Far From Home
A Mangrove Island novel, Book 2
By: Neve Cottrell
Rebecca Laughlin dug through her suitcase, searching for her bathing suit. She cursed herself for only owning bikinis.
"Where's a sensible one-piece when you want one?" she grumbled, upending the suitcase and sifting through the contents. She spied the pink, leopard print bikini top and liberated the matching bottoms from underneath her cosmetics bag.
The cruel irony was that the bikini had been a gift from Brad and it was the only swimsuit she'd grabbed in her hurry to flee New York and her philandering boyfriend. Bradley Campbell, the unreformed playboy who'd stolen her heart and then proceeded to stomp all over it six months later. The man she'd been basically living with when she discovered that he was also sleeping with her co-worker. Rebecca hoped the company had a good legal team lined up because Bradley Campbell was a lawsuit waiting to happen.
She inhaled deeply, refusing to rehash the awful events. She was back in her parents' vacation house on Mangrove Island, a place where she'd spent many happy summers as a kid, and was determined to use this time to get back on her feet. No noisy cars, no dirty subways, no gossiping co-workers and, best of all, no Brad.
Rebecca changed into her bikini, slathered on sunscreen, and went to the shed to retrieve her beloved kayak. If anything could cheer her glum mood, it was the sunshine and fresh sea air of the island.
Caspian Warwick fumbled around the tangled sheets for his watch. He rarely took it off so he knew he must have been more intoxicated than usual. The watch had belonged to his great-grandfather, a Duke of Pembroke like Caspian's father, and Caspian had no intention of parting with it.
Thankfully, the young woman, Sophie…Sally…something or other, was still sound asleep, judging by the unattractive snoring. Alcohol sometimes had that effect on a woman, even the pretty ones, although Caspian couldn't say with certainty how pretty this one actually was. He could barely remember what she looked like as he'd already been fairly inebriated by the time they were introduced.
He found his clothes in a pile by the side of the bed and quickly dressed. He wasn't in the mood for post-coital conversation. Unwilling to be separated from his watch, he dropped to the floor and stuck his hand under the bed, feeling around on the bare floor. His hand closed on something metal and he pulled the watch to safety with a victorious punch in the air.
His companion stirred and he shot to his feet, making sure not to creak any floorboards on the way to the galley for an espresso. That was the trouble with impetuous flings on a yacht, the next morning the fling was still there and he had no choice but to tolerate her presence until they docked at the marina, where he could wave a fond farewell.