Caribbean Christmas

by Jenna Bayley-Burke

  “Maybe I do. But I know the cure for it.”

  Chapter Eight

  He’d done the right thing, damn it. Why couldn’t his cock lie down and behave. Joe’s hand hovered above the traitorous appendage tenting his sheet, twitching in hesitation. She hadn’t been back in Anguilla for a full day, and already she’d turned him into a lecherous peeping Tom. He sat on his bed, staring out the window at Saskia as she went through some kind of exercise routine.

  Okay, so it wasn’t her fault his cock wanted to wave good morning. He should have better control over it. But really, who danced in their underwear in the backyard? Maybe it was a bikini, he wasn’t about to get close enough to find out. Because with the way she’d rolled her hips and shimmied her tits, he wouldn’t have left it on her.

  He scrubbed his hand over his face, the stubble rough on his palm. Had he scratched her thighs last night? He hadn’t planned to touch any part of her, so he hadn’t shaved before dinner.

  Though the open window, he could hear the twitter of birds and the melody of her voice. Not her words exactly, more the song of her laughter, the tone of her amusement. At least one of them was in a good mood. She circled her hips and then bent over at the waist. Dear God in heaven.

  He fisted his hands in the sheet and groaned. She didn’t move, so either she couldn’t hear him, or she was trying to provoke him. She was doing a great job, because he had tunnel vision. In fact, he could probably scale the porch awning and make it to the ground in seconds. She might not even move, and he could just grab her hips and—

  He threw the sheet off and cursed, the head of his cock glistening with want. An ice-cold shower should bring things into perspective. If it didn’t, he’d have to deliver her directly to her father, Christmas surprise be damned.

  “Well good morning to you, Thundercloud. You look like you’re ready to ruin someone’s day.” Saskia smiled wide, not interested in having Joe Prinsen’s nasty mood shadow her time in paradise. She had a lot to do today and would rather get to it than deal with his cupboard-slamming, mug-clanking self. “Perhaps you need a slice of sunshine.”

  His nostrils flared as he stared at her, watching her every move as she moved from her barstool into the kitchen. She pulled the quiche she’d made earlier from the warm oven and served herself another piece. She dished him up a hefty chunk as well, hoping he’d snap out of his funk once he’d eaten and been caffeinated.

  “Do you guys eat here? There wasn’t much to work with.” She returned to the bar, making notes on her to-do list between bites of the cheese-laden quiche.

  He leaned against the counter, fork in hand. “We’re usually in town by the time we get hungry, and we eat before we come home. Dutch sometimes makes dinner for Harm and me on Sundays.”

  “He doesn’t live here too, does he? I’m not in the mood to be tied to a tree.” She winked and grinned. “At least not by him.”

  Joe dropped his fork onto his plate and cursed. “I was hoping we wouldn’t have to do this.”

  “Why, are you embarrassed to tell me you had to stroke it in the shower?” She took another bite, too thrilled by the way his face reddened.

  “You are trouble. Always have been.” He put his hands on his hips, which tightened the white T-shirt over his honed chest. She slid her gaze to his crotch, and sure enough, part of him had piped up for attention.

  She nodded. “Always will be. It’s fun. You should try it. You know you want to.”

  “You know, I’ve had about enough of your mouth.”

  “You haven’t had my mouth at all, hence the problem in your pants.” She finished her second breakfast while he pursed his lips and shook his head.

  She folded her list and then slipped it into the back pocket of her yellow shorts as she carried her plate to the sink. She secured the halter tie of her crocheted one-piece again and settled the bright purple crocheted tee on her shoulders. She would have loved a mirror, but this house only had one the size of a porthole, at least on the first floor. Bachelors.

  She stepped to Joe, just inside of his personal space. “I’m too busy to help you out right now, but maybe if you take the stick out of your ass, I could be convinced to help you later.” She stood on her tiptoes and placed a fleeting kiss on his cheek before turning to go.

  Joe snaked a strong arm around her middle, pulled her backwards and flush against him. “I’m trying to be good.”

  “So be a little bad.” She moved her hands back, running her palms down the outside of his thighs.

  He nuzzled his face into her hair. “Your father—”

  “Never has to know. I’m not a tattle-tale. Well, not anymore.”

  He loosened his hold. “He would expect me to be a better man.”

  “You’d know better than me.” She stepped forward and he let her go. Disappointment and jealousy pulled down her mood. Her conversations with her father about relationships centered around her finding a nice Dutch man to settle down with and try for a flock of ginger grandbabies. She’d never dated a guy she thought he needed to meet, but apparently he’d talked with Joe about women.

  She made her way to the door and snagged her bag before slipping her sandals on to her feet.

  “Wait, where do you think you’re going?” Mr. Honorable was suddenly interested.

  “Sailing. Being on the water will clear my head. And then I’ll hit the market for Christmas supplies.”

  For some reason, Joe donned his own sandals and grabbed his keys from the bowl by the door. “What kind of supplies?”

  “Food for one, and maybe some rope.”

  His pale gaze met hers, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. “Rope?”

  She rolled her eyes. He really thought she was some kind of sexual dynamo. If he only knew she hadn’t found a guy worth messing with in a year. Maybe longer. “I have an idea for a present for my dad. With the way you’re acting, you’ll probably wind up getting coal in your stocking.”

  “In the Netherlands gifts are for St. Nicholas Day. Sinterklaas already delivered me a custom mainsail cover. Dutch even put a pack of Stroopwafels on top of my sandals.” His features softened as he smiled.

  “That must be nice. Can’t say he did the same for me.” She pulled open the door and started off for the road. Her jealousy might be irrational and misplaced, but knowing that didn’t help her from feeling like she’d been replaced. Maybe it wasn’t a coincidence that her father had started canceling visits around the time Joe moved to Anguilla.

  “Saskia, wait. Where are you going?” The door slammed shut as he followed her outside.

  She spun around, wanting to scream at him. She’d told him already, and his whole noble act would be much easier on them both if he kept his distance. “I’m going to take one of Dutch’s Optis and get my head together.”

  “You can’t do that.” He crossed his arms across his chest as if that gave him the authority to tell her what to do.

  “I’ve been handling a boat on my own since I was four. You don’t want to be around me, so cut the babysitting routine. It would be nice to get a ride up the hill after I’ve been to the market this afternoon, but if you’re busy I’ll figure it out.”

  “I’m going with you.”

  “Are you some kind of masochist? Is that your kink?” She hitched her bag higher on her shoulder. He was some piece of work.

  “If I am, it’s a new trait. But just because I’m attracted to you doesn’t mean I have to act on it.”

  She huffed a breath. “Tell that to your dick.”

  His deep, husky laugh warmed her in places it shouldn’t. “I have been ever since you landed on this island. I’ll take you sailing, to the market, wherever you want.”

  “Why?”

  “Because your father would want me to.”

  “He also wants half a dozen ginger grandbabies. You gonna jump right on that too?” She rolled her eyes. “Listen, I’ll tell him you were a great host, the perfect gentleman. You won’t even have to speak to me again. G
o spank it in the shower or head down to the resort and play cabana boy for some fake-boobed tart looking for a vacation lay. I’m sure my dad would be so proud.”

  “Still taking you sailing. It’s the busiest week of the year. Every boat on the island is reserved. It’s pretty much my offer or nothing.”

  “Are you going to get all grumpy when you get horny and refuse to do anything about it? Because you haven’t exactly been a barrel of fun since you decided to give yourself blue balls. Actually, you haven’t been all that hospitable outside of our sex-in-the-surf hook-up.”

  “We did not have sex.”

  “Oh, whatever. We totally had sex. You can muddle the definitions however you want, but when I’m using my fingers to tally up the men I’ve been with, you count.”

  His mouth twisted, his eyes looking glazed and puzzled. For goodness’ sake, she did not have the patience for whatever game he was playing.

  “Yes, Johannes. You had sex with Dutch’s daughter. Deal with it.”

  Chapter Nine

  The morning sun beat down on his back, but Joe opted to keep his shirt on. He didn’t want to encourage that minx to strip down as well. Still struggling with the realization he’d already crossed the line, he opted for full-on tour-guide mode.

  “The storm came from the west and hit Barnes Bay first. These apartments were under construction when the hurricane hit. The windows and roofs came right off, destroying everything inside. But the good news was that no one had moved in yet.” He hoped by the time they’d made it around the island, Saskia would have some perspective on the enormity of the devastation the storm had caused. Maybe then, when Dutch confessed the state of his financial affairs, she’d understand.

  “They look amazing now, almost like in Greece the way the buildings hug the cliffs. I can’t believe how much construction has gone up. There used to be nothing here.”

  The wind blew her hair back and kept the sail full as he turned to travel up the western side of the isle. Her oversized sunglasses made her seem like a classic movie star and kept him from staring into those honey-centered sea-blue eyes. Her eyes were so distracting, he couldn’t even argue with her properly.

  “What is that?” She pointed towards the promontory. “The Headland Hotel seems to have spawned its own city.”

  He looked toward the resort perched atop the rocky promenade. “Headland was flattened about eight years ago. A bunch of American investors came up with the idea of outdoing the other two resorts by bringing the Monarch brand. When the Monarch Anguilla went in, there was a need for more apartments on the southern edge. A five-star resort creates lots of jobs, which means people can afford nice places. But I think Monarch will be the last outside resort to ever break ground on Anguilla. Once the Estate is completely developed, I can’t see the government doing anything but keeping those tourism dollars for themselves.”

  She pulled her hair off her neck, exposing the pale, freckled column. “And control over the jobs. Dutch thinks a lot of people will be able to move home since everyone who works there will be an Anguillan national.”

  “Yeah, this island does like to take care of its own. Sometimes at the expense of progress.”

  “I don’t know, I think making sure your family is taken care of first is the right thing to do. With a population this small, we’re all connected in some way. When finances get tight and families have to leave to find work, it is devastating. If they can keep that from happening through tourism dollars instead of having to tax imports so high people struggle to buy food, I’m all for it.”

  She stretched her long legs along the smooth teak of the cockpit seats. He kept wishing she’d move into the shade, but she’d promised him she’d used enough sunblock to protect herself.

  “Maybe we should go there for lunch. I’m starting to get hungry.”

  “You won’t like it. It looks like Miami.”

  She slipped her glasses down her nose and stared up at him. “Excuse me?”

  “Have you been to the Monarch Miami? Monarch Anguilla will give you déjà vu. It’s very modern and chic. Dutch despises the place.”

  “Well, he does loathe Miami. Sometimes I think if my mom had picked anywhere else to live, he would have come with us.“ She faced the shore, so he couldn’t read her expression.

  “I doubt anything will ever coax Dutch to leave Anguilla. It’s a part of him.” After all, if the woman he still carried a torch for couldn’t tempt him away, and financial ruin couldn’t send him running, Joe doubted anything ever could.

  She nodded, still captivated by the passing shore. “Where do you suggest we stop for lunch? You will have to feed me soon.”

  He laughed. “You’re fine. You had a bunch of sugar apples when we first climbed aboard.”

  She dismissed him with a wave of her hand. “That was just so I could spit the seeds and see if there were any fish. I really do need to eat.”

  “Do you think you can make it to Sandy Ground? I need someplace to anchor off.”

  “That is because you insisted on such a big boat. If we’d have taken something small we could have zipped around the island in no time, and probably without having to turn on the motor.”

  “Oh, Lola, she doesn’t know what she says.” He ran his hand over the wheel he’d painstakingly hand polished.

  “She’s a beautiful boat, I’ll give you that. But we didn’t need a thirty-six footer, and she has to be older than you. No one has put this much teak on a boat in our lifetime.”

  Damn. Her appreciation of Lola was even sexier than the way she’d looked last night in her barely there bikini. “She’s a 1969. We had to do a complete rebuild. I’m not talking a top-side refit. We stripped her down to the bones and filled her back in right. I hand painted Leef en Laat Leven myself.” He’d never been more proud of an accomplishment than when he and Dutch had made the first sail. The process had been as good as the result.

  “For someone who names their boat live and let live, you’re certainly bossy.”

  “Maybe you’re just used to calling the shots.”

  “What brought you to Anguilla?” After filling her belly with grilled snapper and crispy plantains at a beach stand on Sandy Ground, Saskia coaxed Joe into a little shopping. Most shipping came and went from the harbor, so the stores were better stocked on this side of the island. She stalked the baking aisle of the market with precision. She didn’t want to be mid-recipe and realize she’d forgotten a crucial ingredient.

  “I needed a change, and Dutch was dealing with the aftermath of the storm. I came to help out and haven’t found a reason to leave.”

  “You don’t miss Holland?” She winced when she saw the price of a single pound of sugar. It was no wonder Anguilla had become a haven for the rich. Who else could afford to spend as much on sugar as a movie ticket?

  “Little things, but I get enough of them when I visit my brother.”

  Concern furrowed her brow. Surely her father would have mentioned if something had happened to Sebastian. “Isn’t your father still there?”

  “Yes, with a mad obsession to expand a business he plans on liquidating rather than pass on to his children.” He leaned over the buggy she was loading things into, plucked three chocolate bars from the shelf and added them to the collection. “He decided we’d all done well enough for ourselves that we didn’t need to be his heirs anymore. I decided I didn’t want to keep building a company I would never own and came here instead. There were such great real estate opportunities here that Harm came out a year later. We were always competing back home, but here we’re partners.”

  “That must be nice. I always wished I had a sibling, someone to share in my parents’ particular brand of crazy. But it’s always been just me, playing monkey in the middle.” Okay, that was a little raw. Maybe they shouldn’t talk about anything other than sailing or sex. When he opened up it made her feel like she could. Which was silly. Unnecessary.

  “I did get lucky in the brother department.” He lifted two pa
ckets she’d just placed in the cart. “Why do you need two kinds of almonds?”

  “Slivered and sliced. The different way they are prepared changes how I use them. That, and I am completely spoiled by American supermarkets.” Walking the aisles with Joe felt domestic and intimate, as if they did this every week. Even when he was driving her mad, being with him held this quiet comfort she didn’t dare get used to. He’d made it crystal clear his relationship with her father was more important than anything they could share.

  And she couldn’t really blame him. He had no idea she was toying with the notion of moving home. To him, she was just a girl in town for a few days looking for a quick thrill. That couldn’t really compete with years of mentorship.

  She’d decided to stop flirting with him altogether. And then he tossed a box of condoms in her cart.

  Chapter Ten

  “I can’t resist this water.” Saskia stood and reached her arms overhead in a catlike stretch. “I need to have yarn dyed this exact color.”

  “You want to stop now?” The sea was always calmer on the northeastern edge of the island. He was anxious to make the turn and let Lola do what she did best.

  She took off her sunglasses and set them on the bench. The golden flecks in her blue eyes seemed to glow. “I need some exercise. Do you have any snorkeling gear on board?”

  He nodded and motioned below decks. “Should be in the tall cabinet in the bow. The head’s to starboard, and quarters are aft.”

  She moved past him as she made her way to the stairs, her shoulder brushing his ever so slightly. Heat flushed through him, as if the sun had decided to jump the temperature ten degrees in a single second.

  She stepped down, then turned to look up at him. “Maybe after my swim, you’ll let me take the helm for a while.”

  He shrugged, but had no intention of letting anyone else pilot Lola. Even Dutch hadn’t touched the wheel, but he knew better than to ask.

  “Good. I can show you how to use your sails instead of your inboard motor, and the tiller instead of that giant bus wheel.” She winked and disappeared below deck.