The Pleasure Trip

Turning on her heel to size up her situation, she snapped off her four-inch stiletto on a brand-new pair of shoes Rita had simultaneously declared divinely gorgeous and a colossal waste of cash. Rain streamed down Jayne’s skin, plastering her silk sundress to a body which—she now recalled—was completely commando since she’d thought she’d be engaging in nonstop monkey sex right after the ceremony. And she slowly realized the only place of business still open and within walking distance housed the one man she never wanted to see again.

Unfortunately, she wasn’t thinking of Horatio. Because while some women might never want to lay eyes on the creep who ditched her in front of a gift shop that doubled as a wedding chapel, Jayne would be all too glad to find Horatio Aldo Garcia and wring his worthless neck with her own—wet—hands.

The man Jayne Frazer didn’t ever want to see again was the proprietor of a dive bar at the far end of this stretch of tourist traps, and he also happened to be the only living man Jayne had ever wasted tears over. A man who had provided her with the hottest sex ever to melt a woman’s knees before proposing three months after they first met on the Venus, planning out their lives together before she’d even caught her breath.

She’d tried to stall him, but the man in question—a big-deal New York corporate type before purchasing the bar and retiring at thirty-five—drove a hard bargain with an all-or-nothing price tag. So, because Jayne had no plans to settle down, the sex god of her dreams had sailed back into the sunset nine months ago.

Now, limping through the warm February downpour into Emmett MacNeil’s bar after all this time seemed to be her only hope of finding shelter before she either caught pneumonia, or washed out to sea. Instead of Emmett hearing rumors through the St. Kitts grapevine that his former lover had gotten married on a romantic whim—and she couldn’t deny the appealing scenario had occurred to her when she agreed to marry Horatio here—now Emmett would see his former lover looking like a drowned rat, complete with the stage makeup she’d nervously applied under Rita’s watchful eye ten minutes before escaping the cruise ship dripping down her cheeks. So much for her grand plan to flaunt her happy bliss under Emmett’s nose to prove his high-handed ultimatums and heart-stomping exit from her life hadn’t fazed her one damn bit.

If ever there had been an argument for the existence of bad luck, this would be it.

Cursing the lack of cabs or buses—hell, she’d settle for a rickshaw—Jayne hobbled through the haze of sheeting rain and steam rising off the ground toward the Last Chance Bar, her existing heel sinking into the muck of the washed-out street with every step. Although even if there had been cabs to take her to a hotel on the island, Jayne would bet her last ten dollars that Horatio hadn’t bothered to make reservations any more than he’d bothered to follow through on the wedding date.

In fact, thinking back, he’d probably only proposed yesterday in a last-ditch effort to get in her pants, and when she hadn’t fallen into his arms then and there, he’d promptly forgotten about all their plans. Horatio hadn’t taken her pledge of celibacy seriously when they first met six months ago, but Jayne meant it when she told him she wanted to be a born-again virgin. She’d given herself away too cheaply the first time when she’d lost it at sixteen in a semimutual romp with one of her mother’s boyfriends.

Definitely not the best way for a girl to lose her innocence, especially since the experience had been all tangled up with guilt at going behind her mother’s back because she’d been mad at Margie that day for—But she wasn’t going to think about that anymore, was she?

Anyway, after ten years of taking sex way too lightly, Jayne had decided to make a change. Hence, her vow of celibacy six months ago.

Number one probable cause for Horatio’s bogus proposal.

She’d worked herself into a full-blown hissy fit by the time she arrived at the little establishment Emmett was rumored to have bought from the island family who had built it. Jayne hadn’t even gone out of her way to find out gossip about Emmett after their breakup, but the crew members who took shore leave here came back from island layovers full of news and word traveled fast when a bar changed hands at one of the boat’s primary stops.

Jayne never told anyone—not even Rita—about the incredible night she and Emmett had shared on the beach in St. Kitts during his cruise. She’d told herself she wasn’t the marrying kind and hadn’t looked back.

Which, of course, called to mind her thwarted attempt to elope with Horatio. What made her say yes to a man with as much live-for-the-moment attitude as her, when she’d turned down a heartfelt offer from a sex god who took his responsibilities as seriously as a woman’s pleasure? Funny how the answer bitch-slapped her in the face now that she’d been stood up. Maybe deep down she’d known all along that “forever” with Horatio wouldn’t be a super-binding agreement.

And wasn’t this a fine time for an epiphany? Apparently a tropical downpour could wash away even the most persistent of self-delusions.

Swallowing old wounds, Jayne refused to let them stand in the way of getting off this godforsaken island and back to the Venus. If Rita had taught her anything in the past twenty-six years, it was that you made your own luck.

She straightened her sodden dress, noticing with a wince her outfit had turned completely transparent, and teetered up the stairs to the aptly named Last Chance Bar. Facing her old lover today would take industrial-strength chutzpah. But never let it be said that Jayne Frazer couldn’t pull off a hell of a good show.

Yanking off her shoes, she tossed them both in a trash can outside the front entrance before tugging open the door.

The scent of cigars and polished wood wafted over her as she stepped into an establishment gone utterly quiet now that the rush of cruise ship patrons had vacated the island for the day. Huge brass ceiling fans whirred quietly overhead in the dim interior, stirring the breeze drifting in from a wall of windows left slightly open on the far side of the bar. A bit of water dripped on the hardwood floor, but no one seemed to notice since the place was completely empty.

Maybe her luck was turning?

Jayne scanned the bar for signs of a pay phone so she could call for a car to take her to the nearest hotel, wondering if she could be in and out of the Last Chance without anyone being the wiser. She peered down a darkened corridor off of one wall but found only a couple of restrooms.

“Can I help you?” A brusque feminine voice from behind caused her to jump.

Turning, she came face-to-face with a lean brunette dressed in a tank top and shorts, a yellow bandanna wrapped around the back half of her head, a burning cigar still perched in her fingers.

Definitely not Emmett MacNeil. Thank God for small favors. Maybe this gorgeous woman with the great legs and golden skin was his bartender, treating herself to a smoke after fending off advances from drunken revelers half the day.

“I missed the cruise ship earlier. Do you have a phone I could use to make some arrangements?” In the silence that followed, the woman eyed Jayne with a wary gaze while her dress dripped audibly on the floor. “Sorry about the outfit. I’ll mop up behind myself, I promise.”

“You’re a passenger on the Venus?” The woman took a drag on her cigar and tipped her head to the side to exhale. Clearly she didn’t believe for a minute that Jayne had booked passage on one of the Caribbean’s pricy luxury liners.

“Actually, I work on the boat.” No need for subterfuge. Jayne took a page from Rita’s book and decided to be as direct as possible so she could get out of here before Emmett put in an appearance. “I’m Rita, a seamstress with the ship’s costume department.”

Okay, so maybe she still needed a little subterfuge. She didn’t want Emmett to get wind of who’d really been in his place today.

The brunette balanced her cigar in a dish on the shiny surface of the wooden bar before thrusting out her hand. “Claudia MacNeil, proprietor of the Last Chance. Pleased to meet you.”

Shock froze Jayne’s hands to her side.

Who knows how much time passed while she stared dumbly at this gorgeous creature who was…probably not Emmett’s sister since he’d once told her he didn’t have any siblings.

“Claudia MacNeil?” If she was going to have a brain malfunction over the idea of Emmett possibly being married, she might as well be sure she’d heard properly.

Belatedly, she remembered to shake the woman’s hand, surprised by how warm and alive Claudia’s skin seemed, while Jayne suddenly felt very cold.

“That’s right, sugar.” The woman retrieved her cigar and took another puff as she pulled out a bar stool. “You just have a seat while I get you a phone. Do you think maybe you spent too much time outside today? You seem like you might have a touch of sunstroke.”

“I’ve got it, Claudia.” A masculine voice rolled through the bar, low and authoritative.

A voice Jayne hadn’t forgotten.

She cast a sideways glance toward an open arch in the back that seemed to lead to an outdoor patio. Emmett MacNeil, the only man ever to come within spitting distance of breaking her heart, stood framed in the door. His gaze remained fixed on the woman who shared his name.

“Thanks. You’ll close up for me, won’t you, love?” The brunette swept past Jayne to meet Emmett in the breezeway, her long fingers patting his face with definite familiarity, her body invading his personal space so far there could only be intimacy between them. “I’ve got to go help my dad move some boxes.”

The impact of seeing Emmett now—with a woman who couldn’t possibly be a blood relation—threatened to level her. She hadn’t wanted him or his ring, hadn’t wanted this life he’d offered that sounded ordinary and boring compared to the glamorous dreams she’d had for herself just a year ago. So why did she feel like a very big bubble had burst?

Leaving her very soggy and more than a little sad.

She took in Emmett’s rough-hewn features, thick dark eyebrows and coal-black hair as he nodded at Claudia and received her kiss on the cheek.

“Bye, Rita.” Claudia gave a jaunty little wave over her shoulder, her yellow bandanna fluttering in the breeze stirred by the ceiling fans. “Nice meeting you, doll, and good luck getting back to your ship!”

Jayne forced a smile that probably only amounted to a fractional lift of one corner of her lips. This was sooo much worse than bad. She’d mark this day on her calendar as the one performance she’d ever flopped.

“Rita?” Emmett’s eyebrows lifted in curious amusement as Claudia disappeared outside, and any semblance of feeling sorry for herself vanished like money on payday.

Summoning her best showgirl posture, Jayne lifted her chin and flounced her way to the bar.

“It’s an alias in my new undercover work, doll. And as long as you’re here, I’ll take a gin and tonic on the rocks with lime. And could you make it quick?” She glanced at her watch gone cloudy from moisture under the glass. Peering back at him, she narrowed her eyes to convey precisely the right amount of hauteur. “I’m in a hurry.”

* * *

HARRISON’S KISS MADE Rita dizzy in the best possible way. She wanted to lose herself in that kiss, to cling to this sexy, gorgeous man for dear life and simply revel in the pure pleasure of the moment. Arching up on her toes, she allowed herself a more firm hold—just for a little longer.

She’d never been an impulsive person before, but then she’d never had to literally step into her sister’s shoes. What if she was turning into Jayne in some sort of Freaky Friday switcheroo? On the plus side, if that were the case, she wouldn’t have to sweat this whole moonlight encounter. She’d simply do whatever felt good, the way Jayne had her whole life.

And Rita had to admit, Harrison’s fingers drifting up her shoulder to the crook of her neck was feeling incredibly good right now.