The Summer Flings Travel Club: A Fun, Flirty and Hilarious Beach Read

Gem’s eyes got that gooey way they did when she nattered on about Aidan Price, superstar actor extraordinaire. ‘He’s Zack Muir, Elle’s hotter, older cousin.’

Ciara didn’t want to look at why that made her relax a smidgen. After all, he didn’t spare her a second glance and even if he had, she wouldn’t do anything with him. Tempting as it might be. She wasn’t a stayer, just like her ma. She got bored too easily.

Sighing, she thought about the way he looked drenched in sweat with all that delicious muscle on display and reckoned it would take a long, long time before she got bored of someone like him.

The voices upstairs were too muffled to make out the words the Muirs were throwing at each other – Elle’s voice was high pitched, ringing through the patio doors while Zack’s rough and sexy tone didn’t carry. Maybe Elle was giving him a monologue stream of abuse.

‘Back to the game, sans tequila?’ Ciara asked.

Gem glanced up at the French doors lining the upper floor of the mansion. The sound of a door slamming shut was followed by a shriek.

‘Good idea. The splashing might drown out the crazy,’ Gem said.

It didn’t take long for Elle to come back, but it did take a while for her to lose her temper. They made another jug of iced margaritas. By the way Elle sucked down half the jug, she was either cooling down or heating up for round two. It was better for everyone if they could calm Elle down before she went catatonic, and since Gem seemed more interested in drying off with a magazine in hand it looked like it was up to her.

‘Elle, this house is huge. We can all squeeze in fine.’ And have rooms and rooms to spare.

Elle slipped off her Ray Bans again, no doubt to avoid reverse panda-eye. ‘That’s not the point. I just don’t want him to ruin LA for us with his moping. We have houses all over, why did he come here?’

He was moping? Ciara wanted to ask what had happened but this was about cheering Elle up, not grilling her about her gorgeous, mopey cousin. ‘He’s not going to ruin anything. We’re just cranky and jet lagged. A good long sleep and a cuppa in the morning and we’ll tackle Rodeo Drive.’

That earned her a grin and she thanked the stars the worst seemed over for now.

‘You’re right, we’ll just carry on like he isn’t here. He spends all his bloody time running and working out anyway. I don’t know why our granddad even keeps him on the books.’

Ciara nodded. She could pretend he wasn’t there if it meant there’d be no more screaming matches.

‘We have more important things to worry about,’ Gem chimed in. ‘Like what we’re wearing to Aiden’s premiere.’

Taking a sip of the cocktail was much, much safer than laughing at the way Gem spoke about the Hollywood star like she knew him – sometimes like she was dating him. And that’s all it took for Elle and Gem to have a marathon chat about what cut of gown they were going to keep an eye out for tomorrow, argue about the pros of Gucci against Marc Jacobs and Ciara decided it was time to clear out and heft her suitcase up god knew how many stairs before she was too shattered.

‘Which one will I take?’ she asked Elle.

‘Any. Most are the same and no doubt that shit has taken the master suite,’ Elle said with a scowl.

Ciara cleared out of the way before her friend erupted again.

As she roamed through the mini-mansion, suitcase in toe, she tried not to feel crappy about the dress she’d picked up in River Island for the premiere. She’d love to get glammed up and drip with designer gear and accessories but that wasn’t going to happen with the limited savings she had for the trip – the flights alone had ripped off a huge chunk.

But she was in LA, on the first part of her journey before she had to go home and face the fact she had no job, a lot of university debt, and no clue what she wanted to do with her life. In the grand scheme of things, worrying about a high street dress was ridiculous. She shoved everything from her mind and focused on the tasks at hand.

One, pull a possibly vital muscle by dragging her hundred pound suitcase up the stairs – what had she packed in it again? Cement? She didn’t want to imagine how flushed her pale skin was after, or whether her face looked like she’d pressed it into a puddle – especially since the hottie she wasn’t supposed to be thinking about was in the house somewhere.

Two, find a room that didn’t look like it had been taken by the gorgeous, sweaty hunk she shouldn’t wonder about. This was trickier. Every door she opened looked the same. Pale décor, silky looking sheets instead of a duvet, and mini balconies facing down the hill, showcasing the city below. Surreal.

There wasn’t so much as a rickety floor board in the house so when she heard someone clear their throat behind her she about jumped out of her flip flops. Turning, she prayed again that her face didn’t look like she’d sputtered her way round the London Marathon five minutes before.

‘Can I help you?’ Zack Muir asked.

Thank goodness he was fully dressed this time. She didn’t think she’d be able to force words out if he was still sweaty and half naked.

‘I don’t know what– what’s up here.’ Keeping her mouth shut and staring at him like an eejit would have been better than what came out. Instead of Maths she should have studied English. Or taken a course in how to behave around gorgeous men she couldn’t have.

He cocked an eyebrow. ‘What’s what?’

‘You know, which room’s taken? Elle said you have the master suite.’

Great, now her palms were as sticky as her face. So much for everything the girls had taught her about flirting. She was sweating buckets and getting tongue tied over a man who looked at her like he thought she was about to clear out with all his cash.

Zack closed his eyes and shook his head. ‘That’s Elly all over. She shoots her mouth off without checking the facts. They’re all empty. I’m in my room down stairs. Take your pick.’

‘Okay, thanks.’ Ciara turned before she said something that would paint her cheeks scarlet, caught her toe beneath the cement filled case and took a not-so-graceful nosedive into the floor, cursing like a trucker all the way.

Luckily she caught herself before she cracked her skull but she’d never live the shame of this one down. With her bikini covered bum – hopefully cellulite free – in the air and Zack now on his knees at her side, she’d be quite happy to have knocked herself a good one so she didn’t have to face him.

‘Shit, are you okay?’ he asked, pulling her off the floor so she was kneeling behind the case, not sprawled across it. At her nod, he smiled. ‘I didn’t understand half of what you said but I’m guessing it was pretty creative.’

Her face burned, adding more humiliation to this scenario. ‘I’m glad you didn’t, it wasn’t very polite. Sorry.’

Zack didn’t seem appalled, thank god. He pulled her to her feet.

‘So where in Ireland did you grow up?’ he asked.

A quick glance at the bikini top to make sure the triangles were still in place – check – and she felt a tiny bit better. ‘Blessington. Not too far from Dublin.’

‘I’ve never been, but keep meaning to. The accent is adorable.’

There goes the flame again, heating her face all the way to her scalp. ‘It’s a great city.’

Time to move away from him before she tripped up and fell through one of the windows or something worse. Pulling up the case, she turned to go but Zack lifted the whole thing off the floor like it didn’t weigh more than she did.

He lifted an eyebrow. ‘Compared to Elle and her mum, you definitely travel light.’

‘Thanks,’ Ciara said, not sure what else to stay.

Following him down the corridor she tried her best to keep her eyes level with his shoulders. But they were wide and strong looking, and this really wasn’t going to help keep her mind off him like she’d promised she would.

At the end of the corridor next to yet another set of stairs, he opened the door and led her in. This suite didn’t look the same as the others. It had too much space, a walk in wardrobe she’d never be able to fill with all the clothes she’d owned from birth to now and what looked like a massive ensuite.

This had to be the master bedroom, and since Zack had lain her suitcase on a bed big enough to sleep ten people, she guessed he was giving it to her.

‘I can’t take this,’ she protested.

‘Why not? Elle thinks I’m here anyway.’ He headed for the door but she blocked the way.

‘I’d rather not fight with Elle. I’ll just take another.’

He grinned and his eyes glowed, honey-like and melting. ‘Relax, Ireland. My cousin’s bark is worse than her bite.’