by Helen Hardt
Cocktails on the Beach
A Contemporary Romance Anthology
Helen Hardt
Leah Marie Brown
EmKay Connor
Lyz Kelley
Contents
Cocktails on the Beach
Part I
Escape
Dedication
1. Emily
2. Scotty
3. Emily
4. Scotty
5. Emily
6. Scotty
7. Emily
8. Scotty
9. Emily
10. Scotty
11. Emily
12. Scotty
13. Emily
14. Scotty
15. Emily
16. Scotty
17. Emily
Island Escape
About the Author
Part II
Exes and Ohs!
Dedication
1. Jaded Lady
2. How to Kill a Friend
3. Dirty Mother
4. Stinger
5. Shamrocked
6. Game Day Sangria
7. Irish Buck
8. Sex on the Beach
9. Kiss from a Rose
10. Drunk in Love
Author’s Note
Porn Star Martini
About the Author
Part III
Next Rock on the Right
1. Britt
2. Luka
3. Britt
4. Luka
5. Britt
6. Luka
7. Britt
8. Luka
9. Britt
10. Luka
11. Britt
12. Luka
Mango Bellini
About the Author
Part IV
Her Perfect Guy
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Jamaican Planter’s Punch
About the Author
Cocktails on the Beach
A Contemporary Romance Anthology
* * *
Helen Hardt
Leah Marie Brown
EmKay Connor
Lyz Kelley
This book is an original publication of Hardt & Sons
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.
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Escape Copyright © 2021 Helen Hardt, LLC dba Hardt & Sons
Exes and Ohs! © Copyright 2021 Leah Marie Brown
Next Rock on the Right © Copyright 2021 EmKay Connor
Her Perfect Guy © Copyright 2021 Lyz Kelley, Belvitri LLC
Edited by Helen Hardt
Cover Design: Marci Clark, Nerdy Kat Media
* * *
All Rights Reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic format without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
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Paperback ISBN: 978-1-952841-05-7
* * *
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
Created with Vellum
Escape
A Wolfe Island Novella
Helen Hardt
To all the Wolfes of Manhattan fans… Welcome to Wolfe Island!
1
Emily
I stop looking over my shoulder on the fourth day.
I don’t notice this until the evening, when I sit down by myself at the bar. I’ve been at the Wolfe Island Art Colony less than a week, but until today, I’ve been watching my back.
When you’re hiding from the devil himself, you don’t let your guard down.
A second after sitting down on the wooden stool at the beachfront bar, I look behind me.
That’s when I realize it’s the first time I’ve done it today.
Whether that’s good or bad, I can’t say. I shouldn’t be getting too comfortable.
“What’ll it be, pretty girl?”
I shift my gaze toward the bartender’s deep voice—
And nearly drop my jaw onto the counter. His eyes are such a gorgeous mixture of emerald and cognac. Most would simply call them hazel. I see a swirl of Prussian green and olive green with hints of Renaissance gold.
And believe it or not, those amazing eyes pale in comparison to the rest of him.
I smile shyly. I’ve kept to myself since I arrived on the island, spending most of my time painting the scenes outside my hut. This is the first time I’ve ventured to the beach.
“You going to answer me?” Hunky bartender raises his dark brown eyebrows.
“Yeah. Sorry.” My cheeks burn. “Just some water, I guess.”
“You guess? You can do better than that, pretty girl.”
Pretty girl. The second time he’s called me that in the span of two minutes. I don’t feel pretty. On the outside, I suppose I’m okay. On the inside, a disaster.
“Cat still got your tongue?” He smiles a lazy smile that makes him even better looking. “Trust me?”
I part my lips and lick them. Trust him? I trust no one. No one. He has no idea what kind of can of worms he’s opened.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” He reaches under the bar and pulls out a martini glass.
I hate martinis, but still I say nothing.
“Try my specialty. Virgin?”
My jaw drops. “Of course not!”
He laughs. “I mean do you want the virgin version of my specialty?”
“Oh.” God, my cheeks can’t get any hotter. I can only imagine what they look like in the light of the setting sun. “That’s what I meant. I don’t want the virgin one.”
“Got it.” He smiles.
Yeah, he doesn’t buy it, but I give him credit for letting me try to weasel out of my embarrassment.
He turns toward the back of the bar and pulls three different bottles from the myriad options.
Three bottles? Maybe I should have gone with the virgin.
He fills a stainless steel shaker with crushed ice and adds a stream of the golden, the yellow, and the hot pink. I eye the bottle closest to me—the pink one. Crème de Noyaux. Never heard of it.
Next he adds what appears to be orange juice and then pineapple. A Mai Tai maybe? No, he said it was his specialty. Surely he didn’t invent the Mai Tai. Or maybe he invented this particular version.
He adjusts the lid and shakes several times. Once he’s done, he slides a slice of lime around the rim of the martini glass, dips it in sugar, and then strains the contents of the shaker into the glass.
I notice the color first. It’s a lovely pinkish-orange, the shade of last night’s sunset that I tried to capture on canvas but couldn’t.
He pushes the drink toward me and sets a cocktail napkin next to it. “Tell me what you think.”
Good enough. I inhale and pick the martini glass up by its stem. I sniff. Nice fragrance. Orangey and almondy. Very tropical.
“Well?” he says. “Are you waiting for a little umbrella?”
I can’t help myself. I laugh. I laugh like I
haven’t in a long time, and it feels good. Really good.
“You got one?” I ask.
“Your wish is my command.” He reaches under the counter and then pops a tiny pink umbrella into my drink.
If I had my phone, I’d shoot a pic and post this on Instagram.
I don’t have my phone, though, and I deleted all my social media accounts.
In fact, the only person who has a clue where I am is my brother, Buck, and he’s sworn to secrecy. He helped me get the invitation to the colony when I needed to leave town in a hurry. The person I’m running from can’t touch Buck.
No one can.
“I’m out of dry ice. Otherwise, I’d put a tiny chunk in the drink and fog would swirl out of it.”
The bartender’s deep voice jolts me out of my thoughts. Just as well. I hate thinking about what brought me here. I prefer to think about why anyone else comes here—to learn, to grow, to create.
And probably to meet a gorgeous bartender with a bronze tan, broad shoulders, dark hair that falls below his ears, and eyes that seem to pierce a woman’s soul. Even in the bright blue island shirt with palm trees and flamingos—this guy pulls it off as if it’s this season’s Armani.
“I ordered a bunch for Halloween next month,” he continues. “I’m working on some great new concoctions.” He eyes the drink I still haven’t tasted. “What are you waiting for, pretty girl?”
I grab the stem of the glass once more and bring the drink to my lips.
Flavor explodes across my tongue. Pineapple, orange, banana, almond. And rum. A lot of rum. I swallow.
“Well…?” he says.
“It’s delicious.” I swallow again, this time against the sharpness of the alcohol.
He smiles. “Too much?”
I return his smile this time. “Nope. Just enough.”
2
Scotty
“What’s your name, pretty girl?”
I admit it. I call them all “pretty girl.” This one, though, gives new meaning to the phrase. “Pretty girl” isn’t nearly descriptive enough for her long dark hair, deep brown eyes, rosy cheeks, and dark pink lips. And that body…
She’s tall and slim with breasts that are spilling out of her halter top.
“Emily. What’s yours?”
“Keanu.”
She smiles. “No shit?”
“My mom’s a big fan. Plus, I’m half Hawaiian. Everyone around here calls me Scotty.”
“Why?”
“That’s my last name. Scott. Not Reeves.”
“Ah. Got it.”
“What’s your last name, pretty Emily?”
She falters a moment. Then, “Smith.”
Smith. Nice try. I’m more likely to believe it’s Hornswoggle than Smith, especially after she stumbled.
“Okay, Emily Smith. Nice to meet you.”
She clears her throat softly. “You too.”
“What brings you here? Are you an artist?”
“I’m trying to be.”
“This is the place for you, then. Roy and Charlie Wolfe are great. Both really talented too.”
She nods. “I haven’t met them yet. I just got here a few days ago.”
“A few days ago? And I’m just now seeing you? Where’ve you been?”
“In my room, mostly.”
“Emily, you’ve got this gorgeous island at your disposal and you’ve been in your room?”
“Not the whole time,” she says. “But the view from my lanai is breathtaking. I’ve been painting it every day.”
“Look around you, pretty girl. This whole place is breathtaking. I consider myself lucky every day that I landed this gig.”
She takes another sip of the drink and winces. Yeah, it is pretty strong, but I’ve never had anyone not love it.
“What’s this called?” she asks.
“It doesn’t really have a name. It’s just my special drink.”
“Seriously? It doesn’t have a name?”
“No. Why should it?”
“Because it’s delicious. It should be in that book. What’s it called? The Boston Bartender?”
“You mean Mr. Boston Official Bartender’s Guide.”
“Yeah. That one.”
I laugh. “That’ll be the day.”
“Why not? It’s wonderful.”
“I’m sure it’s been done before.”
“I’ve never heard of anything called Keanu Scotty Scott’s special drink.”
She’s got me there. “Tell you what,” I say. “You can name the drink.”
She swallows her latest sip. “Me?”
“Sure. Why not? You’re the one who thinks it’s supposed to have a name.”
“I’ll have to think on it.” She takes another sip and then sets the drink down on the coaster I provided. “What’s Crème de Noyaux?”
“It’s a liqueur made from apricot kernels or peach and cherry pits. Which is weird, because it tastes like almonds.”
“What makes it pink?”
“It’s a chemical reaction from the acid in the pits when the sugars ferment into alcohol.”
“Really?” She widens her eyes. “Interesting.”
I smile. I’ve given that bogus explanation to many a female since I created the drink during my first bartending gig in Honolulu, and every single one of them has bought it. For some reason, women always want to know why the liqueur is pink.
Take that back. A chemical engineer—who was hot as hell, by the way—called me out. Other than her, though, everyone has bought it—and I still got her between the sheets.
For some reason, though, lying to Emily unnerves me. I have no idea why. Certainly not her looks. I’ve put one over on my share of beautiful women.
“I’m kidding,” I say. “It’s artificially colored.”
She looks. “I suppose I might know that if I were more worldly.”
“Trust me. A lot of really intelligent women have fallen for it. Doesn’t mean you’re not worldly.”
“I’m not,” she says. “At least, I don’t want to be.”
“Oh? What do you want to be, then?”
She sighs. “Right now? I just want to be invisible.”
I shake my head and grin. “You’re way too beautiful to ever be invisible.”
Her cheeks redden. So do the tops of her breasts.
Damn.
“Thank you,” she says finally.
“No thanks needed. You want another?” I point to her nearly empty cocktail glass.
She shakes her head. “I should probably quit while I’m ahead. I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast.”
“Oh? I’m just about off the clock. Want to grab dinner with me?”
The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them. I’ve been working here for a couple months—since the colony opened. It’s a dream gig, and getting involved with the colonists is probably not the best way to keep it. What am I thinking?
Easy answer. I’m thinking I might die a little if she says no.
“I should get back,” she says.
“Oh. Sure. I understand.”
“It’s just…”
“Hey, you don’t owe me any explanation, p— Emily.”
She smiles then, and it’s like a holiday carol. Bright and beautiful and joyous. God, what’s the matter with me?
“You know what, Keanu?”
“Scotty.”
“Okay.” Her smile brightens further. “Scotty. I think I’d like to get some dinner. When are you off?”
I glance at my phone that’s sitting on the end of the bar. “Just about…now.” I was off ten minutes ago, actually, but Emily took precedence. I shove the phone in my pocket and pull my signature move.
I jump over the bar and land next to her.
“Goofball,” Lyle, who’s taking the next shift, says under his breath.
I ignore him. He’s my pal and makes a mean drink, but he can fuck off at the moment.
I hold out my arm, and Emily pauses
a second before she links her own through it.
Yeah, this beautiful woman is definitely hiding something. Maybe I’ll get her to open up.
Or at least open her legs.
I wouldn’t mind tapping what’s between them.
Wouldn’t mind that at all.
3
Emily
“What do you feel like tonight?” Scotty asks me.
“I have no idea.”
“It’s mostly island food, but if you want something American, we can go to the burger bar.”
Truth be told, I haven’t been to any of the restaurants here at the colony. I’ve either ordered room service or had food delivered beachside when I left the room to attend a class. Now, I’m a little freaked.
“A burger’s fine.”
“A burger it is, then.” We step up to the burger bar. It’s not a bar so much as a sit-down place with tables. All the eateries here at the colony are outdoor, covered in thatch roofing, of course, in case of rain, which sometimes occurs in the afternoons. Still, it’s always so warm that having no walls doesn’t matter.
