Chapter 2
She was getting old. There was no other word Olivia could think of to describe how she felt as she sat in the crowded bar
watching Sophie and her friends down cocktails like they were smoothies and then crack up with laughter at something one of
them said. It might have been funny, but Olivia had no way of telling because the supposed background music was so loud, she
couldn’t hear a bloody thing.
Crap, she really did sound like their mother.
Jerkily she rose to her feet. “Okay, guys, time for another round.” If she couldn’t contribute with conversation, at least
she could use her credit card. “Same again?”
They all nodded vigorously.
“I’ll help.” Ashley was clearly trying to keep up, but from the way she staggered to her feet, she seemed to be failing.
Olivia waved her away. “Thanks, but I’m not sure what help you’ll be.”
Jessica smirked. “She’s saying your drunk.”
Ashley pouted. “No way. I can hold my liquor. Better that than someone else holding it for me.”
The pair of them dissolved into giggles. Smiling, Olivia left them to it. She didn’t begrudge them their shared laughter,
but it did highlight their differences. Would she have been more carefree if she hadn’t been the youngest? The one stuck at
home for four years with only an absent father and a mum who tried to hide her loneliness by keeping an immaculate house and
baking for a man who was never around to appreciate it?
Shoving the memories away, she squeezed into position at the heaving bar. It wasn’t often that she minded being average—height
five foot four, mousy-brown hair, face nice enough not to scare children but not pretty enough to attract attention. Trying
to catch the eye of busy bar staff, though, was one of those times. Not that the stunning blond barmaid was going to look
her way. She was far too busy flirting with the guys. The barman, though, the one with the dark hair and easy smile? Once
again, he ignored her and swerved to his right, to the olive-skinned brunette with the plunging neckline.
Olivia glanced down at her neatly buttoned black satin shirt and sighed. Almost considered taking it off, until she realized
revealing her plain black bra, housing her distinctly below-average B cups, was hardly going to send the man rushing in her
direction.
Blondie finished serving her customer and cast her gaze in Olivia’s direction. Finally. But a split second later, she aimed
a wide, flirty smile at the guy to Olivia’s right. The one who’d only just walked up to the bar, for fuck’s sake.
“Thanks, Annika, but this lady was before me.”
With a start, Olivia glanced up at him—and it was definitely up. He was tall. And fine, a lot of people were tall compared to her, but she wasn’t used to craning her neck quite so much to see a guy’s
face.
Worth the effort, though, she thought with a wry smile. She couldn’t blame Blondie for passing her over to serve him. Must
have been hard, once she was snared by those vivid ocean-blue eyes, to look anywhere else. She remembered him from the hotel
earlier, where she’d had a hard time dragging her own eyes away from him.
“Thanks.” Olivia gave him a small smile before rattling her order off to Annika.
“No worries. It pays to be a regular.” He smiled. “And tall.”
She laughed quietly to herself. No way he thought those were the two attributes that had caught the barmaid’s attention. Not
with a smile like that, all twinkling eyes, even white teeth, and dimples. Flipping dimples. Like he needed the extra layer
of sexy. Unruly chestnut-brown hair completed a look that was too surfer-dude for her taste. He was like a bottle of Coke,
all sexy fun vibe, whereas she preferred a smooth, mature claret.
“I recognize a fellow English accent. Here on holiday?” he asked.
“Yes, sort of.” His right eyebrow shot up. “My second week is a holiday—the first week, my niece is getting married,” she
clarified.
“Ah.”
He stared back at her, and though she was used to men looking at her, she wasn’t used to them looking the way he was. Like
she was a present he was intrigued enough to want to unwrap but couldn’t work out where to start.
“Are we going to ignore the fact you saw me at the hotel?” she asked, feeling a bit unbalanced.
He flashed a grin, wider than his smile, the dimples deeper, his eyes as blue as the hydrangeas she’d been staring at all
afternoon. “Wasn’t sure if it was me you were staring at or the view—you know, with you wearing those big sunglasses.”
“I was looking at the view. I saw you out of the corner of my eye.”
Laughter rolled out of him, easy and smooth as caramel. “Neatly put in my place.” Another wide grin. “To be clear, I was looking
at you.”
Jesus. When was the last time a guy had made her belly swoop?
Maybe she wasn’t quite as old as she’d thought. But she was too old and frankly too uninterested to carry on the conversation. He was cute, but he knew it. And besides, sex—and he was
definitely the poster boy for it—wasn’t worth the hype. She gave him a polite smile that she hoped said Thanks but no, thanks, and focused on watching Annika line the drinks up along the bar. One party bucket—an actual bucket, she had discovered,
filled with ice, vodka bottles, shot glasses and fruit—for the youngsters and three zingy martinis (one nonalcoholic) for
the oldies. Damn, she did not like including herself in that category.
“Need any help?” He smiled again, nodding to the display of alcohol.
“Drinking it?”
He let out a low chuckle. “I meant carrying it, but sure, I can do both.”
Crap, had that sounded like a come-on? “I’ve got the drinking part covered.”
“Shame.” He shot her another twinkly smile before grabbing the party bucket. “Where are you sitting?”
Okay, so she noticed the worn leather bracelets on his wrists, the roped veins on his tanned forearms. The impressive flex
of his biceps. She could look, couldn’t she? “I don’t want you to lose your place at the bar.”
He shrugged, and, fine, she’d also noticed the breadth of his shoulders and how they strained the soft fabric of his faded
blue T-shirt. “It’s okay, Annika will sort me out,” he said.
I bet she will. “Then thanks. We’re outside.” She led the way to their table on the wharf that looked out across the harbor. The sun was setting,
and the scene was like something out of a travel brochure. Pink sky, check; calm waters, check. Good-looking young women laughing
and drinking shots and cocktails—check. Sexy tanned male looking like he’d just walked off the beach—double check.
“Oh my God, you’ve pulled already, Aunt Olivia!”
The very inebriated bride-to-be grinned over at her, and Olivia died a thousand deaths. “What I’ve pulled is a kind young man to help me carry the drinks.” Damn, she sounded like the great-aunt.
A chorus of “Shame” echoed round the group as the drink carrier, aka Sexy Blue Eyes, placed the bucket on the table.
Olivia shook her head at them. “Please excuse my niece and her friends,” she told him. “They’re young and drunk.”
“Hey, we think it’s a shame too,” Ashley shouted from the end of the table. “And she’s very single, just in case you’re interested.”
This was going from bad to worse. “Please also excuse my sisters. They’re old enough to know better, and the mouthy one is
drunk.”
Sexy Blue Eyes let out another deep rumble of laughter. “No apologies needed.” He turned to her, and God, those eyes were
the prettiest she’d ever seen. “I’m Connor, by the way. And I’m guessing you’re Livvy.”
“Olivia,” she countered automatically, though for once the name sounded stiff and starchy on her tongue. Like it belonged
to the career woman she was back home, not this holidaymaker in Nantucket whose belly was now doing a strange flutter as his
eyes skimmed over her face.
“I prefer Livvy. Makes you seem more approachable.” Those twin blue orbs found hers, his gaze steady. “Your family aren’t
wrong, Livvy. I am interested.” He winked. “You have pulled.”
With that, he turned and walked back into the bar. No, walked was not the right description for the way his hips rolled in a long-legged stride that wasn’t quite a swagger but definitely
hit both confident and sexy.
And that was before her gaze landed on the way his well-worn jeans hugged his . . .
“Oh my God, what a spectacular arse.” Ashley fanned herself.
“It is the bum to beat all bums.” Chloe, Sophie’s best friend and chief bridesmaid, agreed. “A firm peach I want to put my
hands on and squeeze. Before biting into the succulent flesh.”
The table erupted with laughter.
“And Aunt Livvy has a shot at doing just that.” Sophie grinned and swiveled to look at her. “He just said he’s yours for the taking. Go get
him!”
Olivia went to sit down, her legs feeling distinctly wobbly. Too many martinis. “He was being kind to make up for you lot
embarrassing me.”
“Nope.” Jessica had her eyes on the door to the bar. “He’s looking over here right now. And I can tell you, it’s not me he’s
hoping will glance back at him.”
She wasn’t going to look, yet her eyes refused to obey her brain. . As her gaze found his, her heart began to race and that
place between her legs, the one she’d almost forgotten existed? It clenched. “You were giving us a rundown of what you’ve got planned,” she reminded Chloe, so desperate not to think of hot young men,
of sex, she even preferred to discuss the hen week.
Chloe fanned herself. “Yeah, sorry, got a bit distracted there.” She picked up her list. “We’ve got a boat trip—especially
for the oldies,” she added with a wink at Olivia and her sisters. “Lots of cocktail bars to visit, a seventies-themed dinner,
then dancing at the nightclub.” Olivia couldn’t contain her groan and Chloe giggled. “It’s gonna be a right laugh, trust me.
But maybe not as much fun as tomorrow.” She drummed on the table. “Because what’s happening tomorrow, girls?”
“Strippers!” the table shrieked.
Olivia groaned again, this time putting her head in her hands.
Shit, it was going to be a long week.