The cameraman shot multiple images until Carissa, apparently satisfied, pivoted on her ruby-red pumps, and headed for the door. “Tomorrow is deep-sea fishing,” she reminded them. “And tonight, dinner is at …”
“Eight o’clock,” they all chimed.
Still chuckling as the door closed behind Carissa and the cameraman, Edward turned to Maeve. Her cheeks were flushed with high color, her laughter filling the air with goodness and pure joy. More and more, everything about the tempo of their days together—the sun-drenched island, his attraction to her, spending every waking minute with such an incredible woman—felt absolutely and utterly spot-on.
Chapter Seven
Sporting a wide-brimmed straw hat, Maeve took one last glimpse at her reflection before answering Edward’s nine o’clock morning rap on her suite’s door.
The night before, dinner had been expertly prepared, and she’d eaten her way through the entire meal, having discovered a love for zucchini beignets and all things French.
It seemed half the island of Corsica had dined on the terrace along with them, and Edward had reminded her that a cruise ship carrying hundreds of passengers had arrived that day. And, he’d recapped as he’d stabbed a slice of wild boar, La Bonaparte Resort was a three star Michelin resort—the highest rating—and dining there was a “must stop” in all the guidebooks when visiting Corsica.
She’d rung her mother after breakfast and been reassured her brother was fine, and then Maeve finally called Colleen. As expected, Colleen peppered their conversation with complaints about Ireland’s nonstop rain, and then had demanded every detail concerning Edward and his ankle sprain, which Maeve had texted her about. Maeve acknowledged she was enjoying an altogether marvelous week and hadn’t logged onto her computer once. Therefore, she hadn’t produced a smidgen of work.
How could she when thoughts of romance and happiness consumed her?
Dare she dream?
Love consumed her.
“How’s Edward?” Colleen asked, obviously settling in for an interrogation. “Tell me everything.”
“Well, he’s drop-dead handsome and kind and charming …”
“When you sent your text with his name the other day, I did some probing on the internet. Are you aware he’s a billionaire and one of the wealthiest men in the world? And he’s a member of the three-comma club.”
“What’s that?’
“Do the math. It’s his yearly income, whereas ours has no comma.” Colleen chortled. “His family owns Penelope and Edward International. You know, that hotel chain manages over one thousand resorts and rents two hundred thousand rooms a year.”
“He certainly doesn’t flaunt his wealth. He’s funny and down-to-earth and smart. And we always dine together for dinner. In fact, yesterday we had lunch in his suite.”
“Go on.”
“Even though I’m seeing him often, we never run out of things to talk about.” Maeve rubbed a hand across her temple. “Colleen, it’s beautiful here, and he’s so attentive and—”
“You sound like you’re already half in love with him.”
“I’m simply a princess in a fairy-tale. He’s my prince, and relies on me to get around.”
Truth nudged. She knew he was using his ankle as an excuse to be near her, but she certainly didn’t mind.
“You’re a caregiver, Maeve, but Edward isn’t your brother. He’s a rich playboy, if the reports in the tabloids are true. Sorry to burst your bubble, princess, but I don’t want you to get hurt again. Remember your last boyfriend?”
“It’s different this time. Edward’s a good man and the complete opposite of Finbar.”
“And you’re a good woman. Enjoy yourself while you’re there, just keep a clear head.”
“I will.” With a nod into the phone, Maeve clicked off.
She’d slept deeply and easily the night before, burrowing into the decadently thick covers and dreaming of a tall handsome man with hair the color of ebony and eyes as green as shamrocks. She wanted to deny the magnetism, like a bolt fastening her to him, as if they’d always been together. As if … She sighed.
Still, she couldn’t ignore Colleen’s warning. Hinging any hopes of a future with Edward, of love and commitment, well, the mere personification of the idea was meant to cause her heartache and pain. The outcome was as plain as a dark, drizzly Irish winter.
She opened her door and Edward walked gingerly into her suite. He wasn’t using his crutches, again, and was careful not to put his full weight on his hurt ankle. He wished her good morning in French and then peered at her. “Anything the matter?”
“No, of course not.” She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat.
Who were dreams for, she asked herself, all those fabulous Cinderella stories? The young and the foolish. Certainly not for her. Love happened to other people.
“Good,” he said. “You’re a treat to look at, as pretty as a gourmet candy.”
“A compliment, aye?”
“Absolutely.”
“I bring out the kid in you?”
“And the adult.” He drew her into his arms, cuddling her for a long kiss. “Ready for Corsica Adventure Day Three?”
When she stepped back from his embrace, he scanned her tasseled swimsuit coverup, which featured a glimpse of her bare shoulders. “I’m glad you were able to pick up something pretty at the gift shop.”
“I ducked into the gift shop after dinner last night, before the shop closed.”
He quirked a dark eyebrow. “Is your swimsuit one piece or two?”
“You’re really asking me that question?” She jabbed a playful fist at his forearm. “I’ll surprise you.”
“Excellent. I have a surprise for you tonight too.”
“What is it?”
He grinned. “If I tell you, it would spoil the surprise.”
He wore washed-out board trunks, and she was grateful he hadn’t worn his tiny spandex swimsuit, for she wouldn’t have known where else to look but at his perfectly-toned abs.
Mirrored aviator sunglasses were hooked onto the front of his Linus and Lucy T-shirt.
“Evidently you’re partial to the Peanuts comic strip?” she noted.
“I read the daily comics, even now when they’re in reruns. Since you’re such a history buff, you’ll be interested in this. Did you know Peanuts ran from the year 1950 to 2000, and it’s been suggested it’s the longest running story ever told?”
“Very interesting.” She peered down at his ankle. On his feet he wore a pair of slide sandals stamped with a designer logo. “Umm, where are your crutches?”
“Don’t need them, as long as I have someone to lean on.”
“How’s your ankle?”
“Better. Dr. Dubois said everyone heals differently. I’m apparently a fast healer.”
She sighed. “And men always hear what they want and dismiss the rest. If you recall, Dr. Dubois also said you could easily injure your ankle again, so to be careful.”
She slid into thong sandals and dropped heart-shaped sunglasses into her jute bag. Colleen had gifted Maeve the sunglasses with gold and pink lenses, a fun reminder of rose-colored glasses.
“They suit your outlook on life, Maeve,” her friend had said.
As they walked into the lobby arm in arm, Maeve steadied Edward.
“Bonjour Monsieur and Mademoiselle Perfect Match. “A bubbly Pierre stood behind his desk. “How is your ankle today, Monsieur Newell?”
“Excellent. Please thank your staff for the flowers and good wishes.” Edward put an arm around Maeve’s shoulders. “My lovely lady takes excellent care of me.”
Maeve felt the heat rise to her face. She wasn’t Edward’s “lady,” although he did make her feel that way.
“Tres bon, monsieur. Carissa will meet you by your fishing boat. Such an exciting day, oui, to fish in our beautiful waters?”
“I don’t swim,” Maeve reminded him.
“Swimming isn’t required,” Edward said. “You
just need to stand at the railing of the boat and catch a fish.”
“How?”
“I’ll teach you.”
“Your boat is a yacht charter, mademoiselle,” Pierre said, “and I assure you it is spacious and stable. Below decks is a shower, toilet, table and a small galley kitchen. Jules Baduoin will be your captain. He founded the original sea company here on the island and you will appreciate his knowledge of Corsica.”
“I confess, I’m nervous,” Maeve said. “I’ve never sailed on a fishing boat, or any boat, for that matter.”
“Jules is an outstanding captain,” Pierre reassured her. “And remember to be back at the hotel in plenty of time because dinner is at—”
“Not tonight.” Edward raised a hand. “I’m taking my luv somewhere extraordinary.”
My luv. Truly, she needed to say something to stop him from using that term, but the warm feeling in the pit of her stomach told her she wouldn’t.
Don’t be silly, she told herself, examining and reexamining the meaning of a harmless saying. Brits used the word luv all the time.
Pierre riffled through a stack of papers on the reception desk. “Achille asked the chef to add to tonight’s menu herb-fed veal cooked with olives, prepared as a stew. And, as always, the champagne of your choice.”
Before Maeve could respond, Edward said, “As much as we enjoy the resort’s food and Maeve adores her champagne”—he nudged her with his elbow—“I have a special surprise arranged for her.”
Pierre leaned forward over the desk. “What is the surprise, monsieur?”
“Good luck trying to drag it out of him,” Maeve said. “If the topic is surprises, Edward is as close-mouthed as a clam.”
“Now I am even more curious.” Pierre couldn’t indulge his curiosity, though, as several tourists flooded the lobby, chattering loudly, and Nigel rushed by hauling a cart of heavy luggage.
Leaning to the side to talk to them around the guests rapidly lining up in front of his desk, Pierre gestured to a Bonaparte Resort van idling at the curbside. “Our driver will take you to Porto, a brief twenty minutes from our resort. Enjoy your day.”
As they turned to the door, Edward sent Maeve a teasing smile. “You can relax on the sundeck while I fish.”
“I thought you said you’d teach me how to fish?”
He clasped her hand and led her outside. “Just say the word and I’ll teach you anything you want to learn.”
A sunlit day greeted them, and the trees swayed gently in the heady, hot breeze. Spindles of green plants poked through the cracks in the cobblestones.
Promptly, she drew her sunglasses from her bag.
“Your fair skin will burn in minutes with this tropical sun,” Edward remarked, putting on his aviators.
“The hat will shade my face.” She patted the top of her head. “And I plan to slather on sunscreen.”
They arrived at the dock in Porto a short while later. Carissa and a cameraman met them by the fishing boat.
Before Carissa could suggest a post, Edward pulled Maeve into his arms and gave her a swoon-worthy kiss. “I want to spend every minute with you,” he whispered.
“Just think,” Carissa said, coming between them. “Next month you two will probably be on the front page of the Perfect Match website as a resounding success story.” Her zeal was so contagious they all laughed.
Edward placed an arm around Maeve’s shoulders. “I fancy that idea,” he said, and she couldn’t hide her smile.
“Everything’s all set on the boat,” Carissa said. “We’ll just take one more picture before you get on board. And if you catch a fish today, Jules will let us know. We’ll arrange to have your fish cooked in one of our partner restaurants.”
After the final photo, Edward stepped away when his cellphone rang. “It’s my sister, Karen,” he mouthed to Maeve. “I won’t be long.”
“You’re not joining us?” Maeve asked Carissa as she waited for Edward to finish his call.
“No. There are too many tourists visiting the island. August is high season, and I’m booked for the rest of the day.” She adjusted her huge dark sunglasses and flipped back her blonde ponytail.
Edward clicked off his phone and rejoined them. As they boarded the boat, Carissa called out, “You two have fun!”
“Sure,” Maeve muttered. “She gets to stay on land.”
Edward laughed out loud. “And you get to stay with me.” Lightly, he kissed her forehead. “Even better, I get to stay with you.”
Jules, their captain, greeted them at the helm and introduced himself. His bronzed face and arms were weathered by years in the sun, his hair thin and sun bleached, his hands rough. His smile revealed a few missing teeth, but he had an easy way about him.
“My boat is over thirty feet long, allowing me to easily steer into the coves,” he said, his English heavily accented. “Come take a look. I’ll be in the wheelhouse once we begin.”
As they pulled away from the dock, nearby boats bobbed and then settled as their wake passed. Georges, the deckhand, welcomed them on board. Edward and Maeve stood behind the console while he stored their gear below deck.
Maeve insisted on wearing a life vest. Edward did the same.
Georges set up the fishing equipment on the casting platform and pointed out where the safety gear was located. “We will begin with vertical fishing and drop the decoy to the bottom of the sea.” He attached a wriggling squid to a barbed hook and passed the fishing rod to Maeve.
Edward gave her a teasing bump with his hip, then set up his own fishing rod. “May the best fisherman win.”
“It’s not a contest,” she admonished. “And I thought you were going to help me.”
“To a man, everything is a competition. I’m here if you need me, though.”
“That’s a relief, although it sounds more like you’re saying, ‘Every man for himself.’”
“Are you both amateur fishermen?” Georges asked, then pointed out a blue dolphin on the starboard side.
“So beautiful.” Maeve stared at the dolphin in wonderment. “If you count the fact I’ve never fished in my life, Georges, then I’m a definite ‘aye.’ I don’t know about Edward.”
Edward shrugged. “I’m no expert, but I enjoy all sports. Well, most at least. I’m on the fence about golf.”
Once Jules got to a sheltered fishing ground and shifted the boat to neutral, Georges went up to the bow and anchored the boat so it stayed in position. Then he guided Edward and Maeve to an open spot on the platform near the railing and they dropped their lines. Above them, buzzards nested in amber rocks, contrasting with the scrublands and wild countryside and sea. A picture-perfect postcard, Maeve thought.
“What types of fish can we expect to catch?” Edward asked, keeping a keen watch on his fishing rod.
“Snapper, tuna, and sea bream live in these waters, as well as barracuda,” Jules said as he emerged from the wheelhouse. He grabbed a bottle of water from the cooler and took a swig. “You never know what will emerge at the other end of your line.”
“Does that mean I might catch something big?” Maeve leaned her rod against the railing, then let out a shriek when it immediately jiggled.
“You must be fast, mademoiselle!” Jules told her. “Hold tight and start reeling.”
“What am I reeling?” She bent over, laughing so hard she couldn’t catch her breath. Then she tugged.
Thanks to Edward, she reeled in a snapper weighing eight ounces, and was informed by Jules the fish was not a keeper, because keeper fish were ten ounces or more. He handed her a hook remover. She removed the hook and, grimacing, released the fish back into the water.
“All by myself.” She wiped her hands and smiled at Edward.
“You’re a born fisherman, luv.” He grinned at her and then turned to Jules. “Carissa mentioned on-site restaurants can prepare our catch for lunch. What happens if we don’t catch anything?”
“No worries, monsieur. We packed spuntinu, a Corsican sandw
ich. You may eat at the dinette in the cabin belowdecks.”
Edward nodded. “Maeve’s an expert sandwich maker. Supply her with two pieces of bread and she’s on her way.”
She laughed. “Maybe not Corsican sandwiches.”
Although she and Edward reeled in five more fish to enthusiastic applause from Jules and Georges, they opted to assemble Corsican sandwiches on deck and stay there to eat, appreciating the view of water and the uninhabited countryside.
After lunch and several bottles of water, Edward sat on the stern’s swim platform and dangled his legs in the water. He patted to a spot beside him. “Sit with me, Maeve.”
The waves rolled in lazy arcs, foaming as the water broke against a stretch of sugar-sand beach. A school of sunfish swam past. Among the large white-flowered sea lilies growing alongside the rocks, the shore was alive with gulls.
She settled on a beach towel beside him.
“Can I ask you something?” he began.
There wasn’t the normal teasing amusement in his voice. “Aye,” she said, curious where this was going.
They sat together through a long moment of silence.
“What?” she prompted.
“Why are you still single?” He steepled his hands. “A woman like you is usually engaged or married.”
“I don’t understand.”
His gaze probed hers. “You know, a beautiful, desirable woman who puts everyone before herself. You should’ve been snatched up long ago.”
“As a barefoot, dutiful wife?”
“No. As a woman who should be loved and cherished.”
Heat flooded her cheeks. She studied her hands clasped on her lap. “I’ve been in relationships with men. They never work out.”
Memories of the way her last boyfriend, Finbar, had ditched her came to mind. She’d thought he loved her, but it had all been a facade. It was odd how much you could care for someone and feel chock-full of honey and gladness, and then experience only a twinge of a former connection when the name resurfaced.
Edward was watching her, no doubt evaluating her distant stare, her flat tone. He brushed the sweat from his eyebrows and scanned the water. “Care to skinny-dip with me?”
Maeve (Perfect Match Book 6) Page 7
