Chapter One
She sure was something to look at, in fact he couldn’t take his eyes off her, which said a lot. Golden skin his fingers ached to touch contrasted with waist-length blond hair sparkling brilliantly in the sun. Legs that went on forever, a figure fit for a fantasy. Something he had an uninhibited view of too. Welcome to paradise Maximillian Chanteur.
She wore a strip of cloth tied around her waist, fluttering open as she walked, tugged at occasionally by the breeze to reveal bikini bottoms underneath. And nothing else. Well, well, well… When his aunt told him Villa Chanson des Palmiers had magnificent views, she neglected to mention the ones on the clothing optional beaches. This riveting view had him feeling like a teenage boy with his first look. He could not tear his eyes away. Coherent thought deserted him as blood from his brain quickly went elsewhere.
She watched her feet as she walked, though it didn’t affect his view of her face. A face with delicate features that didn’t live up to the expectations created by the rest of her body. Until she raised her eyes to gaze down the beach and their impact slammed him like a punch in the gut. She hadn’t looked at him, was unaware of his presence, yet he sizzled down to his toes. Large, peacock blue eyes overshadowed the rest. He changed his mind. She was drop-dead gorgeous. The figure, the hair, the eyes, she didn’t need the perfect face for a man to have his thoughts obliterated by an all-consuming need to lose himself in her.
It took several moments for him to gather himself and harden his heart. He knew why she was here and why she was half-dressed. And though it may be cynical of him, he was convinced it had nothing to do with the fact this was St. Barthelemy where going topless—naked even—on the beach was commonplace. He was at his aunt and uncle’s villa to get away from an endless stream of girls like this one. Girls a rock star has showing up anywhere and everywhere. Some fans, some seriously fanatical, all of which, after more than a decade, were getting to be too much.
Actually, he was surprised by his gut reaction to her. She wasn’t his type at all. Dark, petite and exotic got him hot and bothered every, single, time. But he wasn’t going to think about her—the other reason for his escape to the West Indies.
He squeezed his eyes shut and let the soft breeze soothe him. He’d gotten so far off track the last few years his music had suffered. St. Barth was a last ditch effort to get it back. And how he loathed the desperation that brought him to that point. He blew out a breath and opened his eyes. He was sick to death of its companionship, so anxious to get rid of it he had travelled a god-awful distance to shake it.
Andree Bancroft loved her life, her island home, her cat, her job, even her friend Etienne in that buddy sort of way. She’d probably end up marrying him one day and she could do a lot worse. He was tres beau inside and out. But right now, she didn’t care about any of it.
Her life was perfect and maybe that was the problem. She had no desire to think bad things about her father, but the feeling in her heart that he kept her too sheltered wouldn’t be stifled. She looked up from her feet, to gaze down the beach, blinking away tears of frustration. This was stupid. She was being stupid. Crying because Papa was so protective of her. He loved her and wanted the best for her and she was an ingrate for getting upset. She was the daughter of a successful artist living on an island in the Caribbean. All the islanders respected and looked up to her father, and having that same respect given to her was a good thing. Knowing that in her head didn’t stifle the desire in her heart to do something crazy and reckless. Just because.
So her father led a secluded life, and by extension her. She hadn’t been isolated from everyone and everything, and had carved out a place for herself in the social life of St. Barth. Her mornings were spent underwater, guiding boats in and out of the harbor, making sure their anchor lines didn’t get tangled up. She loved being in the sea. Swimming in her scuba gear amongst the awe-inspiring array of sea life. Afternoons… Well, there was the sieste, usually on the beach, which she was returning home from right now. She was able to spend her afternoons lounging around on the beach, a privilege few people had. On top of which, she had more than enough time for her artwork, and living on an island provided plenty of inspiration. Not that she was inspired to do much of anything lately. What was wrong with her?
She sighed, returning her eyes to the sand and the indentations made by her bare feet as she walked. A sense of unease washed over her and she looked over her shoulder, sure some guy was giving her one of those looks. It didn’t bother her anymore, but her radar went off regardless. Weird. The few people enjoying the beach were oblivious of her. Must be her mood. She changed direction and headed down the path that led to Villa Chanson des Palmiers. She needed to see how Papa was doing.
The girl wasn’t more than five feet away when she finally saw him leaning against the palm tree. Though he hid it, her shock when she finally saw him was amusing. Though, now he thought about it, he did present a rather frightening picture. His loosely curling, dark hair was pulled into a short ponytail at the back of his neck and he hadn’t shaved in at least three days. He hadn’t slept much lately either so all in all he presented a rather haggard appearance. Piratical even. Not that his adoring fans cared how he looked. It was all good to them.
“Monsieur!” she gasped. “Qu’est ce que c’est? Qui êtes-vous?”
The soft, soothing voice fell on his ears like music. He was so bemused it took him a moment to realize she spoke in French and he didn’t understand a word. Well, he was in the French West Indies, so he should’ve been prepared.
“I’m sorry,” he said in his deep, gravelly voice that had more than his fair share of the female population melting at his feet. Apparently not the case with this one, though. “I don’t speak French. The best I can do is ‘bonjour’ and maybe a few other words here and there.”
Boy, he wished he did, because he would’ve paid a lot to hear her say something else. However, the view more than compensated, he decided as his eyes appreciatively raked her figure. When they returned to her face, he decided they needed to stay there. Though she didn’t seem bothered by his perusal, he didn’t like what it was doing to him. He clenched his fists in an effort to keep his hands to himself. What the hell? They actually ached with the need to follow the same path his eyes had.
A disconcerted look crossed her face. “That’s okay I speak English. Who are you? This is private property. You shouldn’t be here.”
She pulled the sun-streaked hair hanging down her back to the front, effectively and modestly covering all that exposed golden flesh. And yes, it made him look again before he could stop himself. Her action, though, didn’t strike him as a result of embarrassment, more of a habit. Was she aware how distracting her attributes were? Damn! Now he wanted to feel her golden tresses running through his fingers before relishing the heat and softness of her skin.
He gave himself a mental slap. Get a grip. He was here to get away from females. All females, not just one in particular. Besides, this one was too young. He hardened his heart.
“I might ask you the same.”
He braced himself, expecting the worst and wondered how creative this one was going to be. Been there done that. Though usually not without a bodyguard or two. She was doing a good job pretending she didn’t know who he was, but he’d seen crazy fans pull all kinds of stuff, so he was prepared for anything. Well, mostly, as long as she didn’t draw too much attention from the people enjoying the beach and he ended up with a mob of crazy fans rather than only one. He glanced quickly over his shoulder. Not too many people around right now, thank goodness.
“I’m fully aware of that. It’s the private path to my uncle and aunt’s villa. So, actually, I’m the one that needs to ask you what you’re doing here? I suggest you continue your journey down the beach and be glad I’m not calling the authorities. And I don’t want to see you around here again. Your attempt to attract my attention wearing almost nothing failed, Sweetheart. Go find someone else. It shouldn’t be to
o hard.”
She gasped, her face mirroring shock and confusion. A flash of anger too, but only briefly. “Qu’est-ce que c’est? I am sorry, Monsieur. You say Villa Chanson des Palmiers belongs to your uncle and aunt?”
He narrowed his eyes. She knew the name of the villa. Did it mean she had a right to be using the path or merely that she was a native of St. Barth?
“Yes.” He ground his teeth. He was done. He just wanted to be left alone. He couldn’t begin to guess what her tactic might be but he’d bet she’d spotted him at the airport and hoped to have a fling with a rock star.
“Sacre bleu!” she muttered and before he could do more than blink, she brushed past him and darted up the path to the villa.
His stomach tightened. The picture she made sprinting up the path, her blond mane streaming behind her, took his breath away, rooted him to the spot and removed every other thought from his head. He clenched his hands in protest to the thundering of his heart. Maybe he was wrong about her. She certainly wasn’t acting like a crazy fan. Just crazy. She’d hardly given him the time of day and was headed for the villa like she lived there.
He frowned, too drained to care. The trying trip to the island had his brain muddled, but he recalled his aunt, Erika, saying a caretaker lived in a cottage on the property. Shane Bancroft was the name that came to mind, and he seemed to recall Erika saying Shane had a grown child. What was the name? Andre. Maybe the siren he’d encountered was visiting Andre. Lucky fellow. He shook his head. What was wrong with him? Jet lag? Most likely his personal version of jet lag.
Loathe to return to the confines of the villa after spending an interminable amount of time on an airplane, he pushed himself off the tree, wandered towards the ocean and collapsed on the beach, luxuriating in the shade of the palms, the incredible view, and the smell of sand and surf. Paradise. It felt good to finally be here.