bathroom at the back of the flat, he put her down to twist on the shower. But kept one hand on her hip, as if he were afraid she’d run off. She remembered leaving him, that morning with only a thank you. And felt the renewed trickle of guilt.

The water gurgled and spurted out of the shower head, the stream thin and underwhelming.

‘Is that as good as it gets?’ he remarked.

She smiled. ‘This is British plumbing we’re talking about. That’s the equivalent of Niagara Falls.’

His quick grin lifted her spirits and made the trickle of guilt dry up.

‘At least it’s hot,’ he said, testing the temperature before he hauled her into the cubicle.

‘Not for long.’

He grabbed her lemon verbena soap off the ledge, and worked up a lather, his hair plastered to his head, his eyes wicked with intent. ‘Then we better get this party started.’

Gentle hands cupped her breasts, lifting and testing the weight as his thumbs glided over pebbled nipples. The heat pulsed and tugged between her thighs.

She took the soap to wash him in return, putting all the emotion she felt into the task as her hands stroked the lean, muscular slopes of his abdomen, explored the roped sinews that defined his hip bones. She took his penis into her palm, felt it lengthen and harden as she caressed it.

Blood surged into her tender clitoris, and she knew she wanted him again, already, surging deep, the delicious decadent stretching feeling of his flesh entering hers. Touching her womb where their child grew.

Soon he would know, and, whatever his reaction, surely it would be okay, when this closeness, this physical joining felt so good, so right.

But then he lifted her breasts, the cooling water sluicing away the soap, and said, ‘I like the extra weight—it looks great on you.’

The approval in his gaze had the wave of guilt flopping over in her stomach. She couldn’t wait any longer. It wasn’t fair to him, or to their child. She drew away from him, her back wedged against the wall of the cubicle.

‘We need to get dressed. I have something I have to tell you.’

‘Okay.’

He flipped off the shower control, but took hold of her wrist as she opened the cubicle door. The sudden silence felt deafening, despite the blood roaring in her ears. He tugged her towards him as he stepped out behind her, tucked a finger under her chin, lifting her gaze to his. ‘What’s up? Is something wrong?’

‘No, I just...’ She gulped past the tightness.

Not yet. Get yourself together first. You need to tell him gently. Carefully.

Her gaze dropped to his erection. She certainly couldn’t function, let alone think clearly, while he was standing naked in front of her, visibly aroused.

‘I just need a minute.’

His grip had loosened, his gaze puzzled, but not yet wary. She pulled her hand free, headed for the door. ‘Shall we get dressed? I can meet you in the living room in ten minutes? Make you that coffee I promised?’

He shrugged, grabbed a towel from the rail to wrap around his waist. ‘Sure.’

She darted out of the door before he could change his mind.

* * *

‘All right, let’s have it, what was so important we couldn’t finish what I was busy starting in the shower?’

Ella smiled at the rueful tone, and glanced up from the cupcakes she was busy arranging on a plate.

He stood with his legs crossed at the ankles, leaning against the kitchen counter. He’d changed into a pair of faded jeans and a black T-shirt, which must have been in the bag he’d had with him. Had he come straight from the airport, then, to see her? She felt a renewed spike of optimism, of hope.

She’d figured so many outcomes for what she was about to tell him, but none of them had included the possibility that he might be pleased with her news. Yes, it would be a shock, but why had she assumed it would necessarily be a disaster?

She never would have guessed he would come to London, or the chemistry between them would have remained as hot for him as it still was for her.

‘Why don’t you sit down?’ She gestured towards the living area. ‘The coffee will be ready any minute.’

His brows lifted, the rueful grin taking on a mischievous tilt. ‘It’s not coffee I want.’ Stepping close to hold her chin, he gave her lips a quick peck. The kiss felt casual and affectionate. The hope swelled in her chest. ‘But we’ll play it your way, for now.’

He settled on the sofa, while she fussed over the coffee for another precious few minutes, getting her thoughts lined up.

Finally she couldn’t put it off any longer. Sitting on the opposite sofa, she placed the plate of cherry-chocolate cupcakes on the coffee table and poured him a cup of coffee. She had a momentary wobble when he told her he took it black, and it occurred to her how much she didn’t know about him.

Don’t chicken out now. Telling him is the first step to finding out all those things you don’t know.

She took a long fortifying sip of the fennel tea she’d made for herself. ‘I’m not sure where to start,’ she began, galvanised by the thought that she was excited about taking this new step.

He lifted a cupcake off the plate. ‘Then why don’t you start by telling me why you ran out on me?’

‘I didn’t,’ she said, frowning at the slight edge in his voice. ‘I woke up and you were gone. I figured you’d run out on me.’

‘Damn, seriously?’ He looked genuinely stunned, which was a balm to her ego.

‘Well, yes. And I felt uncomfortable with your friend Josie there.’ She remembered the spike of dismay and asked, ‘Who is she, by the way? She seemed to know you exceptionally well.’

His eyebrows rose and his lips crinkled. ‘Are you jealous?’

Colour stained her cheeks.

He chuckled. ‘Josie’s like a kid sister. An annoying kid sister. Believe me, you’ve got nothing to be jealous of.’

‘I didn’t say I was jealous.’

‘Uh-huh.’ He sent her a confident smile. And she huffed out a laugh. The tension in her chest easing.

He took a large bite of the cupcake, held it up. ‘Damn, that’s good.’ Finishing it off in a few quick bites, he placed the paper casing on the plate. ‘So why don’t you spill it, whatever it is you have to talk about. Before we get back into the shower.’

The colour in her cheeks flared again, under his watchful gaze. ‘Okay, it’s, well, it’s sort of hard to say right out.’

She gulped down the new lump in her throat.

‘Yeah? That doesn’t sound good.’ He sent her a crooked smile. ‘I really hope you’re not going to tell me you’re married.’

She laughed, the tension dissolving a little. ‘God, no, it’s nothing like that. It’s...’ She examined her fingers, suddenly shy rather than scared. Wouldn’t it be amazing if he was actually as excited about this as she was? ‘Actually, I’m pregnant. That’s why, well, I’ve gained some weight.’

The crooked smile remained, but the curiosity in his eyes turned to astonishment as his gaze dipped to her breasts and then her belly. He straightened on the sofa, his mouth opening. Then closing. Then opening again. ‘You...? You’re expecting a kid? You don’t look pregnant.’

She waited for the obvious next question, but he just continued to stare at her belly.

‘Well, I’m only twelve weeks, so it doesn’t show much yet.’ She placed her hands on the slight swelling, suddenly keen to emphasise it for his benefit.

His head lifted. She’d expected surprise, even shock when he made the connection; she’d even prepared herself for annoyance, and anger. What she hadn’t prepared herself for, though, was the way the relaxed, sexy charm had been ripped away to be replaced by complete horror. ‘Tell me you’re not saying what I think you’re saying?’

Her pulse throbbed painfully in her neck, and she cradled her abdomen, the urge to shield her child, instinctive. She couldn’t speak, so she simply nodded.

He leapt up from the sofa like a puppet who had been rudely jerked on stage. The vicious swear word echoed around the tiny room. ‘You have got to be kidding me? It can’t be mine—you said you were on the pill.’

She’d expected this accusation, on the numerous occasions when she’d had this conversation in her head. But all the careful explanations, the reasoned arguments, the excuses absolving her all seemed to pale into insignificance in the face of his frantic denial. And all she could manage was, ‘I know, I realised when I found out you may have got that impression, but I—’

‘You lied to me?’ He stepped forward, the stance threatening.

Somehow she knew he wouldn’t hurt her, not physically, but she could see the turmoil of emotion and it made her insides tangle into tight, torturous knots, the guilt that she’d kept so carefully at bay for weeks creating a yawning chasm in the pit of her stomach.

‘Why the hell did you lie?’ He dug his fingers into his hair, sending the damp strands into deep furrows. ‘Unless... Hell... You wanted to get knocked up? Is this a set-up? You figure I’ll pay you off?’

The accusation came so far out of left-field, she hadn’t seen it coming before it had smacked into her chest and hurled her heart into her throat. ‘What? No. I never...’ Her denial choked off at the contempt in his eyes. ‘You used a condom—how could I have planned it?’

‘I knew the cute and clueless act was too good to be true. But I fell for it anyway.’

‘What act? What are you talking about?’

‘Drop it, okay. You’ve got what you wanted.’ His eyes slid back to her belly, the light in them harsh and resentful. ‘My bun in your oven.’

‘No, you don’t understand. It was never planned.’ The justification, the explanation at last came tumbling out. ‘The pregnancy was...is an accident. It was all so rushed and...I didn’t think it would matter that I wasn’t on the pill.’

‘You didn’t think it would matter?’ His voice rose to a shout. ‘Are you nuts? I told you I didn’t want to risk it. What the hell about that did you not understand?’

‘No, that’s not what I meant. I didn’t think I could....’ She faltered, unable to reveal the truth about her medical history, her fertility issues, the test results she’d gone to Bermuda to escape. She couldn’t tell this stranger about any of that; it would make her too vulnerable, too raw, especially now, with her throat already aching with unshed tears.

‘You don’t have to be involved.’ She scrambled to justify, to explain, to avert the terrible feeling of loss. ‘I’ve made the decision to have this child. I want it. Very much.’ Her hands shook, the trembling having moved up from her toes, to her knees and across her torso.

Don’t you dare cry.

Why hadn’t she said all of this to start with, before she’d told him about the pregnancy? He obviously thought she was some kind of gold-digger. If she could just make him understand he didn’t have to feel responsible for this child, everything would be okay. But even as she told herself it, a part of her was dying inside at the knowledge that Cooper Delaney hated her now.

‘I just thought you should know.’

‘Right, so now I know,’ he snarled. ‘Thanks for that. And what the hell am I supposed to do with the information? You’ve told me a part of me is going to be walking around on this planet and I don’t get to have any say in that?’

She shook her head, the tears drying up inside her. Stay firm. Stay strong. Don’t break, not this time. ‘No. No, you don’t.’ She firmed her lips to stop them trembling. ‘I won’t have an abortion. And nothing you can do or say will make me.’

He flinched. ‘Who said anything about an abortion?’

‘I won’t do it. I want this baby very much. If you don’t, that’s okay. You never have to have anything to do with it.’

‘Yeah, right.’ Marching past her, he grabbed his bag off the floor. ‘Like that’s going to work.’ He slung the leather holdall over his shoulder and opened the door. Rain slashed down in angry currents against the hall window. But the summer storm that had seemed so cleansing, so perfect, so passionate only hours before, now appeared grey and dark and oppressive.

He sent her one last scathing look over his shoulder, the look of betrayal in his eyes palpable. And then slammed the door behind him.

She sank down against the wall, her legs too shaky to hold her, and pressed her forehead into her knees. And listened to his footfalls, heavy on the stairs, fade away into nothingness.

* * *

Coop stumbled out onto the street, his heart hitting his ribcage hard enough to shatter bone. Rain slashed at his face as he dumped his bag on the sidewalk and smashed his fist into the brick wall that marked the perimeter of her apartment building.

Pain hurtled up his arm, lanced across his knuckles, but went some way to dulling the terrifying emotions consuming him.

You dumbass. What the hell were you thinking? Coming here? Trusting her?

He sucked the battered knuckles, and picked up his bag in the other hand.

He hailed a cab, jumped in out of the rain and shouted through the grill, ‘Take me to a hotel.’

‘How about the Renaissance, sir? It’s pricey but very plush.’

‘Sure, great, whatever,’ he croaked, his voice hoarse, his whole body starting to shake. He didn’t give a damn where he went—he just had to get away from the memory of those big eyes glossy with unshed tears.

But then he caught the glittering pink logo on the window of Ella’s cupcake store as the cab sped past it. The panic boiled in his gut as the taste of her lingered on his tongue and the residual heat throbbed in his crotch. Mocking him.

He sank his head into his hands and wanted to howl with pain and frustration.

God help him, it didn’t matter what he did now, or how much money he made or how fast he ran—he could never ever be an island again. And it was all his own damn fault.


EIGHT (#uc7b533c5-be73-5780-b283-1d1b0d6cff9e)

Coop stared at the glittery pink lettering on the front of the diner, and then past it through the glass. He spotted Ella in front of the counter, busy chatting to a customer, her hand resting casually on her belly—and swallowed to ease the thickening in his throat.

Play it cool. No more freak-outs allowed.

He’d spent a night in the gothic splendor of the five-star hotel overlooking St Pancras Station, not sleeping a wink, as he went over every single thing she’d said, and every single thing he’d said. And he’d come to a few important—if shattering—conclusions.

He didn’t have the first clue what he was supposed to do about the bomb she’d just exploded in his nice, easy, island life. Correction: his formerly nice, easy, island life. Fatherhood was something he hadn’t planned for and didn’t know a damn thing about.

And he hated not knowing, because it reminded him too much of his childhood. The dead weight of responsibility, the relentless pressure of being constantly trapped without a way out and that terrifying feeling of insecurity, of never knowing if he would be strong enough, smart enough, man enough to make things right for his mom.

He didn’t want to live through all that again. And he hated that he would have to now.

And because of that he’d panicked yesterday, when Ella had told him her news—and had dropped a pretty big bomb on her in return.

Because however much he might want to blame all this on Ella, he knew now—once he’d taken the time to examine all the facts—that he couldn’t. He also knew he couldn’t just walk away from his own kid and forget about it—the way she’d suggested—because that would make him no better than his old man. And he was pretty sure he couldn’t do that and live with himself afterwards.

All of which left him with only one option. Suck it up, stop whining about what he couldn’t change and try to deal with it.

And the only way he could do that was to deal with Ella first.

Forcing the trademark ‘never-let-them-see-you’re-scared’ smile he’d perfected as a kid onto his lips, he pushed open the door. But as Ella’s gaze locked on his and her eyes went wide with distress his step faltered, his heartbeat stumbled and the thickening in his throat got a hell of a lot worse.

* * *

‘Coop?’ Ella bit into her lip, the tremor of shock and anxiety almost as overwhelming as the wave of relief.

She’d never expected to see him again, had convinced herself that his angry departure was for the best. She’d told herself over and over again during a long night spent on the phone to Ruby, and then lying in bed staring at the crack in her ceiling, that she couldn’t make Coop want to be a father—any more than she could make him forgive her for something she hadn’t done. So it would be pointless and futile to contact him again.

‘We need to talk,’ he said, his deep voice slightly strained but with none of the explosive anger from their last encounter. ‘Can you take a break?’

She nodded, too stunned to speak, then glanced round the shop to locate her business partner. Ruby stood chatting to a young couple to whom she’d just delivered a couple of chai lattes. But then her head came up and she spotted Coop. All traces of the genial hostess disappeared as she marched back across the café.

‘What do you want?’ Ruby stepped behind the counter to stand shoulder to shoulder with Ella. ‘Haven’t you done enough?’

‘I’m here to talk to Ella, honey, not you,’ Coop said, the casual tone in direct contrast to the challenge in his eyes.

‘Well, “honey”...’ Ruby sneered the endearment, squaring up for a fight ‘...you’re going to have to go through me to get to her after the immature way you behaved yesterday.’

‘It’s okay, Ruby.’ Ella touched her friend’s arm, emboldened by her support—even if it was counterproductive right now.

The last thing she wanted was for Coop to find out how much his accusations had hurt her, or how she’d dissolved into a quivering wreck after his departure. Showing that kind of weakness would only put her on the defensive. ‘Coop’s right—we need to talk. Is it okay if I take a few minutes?’

‘Are you sure?’ Ruby asked.

‘We’ll need more than a few minutes to sort this mess out,’ Coop interrupted before she could reassure her friend. ‘I’ve got a car waiting outside to take us back to my hotel, so we can have some privacy.’

This mess.

Ella’s heart shrank. Her baby wasn’t a mess. But if that was the way Coop saw it, then sorting out his involvement—or rather the lack of it—would be fairly clear cut. And she supposed she should be glad that he seemed prepared to do that much.

‘Why do you need privacy?’ Ruby interrupted again. ‘So you can shag her and then have another temper tantrum like a two-year—’

‘Ruby, please, don’t.’ Ella raised her voice, grateful for the spark of indignation. ‘I’ll be fine. All we’re going to do is talk.’ She wasn’t about to make the mistake again of believing the strong physical attraction between them meant an emotional connection too.

She really didn’t know this man. His volatile reaction last night had proved that. This ‘talk’ would be a chance to find out more about him—while also reassuring him that her expectations of him were zero as far as the baby was concerned.

Ruby continued to eyeball Coop for several pregnant seconds, but, instead of rising to the provocation, he grinned.

‘You heard the lady.’ He slung his hands in his pockets, the picture of nonchalance as he raised an eyebrow, the challenge unmistakable. ‘All we’re going to do is talk.’ His gaze landed on Ella and the unwanted hum of awareness seared through her body. ‘This time.’

* * *

‘How are you? Is everything okay with the kid?’

Ella turned, to find Coop watching her from the opposite side of the cab as it crawled down Camden High Road. After persuading Ruby that she was woman enough to handle a private chat with her baby’s father, she’d been careful to seat herself as far away as possible from him. But the tentative enquiry and the flicker of concern knocked her off balance again.

‘Yes, everything’s good.’

‘I just wondered because...’ he paused to clear his throat, looking more uncomfortable than she’d ever seen him ‘...I was kind of rough with you. In your apartment. You know, before you told me.’

She blinked, puzzled. He hadn’t been rough, not until after he’d heard the news and then only verbally. But then it dawned on her what he was referring to. Their frantic lovemaking against the wall. The blush climbed into her cheeks and heat pulsed in her sex at the visceral memory. While a matching, much more dangerous warmth tugged under her breastbone.

‘Oh, no, everything’s fine, really. Sex isn’t a problem in pregnancy—as long as we don’t start breaking furniture it should be okay.’ The blush launched up to her hairline as it occurred to her what she had implied. ‘Not that we’re likely to be...well, you know.’

The sensual smile was even more unsettling. ‘Yeah, I get it.’ He tapped his fingers against his knee. ‘Listen, I owe you another apology.’

She struggled not to be seduced by the smouldering look he appeared to be sending her, which she decided had to be an optical illusion. After their argument yesterday, he wasn’t likely to jump her again. And she definitely did not plan to jump him.

‘What for?’ she said, unable to deny the tiny trickle of hope at his conciliatory tone. The less acrimony between them, the more chance they had of making this talk as painless as possible.

‘For losing my temper. For freaking out when you told me...’ his gaze dipped pointedly to her belly ‘...about your condition. For making out like this was all your fault.’

Relief was sharp and sweet at the heartfelt words. ‘So you don’t believe I got pregnant to set you up any more?’

He had the grace to look embarrassed. ‘Not once I’d examined the facts. I figure opening that first condom packet with my teeth probably wasn’t the smartest thing I’ve ever done.’ His gaze fixed on her. ‘And after what happened yesterday, I’m guessing even if you had told me the truth about being on the pill, I would have risked it. Things had got pretty hot by then already.’

The muscles of her thighs melted as the pesky hum of reaction shimmered down to her core.

‘I appreciate your honesty.’ She nodded, accepting his apology with deliberate formality, while crossing her legs in an attempt to ease the ache in her sex.

Not going there. Remember?

‘I owe you an apology, too.’ She heaved a sigh, knowing she was hardly blameless in the misunderstandings that had arisen between them.

‘Yeah?’ He arched a questioning brow.

‘I should have corrected you...’ The blush fired up her neck as his lips quirked, the sensual knowledge in his smile not doing a thing to cool the hot spot between her thighs. ‘But I wasn’t really paying a lot of attention to the conversation at that point.’

‘You and me both.’ The low comment was husky with intimacy.

She cleared her throat. Hormones behave. Now. ‘But to be honest, I really didn’t think it would make any difference because...’ She hesitated. ‘I’ve had some fertility issues. Believe me, the chances of me getting pregnant were extremely slim.’

He frowned. ‘How slim?’

‘Well, if my doctor’s reaction is anything to go by when she confirmed the pregnancy, I think we might be talking lottery-winning odds.’

‘Damn. Seriously?’

She nodded, smiling at his reaction. He sounded more stunned than pleased, but it still felt good to share such an important moment in their child’s life with him.

‘When did you find out?’ he asked, and her smile faded.

Blast.

‘Um...’ She glanced out of the window as the pristine new Eurostar terminal at St Pancras Station inched by.

‘You know, that you were knocked up?’ he prompted, obviously thinking she hadn’t understood the question.

She studied the station’s redbrick Victorian grandeur as they turned onto Euston road, desperate to avoid his unsettling gaze and the equally unsettling question. He’d been honest with her, and she knew she owed him the same courtesy, but would telling him the truth break this momentary truce? Obviously, she should have contacted him weeks ago, and she hadn’t. If only she hadn’t been such a coward.

‘What’s the deal, Ella?’ he probed, already sounding suspicious. ‘How long have you known about this?’

She sighed. ‘Four weeks.’

She tensed at the muffled curse as the cab stopped outside the station hotel.

‘Great.’ He didn’t say another word, just paid the cabbie and ushered her into the Renaissance’s grand lobby area.

Every time she’d passed the historic hotel since its renovation a few years ago, she’d wondered what it looked like inside. But she barely registered the lavish vaulted ceiling or the plush interior design as his palm settled on the small of her back, and he directed her to the elevators.

His suite on the third floor had a spiral wrought-iron staircase that curved onto a second level, and original Gothic arched windows that looked down onto the station concourse. But as he poured out the bottle of sparkling mineral water she’d requested into a glass filled with ice it wasn’t the hotel’s palatial elegance she found intimidating.

‘Okay, so now I want to know—why the delay?’ He helped himself to a cola from the room’s bar. ‘Because I’ve got to tell you, I’m not feeling real happy about the fact that you’ve known about this kid for a month and you didn’t get in touch.’

She’d been expecting the question ever since they’d arrived. And had prepared an answer. But she paused to take a hasty gulp of the icy, effervescent water.

She didn’t want to tell him how she’d initially panicked about his reaction. Because then she’d have to tell him about Randall, and the child she’d lost. And she didn’t see how that would serve any purpose now. Except to make her look bad. And she looked bad enough already.

‘Stop stalling, Ella,’ he murmured, watching her over the rim of his glass. And she had the disconcerting thought again that he seemed to be able to read her a lot easier than she was able to read him.

‘All right,’ she huffed, perching on a bar stool. ‘If you must know, I did an internet search to get your details, so I could contact you.’ This wasn’t lying, she justified, it was simply failing to tell the whole truth. ‘And, well...’ Okay, maybe this part of the truth made her seem a little pathetic. But pathetic she could live with.

‘And...?’ he prompted, as if he didn’t already know what she was going to say.

‘I thought you were a freelance boat captain who lived in a one-room beach shack. I wasn’t expecting to discover your name mentioned as one of the top young entrepreneurs in the Caribbean. It was disconcerting.’

He sent her an unapologetic smile.

What was so funny?

‘And totally unexpected,’ she added. ‘I needed time to adjust to that before contacting you. So I waited, probably a bit longer than I should have.’

‘A bit?’ The grin spread as he propped himself on the bar stool next to her and nudged her knee with his. Crowding her personal space. ‘Four weeks is an awful lot of adjustment time, don’t you think? And you never did contact me, honey. I came to you.’

‘There was an awful lot to adjust to.’ She raised her chin. He’d tricked her, and pretended to be someone he wasn’t. Surely she was entitled to be a little miffed about that? ‘It made me realise that I didn’t really know anything about you, and that scared me.’

‘You knew the important stuff.’ He ran his thumb across her bottom lip.

‘Don’t.’ She jerked back, the sudden touch almost as shocking as the tenderness in his eyes.

‘You scare pretty easy, don’t you, Ella?’ The probing gaze made her feel as if he could see through her T-shirt and jeans to the naked, needy girl she’d once been. ‘Why is that?’

She tried to regulate her staggered breathing, unable to take her eyes off his.

Sexual desire was something she could handle. Would handle. But she didn’t want to need him. To need any man. Not again.

‘Do you think we could talk about the baby now?’ she said. ‘I have to get back to work.’

* * *

‘Sure.’ Coop shrugged, the tension in his shoulder blades nothing compared to the kick of need in his crotch.

Damn, he wanted her again: that lush mouth on his, those hard nipples grinding against his chest, the hot, wet heat gripping him like a velvet glove.

And he was pretty damn sure she wanted him too.

He could smell her arousal, the spicy scent of her need, ever since she’d climbed into the cab and sat stiffly in the far corner, as if she was worried she’d spontaneously combust if she got too close.

She still fascinated him, and excited him. And even though he kept telling himself hooking up with her again had the potential to turn this mess into a total disaster—another part of him was thinking this mess couldn’t get much bigger if it tried. So why should they deny themselves? Only problem was, he wasn’t sure if that part of him was the part that was supposed to be doing the thinking, or a part that was positioned a lot further south.

He had to admit he was also very curious, as well as kind of touched, by her reaction when she’d discovered the truth about Dive Guys and his wealth. Wouldn’t most women feel entitled to hit him for some kind of compensation? Especially once they found out how much he was worth? Instead of that she’d ‘needed time to adjust’? What was with that? One thing, it sure didn’t make him feel any better about having accused her of setting him up.

He poured the last of his cola into his glass, took a long swig to buy himself some time and figure out what to do now.

She hadn’t said anything, the expectation in her face tempered by wariness. As if she was worried about what he was going to say, but determined to put the best possible spin on it.

‘The way I see it, Ella,’ he began, acknowledging that it was definitely a strike in his favour that she was so easy to read, ‘however this happened, we’re both going to be parents of the same kid. And you’re right, we don’t know nearly enough about each other.’ He let his eyes wander over her torso, vindicated by the bullet points thrusting against the tight cotton of her T. ‘Except in the most basic sense.’ He slugged down the last of the cola, and let the cool caffeinated liquid soothe his parched throat. ‘How about you come back to Bermuda for a couple of weeks?’ The offer came out of his mouth before he’d really had a chance to consider it, but it instantly felt right when her eyes lit up with delighted astonishment. ‘And while you’re there we can iron out how we’re going to handle stuff once the kid’s born.’

‘You want to be involved? In the baby’s life?’ She sounded so overjoyed, he had to bite the inside of his mouth to keep from grinning back at her. Was it really going to be that easy?

‘Of course I do. It’s my kid too, isn’t it?’

‘Well, yes. Yes, it is.’ She flattened her hands across her abdomen, in that protective gesture that he was beginning to realise was entirely instinctive. And totally genuine.

His heartbeat slowed at the evidence of how much the baby meant to her already, even though it was probably no bigger than a shrimp. Then fluttered uncomfortably, at the knowledge that his child was unlikely to ever mean that much to him.

He could do responsibility, and loyalty, and commitment, up to a point. But the kind of blind faith and trust you needed to care about someone more than you cared about yourself? Forget it. He knew he’d never be able to do that again.

* * *

‘What on earth do you mean you’re going to Bermuda?’ Ruby stared. ‘For how long?’

‘I’m not sure, probably only a fortnight. He suggested I get an open ticket, but I doubt it’ll take longer than that.’ Although she had to admit she’d been impossibly touched when he’d sounded concerned that two weeks might not be enough time to sort out ‘all the baby stuff’.

‘Are you completely bonkers?’ Ruby propped her hands on her hips, the belligerent stance one Ella recognised.

‘He’s invited me and I think it’s a good idea.’ She sprinkled edible pink glitter onto the swirl of buttercream icing. And placed the finished cupcake onto the tower she was assembling for a nine-year-old’s birthday party, refusing to make eye contact with her friend. She’d expected this reaction. It didn’t mean she was going to enjoy dealing with it. She hated arguing with Ruby. ‘We’re having a child together. I’d like him to be involved if he wants to be, but I need to know a lot more about him to make that a realistic possibility. Especially as we live so far apart.’ She’d thought it all out, and it all made perfect sense.

Ruby tapped her foot. ‘So why can’t he stay in London so you can sort all that out here?’

Ella sighed, and wiped sugary hands on her apron. ‘He has a business to run.’

‘So do you.’ Ruby went straight for the jugular.

‘I know it’s not a good time.’ Ella faced her friend, and shook off the sting of guilt. They were already having to take out a loan to cover the extra staffing costs while she went on maternity leave, but... ‘It will be good for Sally and Gemma to have a trial run with you supervising before I have the baby and I’ve got enough saved to cover the cost of their wages while I’m away.’

‘You know very well this has nothing to do with the money,’ Ruby pointed out. ‘What about your antenatal appointments? What if something happens with the baby?’

‘Coop’s arranged for the top obstetrician on the island to handle my care while I’m there.’ Even if he had gone a little pale when she’d mentioned the problem. ‘But it’s unlikely to be more than a couple of weeks. I’ll still only be four months when I get back.’

‘Fine, well, now for the biggie.’ Ruby threw up her hands in exasperation. ‘What about the fact that Cooper Delaney is a complete jerk who accused you of being a gold-digger, and a liar and had you in floods of tears less than twenty-four hours ago? How do you know you can trust him not to be a jerk again once you’re stuck in Bermuda with him?’

I don’t.

Ella pushed away the doubt. He’d lost the plot when she’d told him about the baby, but he’d apologised for that and she knew he meant it. And anyway, this really wasn’t about her. ‘He’s the father of my child and he’s giving me a chance to get to know him better. Surely you can see I have to take it?’

‘Umm-hmm. And you don’t find it the tiniest bit suspicious that twenty-four hours after totally flipping out about this pregnancy he suddenly wants to be so intimately involved in it...’ Ruby paused for effect ‘...and you.’

‘Maybe.’ Of course she’d thought about it. After the initial euphoria at his offer, she’d calmed down enough to realise his sudden interest in the baby might not be the only reason he’d asked her to come to Bermuda.

But that didn’t alter the fact that he was the father of her child. And she did want him to be involved. And that going to Bermuda was the only way to find out if they could make that happen.

‘You’re absolutely determined to do this, aren’t you?’ Ruby sounded pained.

‘Yes.’

Ruby cursed sharply, defeated. ‘I guess it’s my own fault. If I hadn’t interfered and encouraged you to nail Captain Studly in the first place, you wouldn’t be in this situation.’

Ella grasped Ruby’s cheeks, forcing her gaze back to hers. ‘What situation? Getting the chance to have a child of my own? Getting to experience the miracle of becoming a mum? Something I was sure would never be possible? That situation?’

Ruby sent her a lopsided smile. ‘Okay, point taken. But do me a favour, okay?’

‘What favour?’

‘Don’t let all your happy over the pregnancy blind you to the truth about what’s really going on with him. You have a tendency to always want to see the best in people, Ella. And that’s one of the things I love about you. But try to be a little bit cautious this time.’

‘If this is about what happened with Randall, you don’t have to worry.’ Ella threaded her fingers through Ruby’s and held on. ‘I’m not going into this blind. I learnt that lesson when I was eighteen I’ll never fall in love that easily again.’ She’d made that mistake with Randall, and her baby had paid the price. ‘But I refuse to go into this scared either.’

She needed to take some risks, to solve the fascinating enigma that was Cooper Delaney. A man who had the laid-back, laconic charm of a beach bum, but had the drive and ambition to build a multimillion-dollar empire from nothing. A man who could worry about the child growing in her womb when they made love, and yet look at her with a hunger that burned right down to her soul.

She wanted to understand him—to know how he really felt about this pregnancy and this baby and her—but only so he could play an active role in her child’s life.

She wasn’t looking for anything else. She was sure of it.


NINE (#uc7b533c5-be73-5780-b283-1d1b0d6cff9e)

‘How was the trip?’ Coop reached in to grab her suitcase as Ella stepped out of the air-conditioned taxi into the sheltered carport rimmed by palm trees and flowering vines at the back of his property.

She fanned her face with the wide-brimmed straw hat she’d bought at the airport as the afternoon heat enveloped her. Bermuda in April had been in the mid-seventies and pleasantly hot; in late July it was hitting the high eighties and seemed to be sucking the life-force right out of her tired limbs.

‘Good. Thank you.’ She huffed to stop her sweaty hair sticking to her forehead as Coop paid the driver and waved him off.

The truth was it had been better than good, when she’d arrived at Gatwick Airport to discover the economy class ticket she’d insisted on purchasing herself, despite several terse emails from Coop before she left London, had been upgraded to first class. The added benefits of a three-course cordon bleu meal and a fold-down bed had made the eight-hour flight pass in a haze of anticipation. But now she was here, the impact of seeing him again was making the crows of doubt swoop like vultures in her stomach.

‘I appreciated the upgrade, but you really didn’t need to do that.’ She wanted to make it absolutely clear she did not expect him to bankroll her.

Picking up her suitcase, he slung her carry-on bag under his arm. ‘Sure I did.’ His gaze skimmed down to her midriff before he sent her an assured grin. ‘No baby of mine travels coach.’

The vultures in her stomach soared upward to flap around her heart and she stood like a dummy, stupidly touched by the reference to their child.

‘Come here.’ Resting his hand on her waist, he directed her towards the wooden steps that led out of the carport and into the back of the house. ‘Let’s get you out of this heat.’

The stairs led to the wide veranda of a white, wood-framed house that rose from the grove of palms to stand on a rocky outcropping. She’d admired the modern, two-storey colonial structure as they wound down the drive from the main gate. Up close, the building was dominated by the large windows covered by louvred shutters. The house appeared cool and airy even before they stepped off the veranda into a palatial, high-ceilinged living area that opened onto a wraparound porch, which looked down onto the cove below.

Dumping her bag and suitcase at the base of a curving staircase that led to the second level, Coop leaned against the balustrade and smiled. In a faded red and black Bermuda College T-shirt and ragged jeans, his bare feet bronze against the oak flooring, he looked more like the beach bum she remembered than the suited executive she’d found so intimidating in London.

‘So what do you think? Better than the hut, right?’

She swung round to take in the view and give herself a moment to regain the power of speech. Expensive, luxury furnishings—including a couple of deep-seated leather sofas, a huge flatscreen TV, a bar framed in glass bricks and a walled fireplace—adorned the tidy, minimalist living area. She stepped through the open doors onto the deck, hoping that the sea breeze would cool the heat rising up her neck. And spotted the edge of an infinity pool, sparkling on the terrace below the house. Steps carved into the stone led down through the grove of palms and banana trees, probably to the beach at Half-Moon Cove.





Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Получить полную версию книги.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/heidi-rice/mistresses-the-consequences-of-desire-beach-bar-baby-walk-on-th/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.