Vacation Bride: A Billionaire Marriage of Convenience (Brides of Paradise Book 1)

by Loebel, Vicky

  Don’t be a victim. Anna hadn’t fought anyone, but she’d been to self-defense classes. Don’t let a mugger take control. Tiffany and Kayla weren’t even muggers, just bad-tempered bullies. Bad-tempered bullies wearing sandals. Anna jerked sideways and stomped on Kayla’s foot. The woman shrieked and toppled sideways, grabbing her foot

  Tiffany swung her fist. Anna dodged, letting the blow hit the wall. She spun and kicked the back of Tiffany’s knee, making her stagger. Tiffany whirled around furiously. Anna had never really noticed before how tall Tiffany was. Tall and fit. No wonder she’d taken first place at volleyball.

  Anna backed away warily. “I think I ought to warn you, I know Crab McGraw.” That was martial arts, right? She glanced over her shoulder. Lani and several other women were rushing their way. OK. She’d only have to hold out a few seconds until help arrived.

  Except…Tiffany didn’t attack. She squatted, picked up Anna’s sketchbook and, with a look of pure malice, began turning the pages. “This one’s awful!”

  Anna watched, horrified, as Tiffany tore out a sketch of a parrot, showed it to the cameras, and tossed it toward the sea. The trade wind caught the paper and blew it back onto the grass.

  “This one’s ugly!” It was a mongoose she’d seen at the resort. “Just like you.” She crumpled the sheet and tossed it over the wall. Tiffany flipped more pages until she came to the one of Chris. “Well, well.” She showed his portrait to the audience. “Can’t have other girls sketching my boyfriend.”

  “Enough!” Chandra’s voice reached them. “This stops immediately!”

  Tiffany closed the sketchbook. She bent her arm as if preparing to fling a Frisbee.

  “No!” Anna leapt forward. “Don’t!”

  Tiffany’s arm whipped, snapping the sketchbook toward the drop. Anna vaulted onto the stone wall and hesitated, not sure how safe the ground was on the other side. Her sketchbook bounced and fluttered, half on, half off the edge of the cliff.

  “Anna.” Lani arrived, panting. “Anna, don’t risk it. We’ll get a rope.”

  “Right.” But it was too late for ropes. A gust of wind lifted the book a couple of inches from the ground, and then, as cameras pushed pitilessly in Anna’s face, hurled her sketchbook off the cliff into oblivion.

  Chapter Ten

  Something old and something new.

  Anna stared over the ferry railing at the pink walls of the approaching Charlotte Amalie terminal. Her sandals were old. That part was right. And she had a crisp new certificate from Chris that guaranteed her and her father two weeks’ vacation at the Paradise Resort every year for the rest of his life.

  Something borrowed, something blue.

  She’d worn her backless blue batik sundress, now complemented by a genuine tan. As far as borrowed…she still had most of Diane’s eighty dollars, and that would have to do.

  I’m getting married. The thought was hot and cold ashes in Anna’s stomach. She’d never really considered marriage. Now, there was nothing else on her mind. It’s just a business transaction. Anna shifted her handbag, missing the familiar weight of her sketchbook. She’d given up drawing, at least for now, and in a way, that felt good. She could almost thank Tiffany for destroying her artwork. Almost. Anna could not afford silly, romantic distractions.

  Distractions like getting married. In the most unromantic way possible.

  The ferry bumped against the dock and extended its ramp. Anna waited beside her dad while the other passengers disembarked.

  “You really don’t mind me taking off?” She hadn’t told her dad what she was doing. She wasn’t entirely sure she believed it herself. “I might be gone all day.”

  “Let’s see.” His smile crinkled. “I can hang out with you and spend eight hours tramping through jungles in a cloud of mosquitoes…or get in eighteen holes followed by a light lunch and afternoon nap. Maybe I ought to think about it.”

  “I see your point.” They clattered down the ramp. Anna could hardly believe the change two weeks had made in her dad. Instead of a pale, shrunken heart patient, he’d become an elegant, middle-aged man. She’d spotted more than one resort guest flirting with him, and even Chris’ mom, Doris, seemed to be taking an interest. “Still….” She held his arm as they made their way toward the bright, open air safari taxis. “Promise you’ll stay with the group from the Paradise.”

  “Yes, doctor.” He pecked her cheek and climbed onto a bench seat with the other golfers.

  Anna watched the taxi pull onto Veterans Drive and then looked around uncertainly. She’d had a note saying someone would be waiting….

  “Miss Williams?”

  Anna blinked at a Scandinavian Amazon in her late thirties, dressed in cutoffs.

  “Captain Greta Jorgensen. Mr. Andersen asked me to take you to the boat.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Anna blinked again. The woman looked more like a supermodel than a sea captain. Her handshake, however, was firm and professional. “Chris’ boat?” Anna asked. “The Paradise One?”

  “Come with me, please.” She led Anna away from the ferry terminal to a four-person rigid inflatable boat, passed her a raincoat and life vest and, after checking every one of Anna’s buckles, cast off from the dock with an experienced air. They cleared the wharf and motored quickly through the hair-raising traffic along the Charlotte Amalie waterfront. From this angle, close to slapping waves, the boats around them seemed much larger and scarier than they’d appeared from the ferry.

  Anna clung to her seat behind the captain while St. Thomas shrank to the rear. They were headed southeast, she thought, toward St. Croix. That was the third U.S. Virgin Island, but it was forty miles away. A long, wet ride in an open craft.

  “I apologize for collecting you in the little dinghy.” The woman’s strong voice carried above the roar of outboard motors. “Mr. Chris asked for discretion, and my tender is quite well known.”

  “Your tender?” Anna tugged her flapping ponytail tight and tucked the raincoat to protect her dress. Tenders were small watercraft that ran back and forth between a large vessel and shore. What sort of captain had both a rigid inflatable like the one they were in and a separate tender? “Where are we going, Captain…um…?”

  “Captain Greta is fine.” The woman checked the GPS and adjusted their course. “Sorry, I thought you were aware. We rendezvous with yacht Tordensky—that’s Danish for Thundercloud—in approximately seventeen minutes.”

  “A yacht?” Anna swallowed surprise. “Your yacht?”

  “I have the honor to command Tordensky. The yacht belongs to Mr. Andersen.”

  She must mean Ryan Andersen, Chris’ cousin. Anna lapsed into silence, wondering what that implied. Chris couldn’t have told Ryan about their secret wedding, could he? Unless he wanted to be absolutely sure his cousin wouldn’t pressure him about getting married on the show.

  Anna set aside pointless speculation and tried to relax, enjoying the flying sensation as the boat cut through the waves, the blazing sunshine, and refreshing spray. She watched the water, hoping to spot a dolphin, but there was unbroken turquoise in every direction. It was amazing how quickly they’d left the shore behind, how small and insignificant it felt to be on the open sea. She wished Chris were sitting beside her. With him, this plan of getting married had seemed a little less crazy.

  What if we sink? Her dad might never know where she’d gone. What if the contest people find out I sneaked off? Anna might get in trouble, but as long as her dad got his vacations, she didn’t care. What if Chris doesn’t like me after we’re married? That shouldn’t matter either. The wedding was just a formality. And yet, somehow, it mattered a lot.

  Captain Greta interrupted the silence. “That’s her. Yacht Tordensky dead ahead.”

  Anna leaned forward and squinted at a dot on the horizon. The dot grew into a toy boat, then a real one, and then a three-deck monstrosity painted a crisp white color along the bottom and gray on top, like a cloud.

  “It’s huge!” Anna squashed an
instinctive wish for her missing sketchpad. “How many people does it hold?”

  “Fully staffed, we have a crew of eighteen and can accommodate sixteen sleeping passengers or one hundred and thirty-two temporary guests.” Captain Greta maneuvered their boat around the stern of the yacht and tied up expertly at a small docking platform. “I’m afraid right now there’s only myself, an engineer, and two others, so service may be a bit basic.” She held her hand out to help Anna onboard.

  “Right.” Anna nodded. “I’ll rough it.” She followed her guide up a staircase and down a hallway to a richly paneled office. Anna’s heart fluttered when she looked through the door. Seated at work in front of a gently rising and falling view of the ocean was the man she was about to marry.

  Captain Greta knocked on the door frame. “Excuse me.”

  Chris looked up from his laptop. “Anna! You’re here!” He smiled. “How was your ride?”

  “Exhilarating. But I had no idea what you were planning.” She’d thought they’d hold the ceremony in a tacky registrar’s office. Anna tugged the skirt of her sundress. “I feel shabby.”

  “You look terrific.” Chris was wearing his usual white T-shirt and jeans. “Are you hungry? Captain Greta’s organized lunch. Or should we get the technicalities over first?”

  Technicalities. Anna’s throat tightened. Our wedding. “The technicalities, I suppose. If I can have a minute to wash.”

  “Of course.” Chris waved a hand. “Greta will find you a cabin. I’d do it, but I’m desperately trying to catch up on my catering orders for next month.”

  “Sure,” Anna agreed reluctantly. “OK.”

  The laptop beeped. Chris turned and resumed typing. Anna watched him, feeling forlorn. She knew managing a resort was hard work. And it must be twice as tough with Chris starring on Vacation Bride. She’d never expected he’d make a big deal out of the wedding, but she had imagined they’d spend a few minutes together.

  Captain Greta cleared her throat. “Which cabin?”

  Chris looked up. “What?”

  “Which cabin,” the captain repeated blandly, “would you like Miss Williams to use? We have the Swordfish, the Guppy, the Sea-Star….”

  Chris frowned. Captain Greta took no notice.

  “…the Catfish, the Marlin, and the Hammerhead Shark.” She turned to Anna. “I wouldn’t recommend the Shark. Mr. Ryan redecorated it between careers. I believe you’ll find—”

  “OK. Enough.” Chris ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry for being a rotten host, Anna.” He closed his laptop. “I’ll be happy to escort you myself.”

  The captain shivered a wink in Anna’s direction. “In that case, I’ll see to lunch.”

  Chris rose and stretched, sending Anna’s pulse racing. It simply wasn’t fair for any guy to look that sexy in jeans. She told herself this was not a real marriage. Not even a real date. But, damn. It wasn’t criminal to like what she saw. Besides, they really needed to talk.

  Chris walked over and kissed Anna’s forehead, erasing every word in her vocabulary. “I’m glad you’re here.” He took her hand. “Come.”

  She couldn’t have said where they went. Up a narrow staircase and down a larger one, in and out of doors, all to the faintly disorienting roll and pitch of the yacht. They ended in a luxurious stateroom with a thick oriental rug and glorious, sweeping ocean views on two sides.

  “This cabin’s the Sea-Star,” Chris said. “It’s always been my favorite.” He seemed about to pull Anna to him then changed his mind and let go. “Do you want to shower?” He opened a pocket door and showed her an elegant, if compact, marble bathroom. “Help yourself to anything.”

  Anna kept her gaze off the inviting bed. “I’ll just wash my face and brush the salt out of my hair.” She busied herself at the small sink while Chris prowled the bedroom, peering into cupboards and drawers.

  “I really appreciate your going through with this,” he said. “I’ve been feeling guilty. A woman’s wedding ought to be memorable.” His anxious face appeared in her mirror. “Maybe it’s too much for you to give that up?”

  “This yacht’s pretty memorable.”

  Chris shrugged.

  “What about men? Shouldn’t their weddings be memorable?”

  “Men mostly remember what comes after the wedding.”

  Anna’s eyes flicked to the bed. She was not thinking about dragging Chris there. Absolutely not! She grabbed her handbag and dug for the brush. “So, is this Ryan’s yacht?” Anna faced the mirror and attacked her hair. “All Captain Greta said was it belonged to Mr. Andersen.”

  “Each of my five Andersen uncles—” Chris hesitated. “Well, four now, and two cousins, all have yachts. Ryan and I used to sneak on board this one to drink aquavit and watch my uncle’s collection of Danish porn.”

  “You speak Danish?” Anna pulled her hair into a ponytail.

  “Badly. The family’s been based in St. Thomas for centuries, but they still send kids to Denmark for summer vacations. Ryan used to drag me along.”

  Anna swiped on mascara and added lipstick. “Sounds fun.”

  “If you don’t mind hearing your mother called a whore.”

  “You’re kidding.” Anna couldn’t imagine anyone insulting the sternly energetic Doris.

  “Not to my face. At night, around the fireplace, when all us cousins were supposed to be in bed.”

  “I’m sorry.” Anna studied Chris in the mirror. Should she say something? “I heard—” She’d heard his father had been disinherited. “I heard your dad quarreled with his family.”

  “My mom was older than my father. And Swedish, which was a strike against her. And poor, which at the time made Grandpa Andersen froth at the mouth. He cut my dad off and did pretty much everything he could to drive the Paradise out of business.”

  Anna remembered Chris saying his parents had owned the resort. “That’s terrible.”

  “I don’t think he really wanted my father to suffer. Just crawl back, beg for forgiveness, ditch his first family, and marry someone else. Then Dad died suddenly, and two days later Grandfather Andersen had a stroke. The family blamed Mom, although primarily because it took three years to declare the old man incompetent and get control of his fortune.” Chris sat down on the bed. “Sorry. Coming back onto the yacht after so many years kind of dredged that up. I mostly loved those summers in Denmark. Rolling sheep farms, seventeen hours of sunshine, and herds of Danish cousins to torment. Ryan and I convinced them we were American cowboys, so we always got first pick of the…er…horses.”

  She could have sworn he’d been about to say girls. Anna turned toward Chris. His expression wasn’t bitter, but there was a stubborn set to his jaw.

  “It’s meant a lot to me,” he said, “bringing the Paradise Resort back to life. It’s meant a lot to Doris.”

  “I think I understand.” Anna walked over and stood in front of Chris. She touched a lock of his hair, thick and wavy, with a slight stiffness of salt from the sea. Odd they hadn’t made him tidy it up for the show. Anna tried to picture Chris as a gangly teenager sneaking onto the Tordensky. “What’s Danish porn like?” she asked, somewhat at random, and then yanked her hand away, blushing.

  Chris laughed. “About the same as Danish television. Scandinavia’s pretty liberal.” He leered wickedly. “I’ll dig some out to watch with you, if you like.”

  “I’m not—” Anna had never even seen American porn. “That is, I wasn’t suggesting—”

  “Too bad.” Chris’ expression grew serious. He patted the bedspread. “Come here.”

  The gentle rocking of the yacht left Anna dizzy. She stood her ground and reached out to touch Chris’ shoulder. Why shouldn’t I suggest we watch porn? She ran her fingertips along his muscular arm. Why shouldn’t I suggest more than that? She liked Chris better than any man she’d ever known, and he pretty clearly liked her.

  Anna lifted Chris’ hand, turning it upward, stroking the work-toughened palm. She traced the lifeline and then fold
ed his fist. It rested, magnetic, between her two hands.

  “Anna.” Chris’ fingers touched the tip of her ear. His eyes were sky and sea and waves.

  She leaned in for a kiss.

  Someone rapped loudly on the cabin door. Anna pulled back.

  “Yes?” Chris slipped guiltily off the bed.

  Captain Greta entered carrying an armload of transparent garment bags. “Your aunt left a lot of untouched outfits in storage.” She didn’t appear to notice Chris and Anna’s embarrassment. “It’s a shame nobody’s ever worn them. I thought Miss Williams might like to change for the ceremony.” She started laying out dresses on the bedspread.

  “Good idea,” Chris said vaguely and then blinked at Anna. “That is, if you want to?”

  Anna studied the dresses. They all looked very beautiful and very, very expensive. “Um.”

  “Of course she does.” The captain eyed Chris’ jeans. “And so do you. Go clean up.” She grasped his shoulder and pushed him out of the cabin. “You’ll find your things laid out in the Marlin.

  Anna waited uncertainly until Chris had gone. “I ought to tell you,” she blurted. “We’re only getting married to protect Chris from the contest. It’s not a real wedding.”

  “Maybe so, maybe not. But you should still do it right. We have a saying in Denmark.” Captain Greta said something Anna didn’t understand and then translated, “A good beginning brings a good result.” She smiled. “It’s been hard on Chris since his uncle died. This is the happiest I’ve seen him in years.”

  “He said if he’d been there, he could have prevented the crash.”

  “I worked for Jacob Andersen for over a decade. His whole marriage was one long, terrible crash.” The captain shook her head. “It was heartbreaking to lose the children. We’ll never forget them, but Chris needs to move on.” She pulled a flowing white tea-gown from its bag. “How about this? It will go beautifully with your dark hair and eyes.”