Two Weeks in the Magnate's Bed. Nicola Marsh

the outskirts, heavily laden with local seafood delicacies, salads and decadent desserts, and she tried not to drool. Easy, considering a certain sailor boy was nowhere in sight.

      Mavis, resplendent in a floral dress with an orange hibiscus tucked behind her right ear, sidled up to her, beaming as usual. ‘Aloha, dear.’

      Lana didn’t have the heart to tell her the Hawaiian greeting wasn’t used here. ‘You’re looking very tropical.’

      ‘Yes, well, we’ve got to get into the island spirit, haven’t we? By the way, where’s your beau? I haven’t seen him.’

      ‘My beau?’

      Mavis tut-tutted. ‘Don’t play coy with me, my girl. I saw the way that sailor looked at you yesterday in dance class. I may be old, but I’m far from senile, and if my eyes didn’t deceive me I think you liked the attention.’

      ‘No way—’

      ‘Why don’t you live a little? Have some fun, dear. You’re only young once. Now, in order to do that you need to keep mingling and stop wasting your time talking to an old chook like me.’ She patted Lana’s cheek. ‘Say hello to that gorgeous boy for me,’ she said and waddled away, chuckling under her breath

      Have some fun. You’re only young once.

      She wanted to, she really did, but ignoring the habits of a lifetime was tough. Even if she knew how to flirt, would Zac be satisfied with that? She doubted it. If she responded he’d take it as a signal that she was interested in more, would probably expect more, and she couldn’t give it to him.

      She was anti-casual-sex for a reason, a damn good one, and casting off her inhibitions along with her reservations would be near impossible.

      Unless she had great motivation?

      Maybe she did—all wrapped up in six-foot-plus of sexy sailor. Was Zac incentive enough for her to drop her guard and see where it led?

      The thought had her bolting from the marquee for the safety of the deserted beach, where she could quash daft thoughts like that before they blossomed and encouraged her to indulge in all kinds of crazy, uncharacteristic actions.

      Zac made small talk with a couple from Alabama while his gaze was riveted on Lana as she left the marquee.

      He was an expert at multi-tasking—his job, his real job, demanded it—so he had no trouble nodding and laughing and responding even while hiding a grimace at yet another hideous dress, this one in a drab brown, and at the way it hid her curves.

      And she had them—man, did she have them. He’d seen them on full display this afternoon, despite that neck-to-knee ensemble. Okay, it hadn’t been that bad, but those boring bathers were gruesome just the same, and she noto-knee doubt thought they hid the curves that could give a guy ideas of how far he’d like to push this challenge, despite his every intention not to.