by Lynn Donovan
Comet’s
Tale of Love

Holliday Island Resort Series, Book #5
Lynn Donovan
Table of Contents
Copyright
About this Series
Introduction
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Next in this Series
Personal Note from the Author:
About the Author
Appreciation
Newsletter and a Free Gift for You
Please Review
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are all products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, organizations, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
The book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. All rights are reserved with the exceptions of quotes used in reviews. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage system without express written permission from the author.
Holliday Islands Resort Series
©2020 Lynn Donovan
Cover Design by Erin Dameron-Hill
Editing by Cyndi Rule
Beta Reader: Amy Petrowich
About this Series

Be sure to read all the books in this series.
Holliday Islands Resort Series 2020
Book 1 – Dashing to be Daddy, George McVey
Book 2 – Dancing at the Altar, Christine Sterling
Book 3 – Love Comes Prancing, Danni Roan
Book 4 – Her Christmas Vixen, Ginny Sterling
Book 5 – Comet’s Tale of Love, Lynn Donovan
Book 6 – Cupid Stupid Romance, Lynn Donovan
Book 7 – Donner Let Her Go, Amelia C. Adams
Book 8 – Blitzen the CEO, Lisa Prysock
Book 9 – Rudolph’s Runaway Bride, George McVey
Book 10 - Momma’s Kissing Santa, Kit Morgan
Introduction
Anya Stepanov is happy in her simple, orderly life as a PT Nurse Practitioner in Westfield, NY. That is until she gets a taste of the billionaire lifestyle from the man who hires her to work on his injured son and help him recover from an accident and revamp his Health and Fitness-themed Island Resort in Alaska. When her patient kisses her, she can’t deny the connection even if it is only an infatuation.
William Comet Holliday is determined to have the fastest recovery ever after a severe accident. After all, he is a son of Gordon Holliday. If anyone can set a world record for recovery it will be a Holliday man. Too bad he keeps getting distracted by the lovely PT nurse his father hired to be in charge of his recovery. Can he be taught that some things take time to do well or will he keep living life in the fast lane? Can these two see past their own shortcomings to make a life together? Or will their infatuation burn out as fast as Comet’s Tale of Love?
Chapter One
Anya Stepanov tossed the September People’s Magazine aside and sipped her coffee. “Ugh! Charles! Did you make the coffee again?”
“Anya! That hurts.” Charlie whined as he stuck his head into the breakroom doorway. “Besides, it’s not coffee.” He entered.
“Then what is it? You know I love my Folgers. Why must you insist we drink your non-caffeine inventions?”
“Because caffeine is the number one cause—”
“Geesh, we know, but we have a right to die a slow death due to caffeine.”
Charlie rolled his eyes. Anya picked up the magazine again and admired the handsome face on the cover. His hair was perfect, his teeth were perfect, even his eyelashes were perfect. Had they airbrushed this man into the appearance of perfection? Or was he just this gorgeous? “I wonder if he drinks Folgers?”
Charlie leaned over her shoulder. “Pfft. I doubt it. He probably has hand-picked beans, by Juan Valdez himself, air lifted from Brazil to his front door. His butler grinds it manually every morning and filters it through Ozark spring water, which is also airlifted from the streams that morning.”
Anya laughed. “Juan Valdez is from Columbia… I’m sure this guy isn’t that bad. Who could possibly afford—”
“Honey, do you know how rich that man is?”
Anya shrugged.
“That man is Billy C. Holliday. He owns a slue of fitness studios across America. From California to Maine, Florida to Washington State, plus workout DVDs and, my goodness,” Charlie put a finger to his lips. A gesture he did when thinking. “Cookbooks… Oh, and every fitness studio has a café where he has celebrity chefs cook nothing but lean, mean, body-building grub. That man could buy Brazil if he wanted.”
Anya looked at Charlie with furrowed brows. “So?”
Charlie sat down beside her. “So? So, he’s also the most eligible bachelor.” He tapped the magazine cover with a finely manicured fingernail.
“I heard” —Lisa, Anya’s intern, sat down at the break table with a cup of the stuff that was not coffee— “He had a car accident and is paralyzed at like T-5. I suppose all that wealth didn’t protect him from ruining that gorgeous body of his.” She gazed at the photo on the magazine.
Anya looked again at the man’s handsome face. “Really?” She shrugged. “Well, just goes to show, money isn’t everything. We all are fragile and can be broken.”
“Yeah,” Lisa sighed. “I’d sure like to help him with his broken body.”
“Lisa!” Anya pretended to be embarrassed. But hadn’t those same thoughts been flashing through her mind? T-5… he could still have a functioning…
No, she would not think about this elusive billionaire’s body parts. What were the chances he’d come to Westfield, New York, to her little local clinic for physical therapy anyway? He could buy Brazil, or he could just buy the Mayo Clinic and have them work with his broken body. She rested her chin in her hand and opened the magazine to read about this most eligible bachelor. Would there be any information about how he got hurt?
“Say, Lisa,” Anya tried to change the subject. “Could you do me a favor?”
“Sure, you want me to assess your next patient?” She jumped to her feet.
Anya frowned. “Well, no. I was wondering if you could go down to Burt’s and buy us another coffee pot. I really need my Folgers after lunch.” She glanced at Charles. “No offense.”
Charlie pursed his lips. “Fine. But let’s compromise with this, you just drink one cup of your coffee in the morning, and then stick to the decaffeinated drinks. Better yet, how about bottled water the rest of the day? No sodas!” He clasped his hand. “I have a tea, that will revitalize—”
“I’ll try.” Anya smiled.
Charlie drew himself up tall and slender. “That’s all I ask.” He smiled, but he looked like he was scolding her instead. “I wouldn’t be a worthy nutritionist if I didn’t promote good health among my office associates.”
“True. You wouldn’t.”
Emily, the clinic’s occupational therapist and Anya’s best friend, rushed into the breakroom. “Okay! Everybody listen up! I’ve got something here that is going to change dating as we know it!”
Everyone looked at her with a “What now?” look on their faces. She tossed a manilla envelope on the table and hung her purse on the back of her chair, then pulled the contents of the envelope out and began distributing them like cards to everyone seated. �
�Now, I want you all to fill this out. Answer it as accurately as you can.”
“What is this?” Anya looked at the questionnaire. She recognized a psychological evaluation when she saw one.
“My cousin has a… company in New York City that determines compatibilities. These are BETA versions of the questionnaire they use to... to… find the perfect match.”
Everyone groaned. “Is this a dating service, like that swipe left thing?” Charlie crossed his legs. “Honey, I’ve tried all of those on-line services, there’s just not a match out there who can appreciate all this.” He gestured to his extremely lean physique.
Emily scanned their faces. “No. Come on. I promised Clarice we’d fill them out and return them today. Please… it’ll be a big help to their programmers to determine if this is THE most accurate set of questions. They want to be able to guarantee a 95% match. Come on, you guys. I promised.” She whined.
“Emily,” Anya groaned. “I don’t want any more blind dates, or on-line mishaps. Electronic dating is just not for me.”
“I know, I know.” Emily pleaded. “We aren’t really applying for a date. We’re just BETA testing the questionnaire.”
Anya stared at Emily with resignation in her eyes. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.” Emily smiled.
Slowly, Anya pulled the questionnaire in front of her and lifted a pencil. “Fine. But I better not get a bunch of spam e-mail because of this.”
Emily handed Charles a pencil. He took it with a grimace. Then she handed one to Lisa.
“Thank you, guys. Clarice will be so grateful!”
“Yeah, yeah. Just shut up and let us get this over with,” Anya moaned. “You’re gonna fill one out, too, aren’t you?
“Oh, of course!”

Three weeks later…
“Miss Anya.” Bonita, the receptionist spoke over the PA that only could be heard in the break room. “Your three o’clock is here.”
“Thank you, Bonny.” Anya walked toward her wing of the clinic where her next patient waited.
She tapped on the door, looking around for the patient’s file that should have been in the plastic chart holder on the wall just to the right of the examination room door. It was empty. She turned the knob with the words in her mouth, “I’m sorry, I can’t seem to find your file.”
But the man standing, or more accurately leaning against the examination table caused the words to jumble up in her mouth and she snapped her lips together instead. He looked like an English sort or an IBM employee. Crisp white shirt, black tie, and black starched and pressed slacks with a perfect crease that just touched the top of highly polished Stafford Zayne black dress shoes. If he had worn dark glasses and held up a tubular pen-like devise, she would expect him to flash her memory away. Instead, he just smiled. “Doctor Stepanov?”
“Anya, please. How may I help you, Mr.…?”
“My name is not important. I have an offer to present to you.”
“A… an offer? What is this?” She stepped back to the hall and looked for her associates to be standing there laughing and ready to yell, “Psych!”
The hall was empty.
She stepped back into the room. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.
“My employer has sent me to bring you to his office for an interview.”
“An interview? What kind of interview?”
“An employment interview.”
“Employment? I’m not looking for a job. Besides, I’m under contract here for two more years.”
“Yes. We are aware. But my employer is prepared to make you an offer you will find hard to refuse and to buy out your contract.”
“Buy out—” Anya crossed her arms over her chest. “Is this some kind of joke?”
“I assure you it is not.” He uncrossed his arms and ankles and stood straight as an arrow. He was quite tall. “Your skills have come to my employer’s attention and he needs your talents as a physical therapist and nurse practitioner for his son.”
“His son? What’s wrong with his son?”
“Paralysis. He was in a terrible car accident. He is doing what he can to continue his work but his father feels he’s going at it all wrong— a bit of a bull in a china closet approach. He needs help, private help, behind the scenes, so to speak, in order to continue to live a productive life.
Anya stared at the man. “A… productive life… doing what?”
“Dr. Stepanov… uh, Anya. My employer will explain everything. All you have to do is come with me and listen. If you choose not to accept his offer, I will bring you back here pronto.”
“When?”
“Now.”
“Now? But, I have patients. I can’t leave now!”
“Actually, your schedule has been cleared for you, and I have transportation waiting on the roof.”
Chapter Two
Anya knew she had yelled, “On the roof!” But she couldn’t help herself. No one had ever in her life offered her a job unsolicited, let alone offered to take her to the interview in a helicopter. As soon as she followed the man to the roof of her clinic, she texted Emily a pic of the identification number on the helicopter, just in case she didn’t come back and her friends needed to call the police. She could see how this could be some elaborate scheme to kidnap her, but who and why would anybody want to kidnap her? Was she an idiot to go along with this guy? But something about him eased the alarms in her head.
Before she knew it, he landed the chopper at the Dart Airport in Mayville, southeast of Westfield, where he led her to a Gulfstream jet. It bore the logo for the Holliday Islands Resort on the side, but she snapped a pic and sent it to Emily, just in case. When a man in the cockpit came out to greet her escort, she turned around and snapped a selfie with them over her shoulder, again just in case. The man, who apparently had serviced the jet and kept it ready for their return, then left. She sat up front behind where her escort went into the pilot’s seat and sat on a spacious corinthian leather seat that felt like a cloud of whipped cream. Now, here she was flying across the United States, or was that Canada down there. To some strange man’s office in Alaska.Alaska! Of all places!
This guy… a valet or gentleman’s gentleman, or whatever he was, told her that his employer knew about Anya and her talents with helping patients recover from otherwise debilitating injuries with tough love, dedicated routines and kind, but firm, expectations. She did put her heart and soul into her work. Her goal for every single person was to reach their maximum potential no matter what that was. Only God knew what that was, and so she strived for excellence all the time, because she honestly had no idea how high that divine bar was set.
Who knew anyone outside of little ole Westfield, New York knew anything about her or her practice? Apparently, this guy… and his employer. Did his son know she was being interviewed to be his private physical therapist? A tightness in her stomach turned into a cramp. She really regretted the Philly cheese steak sandwich with extra peppers now. The sky grew lighter as they flew farther from New York.
Late afternoons in New York in September grew dark as early as eight-thirty, but Alaska had that perpetual daylight turn to perpetual darkness and this time of year was transitioning to the constant night. How weird would that be?
She looked at the open door to the cock pit. Could he hear her speak? He had his headphone resting on his shoulders. She swallowed. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.” The man said calmly turning to look over his shoulder at her.
Was the jet on autopilot? This was a luxury jet and could easily seat eight people plus a pilot and co-pilot.
“What is your name?”
He paused. She thought she heard a slight snort. “Believe it or not… my name is Roger Moore.”
“Seriously?”
“Quite seriously.”
“Okay. Far be it from me to make any James Bond jokes or ask if you have a gun in the toe of your shoe, but do you have a file on the son of your
employer that I’m going to be helping?”
“So, you’ve made up your mind?”
“No. I just mean that I’d like to see the medical report and know what I’m up against should I decide to accept this… job.”
He chuckled. “You nearly said ‘Mission’ didn’t you?”
She smiled. “Yes.”
“It’s alright. I’ve lived my entire life with this name. I’m quite used to being given room 007 or the phone number ending in the same. I even have a watch” —He held out his wrist to show a beautiful gold banded watch— “It plays, ‘For Your Eyes Only.’”
Anya laughed. “Might as well be a good sport about it.”
“True.” He unbuckled his harness and slid out of his pilot seat, pulled out a black leather briefcase to hand her a large manilla envelope. Inside were X-Rays and reports. She perused the package and then put everything back in the envelope and held it on her lap. T-5, T-6 injury. Until she examined him, she wouldn’t know the extent of his limitations. The previous medical team had assessed him, of course. He was an athletic type, strong and determined. Followed protocol for exercise and rehabilitation after the accident. What did he need her for?
She shrugged and watched out the window. She expected snow, but it was only September. Soon they landed in a large town. She leaned toward Roger. “Where are we?”
“Anchorage.” He exchanged words with a man in coveralls, who apparently would service the jet and put it away while they walked across the tarmac to a similar helicopter as before. They were back in the air and out over water in no time.
“Say? Where are we going?” Her voice sounded so strange in the headset.
“My employer is currently working from his yacht. We are nearly there.”
She was sure, as she turned to stare out the window, her eyes were wide a saucers. There it was a lovely top-of-the line yacht. Shoot, that thing was a floating castle! Who was this guy? Prince William? No, his son was young. This guy was a grown man. The medical report said thirty-one. Too bad it listed the patient as a case number. No names. She shrugged to herself as they landed on the helipad. She’d know soon enough.
