Escape to Paradise

Chapter 1

She sure was something to look at, in fact he couldn't take his eyes off her, which said a lot. Golden skin his fingers ached to touch contrasted with waist-length blond hair sparkling brilliantly in the sun. Legs that went on forever, a figure fit for a fantasy. Something he had an uninhibited view of too. Welcome to paradise Maximillian Chanteur.

She wore a strip of cloth tied around her waist, fluttering open as she walked, tugged at occasionally by the breeze to reveal bikini bottoms underneath. And nothing else. Well, well, well... When his aunt told him Villa Chanson des Palmiers had magnificent views, she neglected to mention the ones on the clothing optional beaches. This riveting view had him feeling like a teenage boy with his first look. He could not tear his eyes away. Coherent thought deserted him as blood from his brain quickly went elsewhere.

She watched her feet as she walked, though it didn't affect his view of her face. A face with delicate features that didn't live up to the expectations created by the rest of her body. Until she raised her eyes to gaze down the beach and their impact slammed him like a punch in the gut. She hadn't looked at him, was unaware of his presence, yet he sizzled down to his toes. Large, peacock blue eyes overshadowed the rest. He changed his mind. She was drop-dead gorgeous. The figure, the hair, the eyes, she didn't need the perfect face for a man to have his thoughts obliterated by an all-consuming need to lose himself in her.

It took several moments for him to gather himself and harden his heart. He knew why she was here and why she was half-dressed. And though it may be cynical of him, he was convinced it had nothing to do with the fact this was St. Barthelemy where going topless—naked even—on the beach was commonplace. He was at his aunt and uncle's villa to get away from an endless stream of girls just like this one. Girls a rock star has showing up anywhere and everywhere. Some fans, some seriously fanatical, all of which, after more than a decade, were getting to be too much.

Actually, he was surprised by his gut reaction to her. She wasn't his type at all. Dark, petite and exotic got him hot and bothered every, single, time. But he wasn't going to think about her—the other reason for his escape to the West Indies.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he let the soft breeze soothe him. He'd gotten so far off track the last few years his music had suffered. St. Barth was a last ditch effort to get it back. And how he loathed the desperation that brought him to that point. Blowing out a breath, he opened his eyes. He was sick to death of its companionship, so anxious to get rid of it he had travelled a god-awful distance to shake it.

Andree Bancroft loved her life, her island home, her cat, her job, even her friend Etienne in that buddy sort of way. She'd probably end up marrying him one day and she could do a lot worse. He was tres beau inside and out. But right now, she didn't care about any of it.

Her life was perfect and maybe that was the problem. She had no desire to think bad things about her father, but the feeling in her heart that he kept her too sheltered wouldn't be stifled. She looked up from her feet, to gaze down the beach, blinking away tears of frustration. This was stupid. She was being stupid. Crying because Papa was so protective of her. He loved her and wanted the best for her and she was an ingrate for getting upset. She was the daughter of a successful artist living on an island in the Caribbean. All the islanders respected and looked up to her father, and having that same respect given to her was a good thing. Knowing it in her head didn't stifle the desire in her heart to do something crazy and reckless. Just because.

So her father led a secluded life, as did she by extension. She wasn't isolated from everyone and everything, and had carved out a place for herself in the social life of St. Barth. Her mornings were spent underwater, guiding boats in and out of the harbor, so their anchor lines didn't get tangled up. She loved being in the sea. Swimming in her scuba gear among the awe-inspiring array of sea life. Afternoons... Well, there was the sieste, usually on the beach, which she was returning home from now. She was able to spend her afternoons lounging around on the beach, a privilege few people had. On top of which, she had more than enough time for her artwork, and living on an island provided plenty of inspiration. Not that she was inspired to do much of anything lately. What was wrong with her?