The Last Eligible Billionaire(35)

“I’m a sailor, ma’am, but I’ll do my best. Evening, Ms. Shawcross. Lovely dress. Color of lobsters. Gonna have to watch out for mermen jumping up into the boat tonight, won’t we? Charlotte, my dear. Glad to see you get to eat tonight too, for once.”

“We always make sure Charlotte gets what she needs, Captain Hollingsworth,” my mother says stiffly.

“Except you,” Begonia says softly to me. “Have you ever looked at Charlotte like that? Because I’m pretty sure she’s in love with you.”

“No.”

“No, you haven’t thought of her as a potential girlfriend, or no, you don’t think she’s in love with you?”

“Is this conversation helping you to get on the boat?”

She eyes the captain and the vessel.

Then she glances up at me with what I’d call a devious smile on any other woman.

On Begonia, it’s so out of place, it could be indigestion or a heart attack.

“I have a twenty stuffed into my cleavage,” she whispers. “Do you think if I slipped it to him, he’d close up the boat and leave with your mom and Amelia and Charlotte before we can get on it? We could have a picnic on the beach.”

“With what food? All the shops are closed for the evening.”

She clucks her tongue. “Such little imagination.”

When she reaches into her cleavage, I cover her hand with my own, refusing to think about my fingers brushing the swell of her breast.

She freezes.

I freeze.

Except for my cock.

My cock is most definitely not frozen.

And the way her lips have parted—not helping.

Not helping at all.

I clear my throat and snatch my hand away from her firm flesh. “It will require something larger than a twenty-dollar bill.”

“Nonsense. Captain Hollingsworth seems like a reasonable man.”

I sigh heavily. “Stay here.” I point to the dog. “You too.”

And then I stroll the rest of the way up the gangplank to the boat, about to do something I’m positive I’ll regret.





14





Begonia



Hayes touched my breast.

I know, I know, grow up, Begonia.

But this isn’t a junior high oooh, he touched your buuuuuutttttt moment.

This is a grown-up, Mr. Stiff and Proper and Cranky accidentally brushed my breast with his hand and it made goosebumps race over my skin and my nipples tight and my panties wet and none of it matters, because he rejected my proposal this morning, and now, he’s openly staring at me as we eat the Cranfords’ leftover crab cakes and the Perwinkles’ homemade bread and the Browns’ hand-picked sugar snap peas from their garden, while sitting next to a campfire on the beach.

I swipe at my mouth. “Do I have crumbs?”

“This is oddly delicious.”

He’s so adorable.

No. Stop it, Begonia. He’s aloof and cold and you cannot save him, so don’t even try.

I swipe at my mouth again, but this time, I’m trying to rub the smile off so I can match his seriousness. “Even commoners on coastal islands have to eat, and sometimes they like their food to taste good.”

“Yoohoo! Mr. Rutherford? We won’t look if you want to kiss on Ms. Begonia here, but we heard you were having an impromptu romantic date, and we thought you might like some music.”

I glance up the small hill to where three locals are descending with violins, and I can’t help clapping my hands. “Oh my gosh, yes! That is so sweet of you!”

“You haven’t heard them play yet,” Hayes mutters.

“Don’t be so negative. How often do you get serenaded by people who rarely have an audience?”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Hush and eat your peas, or there’s no pie for you. And if that pie tastes half as good as it smelled while it was baking this afternoon, you definitely want pie.”

His gaze lands on me, lit only by the crackling fire, and I suddenly wonder if he wants “pie” to be a euphemism.

That searing look says yes.

Or it might say I’m going to murder you in your sleep.

“We’ll take a minute to get warmed up, and then it’ll be nothing but the best music you’ve ever heard outside of a symphony hall until our fingers fall off or you decide it’s time for you or us to go home,” the ringleader of the violinists calls. They’re setting up a little way down, like they know just the right amount of space to give us so we can enjoy the music but still hear each other talk.

“Thank you so much for giving us music,” I call back with a smile. “I’m sure you have better things to do tonight.”

“Just the dishes.” All three of them laugh.

I smile at Hayes. “What’s the strangest place you’ve ever been serenaded?”

He holds my gaze while he sips discount wine out of the silicone cup that the local post office manager donated to our picnic tonight. “I was with Jonas in Los Angeles, with limited security. He was coated in stage make-up that made him look approximately sixty-five for a fifty years later scene, and he wanted a cheeseburger from a local joint just outside the studio’s gates. Seemed safe enough, but a small gang of teenage girls spotted him and recognized him.”