The Wrong Gentleman(4)

I closed the door to my hotel suite in the grand, five-star hotel in the center of Saint Tropez and dragged wet fingers through my hair as I headed to the lifts. I had few concessions to vanity. Aftershave, hair products, and moisturizer were for a different kind of man. I’d known times when soap had been a luxury, so it was all I’d ever need.

As I walked into the darkened bar, the buzz in my veins, the sense that what was about to happen was both an ending and a beginning, reminded me of the night before a deployment. I hoped tonight would be familiar in other ways, too—a few beers and some banter with Harvey, who I had a bone to pick with because he had told Reynolds I might be up for a field assignment. I’d forgive him, we’d drink some beer, and somewhere during the evening, I’d find a pretty blonde.

Some soldiers liked to have the certainty of someone at home waiting for them. They enjoyed the messages and letters on longer deployments, the home life they returned to in between assignments. That wasn’t me. I hated the idea of a part-time girlfriend or wife. I didn’t do things by halves. And anyway, I’d never yearned for stability or repetition. I thrived on change—it was one of the reasons I’d sold my business. That and the millions of pounds that now sat in my bank account. Military men rarely got rich, but then I’d always been an exception.

I scanned the noisy bar for Harvey, reading the room as I did.

In the far-left corner, an argument was turning heated between two guys in their thirties who’d had too much to drink. In the booth next to them, a group of girls on a hen night were enjoying a tray of shots. To my right was a mixed group of women and men, but their body language didn’t read friendly, more like business associates. Maybe a new superyacht crew getting to know each other.

Standing on tiptoes and leaning over the bar was a pretty blonde. Almost-white hair fell down her back in gentle waves that hit her waist, emphasizing her firm arse. More casually clothed than the women with the hen party, she wasn’t part of their group. The way she held herself suggested she was local, but as I stopped behind her, she ordered tequila with an American accent. Wearing black strappy heels, she looked like she’d be about five-five in bare feet. Golden skin.

Yep, my radar had been set off—she was definitely in the running for tonight’s blonde. I just hoped she stuck around long enough for me to order her next drink.

Spotting Harvey on the other side of the bar, I made my way through the crowd. As I neared, his arm dropped from the girl he was with and he greeted me in a big bear hug.

“I can’t believe you’re here, mate.”

I slapped him on the back. “Me neither. It’s good to see you. It’s been a while.”

“Seven years.”

“How’s the leg?” I asked.

“All good,” Harvey said, straining a smile. Harvey had lost his nerve after being shot at.

“Good. So when you apologize, I’ll know it’s not because you’re scared of what I might do to you because of an underlying injury.” I grinned.

Harvey chuckled. “Scared of you? I know you’re way too worried about messing up that pretty face to come toe-to-toe with me.”

I hadn’t lost my nerve as a commando. And it certainly wasn’t vanity that had seen me leave. I’d lost my hunger to be the best on every day, and I knew well enough that led to mistakes. I had to be all in, and if I wasn’t, it meant I needed a fresh challenge.

“Reynolds tracked me down because you told him I was free.”

Harvey shrugged and glanced at the girl next to him. “This is my girlfriend, August.”

This conversation would have to wait until we were alone. “Very nice to meet you,” I said, shaking her hand. “Are you yacht crew as well?”

“Yeah. Interior. Season starts for me tomorrow. Harvey says this is your first season?”

“That’s right. But I’m not doing security like this guy.” I nodded toward my old friend. “I’m just a deckhand. Any tips?”

“A ton. Whatever your bosun says, nod. Be nice to the interior team.” She pulled her mouth into a wide grin. “And don’t shit on your own doorstep. Relationships on board can get messy.”

Harvey nearly choked on his drink. “Yeah, no danger of that. Landon here doesn’t do messy or relationships.”

August rolled her eyes. “I’m glad we’re on different boats this season. It’s easier, even if we won’t see each other as much.”

“Well I’m looking forward to it,” I replied. “It’s been a while since I had my meals cooked for me and my washing done.”

“The money doesn’t stink either,” Harvey said. “That’s why we’re all here.”

“Although I’m going to find Skylar a rich husband this summer. It’s my mission,” August said as she glanced over my shoulder.

I turned to see the blonde from the bar coming toward us with a tray of drinks. She was even more beautiful now I could see her properly. Her hair fell around her face, ice-blue eyes and a button nose—she had that pretty look that Scandinavian girls had. And she had a body that only a gay priest could ignore. Large, luscious breasts, completely covered by the black top she wore, that small waist I’d noticed earlier, and hips that flared out into the perfect hour glass.

Jesus. She was white hot.