One Wild Night: Magnate's Mistress...Accidentally Pregnant! / Hot Boss, Boardroom Mistress / The Good, the Bad and the Wild

Ricardo, the boat’s current owner, smiled, obviously pleased with Chris’s interest. “A few minor things you might want to look at…”

Chris listened to Ricardo’s list with half an ear as he fished his cell phone out of his pocket and called home. “Jack. Send Victor and Mickey down here on the next flight. She needs a little work, but I should be ready to start for home by the end of the week.”

“So you’re going through with it?”

“Definitely.” He was handing the check to a bug-eyed Ricardo even as he spoke.

“Why don’t you come on home and let the guys bring her back instead?”

Chris took a deep breath as a feeling of rightness filled him. He was meant to own the Circe. “Because she’s mine now.”

“But we need you here. Paperwork is already piling up on your desk. And, if you’re really going to break a record in October, we don’t have time for you to putter around the Caribbean.”

“I have an assistant to handle the paperwork. Grace can call if she needs anything. October is still a long ways off, and the Dagny is ahead of schedule. There’s nothing for me to do but admire your handiwork.”

Jack sighed and muttered something, but Chris didn’t need to hear it. He’d heard it all already. Jack was the world’s most compulsive planner—which was great when it came to planning around-the-world trips and designing new boats, but a bit of a pain any other time.

“I’ll see you in a few weeks. Have Dagny’s sails ready for me when I get home.”

“No dawdling in the Bahamas this time, okay?”

Flipping the phone closed, Chris turned back to Ricardo. “I assume you can get me access to the maintenance shed here.” He was already making a mental list of what he’d need for the long trip back to Charleston; now he just hoped he could find a good outfitter on the island.

Feeling better than he had in weeks—months, probably—Chris grabbed his duffel bag off the dock and tossed it below. Ricardo was already halfway back to the marina office, presumably to cash the fat check in his hand before Chris changed his mind.

But Chris was already unbuttoning his shirt as he headed below to change. He was looking forward to getting to know his new addition.

Whistling, he got to work.

A massage, a mud bath and a mani-pedi had worked wonders on Ally’s outlook. Tortola was definitely growing on her.

After a fabulous morning of being pampered and polished, she returned to her room feeling so relaxed she wasn’t sure how much longer her legs would hold her upright. A short nap and a shower later, her attitude adjustment was almost complete. She just needed to find somewhere to eat—napping through lunch was great for the psyche but left her stomach growling.

The nail tech at the spa had recommended she try the little café next to the marina in order to get a true taste of the local cuisine. It was a short walk, and it gave her the opportunity to appreciate the amazing scenery she’d ignored in her foul mood. Until now.

A smiling teenager led her to a small table overlooking the marina. The same breeze that teased her hair out of its braid also gave her background music as it moved though the rigging of the boats. Sunshine warmed her shoulders, and the fish chowder soothed the grumble in her stomach. By the time she’d finished her second mango daiquiri, she knew she was in paradise.

The bustle of the marina fascinated her. Even though Savannah was close to the coast, she herself wasn’t all that familiar with boats. Here, though, sailing was obviously a serious pastime, and the marina buzzed with activity. Curious, and with nothing else on her afternoon agenda, she went to explore.

There were no gates blocking access to the docks like the few she’d seen at home, so she wandered aimlessly. Boats of every shape and size and type bobbed gently in the water, and everyone greeted her with a wave as she passed.

Tranquility. Miss Lizzie. Lagniappe. The fanciful names painted on the backs of the boats made her smile. Tailwinds. Skylark. The Nauti-Girl made her laugh out loud. Spirit of the Sea. The Lorelei. The Circe.

The Circe was smaller than the boats around it, and while the others were tidy and gleaming, the Circe looked as though she’d seen better days. Planks from her deck were missing and long scrapings marred her paint. A second look, though, showed the scrapes had uniformity to them and a pile of fresh planks was stacked neatly on the dock.

The Circe was getting a face-lift.

“I assure you, it’s for her own good.”

Ally jumped at the voice and the thump of something landing on the dock behind her. She turned and realized Tortola had spectacular scenery indeed.

Holy moly. He couldn’t be real. No mortal man had a chest like that. She blinked, but the image didn’t change. Muscles rippled under bronze skin as he off-loaded the supplies in his arms. His pecs bunched, then flexed as he moved, and Ally felt a bit dizzy. Struggling to regain her equilibrium, she forced her eyes upward to the man’s face.

But it didn’t help to steady her. Sunglasses hid his eyes but not the adorable crinkles that formed as he smiled at her. He wiped his hands over the battered khaki cutoffs hanging low on his hips, then slid the sunglasses up and off his face. Eyes the color of the water surrounding them grabbed her, and she found it hard to breathe.

Real or not, she knew he’d be starring in her late-night X-rated fantasies for years to come.

“Her previous owners neglected her a bit, but she’s going to be beautiful once I’m done with her.”

The slight drawl made her think of home, and something about the pride and determination in his tone tugged at her. “I’m sure she appreciates it.”

“I certainly hope so.” He reached to her right to grab the faded T-shirt hanging on the piling, bringing that bronze skin so close she could smell the sunshine and the musk of clean, male sweat. As he pulled it over his head, she stamped down her disappointment at the loss of the lovely view of his pecs. “I’m Chris Wells.”

“Ally.” She shook the hand he offered. It was warm and strong and slightly calloused, indicating he worked with his hands. The thought of those hands on her…She snapped back to the conversation. “I’m sure she’s enchanting.”

Chris cocked his head, sending a lock of blond-streaked hair over his forehead before he pushed it back. Those highlights were real—he obviously spent a lot of time in the sun.

Ally cleared her throat. “Circe. The enchantress queen from the Odyssey.”

“Yes, I know. I’m just surprised you do. Not too many people know who she is.” He crossed his arms across that unbelievable chest and leaned against the piling.

“I guess I’m a bit of a mythology geek.”

Chris’s eyes traveled appreciatively down her body, leaving her skin tingling in their wake. “I definitely wouldn’t consider you a geek.”

The heat of a blush replaced the tingles, and her brain turned mushy. “She so rarely gets the credit she deserves.”

“She turned Odysseus’s crew into pigs.”

Was that a challenge? “Some might say it wasn’t exactly a stretch.”

“Ouch,” Chris said.

“But she also gave Odysseus the information he needed to find his way home and avoid the Sirens. Odysseus owes Circe one.” Why am I babbling on about this? She needed to quit while she was ahead. Find another topic of conversation before he decides you really are a geek.

But Chris egged her on with another of those smiles. “But they were lovers. That’s what Circe wanted from him.”

Ally laughed and took the opening. Maybe he didn’t think she was babbling. “True, but I think that worked out better for Odysseus than for Circe.”

“Excuse me?”

She looked at him levelly. “Odysseus and Circe have a fling. After which, Circe gives him much-needed information, and he’s gone without a backward glance, leaving her pregnant with triplets. Not so great an ending for Circe.” She shook her head sadly.

“What, no romantic sympathies for his desire to get home to Penelope?” Chris teased.

This was fun. She leaned against the opposite piling and mirrored his crossed arms. “Oh, now Penelope has my sympathy. Odysseus, the original golden boy of ‘all style, no substance,’ goes out adventuring, leaving her at home to weave and take care of the kid. She remains faithful while he starts the tradition of a girl in every port. Odysseus was a player.”

Chris laughed out loud. “You don’t sound like you like Odysseus much.”