The Trouble with Mojitos

Romy Sommer

A division of HarperCollinsPublishers

www.harpercollins.co.uk

Contents

Romy Sommer

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

About HarperImpulse

Copyright

About the Publisher

Romy Sommer

By day I dress in cargo pants and boots for my not-so-glamorous job of making movies. But at night I come home to my two little Princesses, and we dress up in tiaras and pink tulle … and I get to write Happy Ever Afters. Since I believe every girl is a princess, and every princess deserves a happy ending, what could be more perfect?

To Donna, for a lifetime of friendship.

Prologue

There is a legend told by the elders of Los Pajaros of how the neighbouring island of Tortuga came to be uninhabited.

It was midsummer, at the height of the seventeenth century, when the ship first sailed into the calm waters of the natural harbour at Fredrikshafen. In those days, the town was a prosperous settlement and traders came from all corners of the Caribbean to sell sugar, spices and slaves, so a ship was not an uncommon sight. But there was something different about this ship, so that heads turned and all work along the docks ceased as the ship sailed into view.

The legends say it was a ship made of gold, encrusted with jewels, its sails made of the finest silks from the Indies. For it was a royal ship, and it carried a princess.

There was one man on the docks, though, for whom the ship’s arrival was to mean more than just a sight to behold. He was a pirate captain, a hard man who’d been cast out of his homeland, a man with no heart. But when he saw the princess, fair and pale and regal where she stood in the ship’s prow looking towards the island which was to be her new home, he saw the vulnerability in her face, and he loved her.

As the ship berthed beside the quay, the princess waited on its deck for her betrothed, the governor of these islands. She looked out over the busy docks and she saw a man who made her heart beat faster and her breath quicken.

By the time her betrothed came to claim her, it was too late.

As the governor led his princess away, to the golden carriage that awaited them, she turned to look back over her shoulder and her gaze met that of the dark-eyed man who’d won her heart with nothing more than a crooked smile.

The pirate winked at her.

The governor and his royal bride were to be married within the week, in a festival with more pomp and finery than the islanders had ever seen, a festival worthy of royalty. The people crowded the streets to see the show, and they got a show indeed.

For the pirate led his marauders right into the heart of the town’s cathedral, and snatched the bride from before the very altar to take her back to his home on Tortuga.

The governor sent his ships in hot pursuit of the pirate ship, and the sound of their cannon balls rocked the whole island. The battle raged, fierce and terrifying, for a day and a night before silence fell at last.

Only one ship returned.

It sailed into the harbour with the grim-faced governor at the helm. Neither he nor any of his sailors ever spoke of that day again, but soon everyone on Los Pajaros knew that the governor had cast a curse on Isla Tortuga. He was from the far away land of Westerwald, a land rich in magic as well as gold, and his curse carried all the magic of his people.

From that moment on, the governor waged a war on all pirates, dedicating his life to hunting them down and killing them. And when a terrible storm ravaged Tortuga and the citizens came begging for refuge, the governor showed them no mercy and ordered them killed too.

And so the island of Tortuga was abandoned to its fate. Those fishermen who strayed too close returned with tales of the carcasses of ships lying deep in the water, and claimed they heard the death cries of the many of who died that fateful day. Gradually the sea covered over the wrecks, and a coral reef grew around them, and none but the sea turtles ever disturbed their slumber.

“But what became of the princess and her pirate captain?” the children of Los Pajaros always ask.

Their elders shrug. “No one ever knew their fate. Some say they drowned with their ship in the great battle. Some say they died in the storm, abandoned by their own people who blamed them for their ruin.”

But there is one old woman, a wizened, wise woman, who tells anyone who will listen that the pirate and his princess were happy, because they lived and died together.

“And … ” she leans close, her voice a rough whisper, “it is said that when the pirate and his princess return to Isla Tortuga, the curse will be broken.”

Chapter One

@KenzieCole101: Paradise is not all it’s cracked up to be.

“A mojito, please.”

Kenzie sagged against the bar counter, not caring that her order sounded desperate or her body language suggested impatience. She needed alcohol, and she needed it now.

The benefit of an empty bar was that the drink came reassuringly quickly, poured from an ice cold jug ready and waiting, and complete with swizzle stick, sprig of mint and paper parasol. She ditched all of them and tossed the drink back.

“Rough day?” The dreadlocked bar tender leaned on the scarred wooden counter.

“You don’t know the half of it.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“Thanks, but I didn’t come here to talk.” She’d done enough of that all day. Talk, talk, talk, and still nothing to show for it. Now she understood how used car salesmen felt. Used.

It was enough to drive a girl to drink. Or at least to the resort’s beach bar, since hitting the minibar in her hotel room was just too sad to contemplate.

She didn’t drink alone. For that matter, she didn’t usually drink. Not these days.

Beyond the thatched cabana, the sky flamed every shade of pink and orange imaginable as the sun set over the white sand and surf. But here inside the bar was dark, shadowy and strangely comforting after a day of white-hot heat.

“She’ll have another.”

She turned to the wryly amused voice, and wished she hadn’t as she spotted the dark figure at the shadowy end of the long bar. Great. The resident barfly, no doubt. As if she needed another reason to hate this resort, this island, and the whole stinking Caribbean.

“I can order my own drinks, thank you.”

The shadowed figure shrugged and turned his attention back to his own drink. “Suit yourself.”

What was it with the men in this place? They didn’t think a woman could order her own drinks, didn’t think a woman could do business, wouldn’t even give her the time of day. She ground her teeth, the effects of the first drink not quite enough to blur the edges of her mood. “I’d like another, please.”

She ignored the deep-throated chuckle down the other end of the bar as the barman removed her glass to re-fill it.

The second drink followed the first a little more slowly, and this time she took a moment to savour the alcohol-drenched mint leaves. Now she felt better.

But she was still screwed.

Neil had known it when he sent her out here. He’d known she’d be stonewalled, he knew he’d set her an impossible task, and still he’d sent her. He’d expected her to fail. Perhaps even wanted her to fail.

There were days when her past seemed very far behind her. And then there were days like today, when it seemed she’d never escape the follies of her youth.

“Sod him!”

“That’s the spirit.” The stranger at the other end of the bar slid from his bar stool, out of the shadows and into the yellow lamplight.

In another time and place he might have looked gorgeous, but in low-slung jeans that had seen better days, black long-sleeved tee, with hair in drastic need of a cut, several days’ worth of beard, and darkly glittering eyes, he was devastating.

Pirate devastating. Bad boy devastating.

Kenzie swallowed. Double great.

This was supposed to be a family resort, for heaven’s sake. Instead, the beach bar was as good as deserted, and she was alone with two strange men. Would the bartender leap to her defence if this latter day marauder made a move on her?

She doubted it. He’d probably stand back and laugh at the silly gringo girl, like everyone else she’d met over the last three days.

Though she tried hard not to notice, she was ultra-aware when the stranger came to stand beside her, leaning up against the bar close enough to touch. He didn’t smell much like a barfly. In fact, he smelled damned fine, exuding raw, primal masculinity. She turned to face him, trying hard not to breathe him in.

“What do you want?” she challenged, setting her hands on her hips.

“Nothing. I just don’t think it’s healthy to drink alone.”

“Oh really? And what exactly were you doing before I got here?”

His mouth quirked, on the edge of a not-quite smile. “I came here so I wouldn’t have to drink alone.”

He seriously needed a better pick-up line. “Good luck finding someone else to drink with, then. I don’t need company.”

“Are you always this friendly?”

He was smirking, damn him!

She was usually much friendlier. But since she’d sworn off bad boys for good, she didn’t need this one in her face, oozing smarminess and temptation. And especially on a day like this when she’d been forcibly reminded how hanging out with the wrong sort could destroy a girl’s reputation.

There was even a moment this afternoon she’d contemplated changing her name and starting fresh somewhere else. Perhaps across the Atlantic, because England just seemed to be getting smaller with every passing year.

She turned back to the bartender. “Where is everyone, anyway? I thought this resort was near capacity.”

Again it wasn’t the bartender who answered. “It’s karaoke night in the main hotel bar.” Which would explain the blaring 80s music she’d heard on her way past reception.

“You don’t want to join them?” She barely caught the mockery beneath her drinking companion’s words.

She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not really into karaoke, thanks.”

“So you’re here to get drunk then. Join the club.” He raised his glass to her. Rum and cola. A pirate’s drink. How unimaginative.

“I never get drunk. I just had a tough day.”

“What was so tough about it – too much snorkelling, sailing and lying on the beach?” This time the mocking tone was impossible to miss.

She straightened her shoulders. “I’m here to work, not play.”

“Pity.” He glanced down over her attire, taking in the crumpled white tee, khaki cargo pants and dusty hiking boots. “You don’t look dressed for work. What is it you do?”

“I’m a location scout for a film company that wants to shoot a feature here on the island.” Or rather a film company that wanted to shoot somewhere in the Caribbean. There were other scouts out on other islands. She’d only been thrown this job as a bone to her best friend, who’d practically begged for Kenzie to be given a chance.

The pirate’s gaze swept over her again with the same sardonic look she’d got from the harbour master, the clerk at the mayor’s office, and that officious jerk at Environmental Services. “A film shoot. Sounds like fun.”

Except he didn’t sound at all thrilled. He sounded bored. The same way she was starting to feel. Just three days ago, she’d been so psyched for this job that she’d practically bounced off the plane. Warm sun, wide blue sky, palm trees, and the chance to finally prove her worth – what wasn’t there to like about Los Pajaros?

A lot it seemed.

She really needed to recapture her enthusiasm. Perhaps if she were more passionate, she’d be able to convince someone…anyone…to give this film a shot. To give her a shot.

She injected as much excitement into her voice as she could muster. “It’s kind of Pirates of the Caribbean meets Lost. With a bit of comedy thrown in.”

Not that she’d read the script, of course. That was classified. All she’d needed to know was the list of locations the director wanted and how much the producer was willing to pay for them. Easy, right?

It should have been. She’d fixed locations for dozens of shoots, usually the kind that had nothing more than goodwill to pay with. Now she had a big studio movie, a Hollywood director to impress and a budget to die for, and she couldn’t get a foot in the door. What was wrong with this place?

The pirate’s blistering, dark gaze raked over her. “So what does a location scout do?”

“Mostly I take pictures and send them back to the director. If he likes what he sees, then I negotiate permission for the crew to film there.”

“Does your director like what he’s seen so far?”

And that was where her problems began. She hadn’t sent a thing yet. Not anything the director could use, anyway. She had no doubt the scouts who’d been sent to the Virgin Islands and Bahamas were doing way better.

“I hired a charter boat, but the skipper only took me to all the usual tourist spots, and they’re completely useless for our needs. Either too small, or too rocky, or too busy. I’m looking for a bay big enough to hold a pirate ship, and a long stretch of white beach with no sign of human habitation – and preferably a handy bit of tropical forest that isn’t too dense for us to shoot in.”

She rubbed the back of her neck. “According to Google Earth, there are a few uninhabited islands not far from Los Pajaros, but the skipper refused to take me to any of them without a permit. The clerk at the harbour master’s refused to give me the permit without a letter from the Environmental Services office, who refused to give me a letter without the governor’s permission.”

“The governor’s role is purely titular. He wouldn’t be much help.”

“I gathered. His office sent me to the mayor and he’s almost impossible to get in to see. I waited for the entire afternoon. Do you know the mayor’s waiting room doesn’t even have air conditioning! How can the mayor’s office not have air conditioning?”

“Depends which waiting room you’re in.” Her pirate smiled for the first time, but there was still a twist of mockery in the way his mouth curved. “There are two, and only one gets you an audience.”

She’d suspected that officious secretary wanted to get rid of her. Even the women of Los Pajaros had it in for her. She recognised the run around when she saw it, but she wasn’t going to be so easy to get rid of.

He waved his now empty glass at the bartender. “Your boss doesn’t like you much, does he?”

“How can you tell?”

“Because he couldn’t have sent a worse person to do the job.”

Kenzie bristled. “I’m really good at what I do!”

“How old are you … twenty two?”

She pulled her shoulders straight and thrust her head high. “Thirty two.”

He shrugged. “No offence, sweetheart, but one, you’re a woman. Two, you look like a kid fresh out of high school. And three, you’re not from around here. This is a tight-knit community and wary of strangers. If your boss had done his homework, he’d have sent a man. Preferably a man with Caribbean connections.”

That figured. Neil always did his homework, so he’d known she was all wrong for the job and he’d sent her anyway. He made no secret he thought she was nothing more than a party girl playing at being a location scout.

The face didn’t help. Baby face genes were more a curse than anyone realised.

So Neil had given the plum pickings of the Caribbean to the other scouts and sent her off to chase the long shot, the backwater island group that had never hosted a big film shoot before. She was sure the other scouts weren’t getting the same run around.

Still, until today, she’d been convinced she could prove him wrong. That feeling she’d had ever since she could remember that something amazing was just around the corner, seemed stronger than ever.

Gran had always said she had good instincts, and from the moment she’d seen the satellite images of these islands, Kenzie’s instincts had been screaming at her.

She sighed and closed her eyes. Perhaps her instincts were lying. It wouldn’t be the first time. And after ten years of trying one job after another and never finding that dream, her usual optimism was starting to take a beating.

What did Gran know, anyhow? The last time Kenzie had visited the nursing home, Gran hadn’t even recognised her.

She didn’t argue when the bartender refilled her mojito glass. She lifted it in a toast to her drinking companion. “Sod them all.”

He raised his drink and grinned. “Sod them all.”

They drank in silence, and when she was done, Kenzie pushed her glass away. Three mojitos on an empty stomach was her limit for one day.

She needed to regroup. She needed a back up plan.

After all, she’d been in the film business long enough now to know that nothing ever went according to plan the first time round. There was always a Plan B. Or C or D. And somehow everything always worked out in the end.

She would make it. She was destined for great things, and this movie would be the beginning. She’d start with some positive thinking and an attitude adjustment.

Plastering on her best ‘I just know you’re gonna love me’ smile, she held out her hand. “I’m Mackenzie Cole. My friends call me Kenzie.”

He gave her outstretched hand a perfunctory shake. “Rik.”

“You have a surname?”

“None that matters.”

She rolled her eyes. “So Rik, what do you do for a living?”

“Nothing much.”

Hmm. So he was going to play the Mystery Man. She squinted suspiciously at him. “You’re not some trust fund baby out for a good time, are you?”

“Do I look like I’m having a good time?” The mockery was back in his eyes, but this time she guessed it was aimed more at himself than at her.

She shrugged. Whatever shadows he carried, she wanted no part of them. She was done with men who needed fixing. Besides, her plane ticket was booked for three days from now. That wasn’t enough time to fix whatever was broken with Rik My-Name-Doesn’t-Matter, even if she hadn’t already had her fill of bad boys.

She and Lee had sworn a vow – from now on they were dating nice men only. Gentlemen. The kind who didn’t bring trouble in their wake. Her BFF would kill her if she weakened barely two weeks in.

So back to work. She toyed with her glass. “How does a girl with no local connections and a burning need to be heard get an audience with the mayor?” It was a rhetorical question. She didn’t really expect an answer from either the latter day pirate or the bartender.

She should have known she’d get one anyway.

“You don’t. You go home and tell your boss not to send a girl to do a man’s job.”

Between one breath and the next, the red haze descended, staining her vision with anger. She slammed her hands down on the bar counter. “I can’t and I won’t go back a failure!”

Rik eyed the little firecracker over the rim of his glass and grinned. She was certainly living up to the flaming colour of her hair. He admired her spirit, misguided as it was.

“If you’re not going to do the sensible thing and drop it, then you’ll need an introduction. Someone who knows the mayor and can get you in the door. On this island, you convince the mayor, you convince everyone else.”

“Great. So is there anyone you know who can open the mayor’s door for me?”

Silence. The bartender, bored by the conversation, had drifted away to re-fill the pretzel bowls, and Rik suddenly found something very interesting in the bottom of his glass.

He could do it. Perhaps even should do it.

Except he hadn’t felt very much like doing anything for anyone in a very long time. Sod them all, indeed.

His glass was empty. He couldn’t even remember drinking that last drink, so the alcohol must be starting to do its job at last. But it hadn’t numbed him enough yet. He could still feel the summons burning a hole in his pocket.

He waved his empty glass at the bartender. “Why don’t you just give up?” he asked, finally catching the barman’s eye.

“Because things always work out in the end.”

He rolled his eyes. What kind of naivety was that? Clearly, she’d lived a very sheltered life if she believed persistence was all you needed to get what you want. Sometimes life just kicked you in the nuts for no damn good reason. “I suppose I could.”

“Could what?”

Not just naive, but slow on the uptake too. “I could introduce you to the mayor.”

“You? I thought you had to have connections to get anything done here. You’re not from around here, are you?”

“No.”

She pursed her lips, clearly wanting a more elaborate explanation. She’d have to learn to live with disappointment. If there was one thing he’d learned in this new life that had been forced on him, it was that he didn’t owe anyone anything. And that included explanations.

“So how do you propose to introduce me to the mayor?”

She didn’t give up, did she? Like a mosquito buzzing in a room, tenacious and annoying. But at least the mosquito’s buzz was insistent enough to drive out the awareness of other pains.

He sighed. “I’ll drive you there in the morning, ask to see him. After that, the ball’s in your court.”

“That simple?” Kenzie’s eyes narrowed.

“That simple.” His glass seemed to have a hole in the bottom. It was already empty. Or had the barman not yet re-filled it? The mosquito buzz seemed louder now.

“If I take you to see the mayor, what do I get in return?” Rik asked, not looking at her.

“I have money,” she said. “If that’s what you want.”

He looked at her then, up and down the fragile frame encased in non-branded department store clothing. There was no way she had the kind of money that would mean anything to him. And since he not only had his inheritance, but also the rather handsome payment he’d been given to disappear, money was the last thing he needed.

“Not money.”

The blood ran to the surface of her near translucent skin. “I’m not giving you that.”

He laughed, a mirthless, rusty sound, even to his own ears. “I sure as hell don’t need to bribe you for sex either, honey.”

Though he was sure sex with her would be fun, he’d never needed to bribe anyone for anything. Everything he’d ever wanted had been handed to him on a platter, including women.

But no matter how attractive the idea was, he wasn’t in any fit state for that now. Tonight it wasn’t sex he wanted, but oblivion.

“Keep my car keys safe for me until the morning.” He removed the keys from the back pocket of his jeans and slid them onto the bar counter between them.

“That’s it?” She lifted an eyebrow. She had the most piercing blue eyes he’d ever seen, as clear as the water in the bay where he swam every day. “How do I get them back to you?”

“I’ll meet you in the hotel reception at ten.”

“How can I be sure you’ll be there?”

He rubbed a hand over his eyes. “Because you have my keys.” And besides, he’d had more entertainment in the last half hour than he’d had since he arrived in Los Pajaros. That had to be worth a little effort in return. “I’ll be there.”

She hesitated a moment before she took the keys and hopped off her bar stool. “In which case, I need to get my beauty sleep.”

“Hey Pollyanna … ” She was halfway out of the bar when he called after her. “You might want to wear a dress. A short skirt will get you much further with the mayor than your current ensemble.”

“I don’t own a dress.”

“You could make a stop in the resort boutique first thing in the morning.”

She shook her head and kept on walking, and with a chuckle he turned back to the barman to order another drink.

When it arrived, he stuck Kenzie’s discarded swizzle stick and umbrella into the glass. “Happy birthday to me.” He downed the drink in one long gulp.

Chapter Two

@KenzieCole101: Sheesh I’m tired. See you in 8 hours world.

@LeeHill: What’s up Mac? I’m not even asleep yet and I’m 5 hours ahead.

@KenzieCole101: You know I’m useless without a full night’s sleep.

Kenzie woke to the insistent ringing of a phone. Not the chirpy tone of her mobile, but a shrill tring-tring. The room was still dark.

She pushed her long fringe out of her eyes and groped for the hotel phone on the bedside table. “Hello?”

“Miss Cole? This is the night manager. We require your urgent assistance at the beach bar please.”

What the…? “What time is it?”

“It’s a little after 1am.”

He must have the wrong person. Why on earth would she be needed in a bar in the middle of the night? “You have the wrong room.” Her voice was still scratchy with sleep.

“You’re not Miss Cole?” The man’s voice rose in anxiety.

“I am, but I’m sure you have the wrong person.”

The manager cleared his throat. “It’s about your young man.”

What young man?

Oh heavens, he had to mean Rik. What had he done? A tremor of ice ran down her spine and brought her fully awake. But he couldn’t have gone anywhere – she still had his car keys.

“Is he okay?” she asked, struggling upwards and fumbling for the light switch.

“He’s passed out.” And the manager sounded very unimpressed.

She rubbed her eyes. “I’ll be right down.”

She pulled on a sweatshirt and jogging bottoms, tied her hair back in a ponytail, and slid her feet into the espadrilles she’d bought on her first day in Los Pajaros in celebration of having arrived in the tropics. Then she headed downstairs.

Why was she always dragged into other people’s shit? She really had to learn to be less trusting of people. She should have taken one look at that rugged face and those glittering eyes and run as far away and as fast as she could.

But no…she always had to give people the benefit of the doubt. And now here she was, in the dead of night, about to take on someone else’s problems yet again.

The 80s music had long since ceased and the reception lights were on low. But outside the path that meandered between swimming pools and luscious gardens was as brightly lit as Piccadilly Circus on a hot summer’s night.

The thatched bar lay right at the end of the path, where the grassy lawn met the sandy beach. It didn’t look much different than when she’d been there earlier in the evening, a little darker, but still deserted and still full of shadows.

The dreadlocked barman had emerged from behind his bar and was now huddled over a figure sprawled face down across one of the rough wooden tables. Beside him stood a harassed looking young man in a wrinkled white suit who had to be the manager.

“What’s the problem?” she asked in her most cheerful voice.

The manager turned, his face transforming from aggrieved to relieved in an instant. Kenzie wished she felt the same, but instead her heart hit the bottom of her espadrilles.

“We need to get him out of here,” the manager said, huffing as he tried to lift Rik’s dead weight. “Where does he need to go?”

“How the hell should I know?” Kenzie frowned at the two men.

“He gave you his car keys,” the barman pointed out.

“Yes. He asked me to keep them until the morning so he wouldn’t drive anywhere in this state.” She turned to the manager. “Surely you must know which room he’s in.”

The manager stiffened, righteous indignation written all over him. “He’s not a guest of this hotel.”

It just kept on coming.

“Maybe there’s something in his car that will tell us where he belongs?” she suggested. “Then perhaps we can call a cab and send him home.”

“We can’t leave him here while we look,” the manager said. “What if he wakes up and wanders into the sea, or one of the pools? I don’t want to be responsible for that.”

Neither did she. “Okay, we’ll have to take him with us to the main building.”

It took both men to lift Rik off the table. Then, with his arms looped around their shoulders, they began the shuffle back along the brightly lit path. The trip took at least three times as long as it had taken Kenzie on the way down. Impatient to get rid of the lot of them and back to the comfort of her king-size bed, she lengthened her strides and hurried ahead, fingering the car keys in her pocket.

She had no idea how she was going to identify which car she was looking for. This could take all night.

But when she reached the guest car park, it wasn’t too hard to work out which car was Rik’s. The car park was packed full of vehicles that were obviously rentals – all but one, a sleek black Lamborghini.

Doing ‘Nothing much’ clearly paid a lot of money. Perhaps he really was a pirate. Or a drug smuggler. What if she found packages of cocaine stashed beneath the seats?

With her heart knocking against her ribs, Kenzie scoured the car for clues. Nothing. Not a driver’s licence, no scraps of paper – not even a bank bag of marijuana. Relieved by the last but frustrated by the first, she sat down in the passenger seat and racked her brains.

Who was this man? A local, a guest at another hotel? His accent was indistinct. There’d been a hint of something European, but equally he spoke as if he’d learned his English at Eton or Harrow.

She rubbed her forehead. Was anyone missing him?

She jumped as a shadow moved beside her.

“Found anything?” the manager asked, bending down into view.

She shook her head. “Nothing. Did you check if he had any ID on him, or credit cards?”

“Of course. The only thing in his wallet was cash.”

What kind of man drove a fancy sports car but didn’t even have a credit card? In her experience, wealthy people always had plastic of the platinum variety, and weren’t afraid to use it.

Unless her pirate needed to conceal his identity?

Perhaps he was an assassin. Or a stockbroker caught embezzling funds who was now on the run from the law.

She climbed out the car and slammed the door shut. “There’s only one thing to do then.”

“What?”

“You’ll have to put him up in a room for the rest of the night.”

The manager drew up his thin shoulders, offended. “We don’t just give out rooms to everyone who gets drunk in this hotel. I’ll have to call the police.”

Kenzie rubbed her temple where an ache had begun to bloom. If Rik spent the night in a police cell, what were the chances he’d be able to take her to the mayor’s office any time soon? Assuming of course that hadn’t all been a big fat lie.

She squeezed her eyes shut. He’d seemed genuine enough when he offered. Unwilling, but genuine.

Damn him. She needed the mayor’s permission so she could do her bloody job and get off this island and carry on with the rest of her life. Which meant she needed him.

“Fine,” she snapped. “He can sleep in my room.”

There was a sofa. And Rik was so out of it, he’d never even notice he was way too tall for it.

Back in the hotel lobby, Rik lay on a plush banquette, the barman hovering wearily nearby. On the plus side, and unlike Brett, her most recent and completely unlamented ex, Rik neither snored nor drooled in this state.

As the two now red-faced hotel employees manhandled him into the lift, Rik surfaced long enough to mumble “sod them all” before sinking back against the glass wall.

Sod you too, Kenzie thought. And Neil, for sending me into this mess. Though in all fairness, she couldn’t blame the film’s producer. She’d wanted this job. Had begged for it.

As noiselessly as they could, they half-carried, half-dragged Rik down the corridor to her room and she opened the door with her key card.

“On the sofa,” she instructed the men, and they dumped Rik unceremoniously down.

“Are you sure I shouldn’t call the police?” the manager asked, eyeing Rik’s prostrate form.

“Absolutely not,” she said, in the crispest, most professional voice she could muster at this time of night. Or this time of morning.

The barman and manager couldn’t get out fast enough, and Kenzie didn’t stop them. She latched the door behind them and sagged against it.

There had to be worse ways to spend a Friday night, although nothing sprang to mind.

Her gaze fell on Rik, twisted uncomfortably on the sofa. Tough shit. Served him right if he woke with a sore back as well as a sore head.

It was only when she’d undressed and climbed into bed that she noticed the piece of paper sticking out the pocket of Rik’s jeans. The manager clearly hadn’t done a particularly thorough job of searching him.

She shouldn’t bother. She should switch out the light, pull the covers over her head, and get back to sleep.

But that scrap of paper gnawed at her. What if it could tell her who Rik was and where he belonged?

Curiosity won. She padded across the room and eased it out of his pocket, trying hard not to look an inch to the left at the bulge in his jeans. Rik mumbled and rolled over, and she jumped back.

But he didn’t wake.

The paper was a single page, creased as though it had been crumpled in anger then smoothed out again. She really shouldn’t unfold it. She should put it back. It was none of her business …

Oh what the hell …

She unfolded the paper. A letter. No address, just a barely visible embossed logo in the top left hand corner, in the same ivory colour as the paper itself. The note was hand-written in a large, old-fashioned hand, very neat, and dated several weeks ago.

Rik – you’ve been a pain to track down. No more hiding - we need to talk. I expect you at my engagement party and I’m not taking ‘no’ for an answer. I’ll owe you big. Max

Nothing there to give any hint of who Rik was, yet something tugged at the edge of her memory, just out of reach. She moved to the bedside table and sat on the edge of the bed, holding the letter to the light. The paper was thinner than regular office paper, expensive, and the logo caught the light. Not a logo after all but an heraldic crest, a dragon framed by climbing roses. The memory nudged harder. She’d seen it before, and recently.

Think, think.

The mayor’s waiting room! She’d spent the better part of the afternoon staring at this shield, only it had been in full colour, above the obligatory portrait of the governor hanging on the wall. It was the emblem of Westerwald, the nation that owned this southern Caribbean archipelago.

The same nation that had been in the tabloids a great deal lately.

Fredrik and Maximilian … she slapped her forehead. She’d never have recognised him with the beard and overlong hair, but it had to be … She had a prince on the sofa in her hotel room! A disinherited prince, to be sure, but that hardly mattered.

A missing disinherited prince. She wondered what the tabloids would pay for news of his whereabouts. Nope, not going there. There was no amount of money in the world that would induce her to throw someone into that rapacious spotlight. Been there, done that, and burned the tee shirt.

She perched on the edge of her bed and considered the letter. Just last week she’d sat in the Soho production office and flicked through a magazine article on the recently announced royal nuptials in Westerwald. There’d been a great deal made about the guest list for the upcoming engagement party, a party Rik was clearly expected to attend.

How she’d love to have been a fly on the wall during that confrontation!

No wonder Rik had drunk himself comatose. The thought of going back to the country that had thrown him out, to face the brother who’d succeeded him, perhaps even the mother who’d passed him off as another man’s child, all under the glare of the paparazzi cameras… she’d have got drunk too.

Kenzie set the letter down and took a hard look at him.

Prince Fredrik von Waldburg of Westerwald.

There’d been a picture of him with the article. She remembered it clearly, since she’d stopped for a long look. He’d been dressed in a suit and tie, clean-shaven and conservative, but there’d been a suggestion of ruggedness that had appealed to her even then.

He’d had a glossy blonde on his arm in the picture, a girlfriend with a title to match the perfect looks and catwalk evening gown. What had happened to her? She’d probably gone the way of his inheritance.

Kenzie set the letter down on the bed and stared at her unwelcome visitor. At least he hadn’t lied about being able to introduce her to the mayor. Even disinherited, he probably had the kind of connections that could open a lot of doors for her.

Her heart skittered with excitement. She’d known she was on the verge of something big. Neil had sent her here to fail. But with Rik’s help, she could get the job done and prove to him, and to herself, that she was more than just the poor choices she’d made a decade ago.

You see. Things always work out in the end.

Rik lay on his stomach, one leg over the arm of the sofa, the other trailing on the floor. One arm hung at an odd angle and his face was crushed into the cushions. He was going to have an interesting pattern on his face when he woke.

Oh heavens – when he woke … !

What the hell was she going to say? Good morning, your highness, would you like your pillows fluffed?

Stuff that. She’d had enough of that with the second in her long line of exes. Charlie had expected her to bow to his every whim because he had money and a title, and she’d been so awed by the world he’d introduced her to that she’d done it. She’d gone along with every stupid, hare-brained scheme of his, until she’d been hung out to dry in full public view. The memory rose like bile in her throat. Never again!

It seemed all these rich boys were the same; too much money and nothing better to do with their time than party and get wasted. Though to be fair, those with very little money still had the same tendency, as Brett had proved.

It had all seemed so glam when she’d been in her heady twenties, young and impressionable, but she was older and wiser now. There was nothing glamorous about having a man passed out on one’s sofa, no matter who he was.

Tomorrow she’d pretend she knew nothing more than what Rik had told her. He could carry on playing Mystery Man, for all she cared. She wasn’t going to bow and scrape, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to let herself be seduced. She was just one bad relationship away from getting thirty cats and calling it quits with men.

She folded up the letter and crossed the room to slide it back into his pocket. Which was definitely not as easy as pulling it out had been.

Job done, she surveyed the sleeping beauty on her sofa. There was a hint of vulnerability in his face that definitely wasn’t there when he was awake. It tugged at something inside her, and she swallowed hard. No, she wasn’t going to try to fix this one. She had to have learned that lesson by now, right?

But she couldn’t in good conscience leave a prince to sleep like a pretzel on the sofa, no matter how much of a pain in the butt he was, or how much he deserved it.

The first and easiest thing she could do for him was to remove his shoes. She unlaced his trainers, braced her knees on the edge of the sofa, and pulled. His shoe slid off, quicker than she expected, the momentum driving her straight onto him, with her knee in his groin.

“Ooph.” Rik’s eyes fluttered, and her heart stopped beating.

His eyelids settled, and she laid a hand over her heart and started to breathe again. He was seriously out of it not to be woken by that.

With much more care, she removed his other trainer, then stood back to survey the scene.

She’d move him to the bed, and she’d take the sofa. She had more chance of fitting on it anyway. Who knew there’d be a perk to being only five foot three?

But getting him onto the bed was an altogether different matter. It had taken two grown men to get him to her room, so how the hell was she going to get him from the sofa to the bed on her own?

She started by wrestling the sofa closer to the bed.

Deep breath in and shove. Deep breath in and shove.

Sweat beaded on her forehead as the sofa inched slowly forwards until, with a jolt, it connected with the side of the bed.

Great. Now what?

She had to climb over the back of the sofa to roll Rik onto the bed. Except he didn’t want to roll. He snuggled back into the sofa cushions.

“Give me a break!”

Since she’d come this far, there was no going back. She wrapped her arms around his torso and heaved. He wasn’t a small man and in sleep he was damned heavy and uncooperative. He was also rather buff. She couldn’t help but notice the firmness of muscle beneath that long black tee. She’d bet anything he had a fine six-pack. For half a second she was tempted to strip off his shirt for a peek. Surely the vow she and Lee had sworn didn’t preclude looking?

No, a promise was a promise.

Besides, she was now hot and sweaty, in spite of the air-con, and wrestling him out of his clothes just wasn’t worth the effort, so she discarded the idea as quickly as it formed. She’d have to be satisfied with having copped a feel.

Rik now lay on the very edge of the bed. She climbed over him to kneel on his other side. One last heave and he’d be safe and comfortable and she could get to sleep herself.

She wrapped her arms around him, and he moaned. Not the same sound he’d made before, but a satisfied purr. Oh heaven help her! If he woke now, there was no way she could explain why she had him in her bed, in a very intimate and compromising position.

She half-pulled, half-rolled with him.

The good news was that she managed to get him away from the edge of the bed. The bad news? She was now pinned underneath him.

And yes, that was definitely a very fine six-pack beneath the shirt. Perhaps even an eight-pack.

Up this close, the smell of rum was more pronounced. On any other man it would have been a complete turn-off. On Rik it just added to the pirate allure.

But he was heavy, and this was neither the right time nor place to get turned on. And most certainly not the right man. She was looking for a nice man, remember? Or better yet, no man at all. Not until she could stand tall, with her head high and say ‘Look at me: I’m a success!’

She wedged her hands against his torso and shoved with all her strength. Rik rolled off her, and she lay breathless, needing a moment to regroup.

Yay! He was now safely on her king-size bed, cuddling into the pillow where she’d slept in such blissful ignorance barely an hour ago.

@KenzieCole101: I need a cold shower.

Chapter Three

@LeeHill: @KenzieCole101 What’s up chica? Heat keeping you awake?

@KenzieCole101: @LeeHill Something like that. But I’m behaving. Promise!

Light filtered through Rik’s eyelids and he groaned into his pillow. Whoever had stuck his head in a vice grip then twisted it deserved to die. He’d see to it personally. Just as soon as he could lift his head off the pillow to see who it was.

“Time to wake up, Sleeping Beauty.”

The voice was annoyingly perky and not one he recognised. Probably a new housemaid. Where was Robert? It was usually his valet who brought his coffee and the morning papers.

With herculean effort he lifted one eyelid.

Ouch, the light was bright.

He didn’t recognise her face either. And the housemaids didn’t usually wear jeans. He squeezed his eyes shut again, but that was worse. Now the room reeled about him.

It wasn’t a sensation he was used to, but in a sickening instant he knew he was neither dreaming nor ill. He was hungover. And there wasn’t going to be any valet or housemaid, because they belonged to a life that wasn’t his anymore.

“Here drink this. It’ll make you feel better.”

Nothing could do that. He’d already tried. Neither time nor distance nor drink could dull the constant ache.

He prised his eyes open. “What is it?”

“A special concoction the concierge cooked up. He swears on his grandmother’s grave it works miracles.”

Rik hoped so. Gingerly, he levered himself up on his elbow and took the glass of foaming green liquid from her outstretched hand. “What’s in it?”

She shrugged. “Local herbs or something.”

Local herbs – who was she kidding? “Isn’t it bad enough you got me drunk? Now you want to get me stoned too?”

“I didn’t get you drunk. You did that all on your own. And I don’t want you stoned either. I want you sober and out of my bed so I can get to work.”

The drink tasted surprisingly minty and though the first sip made him gag, he managed to drink it all down.

“There’s a good boy. Ready to get up now?”

“Ask me in another hour.” He shut his eyes and sagged back into the pillow’s softness. At least the room seemed to have stopped spinning about him. A miracle indeed.

She ripped the duvet off him. “Oh no, you don’t! It’s already ten o’clock and the day is wasting away.”

He pulled the duvet back. “Great, go and enjoy it,” he mumbled into the pillow. “I’ll stay here and sleep it off. You won’t even know I’m here.”

“You’re taking me to see the mayor.”

Why would he do that? He didn’t want to think, didn’t want to remember, but gradually the memories formed anyway … the resort bar, chosen because there were few locals there and little chance he’d be recognised … the pretty firecracker who’d made him smile … the summons from his brother …

His whole damned useless life where one day dragged into another.

He forced himself off the pillows and sat up.

The room wasn’t as bright as it first appeared. Wooden shutters shielded the worst of the infernal sunshine. It leaked through the slats, casting moving patterns on the bed that made his stomach swirl.

His gaze shifted back to the redhead. No, not red … more ginger. She wore it tied back in a loose ponytail, just as she had last night. Her eyes were too big for her face, her nose pert and slightly upturned, and her skin … he’d never understood the term ‘porcelain skin’ until now. The dusting of freckles stood out against the delicate paleness.

Kenzie, she’d called herself. What kind of a name was that?

“You look tired,” he observed.

She pursed her lips. “I wonder why?”

Her retort was too tart for him to have kept her awake in the most pleasurable of ways. So at least he hadn’t missed any fun stuff. “How did I get here? Last I remember I was celebrating alone in the beach bar.”

“Didn’t look like much of a celebration. The night manager and barman carried you up here. It was either that or jail.”

“In which case, I thank you. You have a kind heart.”

She didn’t seem to like the compliment. Her eyes spat blue flame. “I didn’t do it for you.”

“Ah yes, I promised you an introduction to the mayor. You didn’t take my advice though. Didn’t the hotel boutique have a dress?”

Although her jeans were a snug fit so they might do the job too. They were certainly making his mouth dry. Or maybe that was just thirst.

“I was a tad preoccupied this morning.” She pursed her lips again, and he found his gaze drawn to her mouth. Against his will, he licked his own lips.

She blushed, her pale skin lighting up as the heat spread. Then she dropped her gaze and rose from the bed. “Now you’re finally awake, take a shower, and I’ll order you some breakfast.”

“I’ll have toast, plain, and I like my coffee black and sweet.”

Kenzie arched an eyebrow. “Anything else you’d like?” He almost heard the sarcastic Your Highness she bit back. He swallowed bitter laughter. She had no idea how close to the truth she was. Or how far.

While she stalked off to call room service, he slipped into the bathroom. The shower’s temperature was set on cold, and by the time he’d managed to crank up the heat, he was well and truly awake. He was also starving.

He didn’t have much experience of hangovers but he was pretty sure this level of alertness was unusual. Weren’t people supposed to throw up after they’d been drunk? He couldn’t remember being sick. The concierge’s grandmother could rest peacefully in her grave. Perhaps he should finance the concierge in a little sideline herbal remedy business.

Rik discarded the idea as quickly as he’d discarded every other Plan B he’d come up with these last few months. There wasn’t a lot that an ex-prince could do without seeming like a loser or just plain desperate. Which he was. There was also only so much paradise one man could take. If he didn’t find something soon to fill his days he was going to go insane.

But at least he still had his dignity – as long as the girl in the other room never got wind of who he was. A sordid night in a woman’s hotel room was exactly the kind of lurid headline he didn’t need.

Like mother, like son. He could picture it already.

He towelled himself dry, dressed in his jeans, and emerged from the bathroom just as the room service waiter rolled in a trolley of pastries and steaming coffee. His stomach turned over, in a good way this time.

Kenzie had her back to him. She signed for the meal, closed the door behind the waiter, and turned.

She coughed.

“Please put your shirt back on.” Her voice sounded strangled.

“Do I offend your modesty?” he asked, feeling an insane urge to grin at her reaction.

She shook her head and swallowed again. “You have tattoos.”

“No, really? How did that happen?” He looked down at himself, eyes wide in mock shock.

She frowned.

“You don’t like tattoos?”

“I love tattoos.” She turned away again, fussing over the trolley and pouring coffee.

This time he grinned. And didn’t bother putting his shirt back on.

“Those tattoos aren’t new,” she said as she handed him a cup of coffee, careful not to look at him.

“No, they’re not.” They’d been his one and only form of rebellion, done right here in the islands on a holiday a couple of years ago. He’d had to be careful after that to always keep his shoulders and upper arms covered. It wouldn’t do for the heir to a European throne to be seen sporting tattoos. Not even his parents had known they existed.

Now that he was free to do as he pleased he still kept them covered. They mocked him. The dragon of Westerwald that snaked across his shoulder blades and down his arms. The emblem of a nation he didn’t belong to. Had never belonged to, it turned out, though it was the only home he’d ever known.

These were tattoos that no person but he and the artist had ever laid eyes on before today. Kenzie had no idea how privileged she was. He could only blame the lapse on last night’s over-indulgence.

He set down his undrunk coffee and pulled his long-sleeved shirt back on over his head. “You can look again now.”

She cast a furtive glance his way, long enough for him to catch the heated flush rising up her cheeks again. Interesting. So she had a serious thing for men with tattoos. And she didn’t want to.

He was sure he could change her mind.

Now where had that thought come from? He’d never been a seducer of women. In his old life he’d had a girlfriend for over a year and barely tried for more than a polite goodnight kiss. Teresa hadn’t made his blood boil, and that’s exactly why he’d liked her. She’d been cool, calm and rational. She’d have made the perfect Archduchess. She would never have done anything sordid, would never have created a scandal.

She probably wouldn’t have approved of his tattoos either.

Kenzie was everything Teresa wasn’t. She wasn’t cool and collected. She wasn’t a style icon. And her emotions were far too easy to read. In spite of the vulnerable eyes and heart-shaped face, sensuality smouldered beneath the surface. Emotional, sexy, complicated … she was everything he’d avoided in his old life.

She was everything he no longer needed to avoid.

He found himself grinning again. It felt good to smile. Strange, but good.

“Are you going to stand there all day, or are you going to drink your coffee so we can get moving?” she asked impatiently, perching on the edge of the sofa.

Was she always this bossy or was it just his charm that brought out her better side?

“Yes ma’am.” He gulped down the coffee, grabbed a slice of toast, and sat beside her on the sofa. Since he’d woken in the bed, she must have slept here last night, judging by the blankets and pillows piled at one end. She could have made him sleep on the sofa. However much she chose to deny it, Kenzie had a kind heart.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” he asked.

“I did. While you were still snoring.”

“I don’t snore.”

She smiled, and it was an impish look. Forget smouldering sensuality. He’d guess she could be a downright bad girl if she wanted to be.

He set down his empty coffee cup, grabbed a cheese croissant from the basket and stood. “Where are my car keys? Let’s roll.”

She shook her head. “You’re not driving. I don’t trust you.”

It wasn’t just his driving. There was something in the rapid shuttering of her expression that told him exactly what she thought: it was him she didn’t trust.

It was a moment before he realised his mouth had dropped open. No one, ever, had thought him untrustworthy. And no one had ever looked at him the way Kenzie just had – as if he were a bug squashed beneath her shoe. Nope, no matter how attractive she found him, she didn’t like him.

He closed his mouth and followed her out into the corridor. The sickening feeling of disorientation was back in full force, and the unusual urge to grin deserted him.

***

The magical potion had definitely worn off. Rik clutched his head as Kenzie’s compact rental car bumped over the potholed road into town. “Could you possibly try not to hit every single one?” he groaned.

The look Kenzie cast him was beyond withering. “Are all the roads on the island like this one?”

“No. Most are worse.”

Only one tarred road circled the island, connecting the tourist resorts with the main town. Inland, where only the most adventurous visitors ventured, the roads were nothing but dirt.

She swerved to avoid the next major pothole, which was even worse than bumping through it. Rik hung onto the car door, feeling more than a little green. And she hadn’t trusted him to drive?

“You’re not booked into the hotel,” she said, keeping her eyes on the road. “Do you live here on Los Pajaros?”

“Something like that.”

He didn’t need to see her to know she had rolled her eyes. “You’re not good with small talk, are you?”

He was a master at small talk, had been trained in the art from the time he learned to talk. Along with many other skills that were all but useless now.

He shrugged and looked back out the window. On their right the sea flashed silver and inviting through the dense foliage that separated the road from the beach.

The undergrowth grew thinner, and the simple wooden dwellings clustered along the road grew more numerous. Then they crested the final rise and Fredrikshafen lay below them, a small town of broad avenues and colourful buildings.

Beyond the jumble of buildings lay the wide harbour. A vast passenger liner, winking white in the sunlight, dominated the largest of the piers that jutted out into the bay. Colour and vibrancy and light dazzled their eyes.

Kenzie sucked in a breath.

“It’s a beautiful view, isn’t it?” he asked, managing a grin now that the ordeal of the drive was behind them.

She nodded. “It’s growing on me.”

The place was growing on him too. He’d come to Los Pajaros because he had nowhere else to go. There could be worse places to lose oneself.

The mayor’s office was housed in a white colonial building on an esplanade lined with scraggy palms that overlooked the harbour. Kenzie circled the block until she found a parking space and finally turned to Rik. “You sure you’re up for this?”

She wasn’t just asking how his hangover was doing. She wanted to know if he could really help her. This was his last chance to back out.

But he didn’t ever back out. No matter how much he wanted to run away and hide. We never back down from unpleasant tasks, his father had often said. We face them with our heads high and our hearts strong. He flinched.

“My headache’s back. Thanks for asking.” He unclicked the seatbelt and ignored her frown.

Head high. He hadn’t been doing a lot of that lately.

Kenzie followed him through the doors that stood open into a double volume courtyard fringed by potted palms. A military guard, sweating in his uniform, waved them past the security desk with nothing more than a curious look. Everything in the space was white, or had once been, and streaked with strips of light that fell through the high windows over the majestic staircase rising up before them.

The ground floor offices seemed deserted, though he could hear the distant murmur of voices.

Rik took the stairs two at a time, not waiting for Kenzie to follow. The sooner he got her in to see the mayor, the sooner he could leave. He’d take a taxi back to the resort to fetch his car, then … that was as far as his thoughts could take him. What then?

The stairs diverged. To the right lay the main reception and the airless waiting room. He took the left flight, rising to a corridor that overlooked the courtyard. The first office at the top of the stairs was spacious and air-conditioned. The middle-aged secretary within barely glanced up from her computer screen as Rik tapped on the door and pushed it all the way open. “How may I help you, Mr … ?”

“You can call me Rik.”

She looked up at him over the top of her tortoiseshell spectacles and her eyes widened. He had her full attention now. This was the one place in the islands where his face was instantly recognised. She blushed and smoothed back her thick swathe of dark hair. “Oh, I’m so sorry … ”

“Is the mayor in?”

“Yes, of course he is.” Then she caught sight of Kenzie and her voice faltered. “That is … ” She dropped her eyes. Meaning he was in for Rik, but not for anyone else. Now that was the kind of reaction he was more used to getting.

For the first time he wondered how it might feel to be the one forced to wait in the airless waiting room. At least he hadn’t yet fallen so far.

“My friend here would like a few minutes with the mayor, if that’s at all possible?”

The secretary hesitated, casting another glance past his shoulder to Kenzie. Rik had spent enough time on Los Pajaros to interpret that look. The only women with any authority in these islands – the only women who’d have any business with the mayor – were mature and respected. They weren’t pretty young things.

He arched an eyebrow.

“I’ll check.” The secretary slid out of her chair and hurried to the connecting door, eager to shift the decision of whether to let the foreign girl into the inner sanctum to someone else.

She reappeared scarcely a moment later, smoothing her hair once again. “You may go in.”

Rik held the door to the mayor’s office open for Kenzie.

“Bravo,” she whispered as she brushed past.

He didn’t respond. The swift contact between their bodies, the whiff of feminine perfume, her low husky whisper, and the sudden, electrifying heat that flashed between them left him momentarily dazzled. Last night’s bender was having some interesting side effects.

The mayor’s office was of colonial proportions, dwarfing the massive mahogany desk he sat behind. The purr of the air-con was subtle, but its effect was not.

The mayor’s tense smile suggested impatience beneath the politeness as he rose to his full height. “How may I assist you, Your … ”

Behind Kenzie’s back, Rik furiously shook his head as he cut him off. “Thank you for seeing us, sir. This is Kenzie Cole and she has a request to make of you.”

“More of a business proposition.” She turned on the same megawatt smile she’d used on him the night before, to pretty much the same effect. The mayor’s smile looked a little less forced as he waved them to sit.

Not one to tempt fate, Rik stepped back. When Kenzie turned to look for him, he shrugged as if to say, the floor’s all yours, and leaned back against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest.

She turned her back on him, focussing all her attention on the mayor, and Rik breathed an internal sigh of relief.

Kenzie was pretty impressive when she turned on the charm. Just flirtatious enough to catch the mayor’s interest, just professional enough to be taken seriously. She pulled out a folder from the small rucksack she carried, presenting facts and figures. The mayor leaned closer at the words ‘jobs for your laid off ship builders.’

Even Rik stood straighter. Kenzie had done her homework.

Next to tourism, the yacht building business had been Los Pajaros’ biggest employer until the recession slashed the demand for such luxuries. Kenzie proposed using the workers who’d lost their jobs to build the pirate ships needed for the film. “It would only be a few months’ work, of course, but that’s better than nothing, isn’t it?”

She sent the mayor another winning smile and he melted. Rik nearly did too. Or he would have, if his entire body hadn’t been hard.

The mayor beamed. “You have my full support. I will email the harbour master and ask him to provide you with a boat and an escort. Where do you want to take your photographs?”

Kenzie pulled aerial maps from her folder. “These are the islands I’d like to visit, especially these two – Corona and Tortuga.”

Rik stiffened.

The mayor leaned back in his chair and shook his head. “Not possible.”

Kenzie’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Why not? You just told me I had your full support.”

The mayor cast a beseeching look at Rik.

He pushed away from the doorframe. “Corona is private property.”

Her brow furrowed. He didn’t need to be a mind reader to know she was wondering why Corona was marked on every map as government property if it was private. “And Tortuga?”

Rik and the mayor exchanged a look, and it was Rik who answered again. “Tortuga is a breeding ground for sea turtles.”

“It’s not a nature sanctuary – I checked. Besides, the hatching season will be well over by the time we shoot.”

The mayor’s mouth set in a grim line. “No one from these islands has set foot on Isla Tortuga in over three centuries.”

The disbelief on Kenzie’s face turned to incredulity. “Why ever not?”

The mayor squirmed. “It’s haunted.”

Rik gave her credit for not laughing.

“I’m not superstitious. If our film crew aren’t from these islands and don’t mind working there, would you give us permission to film on Tortuga?”

He gave her credit for not giving up either.

Again, the mayor glanced at Rik, this time for approval. The poor man’s dilemma was clear. The local economy could do with an injection of capital and a higher international profile. But Tortuga …

Rik nodded.

“I will,” the mayor answered Kenzie.

“Thank you. Is there anyone who isn’t from these islands who could take me there to photograph the place?”

The mayor paused only a fraction of a second before he looked at Rik. “You have a boat. Could you take her?”

Oh no. That wasn’t part of his plan for the rest of the day. Or ever.

Not to mention the mere thought of being on a boat was making him feel green again. He shook his head. “Not today.”

“Do you have anything better to do tomorrow, then?”

Of course the mayor knew he had nothing better to do. The mayor knew everything that went on around these islands.

Kenzie also turned to look at him, expectant. But where the mayor’s eyes held hope, hers held an entirely different expression. Reluctance.

She’d felt the attraction too. And she didn’t want to.

Rik shut his eyes, blocking out both their faces.

He knew exactly what tomorrow held. It would be the same as every other day. The sun would shine. He’d wake late, and go for a swim to clear the fuzziness in his head. By the time his arms and legs were too tired to swim any further, he’d wash up on the beach. And that’s when the emptiness would hit.

He would spend the rest of his day trying to fill that emptiness. He would run on the beach, or take Adam’s boat out, or he’d drink. And he’d already done enough of all these things to last a lifetime.

Even if it was just a boat ride to Tortuga, it beat spending another day in Adam’s guesthouse while the walls pressed in on him. But he was done with helping people, unless there was something in it for him. And there was only one thing Kenzie had that he wanted…

Now that was an interesting idea.

He shrugged. “Okay.”

Relief crossed the mayor’s face. He turned back to Kenzie. “If your director likes the island, then you build your boats on Los Pajaros and you accommodate your crew on Los Pajaros, and you film on Tortuga.” Translation: you spend your money here on Los Pajaros. “But you must promise me that no islanders will have to go to Tortuga.”

“Agreed. Do we have a deal?” Kenzie offered the mayor a courteous handshake.

“Deal.” The mayor took Kenzie’s hand, but instead of the expected shake, he bowed over their joined hands in the local custom.

Rik held the door open for her, but this time she was careful to avoid contact as she passed. Her scent still slammed into him, though.

He grinned. His body was taking over from his brain. That was an interesting first. He knew passion didn’t last and that it burned out far too quickly, but he didn’t care. She was only passing through. For just this once, he wanted to be like every other man and indulge his desires.

So she thought she didn’t want a man like him, a purposeless drifter with tattoos. And she didn’t trust him. Never mind. He could work with that. He’d make her want him, and she wouldn’t be able to resist.

Head high.

Chapter Four

@KenzieCole101: Who knew pirates still ruled the Caribbean?

They stood on the pavement beside her rental car. Kenzie shifted, uncomfortably hot inside her own skin. She’d scarcely been able to concentrate throughout the meeting with the scorching awareness of Rik’s presence behind her, and the effort was starting to take its toll.

Or perhaps it was just the heat. Or last night’s lack of sleep.

It was most certainly not physical attraction making her forget why she was here, or her vow to Lee. And it sure as hell couldn’t be the memory of those inked biceps making her want to indulge her fetish for bad boys.

She wasn’t that weak, was she, after everything she’d already been through?

“So what now?” She looked at the palm trees lining the esplanade, at the sizzling tar at her feet … anywhere but towards Rik.

“Now I take you home.”

At that, her gaze flew to his, horror that he’d read her thoughts tainting her cheeks.

“I need to fetch my car, remember?” That mocking look was back in his eyes.

His car. Of course. She hoped he believed her blush was due to the midday sun burning down.

She moved to the driver’s side but Rik shook his head and held out his hand. “This time I drive.”

She hesitated. While there was something in his tone that demanded obedience, it also made her skin crawl. He might not have any right to a title these days but he still acted like he ruled the world. Bloody Golden Boys.

But she had several ex-boyfriends and a ‘perfect’ big bother who’d helped her develop an immunity to men who believed the world would do their bidding. Just because the rest of the world thought they had it all didn’t mean they weren’t all douches. In her experience, men like Rik could charm the pants off you in one breath then make you feel like a piece of shit with the next.

And she wasn’t going to let anyone make her feel like that again.

She tossed the car keys at him. “Fine.”

He didn’t take them back the way they’d come. Instead, he drove along the edge of the harbour, out the other side of town and onto a rutted tar road that snaked around the steeply peaked mountain that had once been a volcano.

The road climbed higher and higher up the side of the mountain, twisting and turning, until her knuckles were white with a tension that wasn’t entirely induced by the cliff edge a few feet from the car’s tyres.

It may have been centuries since the volcano was last active, but she was sure the atmosphere inside the car would register on the Volcanic Explosivity Index. If she thought she’d been aware of him in the mayor’s office, it was nothing compared to her awareness of him inside the tight confines of the little car.

He slowed the car, shifting gear, the fabric of his jeans pulling taut across his thighs. She swallowed and looked away. “I thought we were going back to the hotel?”

“We are. I’m taking you back via the scenic route.”

He pulled the car into a layby. The vegetation on this side of the mountain was low scrub, allowing unparalleled views. On the wide plain below them were the sugar cane fields that were still the island’s most profitable export.

Rik leaned across her, and her whole body went on high alert. Defcon one. Danger of explosion imminent.

Remember him drunk and passed out, you stupid girl. That ought to calm the hormones.

A chain of small islands curved out from Los Pajaros. The charter boat had taken her to the nearest of those. At the furthest tip of the curve a smudge of green was visible on the distant horizon. “That’s Tortuga.” Rik said, pointing out her window. “Corona isn’t visible from here.” His voice sounded almost wistful.

She blinked to clear the dancing spots before her eyes and the fog in her brain, relieved when Rik returned both his hands to the steering wheel and re-started the car.

Sleep, that’s what she needed. She was an eight hours a night girl and once she’d had an uninterrupted night of sleep, she would stop feeling this raw sexual tension that seemed to be zipping up and down her body. She rubbed her arms.

The road twisted and turned around the dormant volcano, away from the flat plain and the sugar cane fields, gradually descending through a plantation of banana trees to more familiar terrain; dense tropical vegetation, idyllic sandy beaches, and the lush resorts where tourists played in the sunshine.

Rik turned the car in through the gates of her hotel, into the long palm-fringed avenue with golf greens on either side. The resort buildings rose up before them, gleaming white and tiered like a wedding cake.

“So what’s the plan for tomorrow?” she asked as he parked her rental beside his.

“I’ll meet you in the hotel reception at ten.”

She rolled her eyes. “Now where’ve I heard that before? How can I be sure you’ll be there?”

His dark eyes glittered. “I’ll be there.”

He held out his palm with her car keys. His hand was tanned and oddly roughened, not as smooth and manicured as she’d expected of a prince. Gingerly, she took the car keys from him, careful not to touch him in case she combusted.

He raised an eyebrow. “My keys?”

She flushed, the heat burning her skin. “Of course.” She fumbled in her rucksack for his car keys, and held them out less carefully. His fingers stroked the sensitive flesh of her palm as he took them. His gaze fixed on her hand, and he smiled. Then he opened the car door and climbed out.

“Until tomorrow,” he said, slamming the door closed.

She nodded, mute. It was a long time before she managed to move. Only when his flashy car roared to deafening life and slid out of its parking bay, did she open her own door. It was as though his touch had short-circuited the wiring in her body.

She had a dreadful suspicion that Lee was going to be very, very disappointed in her when she got back to Blighty.

“Damn him.”

***

@KenzieCole101: @LeeHill Is Neil in a huff that I got the permission?

@LeeHill: @KenzieCole101 He’s moaning about cost of travelling caterers & labour but the Director’s smiling like he just came. Clock’s still ticking.

@KenzieCole101: @LeeHill Any word on how the other scouts are doing?

@Lee Hill: @KenzieCole101 The scout on BVI has connections with Richard Branson. You need to hurry with your pics.

Kenzie rubbed her temple. As one of the film’s art directors, Lee had not only got her this gig but also had access to all the inside intel, for which Kenzie was grateful. She needed every bit of help she could get. But she was running out of time. Tortuga had better deliver or some other scout would get the glory.

It was ten the next morning and she waited in the hotel’s reception, on exactly the same velveteen banquette where Rik had lain the other night. Her foot tapped nervously on the tiled floor as she typed a final response to her flatmate.

She could do this. She was going to return to London a success. She could feel her destiny drawing closer, whatever it was, and Rik wasn’t going to distract her from her goal. He wasn’t a pirate, he was a prince. She didn’t like princes. She wasn’t a Disney kind of girl. Well, except for Flynn Rider …

She strained to hear the distinctive roar of the sports car, so when Rik strode into reception, not from the car park but from the gardens, he caught her by surprise. Which was so not a good way to start the day. She frowned. “Where’s your car?”

“Good morning to you too.” He grinned and hefted her camera bag onto his shoulder effortlessly. “We can’t get where we’re going by car, remember?”

Against her will, she drank him in. Today he wore dark jeans and a white open-necked, collared shirt. The merest hint of tattoo peeked out from beneath his collar. How had he managed to keep that tattoo hidden back in Westerwald? He must have worn nothing but buttoned-up suits and ties. She could hardly imagine it. The Rik who stood before her now looked nothing like a suit and tie kind of man. He looked like a windblown adventurer, with his tan, his days’ old stubble and overlong hair brushing his collar.

He looked like a man who could give Flynn Rider a run for his money.

She followed him through the gardens and down to the resort’s pier where a number of pleasure cruisers and luxury fishing boats were docked. She had to run to keep up with his long strides.

He definitely appeared in better shape today, which was just as well since he’d be transporting her across open ocean, but did he have to keep wrong-footing her? He was not a man she wanted to let have the upper hand. She wasn’t sure her willpower would withstand the test.

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