Page 2 of Booked for Summer

Shame he’d been fixated on her boobs, because the thing was frigging heavy, but women had to stick together. Even sour-faced ones.

Once out of the station, she opened Google Maps on her phone and set off to the harbour, dragging her case behind her along the red brick path until she reached the wharf. And, wow, it was a pretty harbour: fishing boats jostling alongside sailing boats. Inhaling a lungful of fresh sea air, she set down her case and reread the email containing instructions for her pick-up.

Ignore the ferry sign, head instead for the Haven Resort water-taxi pontoon.

Apparently The Little Bay Book Shack was next door to a five-star resort, and she was hitching a ride on their boat.

Trundling her case behind her, she made her way along the waterfront, stopping at the wooden pontoons to look for a sign. She paused at a gleaming white motor yacht and gave a silent high-five when she read the name written in elegant font across the side. Holy cow. Now that’s what she called a boat transfer. It looked like it should have been moored at Monaco, waiting for an elegant film star in a floaty silk dress and uber chic shades, or a guy in a cream linen suit and Ray-Ban’s.

Not a travel-worn office minion in flip-flops.

But you’re not a minion now, not for the next three months. With a grin, she picked up her case and hopped on board. Jade Taylor, formerly of Twickenham, was heading to work on a frigging thirty-metre yacht.

‘Hello?’ She tapped on the smoked glass door.

It slid open, and as she craned her neck to look up at the man on the other side, her jaw almost fell to the floor. That guy in the linen suit and Ray-Bans? He was rightthere. The suit was pale blue not cream, and the shades were slipped into the top pocket of the jacket, but the whole image screamed hot, sexy film star. Jet-black hair, square jaw, steel-grey eyes, cheekbones that would make a model sigh. There was an edge to his looks– dark stubble, a scar that bisected his right eyebrow– that stopped him from looking too pretty, too perfect.

And left him looking instead like the hottest man she’d ever come across.

‘Er, hi, I’m Jade.’ Cool eyes stared back at her. Feeling self-conscious, she rubbed her sweaty palms on the shorts she’d slopped clam chowder soup down during yesterday’s mad dash tour of Boston. ‘Are you waiting for the transfer, too?’

His eyebrows scrunched together. ‘Sorry?’

‘The transfer to Haven Resort. Oh, wait, are you the driver?’ He didn’t look like a typical taxi driver, but this was awatertaxi.

A humming, awkward silence met her question, interrupted only by the gentle lap of water.

‘You’re waiting for a transfer to Haven Resort?’ he said finally.

Her belly fluttered. He even had a film star voice, all deep and gravelly with an American drawl. Still, he wasn’t exactly friendly. ‘That’s why I’m on the boat. And I presume you’re on it because you drive it.’

One of his dark brows arched upwards. ‘I own it.’

‘Oh.’ She knew a lot of taxi drivers owned their own cars, but this was another league. ‘But you drive it as well?’

He slid his hands into his pockets. ‘I sail her, yes.’

Sail, not drive, got it. Though the lack of an actual sail surely made him wrong, not her. She glanced around at the jetty. ‘Are we waiting for anyone else?’

His gaze swept her up and down. ‘You’re expecting me to take you to the Haven Resort?’

Was there an emphasis onyou, or had she imagined it? She straightened her back. ‘That is where I’m heading, yes.’ Fumbling around in her bag, she pulled out her phone. ‘My instructions say to head to the Haven Resort dock and catch the waiting water taxi.’

‘The Haven dock is the next one over.’

She frowned. ‘But it says Haven on the side of this boat.’

He sighed and rested his hand against the door frame. It tightened the white shirt across his chest, giving her a tantalising glimpse of tanned skin and dark chest hair. ‘Ocean Haven. It’s the name of my boat.’

‘Oh.’ Shit. Embarrassed now, she started to giggle, which was a habit she really wished she could break. ‘That’s a bit of a coincidence.’ Those eyes levelled with hers. Stormy grey, mysterious looking, they provided no clue as to what he was thinking. ‘So, I guess I’ll just hop off your boat and…’ She motioned towards a less impressive-looking boat moored up on the next pontoon. ‘Skedaddle onto that one.’

His gaze stayed on hers for another few humming beats before finally following the direction of her hand. ‘He appears to be waiting for you.’

And now she saw a weathered-looking man dressed in a white shirt and black shorts, standing at the front, looking over at them. ‘So he does.’

She gave her new driver/sailor/taxi a wave and went to pick up her case, but Mr Film Star let out a muffled curse and took it from her, stepping easily off the boat and onto the wooden pontoon. Then he turned and held out his hand to her. As she settled her hand into his, her tongue glued itself to the roof of her mouth. Warm, calloused, strong, his touch sent sparks racing across her skin and when his gaze collided with hers, something hot and achy pulsed between them. Was he… was heattractedto her? Did he feel this, too? But in a flash his hand was gone, and with it the moment.

Pulse still racing, she watched him stride ahead of her to the next jetty and hand her case over to the guy on the boat.

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