The Trouble With Paradise Read online

  “Ith nether thn—” Ruthlessly, she bit her own tongue, then tried again. “I’ve never snorkeled.”

  “There’s a first time for everything, darlin’.” His smile said that maybe snorkeling wouldn’t be their only first.

  In response, Dorie’s tongue twitched. Panicked, she looked at Cadence.

  Cadence shook her head. “Sorry, but I have a fear of putting my face in the water. Totally and ridiculously juvenile, I know, but snorkeling is not happening for me. You’re on your own.”

  Andy smiled at Dorie. “No problem. We go in pairs anyway. How about we partner up?”

  “She’d love to,” Cadence said for her.

  Andy lightly tugged on a strand of Dorie’s hair. “Don’t worry, you’ll be in good hands.”

  Dorie looked at his handsome face, and thought of him in a bathing suit. “Fun,” she agreed.

  He smiled the smile of a man charmed. A man who knew he was on his way to getting lucky.

  She just had to decide if that was going to be true. And if she could sleep with him without swallowing her own tongue.

  Night One—No cabana boy yet but still working on it.

  Dorie slept in soft, lush bedding that wasn’t from Shop-Mart and woke to the sound of the wind whipping at sails. From her window she could see an incredible blue sky, so bright she needed sunglasses to look at it. She showered and winced anew at her unreachable splinter, but it didn’t look infected so she wasn’t going to worry about it.

  Much.

  Her ankle felt better and was no longer swollen. She pulled on the bathing suit she’d designed when she’d promised herself to lose ten pounds, which had never happened because barbeque chips had gone on sale at the store and she’d bought an entire carton. Not a single bag, but a carton . Now the suit was a little tight, but the top gave her breasts a nice lift, which was a fun bonus. Unfortunately, the shorty bottoms exposed more than they covered.

  Damn BBQ chips.

  She pulled out a wraparound skirt, tied it on, and called it good.

  Up on deck, she was momentarily staggered by the huge, yawning sky and even huger, yawning ocean, both in that brilliant blue, with only the occasional whitecap to break it up. The air was warm, with a soft breeze that felt like heaven. Far above, the sails soared and cracked in the wind like fireworks.

  “An amazing way to wake up, isn’t it?”

  She turned and smiled at Cadence, who sat on a lounge. “Beats the L.A. smog, that’s for sure.” Despite the warm air, Cadence had her sweatshirt zipped up to her chin, and Dorie gestured to it. “You cold?”

  “No. My bathing suit is all screwed up. I think it shrank.” She grimaced. “Okay, that’s a lie. It didn’t shrink, I got bigger.”

  “Let me see.”

  Cadence looked around carefully for other eyes, then unzipped her sweatshirt. Dorie took in the bikini top, which was so tight it had Cadence’s barely size B breasts looking like C-pluses.

  “It’s hopeless.”

  “I can fix it.” She pulled Cadence off the lounge and around the corner, to the relatively secluded corner of the boat where she’d stood yesterday having her fantasy Titanic moment. “Take it off.”

  “Here?”

  “Trust me. A designer, remember?” Which felt incredibly good to say. She wished she could always say that instead of “Shop-Mart sales clerk.” “Take it off and turn it upside down.” Dorie showed her what she meant, and then retied the strings.

  Cadence looked down at her breasts, which now fit into the material, still snugly, but not X-rated-ly. “That’s amazing.”

  “Just a little trick. Hungry?”

  In marvel, Cadence cupped her breasts, adjusted. Smiled. “Starved.”

  “I bet Ethan cooked something good.”

  “I don’t know. He was busy busting Bobby for being a lazy shithead. A direct quote.”

  They entered the galley. Busy bickering or not, Ethan had cooked something good, and they ate a breakfast spread fit for kings, served with a scowl by Bobby under the supervision of Ethan, who was wearing spotless, wrinkle-free trousers and an immaculate white shirt.

  Dorie took a bite of her food and moaned. Ethan might look like a pretend chef but there was nothing pretend about the fabulous food he could produce.

  So much for losing ten pounds.

  “I’m going to have to replace my bathing suit with a muumuu,” Cadence said, stuffing her face.

  Brandy joined them, wearing a minuscule bikini and an iPod tucked in between her breasts, looking like a supermodel.

  Ethan came over. “A mimosa?”

  “Oh, no thanks,” Brandy said. “I don’t drink in the mornings. Unless it’s straight caffeine.”

  “Food then?”

  “I don’t eat in the mornings either.”

  Ethan laughed. “What do you do in the mornings?”

  A wicked light came into her eyes. “Guess.”

  Ethan arched a brow. “To each his own.”

  Brandy grinned and dragged Cadence and Dorie out on deck, where they stretched out on lounge chairs. They slathered themselves in suntan lotion and soaked up some of the tropical sun. Well, Dorie and Brandy did. Cadence stood on the deck doing exercises.

  “Crazy,” Brandy decided after watching her new friend sweat.

  But Dorie understood Cadence’s restlessness. The idleness felt strange to her, too. As long as she could remember, she’d had a long list of things to do at all times. The list never seemed to go away, mostly because she was disorganized and could never actually find the list. This just lying here thing, it was definitely decadent. After awhile, she brought out her drawing pad, and inspired by the ocean, by the sails snapping high overhead, spent an hour designing beachwear cover-ups.

  “Nice,” Brandy said, looking over her shoulder. “The long lines are gorgeous and slimming.” She pointed to Dorie’s own wraparound sarong skirt. “I want one of those.”

  Dorie glanced over at the table Ethan had used to set up drinks for them. It was covered with a long, thin, silky cloth in bright red and yellow. She pulled it free. “Stand up,” she said to Brandy, then folded and stretched the material, wrapping it around Brandy’s hips. “There.”

  Brandy strutted past Cadence—now doing yoga—looking like a runway model. “It’s perfect. I could go from beach to nightclub in this thing. A tablecloth.”

  “I beg your pardon, that’s an Anderson original.”

  Denny came up on deck, took one look at Cadence executing some complicated yoga pose, and laughed. “Relax, mate.”

  “Not so good at that.” But she tried to sit, managing to stay seated for oh, thirty seconds. “See? Can’t do it.”

  Denny, standing at the observation deck, offered to teach her to sail. “Come on, come up here.”

  Cadence grinned at Brandy and Dorie, then joined him. She put her hands on the wheel, and was content until a whipping breeze jerked the boat. Denny yelled at Bobby—working on the sails—to make some adjustments, but Cadence shook her head and backed up. “That’s enough for me.”

  Brandy tried next. She stood at the helm of the boat in that sexy bikini and new sarong skirt, an equally sexy smile on her face, feet planted firmly and confidently apart. “God,” she said, holding onto the wheel, tipping her head back. “The power. It’s glorious.”

  “You know it.” After another sharp gust, Denny turned on Bobby. “What the hell are you doing? Hoist sail!”

  Bobby, face impassive, set about the chore.

  “My momma always said to think big, live big, and love big,” Brandy said, grinning. “I’m sure doing all three right now!”

  Dorie absorbed that and decided that Brandy’s mother had some good wisdom. “What did your mother do?”

  “Oh, she was a hooker. And at least twenty cents short of a dollar, but she was the best of the best on the street. Dorie, you’ve got to come give this a try.”

  Dorie took the wheel. She could feel the swell of the ocean beneath her feet, the speed of t