Caribbean Escape With The Tycoon
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Within a few months, a prestigious art gallery in Toronto’s historic Distillery District had hired Vance as assistant curator, and his work there, along with his travels, had kept him quite occupied, with very little time to visit his mother save for the occasional Sunday dinner.
The dinner that had proven to be his father’s last had turned out to be the same as previous occasions—the atmosphere tinged with tension, stilted conversation and a formality that was never present when he was alone with his mother. Seeing his father—whom he had always categorized as tough and uncompromising—reduced to such a vulnerable and conciliatory state had been a shock. His father’s deathbed request had immobilized him, and Vance had barely had time to process the request before his father passed.
Vance took a gulp of wine. He had never wanted to get involved in the family business, but the irony was that after the funeral, Vance had spent every waking moment trying to prove himself worthy of following in his father’s footsteps. For his mother’s sake, he had tried to convince himself repeatedly. He was doing it for her, to keep the business running as smoothly as possible. And maybe to assuage the guilt that had surfaced knowing he hadn’t given his father the satisfaction of a positive response to his last request as he had taken his last breaths.
And to do the job properly, it meant that he had had to temporarily give up the lifestyle he had previously enjoyed, which his father had not approved of. And his job at the art gallery.
It had been too late to make a vow to his father, but not too late for Vance to carry out his promise to himself.
So for the last nine months, Vance had worked twelve-hour days at headquarters in Toronto and had undertaken several cruises, mentored by every department head of Zodiac Cruises. He had been surprised at how much he had enjoyed learning the workings of the business, and he had started to think of ways that he could put his art and history background to good use in the company…
His mother had planned this cruise to officially acknowledge Vance in his new position. “Your father wanted this, remember?” she had reminded him several times when he had claimed that he didn’t have time. “His dream was to pass the reins as president of Zodiac Cruises over to you himself one day…”
Vance felt a fresh stab of grief and the familiar swirl of guilt in his gut. What had he really known about his father’s dreams? His feelings toward his father were so convoluted. He was sure that he had felt every possible emotion when it came to his dad: bitterness, disappointment, abandonment, even hate in his adolescent years. He had never understood the man…a man who had chosen work over family.
What’s done is done, he told himself. He had another drink of his wine and willed the memory of his father’s last moments to vanish. As soon as that image had dissipated, green-hazel eyes flashed in Vance’s memory. Why did his thoughts keep returning to her? For nine months, he had stayed clear of women, focused entirely on the company. He hadn’t agreed to take a break and go on this cruise with the notion of resuming his past lifestyle…
And yet he had impulsively told her he’d like to buy her a drink. What the hell had he been thinking? And he had completely ignored the clear fact that she was engaged. Vance scowled. It was obvious that his playboy habits hadn’t been completely extinguished…
He couldn’t help wondering what her fiancé was like. Did he run his fingers through that blaze of hair? Did it get wild and tangled when they—?
Taking a deep breath, Vance forced the image out of his mind. He should have never agreed to this cruise. It was frivolous, considering the projects that needed his attention back at Zodiac headquarters…
Vance rolled his neck to one side and then the other. Maybe after the emergency drill, he’d relax in his private whirlpool. He felt tense around his shoulders, and the warm jets would be a welcome relief… A bit later on, he’d either order room service for dinner or they could dine at one of the specialty restaurants if Mariah preferred.
And then they would proceed to the Milky Way Theater, where the ship’s troupe of dancers and singers would be performing a medley of songs from the ’60s to the ’80s. Classic hits from iconic singers. It was a great first-night show, and he would be giving a brief welcome to the audience before it started.
And maybe the Sagittarian might not be there to distract him…
CHAPTER TWO
CHANELLE STOOD BY the railing on Deck Eleven, her gaze shifting from the lapping waters of the bay to the magenta-and-gold sunset as the Tampa Bay skyline receded in the distance. She had decided against joining the cruise director and other staff and the probable swarm of guests at the Sail Away party on Deck Twelve after the emergency drill. She wasn’t in the mood to mingle just yet…
Chanelle closed her eyes, letting the repetitive sound of the waves soothe her. Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft giggle in a far-off corner. Two darkened forms exchanged a kiss and wandered off hand in hand. She sighed. Could she not have picked a holiday where she wouldn’t be reminded at every turn of her failed relationship?
She bit her lip. Much as she had wanted to blame Parker for not being sensitive enough to her work commitments, she had had to face the truth: that she had invested more time and energy in her job and not enough with him.
“I’ve met somebody at the gym…” He had dropped the bombshell seven months ago. And he’d told her he would be back the next day to get his things. Everything but the engagement ring he had given her.
If all had worked out with Parker, she might have been planning her wedding now, or even enjoying her honeymoon…instead of cruising alone, Chanelle mused, taking a deep breath.
But it hadn’t worked out, and she had to admit—if she were to be totally honest—that she was relieved.
Not that she had felt that way at first.
Hurt and feeling betrayed, she had wanted to analyze what had gone wrong with their relationship and had checked out the self-help section of a local bookstore. One title had immediately caught her eye, as Parker had often accused her of being overly sensitive. And soon after delving into the book, Chanelle had discovered that she had many of the traits that the book identified…some that she had been aware of and some—she had realized in wonder—that she had exhibited even in childhood.
She’d also learned things she hadn’t known: that highly sensitive people had nervous systems that were more easily activated by sensory stimuli. Which had explained why certain smells were unbearable, or why intense sunlight or loud music or people could be so jarring…and why her skin couldn’t tolerate certain fabrics. No lace or wool for her! Or most synthetic materials. All this had illuminated her as to why she’d ended up with a skin rash or migraine at times…
Chanelle had learned that highly sensitive people—or HSPs—processed their experiences and feelings with greater depth and emotional intensity.
Given such sensitivities—not only physical, but emotional also—was it any wonder that her line of work had pushed her coping mechanisms to the max? And that Parker hadn’t been able to cope? The book had outlined how challenging it could be for others to understand and empathize with an HSP. It was challenging enough for an HSP to deal with their sensitivities, and relationships could present even greater testing grounds…
Her relationship with Parker hadn’t passed the test. Neither one of them had been solely to blame, though. She had been too focused on her work—there was no denying that—but Parker could have at least been honest with her and broken things off before getting involved with someone else. That would have been the decent thing to do.
And it had been this last thought that had finally convinced Chanelle that Parker hadn’t been the right man for her. After the initial shock and sting of betrayal, Chanelle had accepted the fact that Parker was not the guy she was meant to have a happy-ever-after with.
He had betrayed her trust. She deserved better.
This realization had come before the acknowledgment that she had burned out on her job. And her parents, who were on the other side of the globe on an extended trip to visit relatives in Australia, hadn’t been there to comfort her for either her breakup with Parker or her lingering emotional distress after a traumatic case involving two siblings and their neglectful parents. Meredith, Chanelle’s employer, had kindly advised her to consider a leave even months before this particular case, having observed the classic signs of burnout becoming more prevalent in Chanelle. But Chanelle had insisted she was fine, telling herself that she needed her work more than ever after Parker had left…
She had been wrong, of course. She should have heeded Meredith’s advice from the beginning. Chanelle sighed. After consulting with her doctor, Chanelle had taken a leave, “to be assessed on a regular basis.” This was not a sign of weakness, her doctor had asserted gently, but a step toward ensuring her emotional well-being. Having a job that dealt with the trauma of others required particular diligence in maintaining physical and emotional health and balance in one’s own life.
Enough! Chanelle was tired of thinking of the circumstances that had brought her here. And she needed to keep Parker out of her thoughts. She didn’t want him on this cruise with her. She was over him.
She had tucked the engagement ring he had left her in her purse months ago and had slipped it on her finger momentarily, wondering what she was going to do with it. And then, before she could put it back in her purse, she had become distracted by the incident with the child and his distracted father.
Perhaps what she really hadn’t gotten over was the fact that another man had dumped her. The first one had been her biological father. Her mother had revealed the story to her when she had felt Chanelle was ready. His name was Trevor, and upon hearing that his girlfriend Katie—Chanelle’s mother—was pregnant, he had promptly broken up with her, claiming the baby wasn’t his. He had accepted a job out of town right after college graduation and never returned, leaving Katie heartbroken. Fortunately, Chanelle’s grandparents hadn’t abandoned Katie, and Chanelle had grown up missing a father in her formative years, but living with a set of grandparents who cherished her.
She had just turned twelve when her mother married a furniture dealer called Martin, and although Chanelle had initially been reluctant to trust him—there had been a couple of men Katie had dated before him who had caused Chanelle some anxiety—Martin’s easy and joking manner and obvious devotion to her mother eventually won her over. Chanelle’s faith in men had been temporarily restored, but now she had to admit to herself that Parker’s decision to break up had stirred up a flurry of latent feelings that could be associated with her father’s rejection of her. Her social work and psychology studies had not been for nothing, she thought, her mood darkening as she watched the swirling waters from the deck.
Two men had abandoned her. One, her father, who hadn’t even wanted to acknowledge that he’d had anything to do with her conception. Who had chosen to run away from his responsibilities to her and her mother. And Parker, who had left her for another woman. Both had run away from the promise of what was to come—the birth of a baby and the birth of a marriage, respectively. Neither the baby nor the marriage had been given a chance…
Chanelle’s work had helped take her mind off the latter. She had pushed herself to the limit, convincing herself that the children she was protecting, or rescuing from a parent or parents who were unfit, depended on her. And she had no intention of abandoning them.
She had tried to be a superwoman, she realized, and had driven herself into a state of burnout. And she was having a hard time coming to terms with not being able to do her job.
Who am I? She shook her head and gripped the deck railing. Her job had been everything to her. What do I do now?
Chanelle squeezed her eyes tightly at the prickly sensation behind her lids but wasn’t able to stop a few tears from slipping down her cheeks.
“Hey, there…”
Chanelle didn’t need to make the quarter turn to see who the approaching footsteps belonged to.
The distracted father/playboy.
“I can’t have anyone on my ship looking so sad.” He stopped a couple of feet away from her.
Had she heard correctly? My ship? No, it couldn’t be…
Chanelle quickly wiped her eyes. How embarrassing that he had seen her in such a state. She looked beyond him, expecting to see his wife.
“Has something happened on board to upset you?”
Why did he care? And what could she possibly tell him?
“I—I’m okay,” she managed, her voice wavering.
His eyes swooped down on her and narrowed. “No, you’re not.”
She stared at him, startled by his directness. Something thudded in her chest. “It’s not something I feel comfortable discussing with—”
“A total stranger?” He raised an eyebrow. “Look, you don’t need to discuss anything with me. But now that I’m here, I’d like to set the record straight.” He took a step closer. “I wasn’t trying to come on to you earlier…and seeing someone in tears on a cruise concerns me.”
Chanelle looked beyond him again, the butterflies in her stomach rising in a swirl. What would his wife think if she suddenly showed up? She took a step back. “I appreciate your concern, but you don’t need to worry about me.” Actually, she didn’t appreciate his concern, but the words had left her mouth before she could stop them.
“The expression on your face worried me.” He rested an arm on the railing and glanced at the water before meeting her gaze again. “It was more than sad—it was almost a look of desperation.”
Chanelle’s eyes widened as his words hit her. Hard. “You thought I was going to…” She glanced at the black depths of the bay. She had been momentarily sad, yes, but desperate, no. No.
“I would have stopped you,” he said huskily. “Or dived in after you, new suit and all.”
“You wouldn’t have had to.” She held up her chin defiantly, trying to prevent herself from gazing at him from the neck down.
His piercing blue eyes had a hawklike intensity, as if he were trying to determine if she was lying. “Good to know.” His brow smoothed out. And then his eyes narrowed again. “I don’t mean to pry, but if there is a problem between you and your…” He glanced at her ring finger.
It suddenly hit her. He had noticed her engagement ring during their first encounter…
His words struck a nerve. Chanelle bristled. Was this…this Romeo…actually implying that she was having issues with her fiancé? What business did he have to butt into her life? She felt an inner heat surge through her veins and upward into her cheeks.
“Look, I hate to be blunt, but I don’t appreciate you trying to find out if there is a problem in my relationship. It’s really none of your business.” She felt her cheeks tingle. Usually the precursor to their becoming flaming red. “And if you don’t mean to pry, then don’t.”
“Touché. I apologize, Miss…or Ms….”
She threw him an incredulous glance. Did he not realize that she didn’t want to keep talking to him? He just raised his eyebrows and looked as unruffled as she was ruffled. It didn’t help that a portion of her brain was registering how good-looking he was in his charcoal-gray suit and salmon-colored shirt and black tie. She heard herself sigh in frustration.
“Chanelle.” There! Now maybe he’d go away and leave her alone.
He opened his mouth to respond but closed it when his cell phone buzzed. He retrieved it from his pocket to glance at it. He messaged back and then looked at Chanelle again. She moved away from the railing, and he did the same. Surely he didn’t intend to follow her? She was planning to head over to the Ristorante Mezza Luna for dinner, having made reservations at this specialty restaurant when she had booked her cruise, deciding that she deserved to pamper herself.
And after this double encounter with this playboy, Chanelle was anxious to start relaxing. She nodded dismissively and walked toward the glass doors, deciding to freshen up in her stateroom before heading to the restaurant. She saw his reflection and felt her stomach muscles tighten. Inside, the lights of the chandeliers made her blink.
She headed to the elevator, and when she turned, her heart jolted. Vance was striding toward her, but his phone buzzed again and he slowed down to glance at it. Chanelle hurried into the elevator, but before the door closed, she saw him glance up and across at her, his eyes glittering like the chandelier crystals above his head.
Mariah had texted Vance the first time to say that she was almost ready. He had laughed inwardly. His sister’s sense of time was faulty at best. “Almost ready” could mean “I need another half hour.” But she had surprised him with her second text that she was in the restaurant and had already ordered them drinks.
Vance had messaged her that he needed a few extra minutes.
He glanced at the closed elevator doors before striding over to a recliner near a lounging nook and thought about what had just happened with Chanelle.
Chanelle… What a soft, feminine name. A name fit for an angel, except that there had been nothing angelic about the look she had flung at him.
Why had she appeared so dejected when he had first spotted her? His heart had begun to thump against his rib cage when he had seen her gripping the railing in that isolated corner of the deck… And at the sight of the tears glistening on her cheeks, the thump had turned into a hammer. He had been ready to leap toward her, and then she had turned to look at him…
Relief had swirled through him like an electric current. He had wanted to wrap his arms around her—an irrational impulse, considering he didn’t know her, but he couldn’t deny that he had felt a surge of protectiveness that had stunned him.
He had immediately noticed that she wasn’t wearing her ring, which was why he had presumed that she and her fiancé had had some kind of disagreement, or maybe even a fight. No wonder she was sad, especially if she was having problems in her relationship. Had she ended the engagement? Had he? Vance’s jaw tensed at the thought that Chanelle’s ex-fiancé might have cheated on her. Maybe that was why she seemed so irritated with him. Maybe she was projecting her anger and hurt on him or any other male who crossed her path or even looked at her the wrong way…
But why was this Chanelle taking up so much space in his thoughts? He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then relaxed them. Tensed his shoulders, then let go. He did this a few times, and after a few deep breaths, he opened his eyes.
Vance checked the time and sprang to his feet. He had kept Mariah waiting far too long. At the entrance of the Ristorante Mezza Luna, the maître d’ greeted him and led him to a far table, where Mariah was already enjoying a glass of white wine and a plate of cheeses and spiced olives. “Sorry I’m late, sis,” he said with a rueful smile. He sat down, and after the waiter had filled his glass, he explained what had happened earlier with Chanelle, reassuring Mariah that Adrien had never been in danger. “How is the little munchkin?”
“Adrien’s having room service with Mom, then they’re going to watch a movie and go to bed early,” Mariah said.
Vance nodded and took a drink of his wine.
“Don’t look now, Vance!” Mariah lowered her voice to a whisper. “There’s the lady who couldn’t mind her own business.”
Vance set down his wineglass and tried to ignore the skip of his heart beat. “Mariah, I told you, she was just worried—”
“Okay, okay. I can’t fault her for that, Sir Vancelot.” She chuckled as he rolled his eyes at her childhood nickname for him.
Vance turned casually. Chanelle hadn’t spotted him. She was smiling brightly at the maître d’ and nodding. She had changed from casual wear to a long magenta skirt with a shimmer of sequins along its flaring hem and a body-hugging black top that accentuated her slender neck and feminine curves. The maître d’ led her directly toward the table next to his and Mariah’s.
Mariah’s phone rang, and Vance could hear that it was his mother’s voice on the other end.
Chanelle suddenly stopped walking. Vance met her incredulous gaze. He held up his glass and nodded with a polite smile. It was obvious from the rosy hue of her cheeks that she was flustered to be seated so close to him. And Mariah.
Chanelle gave a brief nod and looked away, focusing on what the maître d’ was telling her about the wine selections. She murmured her choice, and he nodded. “Certainly, Miss Robinson.”
Vance didn’t know if it was the wine or the discovery of Chanelle’s last name that ignited a shiver of heat inside him. He said it under his breath. Chanelle Robinson. He liked the way it sounded. Soft. Silky. Just like that mane of hair tumbling over her shoulders.
The next time his glance coincided with Chanelle’s, he flashed a smile and nodded. Her eyes fluttered briefly, and she responded with a nod that made him think of a robin giving a tentative peck at the grass. Her cheeks were now almost as red as a robin’s breast, and the way her arms lifted and then dropped helplessly made it clear to him that if she could fly away, she would.
“Mom says Adrien feels a little warm. Probably too much excitement today,” she murmured, arching her eyebrows in Chanelle’s direction. “I’m going to check on him. If he’s okay, I’ll meet you in the theater.”
Vance stood up and met Chanelle’s eyes. Even in the dimmed lighting of the restaurant, they were stunning, their green-hazel depths looking like a mystical pool from an enchanted land.
“I hope you’re enjoying Mezza Luna’s fine offerings, Miss—Chanelle,” he said as they approached her table. He gave her a casual smile. “Oh, and please allow me to introduce you. Chanelle Robinson, this is Mariah Kingston…my sister.”
CHAPTER THREE
CHANELLE STRUGGLED TO keep her surprise in check. His sister? And how did he know her last name? Oh, yes, the maître d’ had said it…
Feeling awkward at the realization that she was just blinking back at him, Chanelle turned and offered a tentative smile to his sister.
Mariah held out her elegantly manicured hand. “Nice to meet you. Again.” She blew her brother a kiss. “I’m going to go and check on Mom and Adrien and then head to the Milky Way Theater. See you in a bit, Sir Vancelot.”
Chanelle watched her leave, a petite swirl of pink silk and ivory linen above shapely legs and stiletto heels that Chanelle wouldn’t hazard to wear. When she had walked into the restaurant and had caught sight of Mariah sitting across from Vance, something in Chanelle’s chest had deflated, and she had considered making an excuse to the maître d’ and filing out of the restaurant. The last thing Chanelle had counted on was bumping into the both of them so soon after the earlier incident…
Discovering that the lady he was with was his sister and not his wife had caused a thumping against her rib cage that almost made her look down at her chest self-consciously.
Vance put his hand on the chair opposite her. “May I?” he said, his blue eyes appearing more like indigo in the muted light of the restaurant.
“Um…” She glanced from him to the waiter. “Okay,” she replied slowly, irritated both by his question and by the way her pulse had spiked.
How could she tell him, with the waiter standing right there, that she had been looking forward to a quiet dinner?