Billionaire Novelist's Fiery Debutante (2 page)

For a split second, their eyes met, and they simply stood there, she very much naked and wet, he—against his better judgment—very much checking her out from top to toe. Her creamy breasts were jiggling an enticing invitation, her pink nipples wet and puffy, her belly flat and taut, and just a hint of pussy peeping from between her thighs. Dang, she was hot.

Then she let rip a blood-curdling scream that pierced the silence and broke the spell.

“Aaaaaaaaargh!” she yelled at no one in particular. “Heeeeeeeeelp!”

Confused, Josh lowered the statuette.

For some reason, he had the distinct impression this girl was neither a paparazzo nor a stalker.

CHAPTER 3

Chloe had never felt so vulnerable in her entire life!

In the last place where she’d expected to encounter another human being, here stood this burly man, all bulging muscle, and hulking presence, simply ogling her like some pervert peeping Tom!

Bunching the shower curtain and draping it across her naked form, she saw that he was gripping some sort of weapon in his hand.

Oh, no. He was probably some native who’d swum to this island from his distant home, intent on stealing whatever he could lay his hands on.

“T-t-take whatever you want,” she stammered, retreating until her back was pressed up against the shower wall. “P-p-please don’t hurt me.”

When he didn’t answer, she assumed he didn’t speak English. But what language
did
he speak? Studying him a little more closely—his dark roving eyes, the hard planes of his face, the short black curly hair and the muscularity of his bronzed torso, she figured he probably spoke Bahamian Creole, a language she didn’t master. Although, wasn’t English the official language of the Bahamas? She wished she’d studied her travel guide a little closer. But then he took a step closer, and her mouth flew open and her eyes went wide.

“Noooo!” she cried, involuntarily holding up an arm in protection.

That made the pesky shower curtain fall away, and once again, she was fully exposed to his roving eye.

She could see his expression darken again, his lips a malevolent slash.

“Here. Take this,” he growled, and she cowered in fear, only to find him shoving a towel at her. She took it hesitantly, and he abruptly turned his back and stalked out, leaving her shaky and fearful of his next move.

Quickly toweling off, she let out a yelp when his gruff voice sounded from beyond the door, startling her once more.

“What are you doing here?” he called out. “This is a private retreat!”

“W-w-what do you mean?” she stammered.

“I mean what I just said, lady. This is private property. You’re trespassing.”

Her cheeks instantly flushed at this ludicrous accusation, and the Thomson fighting spirit made a triumphant return. “I’m trespassing?
I’m
trespassing?”

“That’s what I said. I’m renting this island, and you’re trespassing.”

In spite of her state of undress, she planted her hands on her hips, even though the man couldn’t see her. “You’re renting the island?
You’re
renting the island?”

“Look, if you’re going to repeat every single thing I say, we’ll still be here this time tomorrow.”

She quickly slipped into her clothes. “
I’m
the one who’s renting—well, perhaps not exactly renting—what I mean to say is that I’m here because I’m
supposed
to be here. It’s
you
who’s trespassing, mister!”

He barked a curt humorless laugh. “Who
are
you?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” she shot back, starting to feel defiant now that she was fully dressed. “And that’s what I’m doing. I’ll ask you the same thing. Who are
you
?”

“I asked you first,” he grunted.

“If you must know,” she declared, her head held high, “I’m Chloe Thomson and I’m a writer.”

“Never heard of you,” he riposted. “And I happen to know a lot of writers.”

She blinked. “You do, do you?”

“Yes, I do.” He let out an exasperated groan. “Look, this is getting us nowhere. Come out so we can talk face to face. Assuming you’re dressed, of course.”

Chloe didn’t know if she was quite ready to come out and face this—this he-man. Though if she was absolutely honest with herself, she had to admit he had a point. This conversation was going nowhere. Who was this guy, and what was he doing on
her
island? Only one way to find out.

So she took a deep, steadying breath and stepped through the bathroom door into the hallway. He stood leaning against the wall, and actually looked surprised when she joined him.

Once again, his eyes scanned her from head to foot—such an annoying habit! Well, two could play that game, so she purposefully let her eyes wander all over that gorgeous body of his in one smooth sweep. But then she got caught on that significant bulge in his boxers. The man was hung! Which, of course, was neither here nor there, so she quickly returned her eyes to his face. Which was a thundercloud.

“Chloe Thomson, huh?” he snarled.

“That’s me,” she acknowledged, folding her arms across her chest—she now wished she’d brought a less revealing set of clothes instead of the beachwear she’d stuffed into her trunk.

“A writer,” he scoffed.

“Yes. I’m a writer.” She wondered if the guy was dense. “And now that we’ve established that fact—again—I’m very much interested to learn from you who you are, mister.”

He grimaced. “If you really were a writer, you should have recognized me by now.”

She studied his face, looking for something to trigger her memory, anything that would be familiar, but nothing came. She’d never set eyes on the man before. “You’re also a writer? Like me?”

He shook his head. “Nothing like you, honey. I’m a
successful
writer.”

The slight had her narrow her eyes, though she had to admit he was right. She was pretty much a nobody on the literary scene. But then again, his face really didn’t ring a bell. He glared at her, defying her to recognize him. Nope. She was pretty sure he was an absolute unknown.

“Never seen you before in my life,” she finally stated. “Did you write something I might have read?”

This seemed to surprise him, for he looked confused for a moment, his cockiness waning. He nodded slowly. “You might. But obviously you haven’t.” He then made a throwaway gesture with his hand and pushed himself away from the wall. “You know what? Let’s drop the subject. What I want to know is what you’re doing here, crashing my retreat.”

“
Your
retreat?” she yelled. “
Your
retreat?”

For the first time, she thought she detected the hint of a smile on his lips, but it was wiped away as quickly as it had appeared. “Yes,
my
retreat,” he confirmed. “Booked and paid for in full by my agent. And I’m pretty sure the booking was for one person only. Per the usual terms of the agreement. I know this because I come here once a year and have done so, without fail, for the last ten years. So let me ask you again. What are
you
doing on
my
island?”

She blinked a couple times. Well, if he put it that way… “I, erm, won a contest?”

His eyebrows shot up at these words. “A contest,” he scoffed. “Don’t tell me. Spend the night with a celebrity?”

She gave him her best eye roll. The man might be easy on the eyes, but he sure as hell was arrogant. “Write Magazine’s annual writing competition. I won first prize. One week paid vacation at Eden Island Writing Retreat.” And under her breath, she added, “I knew I should have settled for the meeting with Melinda DuChamp.”

CHAPTER 4

“Melinda DuChamp?” The familiar name jolted him out of his anger.

“Yeah. She’s this big shot New York agent? Dinner with her was the second prize.” She shrugged, a tendril of wet hair falling across her face.

Damn, she was cute. Big blue eyes set in a heart-shaped face, she was petite and lovely.

“I know Melinda.” He hesitated. If she hadn’t guessed who he was, perhaps he shouldn’t tell her. People had a tendency to freak out when they met him for the first time, and turn into blubbering heaps of crazy. He didn’t need a stalker on the island any more than he needed a distraction, which he simply knew she was going to be, regardless of how this thing panned out.

“You know Melinda DuChamp? How so?”

“She…” How much should he tell her? “She’s the agent of a close friend of mine.”

“Oh?”

She was waiting for him to tell her more, but he was damned if he was going there. Having a woman here was bad enough, he didn’t need a groupie.

He studied her carefully, trying to decide how much of a pain in the ass she was going to be. “So you’re here for the whole week, huh?”

“Yep. You?”

He grimaced and nodded curtly. In response, she bit her cherry lip and tucked that strand of errant hair behind her ear. So cute…

“I guess that means we’re stuck here together.”

He shook his head. How the hell had this happened? The ones responsible for this fuck-up were going to hear from him the minute he got off this island. At the very least, he would demand a full refund. “I guess so.” Chloe Thomson, huh? He’d never heard of her. If she was a writer, she was definitely a complete unknown. But so, so cute… He closed his eyes. He so wasn’t going there. “Let’s make one thing clear. This week is extremely important for me.”

“As it is for me,” she countered, her initial bashfulness long gone.

Ignoring her, he continued, “I have a novel to map out, and I plan to do just that.”

“What a coincidence,” she returned, eyes wide. “Me, too!”

He shook his head, like a bull trying to rid itself of a pesky fly. “I’ve got a lot riding on this one—”

“That makes two of us. My last novel didn’t sell, so I really need to make a fresh start.”

“—so I want to be left in peace.”

She gestured around. “From what I’ve seen of this place, it’s big enough for the both of us.”

He glowered. “There’s only one bedroom.”

“So?”

“I won’t sleep on the couch.”

“You won’t?”

“Uh-uh. Not a chance.”

“For a famous writer, you’re not very chivalrous, are you?”

His eyebrows shot up. “Let’s not go there, honey. I’m not the one crashing the party.”

She crossed her arms defiantly. “I won this contest fair and square, so I have every right to be here, Mister Big Shot Writer.”

He held up his hands in a gesture of peace. “All right. Someone messed up, but it wasn’t you, okay?”

“Thank you.”

“But we still have to make this work. The chopper won’t be back for another week, and until that time we have to play nice.”

“Can’t we… you know… press this little thingamajig?” She was gesturing at the emergency bracelet she was carrying loosely around her wrist, another clear indication she was perfectly within her right to be here. He had to admit it was the perfect solution. “You would willingly give up your vacation for me?”

A sheet of flame shot from her eyes. “Me give up
my
vacation? For
you
? I thought
you
would give up
yours
!”

Now it was his turn to cross his arms in defiance. He straightened his back and leveled an arctic glare at this maddening intruder. “Not a chance, honey. I paid for this vacation—a good big chunk of dough I might add. If there’s anyone who should give up their claim it’s you.”

She shot her arms heavenward. “I can’t believe this. We’re right back where we started!” She planted her hands on her hips—and such nice hips they were. “Look. I’m not going anywhere. You’re not going anywhere. So let’s just settle this once and for all. I’m taking the bed. You take the couch. Deal?”

He chuckled bitterly. “You’re one major pain in the ass, aren’t you?” He thought about it for all of one second. “I can’t write if I don’t get my shut-eye. And I can’t sleep on a couch. So either we’re sharing the bed, or you’re shit out of luck. Deal?”

She emitted what sounded like an animal snarl. Not a dangerous animal, however. More the barnyard variety. A cute little bunny, perhaps. If she hadn’t simultaneously given him the dirtiest look any woman had ever given him, he’d have actually enjoyed it.

“Fine! But I’m taking the left side.”

“Fine!” he grunted.

“And I’m putting pillows in the middle. Just in case you try anything funny.”

“Lady, I wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole.”

“Fine!”

“Fine!”

Their negotiations thus concluded, they both stormed off, he in the direction of his office, she into the bedroom, probably to start working on that wall of pillows to prevent him from jumping her bones.

As he sat shaking his head in disbelief at what fate had dealt him, one thought stood out amongst the welter. Chloe Thomson was trouble. Big trouble.

CHAPTER 5

As Chloe unpacked her stuff, she found herself grumbling mentally at that stubborn man. First of all, what kind of architect would plunk down a luxury villa and only equip it with one bedroom! As she slipped her collection of panties—enough for one week—onto the top shelf of the single closet the room held, she cast a nervous eye at the bed. It wasn’t as big as she’d hoped, and she just couldn’t imagine sharing it with a man she’d never met. She’d said she’d take the left side, but that still didn’t leave her much wiggle room. And she knew from experience that she was a major wriggler. In fact, it often happened that she woke up in the middle of the night with her comforter all twisted up, and her pillow on the floor.

Shaking her head, she eyed the closet censoriously. The mystery man—he hadn’t even told her his name!—had practically taken over the entire space, leaving her with only one bottom shelf and one top shelf. She’d never heard of a guy possessing so many clothes. Throwing a quick glance over her shoulder, she fingered one of his boxers. Black and silky, with a fashionably thick elastic band. It looked quite new. She slipped it off the shelf and let it fall open. She gulped in surprise as she took in the huge bulge unfolding before her eyes.

“Having fun with my knickers?”

The voice had her jumping at least a foot in the air.

“I, erm, was just, erm…” Checking out his package.