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Beach Bar Baby
Heidi Rice
Beach… After some bad news, Ella jets off to sunny Bermuda for a bit of solo R&R…Bar… By day six, surrounded by honeymooners and smug-marrieds, she has to admit the solo bit is getting a teeny bit boring! Why say no to a casual date at the bar with ripped, tanned and enigmatic Cooper Delaney?BABY! It’s really not Coop’s style to flirt with tourists, let alone hook up with one again. But he can’t get the sweet London girl out of his head.A business trip to Europe is the perfect chance to see her. Only he finds Ella curvier, prettier…and keeping a secret he was so not expecting…!



‘That’s enough of that.’ Coop lifted the rum cocktail out of her hand and held it easily out of reach. ‘I want you to be 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.
It was official. Ella’s flirt was now fully operational, and the intoxicating buzz of the Rum Swizzle was nothing compared to the glorious buzz of anticipation.
‘And where exactly would I be walking to?’ She arched her 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. ‘My beach hut’s down at the other end of the cove. You ready to take a stroll with me in the moonlight?’
The surge of excitement made her giddy. 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 power was as stimulating as the pulse of reaction when she heard him drag in a ragged breath.
She let him in, her tongue duelling with his as they sank into a ravenous kiss.
He broke away first, the pants of his breathing as thready as her own. ‘I’m gonna take that as a yes.’
Dear Reader
Who doesn’t love the idea of a wildly romantic, super-sexy holiday fling? You can throw caution to the wind and have the time of your life because the very best thing about it is that he’s not going to follow you home …
Um … unless you’re my heroine, Ella Radley, who ends up with rather more baggage to unpack than she intended when her holiday fling with studly boat captain Cooper Delaney leaves her with a surprise parting gift. And Cooper? Well, beneath that laid-back, relaxed beach bum charm there’s quite a lot of baggage too—but, luckily for him, Ella’s just the girl to unpack it for him … whether he wants it unpacked or not.
Now, Ella was a sunny, slightly kooky secondary character in a book I wrote several years ago called CUPCAKES AND KILLER HEELS (available on www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk) as an eBook), and readers since have asked me to write her story—which is frankly why she’s in this predicament. Poor Coop, though, is just an innocent bystander. Luckily he’s not that innocent, so I don’t think any of us need feel the least bit guilty about putting him through the wringer too.
There is a valuable lesson for us all to learn here: next time you spot some irresistible hunk across a crowded beach bar, who’s looking back at you with a matching ‘let’s get naughty’ glint in his eye, just remember that sometimes holiday flings can be too hot to handle!
I love to hear from readers—you can contact me through my website at www.heidi-rice.com
Heidi x
Beach Bar Baby
Heidi Rice


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
HEIDI RICE was born and bred and still lives in London, England. She has two sons who love to bicker, a wonderful husband who, luckily for everyone, has loads of patience, and a supportive and ever-growing British/French/Irish/American family. As much as Heidi adores ‘the Big Smoke’, she also loves America, and every two years or so she and her best friend leave hubby and kids behind and Thelma and Louise it across the States for a couple of weeks (although they always leave out the driving off a cliff bit).
She’s been a film buff since her early teens, and a romance junkie for almost as long. She indulged her first love by being a film reviewer for ten years. Then a few years ago she decided to spice up her life by writing romance. Discovering the fantastic sisterhood of romance writers (both published and unpublished) in Britain and America made it a wild and wonderful journey to her first Mills & Boon
novel.
Heidi loves to hear from readers—you can e-mail her at heidi@heidi-rice.com (mailto:heidi@heidi-rice.com), or visit her website: www.heidi-rice.com (http://www.heidi-rice.com)
Other Modern Tempted™ titles by Heidi Rice:
MAID OF DISHONOUR
This and other titles by Heidi Rice are available in eBook format from www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
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
Contents
Chapter One (#u21902b05-391c-5946-a53c-6389107160e1)
Chapter Two (#u7cbe37e7-7b88-5ccb-bdd2-37bf22a3026b)
Chapter Three (#uf7075d59-8d37-56f6-ada8-d974530beffc)
Chapter Four (#u0400f0c6-3519-5fed-9ffb-21bd3e9c7880)
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)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
ONE
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
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
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
‘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.’

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