Caribbean Escape with the Tycoon
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Rosanna Battigelli
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CHAPTER ONE
“YOU SIT HERE and don’t move, Adrien,” Chanelle heard a deep voice say at the table across from hers. She had just been looking out at the coast from the deck of the luxury cruise liner Aquarius, a ship she’d never dreamed she’d be a guest on.
“I’ll be right back with something yummy for the both of us,” the man said with a laugh. “I’ll give you a hint: it rhymes with nice dream...”
Chanelle looked up, curious to see the face that matched the voice. But she only saw the back of the man’s head. And below the golden-brown hair that curled at the ends, a firm neck and muscled shoulders that were distractingly discernible under his turquoise shirt. His perfectly fitting black linen trousers emphasized his strong legs.
Before he turned toward the ice cream machine, a young lady passed by wearing a red bikini and a filmy white cover-up that barely covered anything, and gave the man a big smile. She said something to him, and Adrien’s father stopped to talk to her, giving Chanelle a glimpse of his chiseled profile and groomed shadow. And his quirky smile and narrowed eyes.
Chanelle’s stomach muscles contracted involuntarily, and her pulse quickened, followed immediately by a feeling of guilt for her physical reaction to a guy who was married and yet flirted with other women.
Despicable. And practically in front of his child...
Her attention was diverted by the vroom, vroom sounds of the man’s son as he moved his miniature racing car along the table. Adrien was a cute little boy, with bright blue eyes and short, golden brown hair, the same shade as his dad’s. At one point, he backed the car up and let it go. The car skidded off to the far end of the table, and the boy immediately jumped on his chair to reach across to get it. Chanelle turned in alarm toward his father, but he was now concentrating on filling two cones, the woman gone.
Chanelle’s heart skipped a beat. Adrien was so close to the ship railing... What if he took a tumble over the edge? Her heart leaped into her throat when she saw him begin to straighten, and without any further hesitation, she closed the distance between them in two strides and clasped his arm.
“You need to come down—”
“What exactly are you doing?”
Chanelle heard the deep voice directly behind her. Only this time it lacked the light, playful tone he had used with his son. Before she could react, the child had wrenched himself away and was scrambling off the chair and running to his father.
Chanelle turned to face them awkwardly, feeling a flush bloom across her cheeks. The man had set down the cones and was embracing Adrien with one arm while staring at Chanelle, his eyebrows furrowed above icy blue eyes. “Why were you grabbing him?”
Because you weren’t there, making sure your son didn’t end up losing his balance and tipping overboard, Chanelle wanted to retort.
She felt her jaw muscles tensing. “I wasn’t grabbing him.” She looked at the man steadily, willing herself to sound calm and not defensive. “He had jumped up to get his toy car, and I was worried that he’d lose his balance and fall.” She gazed at the boy, whose face was puckering as he looked at his shoes. “Or topple over.”
“He was in no danger. I had my eye on him.” The man’s eyes narrowed, and Chanelle felt as if she were staring at two brilliant blue laser beams.
Your eye was on a red bikini, she wanted to retort. She felt her cheeks fire up as the stormy blue of his eyes intensified.
“I was closer to him than you,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady, “and from where I stood, he looked perilously close to the edge.” Chanelle bit her lip. “Look, I was just trying to protect him. One wrong move and he could have—”
“I get the point,” he said, putting up a hand. His tone lacked its previous gruffness, and his eyes seemed to have softened. “Thank you for your valiant gesture.”
Chanelle’s eyebrows lifted as she stared at the man who was staring down at her. His eyes were a startling turquoise, matching his golf shirt. Gazing at his bronzed features, perfectly shaped lips and a jawline that reminded her of the sculpted perfection of Michelangelo’s David, Chanelle felt an inner jolt. A series of jolts. As her gaze slipped downward, she had the crazy thought that with his looks and build, he should be modeling for a living. The top buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing an inverted triangle of golden-brown hair. When her gaze returned to his face, she started at the piercing intensity of his eyes. She looked away, her cheeks feeling like molten lava. He stepped forward and took his son firmly by the hand. The child lowered his gaze again, aware that his actions had caused concern.
“What is going on here?” A thirty-something young woman with bouncy strawberry-blond hair, and clothes and shoes that screamed designer, approached them and took Adrien protectively by the hand. She threw a concerned look at her husband.
“Nothing to worry about,” he drawled. “I’ll take care of it.”
Chanelle couldn’t help glancing at his left hand. No ring. She almost snorted. No wonder. He obviously preferred to look single... Chanelle’s gaze flew to the petite woman. Did she have any idea that her husband was a playboy?
A rich playboy, from the look of her diamond of at least two carats.
“I’m going to our stateroom. Come on, Adrien,” she said brusquely. She lifted an eyebrow imperiously toward her husband. “Vance?”
“I’ll join you shortly, Mariah,” he said. He released Adrien’s hand.
Chanelle stood by awkwardly as the man’s wife strode past her stiffly, ignoring her completely. When she and her son had disappeared past the automatic glass doors, Chanelle glanced warily at the man. Vance. Nice name. Too bad it didn’t match his character.
He had taken a few steps closer, and his brows were furrowed again. Her nose picked up spicy notes of his cologne. A woodsy and exotic fragrance that reminded her of sandalwood and cedar. Chanelle wondered uneasily if, now that his wife and child were not present, he was about to give her a blast for interfering in their business.
Why hadn’t she minded her own business? The cruise hadn’t even begun, and already she was feeling a surge of anxiety. She took a deep breath, bracing herself for a verbal onslaught.
And then his brows unfurrowed. “Have you considered applying for a job on the ship, watching over the children?” he said with a quirk of a smile, blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “I don’t believe this cruise line comes equipped with a guardian angel.”
Chanelle blinked, distracted by the way the turquoise of his eyes had darkened to lapis and not knowing how or what she should reply. She patted her hair down self-consciously. It had been rather humid in Tampa, and in such conditions, her hair had a tendency to fluff out and get frizzy.
Her emotions at this moment felt just as frizzy, with the unnerving way that he was gazing at her...
“I—I was just trying to prevent a tragedy,” she said, unable to keep the defensiveness out of her voice. She straightened, trying to boost her confidence. She was not going to let this—this womanizer—try to appease her with his charm. How many other women had he referred to as an angel? “And I’m not sorry I interfered,” she added, jutting out her chin.
He stared at her wordlessly for a moment, his eyes narrowing, before shifting his gaze to her engagement ring. His jaw muscles flickered and he seemed lost in thought, and Chanelle had to resist the urge to whip her hand behind her back. Finally he looked up, and pinned her with a curious gaze. “Your fiancé is a helluva lucky guy to have such a caring wife-to-be. He won’t have to worry about your future children, with you protecting them like a lioness.” He gave a husky laugh and then stared at her intensely. “So tell me, since this is a Zodiac cruise, are you a Leo?”
Vance watched the extraordinarily long eyelashes of the woman opposite him flutter over green-hazel eyes that sparkled like gemstones. Her glossy lips parted briefly and then shut, drawing his eyes to their perfect dimensions—not too thin and not too wide. And from having observed her stature as he approached—or more specifically, the way she fit into her white jeans and fuchsia T-shirt—it was obvious she either worked out or was just born lucky. He watched as she ran her fingers through her lustrous auburn hair, the movement sending a hint of her perfume drifting toward him, a candy-like scent of raspberry and plum...
She blinked at him as if his question were the last thing she had expected to hear him say.
What the hell was he doing? He didn’t really want to know her sign, did he? No, of course not.
Vance wished he could take the question back. It was something he might have asked in a more flirtatious situation. And he had no intention of flirting with this lovely but rather overreactive—and engaged—passenger. He shifted as a couple strode past them. He should have followed Mariah back to the stateroom immediately. And now he had to think of an appropriate way to end this—
“Sagittarius.”
She said it defiantly, her green eyes flashing a silent warning.
He had no choice but to continue this now. “Ah...the Archer,” he murmured. “The healer whose intelligence forms a bridge between earth and heaven.” He raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess. You’re either a nurse or a teacher...or in some kind of caring profession.” He stroked his jaw. “Or I’m completely off the mark and you’re an astrophysicist,” he added with a chuckle.
She wrinkled up her face and rolled her eyes, an attempt—possibly?—to conceal her amusement. A tingling sensation spiraled through him. The dimples that had appeared briefly in her cheeks were charming. Whether he liked it or not, she was igniting feelings that he did not want ignited. He forced himself to come back to earth. “Well, are stars your thing, or what?” he said lightly.
Her lips parted, and she had that look of Why would you even want to know? She gave him a measured glance. “I don’t have time for stargazing,” she retorted, “and my job is much more down-to-earth. With no sparkle or glitter.”
She hesitated for a moment, and her eyes seemed to darken. He caught the slight crease of her forehead before it disappeared.
“I’m a social worker,” she said matter-of-factly. “In child protection.” She took a deep breath, and her eyes seemed to blaze in the late-afternoon sunshine. Her mouth opened slightly as if she were about to say something more but then promptly closed again.
Vance surveyed her flushed cheeks. No wonder she had been so quick to act with Adrien. And he had been too quick to jump to the wrong conclusion, asking her why she was grabbing him... “Protectiveness is in the nature of a Sagittarius,” he said gruffly, nodding.
She didn’t respond, but something flickered in her green eyes before she lowered her gaze.
Vance knew that Adrien hadn’t been in danger, but he could understand that from where she had been sitting, it had looked like Adrien was in a very vulnerable position. And she hadn’t hesitated in reacting...
Something in Vance’s gut told him that if Adrien had tumbled over, this vigilant Sagittarian would have plunged right in after him. He had seen that fierce protectiveness in her eyes as she had quickly reached out to stop him. Vance had no doubt that on the job or not, she saw herself as a champion of children, on constant alert to ensure their safety and well-being.
His gaze shifted again to her hands, where she was unconsciously twiddling her ring.
He felt his jaw tensing. “I should let you get back to your—”
Her head jerked up.
“Fiancé.”
Her eyes shot green sparks at him before dropping to her left hand. “Thank you,” she replied stiffly, her voice sounding far from grateful. She tossed her hair back and turned away.
It was quite the mane, he thought, watching the way the sun made her auburn hair look like copper gold. He had a sudden urge to run his fingers through it. And to talk to her longer, despite the voice in his head urging him not to.
“Hey, there,” he called. He waited until she turned around and then flashed her a smile. “I realize I must have sounded harsh initially,” he said. “I apologize. I’m protective, too, when it comes to family.”
Her eyes widened. For a moment she said nothing and then shook her head dismissively. “No need to apologize. I probably should have minded my own business.”
“Well, allow me to at least apologize for addressing you as ‘Hey, there,’” he said, smiling. “I’m Vance. And I’d like to make it up to you by buying you a drink. What do you say, Miss—?”
She blinked at him wordlessly. When a few seconds had passed and she still had not responded, he frowned. “Is something the matter?” Was he imagining it, or was she giving him a look of disdain?
“I don’t have drinks with married men,” she said coolly. “And I believe you told your wife you’d join her shortly...”
Vance blinked, momentarily confused, but before he could reply and tell her he wasn’t coming on to her, she had turned on her heels and disappeared.
Way to go, Kingston. How obtuse to be offering to buy a guest a drink, given that she was engaged and that she had presumed he was married. From the look on her face, it was obvious that she considered him a creep. Shaking his head, Vance headed inside and pressed the elevator button for the ship’s upper level—Deck Thirteen. He glanced at the time on his phone. The cruise director would soon be announcing the emergency assembly drill. All the passengers would be called to make their way to their assigned deck to undergo the required safety routine in the event of an emergency. And soon after that, the ship would set sail.
He had enough time to have a quick talk with Mariah and Adrien and then relax with a glass of wine at the Mercury Bar on Deck Ten. No, he would head to the bar first. Mariah would probably be wondering what was taking him so long, but until she texted, he was just going to take advantage of having some time to himself.
As the elevator opened on Deck Eight, Vance caught a flash of auburn hair among a group of people walking down the hall. He felt his pulse jack up. And then another flash of fuchsia above snug-fitting white jeans. It was her. He smiled apologetically when he realized that several elderly women were waiting for him to move to the back of the elevator so they could enter.
Moments later, Vance leaned back in a lounging chair in the Mercury Bar, savoring one of the ship’s premium wines. It would kick off his week-long holiday after an intense nine months taking over Zodiac Cruises, his parents’ company. Even though he had initially balked when his mother had mentioned plans for a special cruise to formally hand over the reins of the company to him, Vance was looking forward to finally having some time to unwind.
Nine months ago, the life Vance had known and enjoyed had shattered. His father had had a heart attack after a family dinner. Before he had taken his last breaths, he had managed to tell his family that he loved them.
Vance swallowed hard. The man who had spent so much time away from home—and had relinquished parenting to build his business—had looked at him with piercing clarity for a few moments and rasped, “I’m sorry, son. For everything I said or didn’t say to you. For not being there for you as you were growing up. I... I wanted to build the company for my family. Now I leave it in your hands... Will you take it on, son?”
Vance had felt a sharp twinge in his own chest at his father’s words, and he had instinctively realized that he needed to forgive his father. The wall he had constructed around his heart over the years, brick by brick, had to give. But something had lodged in Vance’s throat, preventing him from expressing any feelings, and when his father passed seconds later, Vance was flooded by guilt that he had not given his father the satisfaction of knowing that he had forgiven him—or at least that he would try to forgive him—and that he would carry on with the company.
That was what his dad had always wanted, to have him working alongside him, learning the ropes and eventually taking over when he decided to retire. But Vance had balked from the beginning, always feeling a disconnect with the man who had barely been around in his youth.
And how could the concrete barrier around his heart even begin to give after decades of reinforcement? His father’s quickly uttered words to him as he approached the end of his life were too little and too late.
Getting involved in the company had been the furthest thing from Vance’s mind. In high school, when his father had urged him—on one of his rare home visits—to do his community service hours at Zodiac Cruises’ headquarters, Vance had declined, preferring to volunteer at a nearby art gallery. His time there had reinforced his interest in the art world, and the sketches he had shown his father to prove his intentions to pursue art at university had met with barely concealed scorn.
“You’ve got to be joking.” His father’s sharp laugh as he had tossed Vance’s scrapbook aside dismissively had struck him as if he had lunged a fist into his chest. Vance still remembered how he had wobbled backward a couple of steps, slack-jawed and speechless.
“Are you telling me you’d rather be a starving artist?” His father’s eyes, resembling gray storm clouds, had bored into Vance. “Don’t be a fool.” And then he had abruptly left, telling his wife that he had lost his appetite and wasn’t going to stay for dinner.
Vance winced at the memory. His father had been harsh with him, but Vance had refused to buckle and eventually graduated with a master of fine arts degree, receiving the highest honors and a substantial monetary prize from the department. His mother had been at his graduation ceremony, and the look of pride in her glistening eyes had moved him, but her effusive words of praise and congratulations could not make up for the fact that his father had not bothered to show up.
Within a few months, a prestigious art gallery in Toronto’s historic Distillery District had hired Vance as assistant curator, and his work there, along with his travels, had kept him quite occupied, with very little time to visit his mother save for the occasional Sunday dinner.
The dinner that had proven to be his father’s last had turned out to be the same as previous occasions—the atmosphere tinged with tension, stilted conversation and a formality that was never present when he was alone with his mother. Seeing his father—whom he had always categorized as tough and uncompromising—reduced to such a vulnerable and conciliatory state had been a shock. His father’s deathbed request had immobilized him, and Vance had barely had time to process the request before his father passed.
Vance took a gulp of wine. He had never wanted to get involved in the family business, but the irony was that after the funeral, Vance had spent every waking moment trying to prove himself worthy of following in his father’s footsteps. For his mother’s sake, he had tried to convince himself repeatedly. He was doing it for her, to keep the business running as smoothly as possible. And maybe to assuage the guilt that had surfaced knowing he hadn’t given his father the satisfaction of a positive response to his last request as he had taken his last breaths.
And to do the job properly, it meant that he had had to temporarily give up the lifestyle he had previously enjoyed, which his father had not approved of. And his job at the art gallery.
It had been too late to make a vow to his father, but not too late for Vance to carry out his promise to himself.
So for the last nine months, Vance had worked twelve-hour days at headquarters in Toronto and had undertaken several cruises, mentored by every department head of Zodiac Cruises. He had been surprised at how much he had enjoyed learning the workings of the business, and he had started to think of ways that he could put his art and history background to good use in the company...
His mother had planned this cruise to officially acknowledge Vance in his new position. “Your father wanted this, remember?” she had reminded him several times when he had claimed that he didn’t have time. “His dream was to pass the reins as president of Zodiac Cruises over to you himself one day...”
Vance felt a fresh stab of grief and the familiar swirl of guilt in his gut. What had he really known about his father’s dreams? His feelings toward his father were so convoluted. He was sure that he had felt every possible emotion when it came to his dad: bitterness, disappointment, abandonment, even hate in his adolescent years. He had never understood the man...a man who had chosen work over family.
What’s done is done, he told himself. He had another drink of his wine and willed the memory of his father’s last moments to vanish. As soon as that image had dissipated, green-hazel eyes flashed in Vance’s memory. Why did his thoughts keep returning to her? For nine months, he had stayed clear of women, focused entirely on the company. He hadn’t agreed to take a break and go on this cruise with the notion of resuming his past lifestyle...
And yet he had impulsively told her he’d like to buy her a drink. What the hell had he been thinking? And he had completely ignored the clear fact that she was engaged. Vance scowled. It was obvious that his playboy habits hadn’t been completely extinguished...
He couldn’t help wondering what her fiancé was like. Did he run his fingers through that blaze of hair? Did it get wild and tangled when they—?
Taking a deep breath, Vance forced the image out of his mind. He should have never agreed to this cruise. It was frivolous, considering the projects that needed his attention back at Zodiac headquarters...
Vance rolled his neck to one side and then the other. Maybe after the emergency drill, he’d relax in his private whirlpool. He felt tense around his shoulders, and the warm jets would be a welcome relief... A bit later on, he’d either order room service for dinner or they could dine at one of the specialty restaurants if Mariah preferred.
And then they would proceed to the Milky Way Theater, where the ship’s troupe of dancers and singers would be performing a medley of songs from the ’60s to the ’80s. Classic hits from iconic singers. It was a great first-night show, and he would be giving a brief welcome to the audience before it started.
And maybe the Sagittarian might not be there to distract him...
