Man Trouble by Melanie Craft Read Free Book Online Page A

a historical consultant on her next novel.”
    Molly didn't answer. She looked away, folding her arms against her chest. Elaine was finishing her conversation with the Guest Services Manager, smiling as she spoke.
    “Well,” she said briskly, hanging up the receiver and turning to Molly and Carter. “It took a bit of creative improvisation to get us out of that mess. Carter, in the future I'd appreciate it if you'd remember to share your plans with me, so that I don't make a fool of myself again. Now, have you and Molly worked out whether or not she intends to go ahead with this?”
    “I don't know yet,” Carter said. He looked hopefully at Molly. “Could you possibly—”
    “I don't know yet, either,” Molly said crossly. “I'm still thinking about it.”
    “Perfectly reasonable, dear,” Elaine said. “But you'll need to think fast, because Sandra has been invited to a VIP cocktail party tonight at Jake Berenger's villa.”

CHAPTER 6
    “I find that spending more than two weeks aboard a yacht becomes very confining, don't you?” asked Fiona Carrington. “I mean, being waited on hand and foot is lovely for a while, but eventually one just wants to brush away the stewards, march into the galley, and make oneself a simple cup of tea.”
    “I wouldn't know,” Jake said. “I don't own a yacht.” He didn't drink tea, either, but that seemed like a minor point.
    “No?” Fiona's eyes opened wide and she gestured in surprise, sending the remains of her latest cosmopolitan sloshing dangerously against the rim of her cocktail glass. “How extraordinary, for a man in your position. But surely, you charter?”
    “Nope,” Jake said. It was not the first time that he had shocked the glitterati by admitting his lack of desire to own or rent one of the white behemoths that the Brits referred to as “gin palaces.” Over the past decade, he had been a guest aboard the yachts of his customers and business colleagues, visits that had done the job of convincing him that this particular display of wealth was not something to which he aspired. The least offensive boats were maritime replicas of British bankers clubs, complete with Victorian paneling, crystal chandeliers, dour oil paintings, and fireplaces. It was when the owners and their decorators got creative that it really became frightening. The
MariJo
had a fiber-optic ceiling over the grand staircase, displaying a rainbow of constellations that rotated gently to the strains of “Starry Night.” The
Princess Tiffany
had a full disco and a room of slot machines that only accepted special coins imprinted with a portrait of the owner. The
Sea Serpent,
whose owner was a Saudi prince known for his skill at the Vegas tables, had a master suite covered entirely in snakeskin. During the obligatory tour, Jake had been shown the enormous adjoining bathroom, encrusted with gold and mirrors. Embedded in the Lucite toilet seat was a hand of cards. It was, Jake had realized, a winning poker hand: a royal flush.
    “Where do you spend your vacations, then?” Fiona asked.
    “Here,” Jake said.
    “But that would make it so difficult to get away from your work,” Fiona said.
    Jake nodded. He saw no problem with that.
    Fiona leaned toward him.
    “You must be…desperately…in need…of relaxation,” she said meaningfully. She inhaled, and her cleavage rose toward him like a quivering bowl of strawberry Jell-O. Alarmed, Jake stepped backward, and felt hands seize him from behind.
    “Jake!” Amanda slid one arm around his waist and placed another one on his chest, attaching herself to his side in a proprietary manner. “Y'all looked so friendly over here. I thought I'd better come and say hi.”
    “Quite,” Fiona murmured frostily.
    The two women looked each other up and down, and it occurred to Jake that a boat might not be such a bad thing. It didn't need a custom-built casino, or 400-thread-count sheets, or gold-plated bath taps. It just needed to be able to float, and