Caribbean Casanova Read online

  Oh, how she hated it when he had a point. “You expect me to just sit back and let you screw the models one by one until I have a massive catfight on my hands? I can’t afford the delays that would cause. That’s why I agreed to your little plan. But I’m not game for having everyone think I’m some victim to be pitied because my man can’t keep it in his pants.”

  He held up a finger. “First, making us a couple was your idea. I’m just using it for our mutual benefit.” He held up another finger. “Second, I have no interest whatsoever in laying down any of your models.”

  “Oh, please. You disappear all afternoon and then turn up in the bungalow the models are changing in. Yeah, your motives are real pure.”

  “Jealous much, Holly?”

  Oh my lands, this man was going to have her rolling her eyes so much they’d wind up on the sand. “I don’t care where you stick it, so long as it doesn’t interfere with my business.”

  “I think you do. But we’ll talk about that at dinner.”

  “Excuse me? I’m not going to dinner with you.”

  “Yes, you are. That’s why I was looking for you. Your shoot will be wrapped for the night and then you’re mine.”

  “I’ll never be yours.”

  He had the nerve to wink. “We’ll see about that. But first we’re going to adjust your attitude.”

  “My attitude will be downright cheery if you stay out of my business.”

  “You don’t want me to do that, sweetheart.” He leaned closer, so near she had to breathe in the clean, musky scent of man he’d already managed to tattoo on her brain. “Don’t you want to know exactly where I am when the sun goes down? To make sure I’m not doing something to someone else that you want me to do to you?”

  Her chest squeezed around her thundering heart, but Holly knew how to appear cool even if she was flaming with rage. Saskia was right. He was a control freak bent on turning everything into his personal puppet show. Too bad for him she’d be the one pulling the strings.

  “Why, Harm, I think you have a little crush on me.” She tilted her head to the side and pasted on her fakest smile. When he double blinked and squared his broad shoulders, she grinned for real.

  “Sweetheart, you can tell yourself whatever you want. But if you want people to think we’re a couple, your time is mine when there is no light to take your pictures.”

  “So you can prove to Janny you can be a boyfriend and not just a hot vacation story? What’s the deal with you two? Is she an old flame you’re trying to woo back?”

  He shuddered, his nose wrinkling in disgust. Okay, so she’d missed that mark.

  “I don’t care what anyone thinks of me, but I won’t allow anyone to tread on my brother’s happiness.”

  “Including yourself?”

  He stood too close, the setting sun painting the sky in sharp orange and bright pink behind him. She had nowhere to look but his dark eyes. If she dropped her gaze she’d wind up studying the pattern of his sparse chest hair again, noting how the whorls defined his honed muscles even more. Curiosity to discover whether it felt silky or rough had her squeezing her fists until her nails bit into her palms. Of all the men to be attracted to. “You don’t think messing with the models and jeopardizing the shoot will hurt Joe?”

  “Everything you’re worried about has only happened in your overactive imagination.” He lifted his chin and his beard emphasized his strong jaw.

  “I didn’t imagine you flirting in the bungalow.” She took a step to the side and focused on the photo shoot, everyone there a flurry of activity trying to get the last shots in.

  “I was there looking for you to tell you about dinner.”

  “Sure, and winking and mentioning rum punch weren’t veiled threats.”

  He turned to take in the sunset. “You should never insult a man in his own home. It’s rude.”

  He had her there. Damn it. “Then I probably shouldn’t mention that when you and Joe stood side by side with the same face, him all blond and smiling and you dark and brooding I thought of Superman and Bizarro.”

  He had a great laugh, deep and full but with a slight goofiness. She grinned and nudged his arm with her own, ignoring the electricity in the touch.

  “I’m sorry. Sass and I are a bit ridiculous together. When we get stressed we try to make each other laugh to cut the tension.”

  “Kind of like now?”

  She nodded. “I find if I make a joke most people will forgive me.” Sass looked their way and waved. Holly did the same, anxiety spiking like a kid caught skipping school.

  “You should try being an adult and apologizing.” Harm left her there and jogged down to the beach. He clapped his brother on the shoulder and exchanged a few words, then made his way to the rocky outcropping in front of his home. He jumped up on one and then leapt to the next and the next with the agility of leopard. He never wavered or stopped, just flew over the jagged surfaces like they were nothing more than a sidewalk.

  He neared the bare rock face his villa sat upon, the bluff rising at least twice his height. She held her breath as he seemed to speed up, and right when she thought he’d crash against it, he shot up and caught the edge with his fingertips. She pressed her hand to her chest, her heart thundering beneath her palm. Before she could call out for someone to help him, he’d pulled himself up and onto the precipice. She breathed a sigh of relief just in time to have him steal it back when he raced towards the low fence surrounding his patio and hurdled it.

  Just who was this man she’d tangled herself up with?

  Chapter Seven

  “We’re going to dinner. You agreed, and we both need to eat.” Harm started the truck and flipped on the headlights. He gripped the steering wheel and drove away from the dock where they’d seen off Sassy and Joe. He’d promised his brother he’d help Holly with whatever she needed, but in his opinion, what she needed was a good, honest fucking.

  The girl was ten pounds of trouble in a five-pound sack. Too much for him to process in one woman. Smart and sexy and cheeky to a fault. He should wash his hands of her and her attempted manipulations, but she’d been so honest about her reasoning he found it hard to hold a grudge.

  Holly sighed and fastened her seatbelt. “I’m exhausted and I have to go through all the outfits for tomorrow and be up before the sun so I can make sure we stay on schedule. All I really want is a cold shower to rinse off the day and a bed.”

  He’d love to see her in his shower. Or bed. Preferably both. He wasn’t sure how to handle being alone with her. And they would be. Her crew filled the bungalows, so she’d be staying in his house. Sleeping just downstairs, showering beneath him, testing his patience and libido at every turn. He didn’t want to be attracted to her, let alone like her. But something about her drew him in.

  She wasn’t like women he was used to. And he knew a lot of women. He relished the variety and clandestine nature of a vacation hook-up. Women were so much more uninhibited knowing he wouldn’t know them long enough to judge them for their desires. But no one had challenged or teased or had him laughing in ages. Maybe ever.

  “Can’t we just grab you something at a drive-through?” She slouched back into the seat, crossing her long legs at the ankles and looking tired enough to fall asleep on him. But she wouldn’t sleep, even when he took her home. He remembered all too well how elusive slumber could be on the eve of a big project.

  “There’s no fast-food restaurant on Anguilla. No one is in that much of a hurry.”

  “Yeah, I’ve noticed. It’s beyond frustrating. I called today to schedule delivery of the things we shipped for our condo, and they’re still in customs.”

  “How long has your container been there?” With no income tax, the Anguillan government made their money from import and export taxes. It meant the overworked customs officials were often backlogged, especially when they had to process a shipping container of items.

  “Two weeks. It’s apparently just sitting there. If it’s not released by the time
the photo shoot wraps, I’m going to head down there and take care of it myself.”

  The image of Holly in her heels and business suit trying to talk the customs guys into anything had him laughing. “Sweetheart, Anguilla isn’t New York. If you head down there to raise hell, they’ll likely triple your tariff and misplace your container for a few weeks.”

  “That sounds like organized crime.”

  “Yeah, the Anguillan mafia. Don’t play by their rules and they’ll ignore you and play dominos.” He laughed again because she really didn’t get it.

  He hadn’t either when he’d first arrived. It had been an adjustment, but he’d made a life here where he managed to get paid for doing what he loved. Taking a damaged property and bringing it back to life was as enjoyable as his sail-boarding habit and extreme-obstacle-course infatuation.

  “It takes some getting used to, but the pace is slower down here. Getting things checked off an agenda isn’t anyone’s priority. You have to pick your battles, and no one wins against the customs department. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

  “We’ll see about that. I need my furniture so I don’t wind up sleeping on the floor or in Saskia’s childhood bedroom again. It’s like a knitting store exploded in there.”

  “When the hurricane hit the house, it damaged everything but that damned room.” His godfather had lost everything in that storm—most of his home, his fleet of sailboats and his life savings.

  “That’s when you and Joe came from Holland, right? To help Dutch rebuild.”

  “Joe did. He’s that kind of guy, the one who’ll show up first and leave last. I didn’t head over for almost a year, not until Joe started investing in the real estate. I realized we could make more money rebuilding this island than we could dealing in commercial-property exchanges at home.”

  “So he’s altruistic and you’re an opportunist. You really are Bizarro. You know he even had more muscles than Superman.”

  “He also had a wretched vocabulary. But he was a hero on his own cube world, so he had that going for him.” They laughed together this time. She couldn’t know he’d spent his childhood escaping reality through the pages of comic books. If she started referencing X-Men there was a distinct possibility his teenaged self would surface and start following her around like a lost pup. When they reached the gravel parking lot of the small restaurant, he hopped out and circled round to open her door.

  “Whoa there, Casanova. You’re taking this date thing a little too seriously. I appreciate that you put on real clothes, though this black-on-black thing makes me think of a funeral. But I’m never going to sleep with you, so you can dial down the charm.” She stepped out of the truck and he moved closer, blocking her escape with the open door and his own body.

  “You should never say never, sweetheart. We’re just here, two people getting to know one another better before your best friend gets my brother to decide he’s up for another spin on the matrimony merry-go-round.” He tugged on the collar of his shirt and undid another button. If she was going to critique his clothes he was at least going to have room to move in them.

  “It’s a little soon for them to get married, don’t you think?” Her hazel eyes shone in the lantern light and her honeysuckle scent lilted on the sea breeze. “It’s romantic as hell, but I don’t want her to get burned.”

  “I feel the same way about him, but kids these days…” He gave a shrug and stepped back, then led her up the wooden steps to the restaurant. He guided her with his hand on the small of her back, leading her through the bustling bar area with its bright orange cushions on rattan furniture.

  “Mr. Prinsen, you’re here.” Marco approached, his face beaming like an excited child. “Thank you so much for coming.”

  Harm held out his hand and hoped Marco would shut up before he said more than Holly needed to know. “Sorry about the short notice.”

  “After all you’ve done for us, it’s our pleasure. We thought you’d never let us repay you in anyway. Dinner is but a small token—”

  “Marco, de nada.” He smiled and the older man returned it and led them to a private table on the deck. A few yards away, high tide lapped at the shore, candles marking the path to the water.

  “Something to drink for you, miss?” Marco asked.

  She stared at Harm, a distrustful look in her eyes. “Whatever he’s having.”

  “Sparkling water and lime?”

  “Yes, please.” Holly responded to Marco, never taking her gaze off Harm.

  He leaned back in his chair and grinned, waiting for her reaction. He hadn’t expected Marco to take his request for a quiet table for dinner quite this far.

  “What exactly did you do for Marco?” she asked once he’d left them.

  He lost the grin. “I rebuilt this deck.”

  She glanced at the mahogany, aged silver with time. “How long ago?”

  “Does it matter?” Marco’s was the only restaurant on the isle with high-end dining on the beach. It was what made it special, and when a sneaker wave washed it out, Marco had been left high and wet with damage to the dining room and kitchen. A properly anchored deck hadn’t been in the budget, so Harm had done it himself.

  “Ah, I see. Doing something nice for someone would ruin your reputation. I’ll keep it on the down low.”

  “You and Sassy are the only ones worried about my reputation.”

  “And Janny.”

  Like he cared what Janny thought. Thankfully, Marco showed up with their drinks and salads because she would surely ruin his appetite if that conversation continued.

  “Is this calamari? It’s delicious.” She dug into her salad, her full lips tilting in a smile between bites.

  “The seafood is amazing on Anguilla. You’ve never had anything like it.”

  She pointed her empty fork at him. “I’m the daughter of a fisherman, so that would be hard to do.”

  “Alaska, right?” He asked as if he hadn’t researched it when he was looking into Saskia’s company to ensure she wasn’t after his brother for money. He didn’t know much about fashion, but from what he could tell, Sassy V was doing quite well. Saskia’s designs and Holly’s business savvy blended well to create a brand on the move.

  “Unalaska.” She smirked, probably because he looked confused. “It’s the name of the city where I grew up in the Aleutian Islands. Dutch Harbor is there.”

  He raised a brow. “Are you Dutch?”

  She shook her head. “The Russians called it Dutch Harbor. My mother is Aleut. Her family has always been on the island. My dad came through on a Norwegian fishing boat and she called to him like a siren, and now she nags him like a true fishwife.”

  “And Aleut is…”

  “Native to the islands. My grandmother has never even been to the mainland.” She gave a little shiver and set her fork across her empty plate.

  “And you couldn’t wait to leave.” He knew without having to ask.

  “Eighteen couldn’t come soon enough. I think my mother regrets all those geography lessons she taught us now that we’ve scattered.”

  “How many brothers and sisters do you have?” He leaned back and sipped his water, the bubbles teasing his lips as he stared at her pink pout. She had a beautiful mouth, lush and full.

  “There are a dozen of us, eight boys, four girls, five still at home until this summer when the twins graduate.”

  “You met Sassy in Miami, right? How did you end up there?”

  “I had a job managing a boutique owned by a trio of celebrity sisters. They let us have the Sassy V line in their stores, and one did me a huge favor and took a couple of our suits to their bikini-calendar shoot. That was our first break.” She traced her fingertip along the edge of her glass. “I know what you’re doing.”

  He blinked. “Do you?”

  “You’re being all, hey girl, tell me all about yourself. I’m a great listener. But you don’t need to do the hard seduction with me. We’re strictly in the friend zone.”

  As if. �
�Friends talk. Saskia may have tilted your impression of friendship since she’s really into herself, but usually that’s how it goes.”

  Holly folded her hands on the table. “You have to stop thinking the worst of her.”

  “Sassy? She’s a self-involved brat who needs to act like an adult.”

  “So do you. You both slip back into old patterns when you’re together.”

  Again with the armchair psychology. “You mean she doesn’t always try to boss everyone around and put her nose in things that are none of her business?”

  Holly laughed, rich and full, the golden flecks in her brown eyes sparkling. “You just described yourself, you know?”

  He shuddered. “As if.”

  She raised her glass. “If you’ll back off, I can rein her in. The two of you need to learn to get along.”

  They clinked glasses and her gaze locked on his, freezing them both in place. Something arced between them as tangible as a touch yet as invisible as a breath. The electricity of it made him uneasy, yet he was unable to break away because it was something. Something heady and light, the way he remembered being drunk felt. Could he get drunk on a woman?

  “Dinner?” The both startled as Marco spoke, having approached while they were stuck in whatever that had been.

  He sat up straight, unaware until now that he’d been leaning toward her. A busboy cleared their plates as Marco unveiled their entrees.

  “Triggerfish with an orange caper sauce and Brazero lobster with mango coulis.”

  Holly snickered then covered her mouth with her napkin. When they were alone, she contained herself for a moment.

  “Bizarro lobster?” She managed to get the words out before she erupted.