From whirlwind fling...

To wedding ring?

In this Destination Brides story, bidding on a Canadian adventure vacation results in the trip of a lifetime for divorce lawyer Molly Quinn in more ways than one... Paired up with gorgeous tycoon Eric Chambault, they’re pushed out of their comfort zones and closer together, until Molly can’t resist embarking on a fling. But as their vacation comes to an end, will their summer romance work in the real world?

DONNA ALWARD lives on Canada’s east coast with her family, which includes a husband, a couple of kids, a senior dog and two crazy cats. Her heart-warming stories of love, hope and homecoming have been translated into several languages, hit bestseller lists and won awards, but her favourite thing is hearing from readers! When she’s not writing she enjoys reading—of course!—knitting, gardening, cooking…and she’s a Masterpiece Theater addict. You can visit her on the web at DonnaAlward.com, and join her mailing list at DonnaAlward.com/newsletter.

Also by Donna Alward

Hired: The Italian’s Bride

The Cowboy’s Christmas Family

The Cowboy’s Convenient Bride

Marrying a Millionaire miniseries

Best Man for the Wedding Planner

Secret Millionaire for the Surrogate

Destination Brides collection

Summer Escape with the Tycoon

And look out for the next book

Swept Away by the Venetian Millionaire

by Nina Singh

Available next month

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Summer Escape with the Tycoon

Donna Alward

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09115-2

SUMMER ESCAPE WITH THE TYCOON

© 2019 Donna Alward

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

Version: 2020-03-02

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To Barb, Nina, and Liz…but especially Liz,

because being in a continuity with you

is one of MY bucket list items. xx

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

THE LAST PLACE Molly Quinn wanted to be tonight was at the Merchant Seafarer Resort, wearing a snug cocktail dress and her feet in a new pair of heels that added a good three inches to her height and blisters on each of her pinky toes.

A parking attendant took her keys and she handed him a generous tip before taking a breath and entering the luxurious lobby. Cool air washed over her and she made a conscious effort to tamp down her irritation. It didn’t help that she’d been in heels since seven this morning, in the office early to prepare for a deposition. After a grueling day with clients who’d acted more like children than adults, she’d changed at the office, left an hour early and then fought the traffic to get to the resort on Nantucket on time. Tomorrow she had to be in court by ten, so she had no option other than to drive back to the city tonight and get in at an ungodly hour. Why had she done this again?

She had to admit, it was a gorgeous spot. Positioned above a white-sand beach, with sloping grounds leading to the ocean, the Seafarer was a Nantucket icon: grand, timeless and a bastion of wealth and opulence. But Molly would have much preferred sitting on her balcony, sans footwear, sipping on a glass of rosé to attending such an event, no matter how wonderful the cause.

“Molly! You made it.”

Ryan O’Neill appeared out of nowhere, striding across the lobby as if he owned it, dressed in perfectly tailored Armani. Tall, with striking blue eyes and a hint of Irish red in his chestnut hair, he garnered attention wherever he went. Lately he’d received a good amount of attention because of his divorce from a somewhat obscure actress—one who was more recognizable now because of the public nature of the split. Ryan had brought the money into the relationship, and Molly had been the lawyer in charge of ensuring he kept as much of it as possible.

Moreover, she liked him, and they’d become friends of a sort. He was a train wreck at the moment on a personal level, but he was a nice, fun guy, and she hadn’t been able to say no when he’d asked her to attend tonight’s dinner and auction with him. No one wanted to attend these things alone and make for an odd number at a sponsored table—especially when you were the sponsor.

“Ryan.” She smiled genuinely and held out her hands. He took them and gave them a squeeze, then leaned forward and kissed her cheek in greeting.

“Thank you for coming tonight. There’s nothing worse than attending these things alone.”

She grinned up at him, feeling a little of her annoyance dissipate. “You’re welcome. Sorry I’m a little late.”

“It’s just getting started. Let’s get you a glass of wine, shall we?”

“Just one,” she cautioned. “I have to drive back to the city tonight.”

“Ah, yes. No staying at the hotel tonight, I remember.” He put a hand at her back and chuckled a little. “You do like to follow the rules.”

“Always.” She arched her back and moved away from his hand slightly, not wanting to settle into the touch that was both solicitous and...a little too familiar. She looked up at him, all Irish roguishness and twinkling eyes, and suppressed a sigh of irritation...and maybe a hint of regret. “Which is why I accepted your invitation tonight when I said no to the others. Officially you’re no longer my client, so I’m not breaking any rules.”

“Yet.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Still not staying the night. But nice try,” she teased. If she thought he really meant it, that his overtures were more than flirting, she would have refused the invitation. But she knew he was still a bit too raw from his divorce to do more than be charming.

He laughed now as he guided her from the lobby to the ballroom where the dinner and silent auction for a new opioid treatment center was being held. The other reason she hadn’t been able to say no to him was because she knew that it was a personal cause. Ryan’s brother had been in and out of rehab since he was twenty-two. Ryan had confessed to her during one of their meetings that finding the painkillers in his wife’s bag had been a critical moment in deciding if he wanted their marriage to continue. He’d immediately had Molly’s sympathy. And if she were being honest, the ugliness of his divorce had exhausted her and made her wonder if her exorbitant fees were, in fact, worth it.

But that was behind them now. The ballroom was stunning. Tables were bedecked with ivory and gold linens, and flower arrangements, heavy with lilies, sent out a pungent, exotic scent. The room was already half full of other guests, who mingled with long-stemmed or highball glasses in their hands. Chandeliers dripping with crystal winked over the assembled crowd, and soft music played. A waiter approached and Molly took a glass of something white and cool as Ryan asked for a whiskey.

It was a good cause. There was food. She had a good-looking, fun date. And she still really wanted to be home and out of the shoes and dress and Spanx that kept her figure smooth and a size smaller beneath her dress. As the Lycra dug into her ribs, she heard her mother’s voice in her head, reminding her of the extra ten pounds she always carried, and how certain dresses simply weren’t flattering. One day she was going to burn every single slimming garment she owned and say the heck with it.

For a while she and Ryan mingled, then moved on to peruse the auction items.

Each one represented a grand adventure, a trip of a lifetime. Displays were arranged with some featuring promotional videos, while others had representatives in attendance. She gawped at the offerings. There was an African safari. A castle in Provence, among the heady scent of lavender fields. Italy—including gondola rides in Venice, a wine agriturismo in Tuscany and a side trip to Malta and the famed Blue Grotto. The rain forest in Costa Rica and mountain climbing in Nepal. Bids had already been made on some of the adventures, and she sipped her wine and wondered what it would be like to actually take a trip like that. These were bucket-list items, she realized. Bucket lists to help those, like Ryan’s brother, who may never have the chance to do any of their bucket-list items if they didn’t kick their addictions.

It made her pause and think about her complaints that were really, in the overall scheme of things, small stuff. She had all this money and a great career and she wasn’t happy. So maybe it was time for a change. For some time she’d felt that family law was a mistake, and a bit too soul-destroying. The trouble was, she wasn’t at all sure what would make her happy.

Ryan was chatting to someone a few feet away and Molly stopped at a table, her attention caught by a monitor where killer whales curved through the waves, their dorsal fins straight and tall. The shot shifted to a group of kayakers sliding through the water, with huge sequoia trees, rolling hills of grapevines and a view of the ocean from a luxury hotel room. The words Island Outdoor Adventures crossed the screen, with the smaller words Vancouver Island, Canada.

Canada. Maybe not the most exotic location in the world, but she’d occasionally traveled to Montreal or Toronto for conferences and she’d loved the country. She stepped closer to the table and picked up the glossy brochure. The adventure promised a variety of experiences, most outdoor, with luxury accommodations to pamper even the most particular guest.

“Find something you like?”

Ryan’s voice sounded by her ear and she half turned. “Maybe?”

He picked up a brochure and flipped it open. “Kayaking with killer whales? Zip-lining in the rain forest?” His teasing eyes swept over her. “That doesn’t sound much like you, Molly.”

A sliver of indignation seared through her. How would Ryan O’Neill know what did or didn’t sound like her? Sure, they got along well. He’d been a good client and they’d had some fun conversations. But he didn’t know her. Not really.

Unless he did. Unless she really was as boring as his tone made her sound. Her whole life she’d followed a set plan, hadn’t she? Never a misstep. Of course, it meant she hadn’t made many mistakes. But she’d never taken any risks, either. Regret didn’t just happen because of what a person had done; it could come from what they hadn’t done, too.

“What does sound like me?” she asked carefully.

He shrugged and took a drink of his whiskey. “I don’t know. Work. You work a lot and when you’re not working you’re doing things that are associated with work.”

“Like tonight?” she asked, a bit sharply, and noticed the teasing look in his eyes dimmed.

“I didn’t ask you here as my lawyer. I asked you as a friend.”

“I know.” She sighed. “I’m sorry I’m so snippy.” It really wasn’t him she was annoyed with. He’d struck a nerve. She did work too much and didn’t cut loose often. Huh. Scratch often. Try never.

Nope. Molly Quinn did exactly what was expected of her, right on time and by the rules. After her brother’s death at a young age, it had fallen to Molly to wave the family banner, and she’d done it with pride. Valedictorian of her high-school class. Full scholarship for her undergrad and a degree at Harvard Law—naturally—to make her parents proud. And then, also as expected, she’d joined the family firm. She was now a full partner at the ripe old age of twenty-nine, in Quinn, Colton and Quinn, the premier family-law practice on the East Coast, outside of New York. The Colton was honorary now, as her father’s partner had retired two years ago. At nearly thirty, she’d dissolved dozens of marriages without ever having been married herself.

She’d been close, once. She hadn’t been willing to become anyone’s accessory. She’d worked too hard. She’d wanted...more.

So Molly lived a very nice life. A very nice, insular, boring, sheltered life doing exactly what was expected on the appropriate time line.

“Are you thinking of bidding?”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.” She hesitated. “Maybe.”

“Well, you could always start the bid on this one and then it might prompt someone else to step up and get the ball rolling. The higher the bid, the better for the rehab center.”

He made a good point, so she looked at the itinerary again and bid a bit lower than the trip’s worth. What the heck.

Thirty minutes later, they sat down to dinner. Ryan was a prominent vascular surgeon, and the table was filled with several of his colleagues and their spouses or dates. Molly smiled and spoke at the appropriate times, but much of the conversation eluded her and her mind kept darting back to the Vancouver Island adventure. What would it be like to do such a crazy thing? She’d never been particularly athletic, and she’d certainly never left on a whim to do something so impulsive. But just because she never had didn’t mean she couldn’t.

Dinner was delicious, the seafood fresh and the vegetables locally sourced. The music was lovely, conversation was witty and sophisticated, and Molly was bored out of her mind. With her mother’s caution still ringing in her head, she refused dessert, some sort of terrine that looked divine and probably contained a zillion calories. When plates were cleared she was mad at herself. Why shouldn’t she have dessert if she wanted? Why did she always have to deprive herself? It certainly didn’t make her a better person.

That was it, she realized. Following the rules, following the path that had been laid out before her, hadn’t made her a good person. The truth was, she didn’t really know who she was, other than a good lawyer. She felt sad about that for a few moments, and then she set her jaw.

The only person who could change that was her. And maybe it would take getting away and going out of her comfort zone to really discover who Molly Quinn was and what she wanted.

She excused herself and went back to the silent-auction offerings again. At the Island Outdoor Adventures table, she hesitated and looked at the bidding sheet. Two other bids were there, and disappointment rushed through her.

Screw it, she said to herself and reached for a pen. She hastily scribbled a new bid. She wanted this now. Wanted to run away and have her own personal-revelation moment. Just because she’d never done those things didn’t mean she couldn’t; that was why they were bucket-list items. And just because they’d never been on her personal bucket list didn’t mean they weren’t once-in-a-lifetime experiences. Maybe she wouldn’t Eat, Pray, Love her way to enlightenment, but a change of scenery and a challenge might be exactly what she needed to gain some personal clarity.

As the evening progressed, she made her way back to the table again and again and upped the bid. At one point she wondered if it was going too far and cringed at how much of a hit her savings account would take if she won. Then her competitive streak would pop up again and she’d write down her next bid.

The evening’s emcee announced the final ten minutes of bidding. A man who looked to be in his midthirties stepped up and raised an eyebrow as he read her latest entry, then picked up a pen and scribbled something down. Not to be outdone, she went right behind him and raised the bid by two thousand. Her heart pounded as she returned to Ryan’s side. The bids were now sitting at twice what the entire trip was worth.

She checked her watch.

Mystery man met her gaze and quirked his eyebrow again. He was handsome, she acknowledged, with thick dark hair and chocolaty eyes that warmed as a hint of a smile tipped his lips, a challenge if she ever saw one. She gave a nonchalant smile and a shrug, as if to say, “Whatever.” There were six minutes left.

He walked over to the table. A smile played over his lips as he saw her entry. And then he upped the bid again.

He stepped back, smiled broadly and walked off.

She was dying to know what he’d written down, but she was already in too deep to make any rash moves or give him the opportunity to outbid her again. She shrugged, then turned to Ryan and made small talk with their host, Kit Merchant, as the seconds ticked down in her head. Kit had arrived late and was regaling them with sailing stories. Molly listened with half an ear, the other part of her brain busy ticking away the moments until she could make her move.

When there were just thirty seconds left by her count, she sauntered over to the table, wrote her name, looked at his bid, took a deep breath and wrote a new number only one hundred dollars greater than his final bid. She put down the pen and turned around. He was about to step forward when the emcee called, “Bidding is now over. No more bids will be accepted.”

She’d won.

CHAPTER TWO

ERIC CHAMBAULT TOOK a deep breath and stepped out of the elevator, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. He’d had an acquisitions meeting early this morning. Then he’d headed for the airport in order to make his flight. Montreal to Victoria was a long trip, and he’d enjoyed the few hours with his phone in airplane mode. Once he’d landed, though, it had buzzed and rung nonstop. On the last call, he’d told his assistant that every call for the next ten days was to be directed to the appropriate VP and that he would be out of contact. Then he did something he hadn’t done in nearly eight years. He turned it off and left it off.

He’d be lucky if his blood pressure wasn’t skyrocketing again. Thirty-four years old and his doctor had cautioned him about stress and told him to take a vacation. He wasn’t interested in lying on a beach somewhere. Instead he’d taken the advice of one of his friends and started looking into outdoor adventures. Joe had gone on one a year or so ago in South America and said it had been the best trip he’d ever taken.

Initially, Eric had thought it would be a vacation for two. Then the divorce papers were served and it was clear no couples trip would be on the agenda. What followed had been eight months of legal wrangling that had cost him an exorbitant amount in billable hours. In the end, he’d paid his legal bills and hers, too, as well as a settlement that still made him grit his teeth: just over thirty million in a lump sum. The only saving grace was that he wouldn’t have to worry about paying alimony every month for the next four or five decades. Murielle had got her money and he was left with a bad taste in his mouth and a heart full of disillusionment.

He waved his key card over the hotel-room door and it turned green. With a twist of the handle the door swung open and he stepped inside, pulling his large suitcase behind him. He could have had a bellboy bring his things up to the room, but right now he didn’t want to see any other people. He wanted to be alone. Take a shower. Perhaps have a nap before the group dinner tonight, which he was dreading. Because people.

But maybe a shower and a power snooze would put him in a better frame of mind. He just wasn’t there yet.

A sound touched his ears and he frowned. Water running? He looked around and spied a Vuitton case on the luggage rack. What the hell? Was there someone in his room? Eyebrows knit together, he strode toward the bathroom and opened the door.

The string of profanity that greeted him, complete with splashing, had him shutting the door immediately. But not before he’d had a chance to spy long, soapy legs, the tops of some very lovely breasts that were covered with bubbles, and a flashing pair of blue eyes below dark hair, damp from the steam in the room.

A man could notice a lot in two seconds, apparently.

He spoke through the now closed door. “Um...you’re in my room.”

There was a splash and then her words came, sharp as knives. “You’re in my room and I’ll thank you to get out. Now.”

Eric sighed and pressed his fingers to the spot at the top of his nose, where suddenly all his tension had centered. “I just checked in, and I assure you, this is my room. But I’ll wait for you to get dressed. I’m sure the hotel will get this straightened out and you’ll be in your own room in no time.”

And probably a smaller one. At least he’d been put in an executive room, complete with a lavish king bed, a comfortable seating area and a view of Victoria Harbor that was incredible.

There was a great deal of splashing now and the sound of water draining. Eric stepped back from the door and took a breath, then went to the window to look outside. Seriously. He just wanted to relax for an hour. Was that too much to ask? This was supposed to be a first-class hotel with top-notch service. How did this sort of mix-up even happen?

Noises sounded from the bathroom. Unhappy noises. Apparently a little peace was indeed too much to ask for.

When the door opened he schooled his features and turned around.

And nearly swallowed his tongue.

She was angry; there was no doubt about that. Her blue eyes, framed by sooty lashes and set above lips that remained full and plump even as they were puckered in displeasure, snapped at him. She was wrapped in a hotel robe, and it was big on her, but he still had the picture of her legs in his head and the front of the robe gaped just enough to offer a tantalizing glimpse of cleavage.

He swallowed. Hard.

“I suggest you take your bag and go right back down to the desk,” she snapped.

He offered what he hoped was a calm, pleasant smile. “I think we should go down there together. I’ll wait for you to get dressed.”

“I don’t think so.”

“But possession is nine-tenths of the law,” he reminded her. “So I’m not leaving. That—” he pointed to the bed “—is my bed and I’m going to be taking a nap on it, so let’s not be difficult.”

A smile touched her lips. “Don’t quote law at me,” she said, a bit of mockery in her tone. “I’m a lawyer.”

Ugh. “Of course you are,” he muttered. He frowned as he looked at her face more closely. There was something unsettlingly familiar about it, but he couldn’t quite place it.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She put her hands on her hips, which only made the gap in the front of the robe wider. He tried really hard not to stare, but damn, she was attractive. There was no denying that. Where had he seen her before?

“It just means that the only thing worse than having someone mistakenly in my room is having a lawyer mistakenly in my room.” He knew it was an unfair thing to say, but seriously. The whole reason he was on this trip alone was because of his divorce and he was still bitter about how much he’d lost in the settlement.

“Wow. All right.” She moved to the desk and picked up the phone. A few moments later she hung up and turned to face him. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get dressed. Someone will be here in a minute to sort this out. Please let them in.”

She grabbed something out of a closet, slammed a few dresser drawers and disappeared into the bathroom again.

He gawped at the bathroom door. Holy cats, but she had cool dismissal down to an art form, and she knew how to sling orders, too. If he weren’t so annoyed, he rather thought he could use someone like her in his company. The way she’d sashayed into the bathroom hadn’t escaped his notice. A memory tugged at the corner of his mind, but before he could try to grab it, she came back out at the exact same time as someone knocked at the door. They both moved to answer it, but Eric sent her a quelling look and stepped forward.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Quinn, Mr. Chambault. I’m Paul, the assistant manager, and I’m so sorry for the mix-up.” He tried a smile. “Mr. Chambault, I’m afraid there was an error upon check-in that resulted in you being given the keys to Ms. Quinn’s room.”

The look on her face was triumphant.

Eric hesitated a moment, searching for the right words rather than the ones spinning through his head. “Accidents happen. If I could be shown to my actual room, that would be great.”

Paul’s smile turned into something that resembled a grimace. “Unfortunately, your room isn’t quite ready yet. It’ll be about an hour. We’re happy to keep your bags for you in the meantime, and you’re welcome to wait in our executive lounge and enjoy some refreshment. I promise that you’ll be in your room and settled before your group dinner this evening.”

“Group dinner?” Ms. Quinn—that was what he’d said her name was—stepped into the conversation. “You’re not with the adventure tour, too, are you?”

Oh, Lord. He didn’t want to go through the next ten days with her in the group. Suddenly that solitary sitting-on-a-beach thing was looking very enticing—why had he chosen this over the tropical vacation he’d initially planned? He met her eyes and was surprised to see something that resembled embarrassment in their depths, not to mention her flushed cheeks. Whether caused by embarrassment or from the heat of the bath, he didn’t know, but the trip was ten days long and he didn’t want this inauspicious event to set the tone.

“I am,” he replied and nodded. “I guess there’s nothing to be done about it.”

There was an awkward pause. Paul began taking Eric’s suitcase and carry-on bag to a bell cart while Eric and Ms. Quinn stood awkwardly in what was, apparently, her room.

“Sorry for the inconvenience,” she offered, slightly more subdued than she’d been earlier. He was about to snap back with a sharp retort when he put himself in her shoes. She’d been relaxing in a bath when a strange man had walked into the room. Of course she’d been angry...and she had every right to be. Even if the mistake had been in his favor, he could understand her reaction.

“And I’m sorry for freaking you out,” he replied. “It’s been a long day.”

Her lips twitched a little, and those pouty lips curved up in a smile. Then a smile with teeth...and then a light laugh came out of her mouth.

He chuckled a little, too. “Not exactly a great icebreaker, was it?”

“No,” she answered and stopped laughing. Her face was more relaxed now, though, and something shimmered in the room between them. Maybe it was just the awareness that he’d caught her in a fairly intimate situation. Whatever it was, he was uncomfortable with it.

“I’m Molly,” she said, stepping forward and holding out her hand. “Molly from Massachusetts.”

“Eric,” he answered, taking her hand. It was still warm from the heat of the water, and soft. But her grip was firm and he liked that. The memory slid back. Damn if she wasn’t the actual reason he was on this particular trip. “Wait. You’re—”

“We’re all set here, Mr. Chambault.” Paul reappeared at the door, interrupting Eric’s sentence. Eric dropped her hand, still a little shaken by his sudden realization. He’d seen that smile before. That soft, plump mouth with a teasing grin. It had been the mention of Massachusetts, though, that had really tipped him off. She was the woman from the hotel. The one who’d outbid him. He’d wanted the trip badly enough that he’d booked one for himself anyway. He’d never dreamed they’d be on the exact same one.

“I’ll see you at dinner,” he said, then stepped away. Maybe she wouldn’t remember him, and he’d just pretend they were complete strangers. Because really, they were.

Ten days. She’d be a part of his tour group for the next ten days. One thing he knew for sure: he couldn’t ever interrupt her bath again. The last thing in the world he needed was a holiday romance. And Molly from Massachusetts could be very tempting, indeed.

* * *

Molly let out a breath as she stepped into the private dining room. She could do this. Good heavens, a room full of strangers was not an unusual thing, and they were all on holiday. No one was worried about division of assets or custody agreements. So why was she so nervous?

She wiped her hands on her linen trousers and admitted to herself that it was all due to Eric...whose last name was something French. She only remembered that because the assistant manager had called him Mr. Something or Other. But it fit. His voice was low and smooth, with just a hint of an accent on certain words. Together with his thick dark hair and chocolaty brown eyes, it was no wonder her sexy-ometer had gone a bit haywire the moment they’d shaken hands.

But that wasn’t all. She’d tried to have a short nap herself, and it had been in that moment just before nodding off that she’d remembered those eyes. She was good at placing people and he was the one who’d lost the bid on this very trip at the benefit this past spring. The big question was, did he remember her?

She was the last to arrive in the dining room, and there was one vacant seat at the table. And, of course, it was directly to the right of Eric. Her nerves went crazy again, sending butterflies winging through her stomach. Oh, well. Might as well get used to it and set the tone. After all, they were going to be in the same group for the next week and a half. At least he didn’t seem to remember her. She could just pretend that she’d never laid eyes on him before. No problem.

She went to the table and pulled out the chair. “Wow,” she said easily. “I didn’t expect you to save me a seat.”

He turned his gaze to her and she felt the little jolt of electricity again. “I didn’t,” he said dryly. “Five minutes ago you would have had a better selection.”

“I’ll survive.” She sat down and reached for her napkin. “Has everyone ordered?”

“No. Just our drink orders.”

A server came by and Molly ordered a pomegranate martini, and by the time it had arrived, food orders were being taken. She decided to start with a beet salad, then a main of duck. She listened as Eric ordered his dinner. Then she took a sip of her cocktail.

He’d seen her in the bath. Ever since, she’d wondered exactly how much he’d seen. She hoped her breasts had been covered. She’d definitely had her toes up on the faucet, but had the other bubbles provided cover for...everything else? Her face heated and she put down her glass and reached for her water.

“Something wrong?” he asked, reaching for a slice of bread. He smeared honeyed butter on the top and took a bite.

“Of course not.” She faked a smile and straightened. “Did you have your nap?”

He nodded. “I did. I didn’t have the distraction of a wonderful view.”

Discomfort slid through her. “I’m sorry?”

“My room is considerably smaller than yours, that’s all.”

She reached for the martini again—this could be a long evening. “It’s probably because I got a deluxe package.” She chanced a glance in his direction. “It’s really just a bucket-list kind of thing.”

He buttered another corner of his bread. “So what about this trip is on your bucket list?”

“Oh, well. Uh... Nothing? I mean, I don’t really have a bucket list.” Too late, she realized she’d contradicted herself, something she never did in her profession. Why was she so flustered?

Their salads were served and she picked up her fork. But Eric hesitated and she paused with her fork stuck in a piece of endive.

“What’s the matter?”

He shrugged. “I guess I’m just confused. If this is a bucket-list trip, but you don’t have a bucket list...”

Right. And the last thing she wanted to do was get into her motives and personal life. Instead she smiled. “Oh, that. Well, I’m a bit of a workaholic. I hadn’t really considered an actual bucket list, but I decided that I could do with some time off and something exciting. Trip of a lifetime, amazing experience, yada, yada.”

He nodded and the mood relaxed. “I get the workaholic thing. You’re a lawyer?”

“Yes, family law. Partner in the family firm. Dissolving marriages since 1982, when my dad started his own practice with a friend.”

“Oh.”

That was all he said, and the air seemed to cool around them. To her surprise, he then turned away and began talking to his neighbor on his left.

Maybe her first impression had been right after all. Rude and entitled. Maybe there’d been a moment of something that had flashed between them, but his snub just now had been real. Fine. She ate her salad and struck up a conversation with her neighbors, a husband and wife from northern Alberta who were involved in an oil-and-gas company. Their previous expedition had been walking the Camino de Santiago in Spain, and soon they had her laughing at some of their stories.

The duck was succulent and tasty; a glass of wine after the martini helped take the edge off her irritation with the man on her left. By the time dessert arrived, she was more than ready to head to bed and get a good night’s rest before tomorrow’s beginning of their trip.

She’d ordered the hotel’s signature cake, rich with hazelnut and cream, and promised herself she’d only take three bites and have a strong coffee. Eric had momentarily turned back, and when he saw the dark liquid in her cup, he gave it a side eye. Was it possible she’d been mistaken? The man beside her now didn’t hold any of the warmth and humor that she’d sensed in the mystery bidder back on Nantucket.

And why did she feel like tonight she’d been judged and had come up lacking in some way? Even her coffee got a sideways glance.

“It won’t keep me awake, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she said.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to. Listen, I don’t know what I did or said to put you off, but maybe we should just agree we got off to a rough beginning and then stay out of each other’s way during the trip.”

“It’s your job.”

“Pardon?” She put down her fork.

He faced her. “It’s not you. I mean, this afternoon was embarrassing, and yes, I’m judging you on something superficial, but I just went through a major divorce. Let’s just say it was nasty and I lost a lot of money.”

“And you lost your wife, too, right?”

He gave her a cold look. “Don’t act like you care about that. Her lawyer certainly didn’t. It was all about the numbers, and putting a price tag on the six years we were married. Apparently I was such a horrible husband that she deserved five million a year in compensation.”

She knew that wasn’t how it worked, but that he was speaking from a place of bitterness. Moreover, he had to be loaded. Thirty million? He’d paid his ex-wife thirty million dollars?

“Your lawyer should have done better for you,” she said firmly, picking up her coffee cup. “Children?”

“None, thank God.” She sloshed some of her coffee and he shrugged. “Not that I dislike children. Quite the contrary. I’m just glad we didn’t have any to get caught up in a custody battle.”

She relaxed a little and met his gaze. “I know.”

“Do you?”

His tone was accusatory but this time she let it bounce off her. She did know. Her parents had stayed together but custody agreements were tough, and if anything made her cry in her job, that was it. Children were not possessions or assets. And sometimes there was an internal struggle between fighting for her clients’ interests and trying to do what was right for the kids.

“I think I’ll go up now.” She put down her cup and started to push out her chair.

“Nantucket,” he said, his voice firm and definitive. “You outbid me, Ms. Quinn.”

Her cheeks flamed as she put her napkin on the table. “Yes—yes, I did. I wasn’t sure you remembered. Mr....?”

“Chambault. And I remembered.” His gaze was hard, his body language sharp and edgy as he reached for his drink. “You held out to the last minute.”

“I play to win.”

“Not everything is a game.”

“No, but strategy matters. Good night, Mr. Chambault.”

She turned on her heel and walked away, her heart pounding. The evening hadn’t gone as she might have liked, but at least she’d ended it with the last word.

CHAPTER THREE

MOLLY STRETCHED IN front of her window and took a deep breath, taking in the view. Dawn had come about an hour earlier, and now the morning sun sparkled off Victoria’s inner harbor and the pristine white sailboats docked within it. She’d slept soundly; despite the turmoil of dinner, the mattress had been most comfortable, the pillows plump, and the dose of melatonin she’d taken for the time-zone changes had carried her off to sleep. Today they’d leave for the Cowichan Valley, where they’d visit several wineries, do some tasting and spend the night in luxury before heading for their more “rustic” adventures.

She was just about to head for the shower when her phone rang. A quick look at the screen showed it was her father, and she let out a sigh before answering. He’d thought her trip was foolish and ill-timed, but then she realized that her parents had kept to the same schedule for most of Molly’s life. A condo in Antigua every January for a week. Two weeks in Europe in May, before it got too hot. They stayed in the same places—the right places—with the right people and never varied. The idea of taking off on a whim had caused such an uproar that she’d had to postpone her originally planned trip and rebook.

Now he couldn’t even leave her alone for the ten days she was gone. She didn’t want to resent it, but she did. A lot.

“Good morning, Dad,” she said into the phone.

“It’s noon here.”

“I know.” She rolled her eyes. “What’s up?”

“I wanted to keep you up to date on the Morrison-Cleveland case. She’s asking for less alimony in exchange for full custody.”

Molly pinched the top of her nose and closed her eyes. “Which arrangement benefits the children more?”

“He’s our client, Molly. Not the children.”

A familiar feeling of rebellion rose into her throat. “Well, you know how I feel about this. Look, I know he’s our client but he had affairs and got caught, and then got stuck with a DUI charge. They’re going to have a more stable life with their mother at this point, and it would be great if we could keep them from using their children as leverage. He’s not a family guy, Dad. He’ll pay less in alimony and you can negotiate a fair visitation schedule.”

“I knew that was what you’d say.”

“Then why did you call?”

“You dropped the ball on this one. The idea is that he gets to keep his kids and a bigger portion of his money. You know that.”

Molly sat on the edge of the bed. “I’m not sure I agree.”

“You’d damn well better, for the fee he’s paying. Molly, we didn’t get where we are by being soft.”

There was a long pause, and then Molly said, “I’m on vacation, you know.”

“Oh, believe me, I know.”

The words I’m sorry sat on her lips. For leaving, for leaving her caseload with him, for disappointing him, for whatever else she might need to be sorry for. For being the child who’d survived? But she didn’t say it. She was so tired of apologizing when something didn’t go exactly to plan. Of daring to actually try to have a life of her own. She couldn’t always be Jack. His death hadn’t been her fault. But placating her parents was her fault. She’d got into the habit and now had a hard time getting out of it.

“You know you can do this in your sleep, Dad,” she replied instead. “You don’t need me there.”

“Not really the point, Molly. You left your clients in the lurch.”

Now she was getting truly irritated. “So you’ve said. But even you take a vacation. I’m back in ten days. The firm won’t fall apart.” She sighed and stood once more. “I’m late, so I’m going to have to cut this short. Bye, Dad.”

She hung up, knowing she’d catch hell later for hanging up on him. But seriously. Wasn’t she entitled to a holiday? And at twenty-nine years old she could figure out when and where she wanted to go. She didn’t need his approval, though for some reason both her parents seemed to think she did. She turned off her phone and shoved it into a shoulder bag. Her stomach growled. If she didn’t grab some breakfast soon, they’d be on the road and she’d be running on empty.

She called for a bellhop to get her cases, and once they were collected she adjusted the strap on her bag and headed for the coffee shop. What she needed was a huge coffee and something to take away the gnawing in her gut. In a matter of minutes she was sipping on strong, black brew, with a cranberry muffin in her other hand and a banana tucked into her purse.

The group was congregating in the lobby, waiting for their transportation, chatting up a storm. Molly knew she should join in, make some acquaintances. That was what last night had been for—breaking the ice. Right now she held back. She was still irritated by her father’s call and that work life had intruded when she’d been gone only twenty-four hours.

Eric was standing by the sliding doors, talking to the couple she’d met at dinner last night. He was relaxed and smiling, and suddenly he laughed at something, the warm sound carrying across the lobby and sending goose bumps over her arms. She lifted her coffee and took a gulp, the hot liquid burning her throat.

He looked over and the smile slid off his face as he offered a basic polite nod.

Well, bully for him. He had a very closed mind, judging her for her job just because he was divorced. It wasn’t her fault that negotiations hadn’t gone his way.

She wondered why they’d split in the first place. There was always a reason. She’d heard them all in her years in the firm. A few had caused some raised eyebrows but little surprised her now. She looked at him, standing with his weight on one hip, his hand tucked into the pocket of pressed khakis and his shirt taut against a broad chest. Appearances didn’t count for a whole lot when it came to a lifetime of happiness, but she couldn’t discount the way her breath caught just a little when she looked at him. It wasn’t just that he was handsome. There was a quiet confidence that was magnetic. Yesterday he’d been insufferably overbearing when he’d barged into her room, but something told her he wasn’t always so abrasive.

So he didn’t like what she did for a living. So what? She hadn’t come on this trip as some sort of way to meet a man or hook up. She’d done it to expand her own horizons. To take charge of her own life and live a little. Eric Chambault wasn’t going to stand in the way of that, so she adjusted her shoulder strap, put a smile on her face and made her way to the congregated group standing just outside in the sun, waiting for the luxury passenger vans that would take them to their next destination.

* * *

Eric tipped back his head and let the sun soak into his face. Their tour guide, Shawn, had told them that the first day of the trip was their easiest one—wine tours and tastings. While it wasn’t really on the extreme adventure list, the tour centered on showcasing what Vancouver Island had to offer.

Right now Eric was sitting on a patio just outside the town of Duncan, with the sun beating down on his face and the smell of tart wine and freshly cut grass touching his nose. On his next deep breath, he thought he could taste the tang of the ocean in the air. Maybe this was the “easy” day, but the relaxation came as a welcome relief from his hectic schedule.

He was one of the first back from the tour of the cellars, but his solitude was short-lived as the other eleven in the group made their way, talking and laughing, to the stone patio for lunch. He straightened and smiled as people approached, already flushed from stopping at two other wineries before their late meal. A light laugh caught his attention and he looked up to see Molly—Ms. Quinn—smiling up at someone he’d met named Rick, who was a real-estate developer from Arizona. Rick was at least fifty with a booming laugh, so Eric wasn’t sure why on earth he’d feel the least bit of jealousy.

Maybe because when Molly looked at Eric she tended to scowl, rather than smile, like she was doing right now.

The group congregated around the collection of tables, and within moments the staff began delivering wine selections and platters of local cheese, freshly baked breads, olives, roasted vegetables and fruit. Once again, Molly seemed like the odd person out, like him. Everyone else was either part of a couple or traveling in pairs with a buddy. His skin tingled as her skirt brushed his arm when she pulled out a chair and sat beside him.

“This was a consequence I hadn’t anticipated,” he said quietly as she picked up her napkin.

“What’s that?”

“Being a single in a group full of doubles. It seems as if we’re paired up once again.”

“I apologize.”

Her voice was soft but there was an underlying steel that made him smile. “I should be the one apologizing,” he replied, feeling a bit like a jerk. “I shouldn’t have used the word consequence. It has a negative connotation.”

And yet the correct word seemed just out of reach.

She met his gaze, and he was momentarily lost in her clear blue eyes. “I’m sure that as we go on, we’ll make friends in the group so we’re not always stuck with each other.”

As in, she was also stuck with him.

A server poured wine into Molly’s glass and she tasted it, savored and nodded. He indicated he’d have the same. The pinot blanc was buttery and with notes of pear, and while Eric tended to prefer reds, he found it really quite nice. For a few minutes they focused on filling their small plates with selections from the platters. Then Eric turned to her and offered an apology.

“I’m sorry for what I said last night. I’m still bitter from the divorce. But clearly it isn’t your fault.”

“Just people like me.”

He swallowed tightly, unsure of how to respond. She wasn’t wrong.

“Like I said last night, your lawyer should have done better for you,” she suggested, spearing an olive on her plate. “I would have.”

He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. “It wasn’t just about the money,” he said quietly. “That stings, but I’ll make it back. It wasn’t my whole fortune. Not even close, really.”

He wasn’t trying to brag; it was the truth.

She chewed and swallowed thoughtfully. “Were there significant grounds for the divorce?”

“You mean, did she catch me cheating or something?”

Molly raised an eyebrow and popped a piece of cheese in her mouth.

“No,” he answered tightly. “No, I didn’t cheat. And I don’t think she did, either. We just...didn’t suit.”

“What are you leaving out?”

Her gaze had never wavered from his face, and he realized it both put him on the spot and had the consequence of making him also feel incredibly heard. For the first time, he admitted where he’d been at fault. “She called me unavailable. As in... I work too much. That she wanted a husband, not voice mail and an empty bed.”

“And was she right?”

He took another gulp of wine, the pang in his heart a reminder of how he’d failed. He had loved her. And he’d tried to provide her with a secure life, which in the end she hadn’t appreciated. Ironic, considering she was very secure now. “She wasn’t exactly wrong about work.”

Molly sat back. “So you’re taking this vacation to...”

He stared out over the sloping vines and sighed. “Well, to unplug for the first time in years, really. It was hell not turning on my phone today.”

She laughed then, the sound brushing over him like a summer breeze. “Oh, I wish I’d had your willpower. My father called me early this morning about a case. And a chance to twist the knife a bit that I’ve abandoned the family firm.”

Eric’s mouth fell open. “By leaving for less than two weeks?”

She rolled her eyes and nodded. “I’m usually the ‘yes’ girl. I was getting tired of having my whole life planned and scheduled by someone else, so I bid on the trip.” She met his gaze again. “I was supposed to do this a month ago. Instead I had to finish up a Very Important Case.” She sipped her wine and grabbed a slice of bread. “Just so you know, they’re all Very Important Cases.”

“My deals, too. I’m in acquisitions.”

She considered a moment. “So you, what? Buy, strip and resell?”

“Pretty much.”

“You’re like that guy in Pretty Woman. He didn’t build or make anything, either.”

“I make money,” he suggested and then laughed a little at himself. “That’s why I was in Nantucket. I was working on a deal in Boston. Going to the benefit was a bit of goodwill on my part. Not that it wasn’t a good cause. And hey. It got me here, and I would have missed walking into the wrong hotel room and being flayed alive by the sharp edge of your tongue.” He gave a sideways glance. “You must be terrifying in the courtroom.”

She burst out laughing, then sighed. “Oh, I suppose I am. But it’s exhausting. It’s...a mind-set, really. I have to try really hard to leave work at work. You and I have something in common, you know.”

“What’s that?” Curious now, he leaned closer to her, and a soft floral scent reached through the other delicious aromas of the day and hit him square in the gut. She smelled so...pretty.

“We both deal with The End.” She plucked another olive and chewed it thoughtfully. “You buy up businesses in trouble. I dissolve relationships in trouble. It’s not exactly the most optimistic and hopeful occupation in the world. It can be downright depressing.”

“So why do it?”

She sat back. “Ah, now that is the question, isn’t it?” Her voice was deceptively light, and she was saved from answering when a server came out with another platter, this time with handmade fruit tarts.

They both selected a tart but he wasn’t deterred. “So why are you a divorce lawyer if you don’t like it?”

“Because I’m twenty-nine years old and a full partner,” she said, but her gaze didn’t quite meet his. She bit into the tart and crumbs went fluttering to her plate. “Why are you in your line of business?”

He looked out over the vines for a moment before turning back. “Because I joined the company right out of school and worked my way up. And then I bought it when I was thirty.”

“And that was...”

“Almost five years ago.”

He was thirty-four and what did he have to show for it? A huge bank balance but not much else. No wife, no kids... God, if he didn’t have time for a wife, how could he ever be a good father? He wouldn’t even know where to start. His own father had taken off when Eric was twelve, leaving him, his brothers and his mom to pay off the debts he’d racked up as well as paying the bills. Eric got a paper route and mowed grass until he was old enough to work. Then he got a job with a landscape company in the summer and did snow removal in the winter to help with finances. By the time he was seventeen, he was running his own crew at the company and it paid his way through university—he’d done his degree at McGill so he could stay at home and commute, saving dorm costs. His brothers had all taken similar paths. Work. Some postsecondary schooling at community college. Except they’d gone into business together, while Eric had moved on.

From the moment his dad had abandoned his responsibilities, Eric and his brothers had begun shouldering them as a team. When he decided not to join in the car dealership with them, it had been seen as a betrayal. His relationship with his family had suffered because of it. And yet if anything happened to the dealership now, Eric knew that he’d be able to step in and provide his family with the security they’d need. He never wanted any of them to go through what those early days had been like. He was the oldest. Perhaps the younger boys didn’t remember as well, but he did.

“Where’d you go?” Molly’s soft voice interrupted his thoughts. Her tart was gone but his hadn’t yet been tasted.

He gave his head a little shake. “Sorry. Just thinking.”

“I could see that. But it didn’t look like happy memories.”

He shrugged and picked up the cherry tart. “Honestly, I was just realizing that I haven’t really stopped working since I was twelve years old.”

“Then a vacation is long overdue,” she answered and lifted her glass. “I know you’re not crazy about divorce lawyers, and I’m not crazy about autocratic people who barge into my hotel room. But maybe we can call a truce? Make a pledge of civility?” She lifted her glass. “What do you say? To long-overdue vacations.”

A pledge of civility? His problem wasn’t going to be being civil. It was going to be reminding himself that he wasn’t interested, because she was more intriguing by the minute. He lifted his glass anyway. “To long-overdue vacations.”

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