Mistletoe in Paradise Read online

  Which was when he snatched her around the waist and manhandled her aside to get to the door first.

  But the deal was that it was the first person to the bed. So she took a flying leap and hit him in the back, and . . . they both landed on the bunk at the same time.

  They were laughing and grappling as they bounced, and suddenly she realized James was flat on his back sprawled with limbs akimbo, and she was on top of him, pinning him down. “Um . . .” She went still and stared at him, heart pounding, head spinning.

  As for what he was feeling . . . she had zero idea. He was much better at hiding his emotions, but she sure as hell hoped he was feeling tortured by his feelings.

  “Nice hat,” he said.

  “Dammit.” She tugged the elf headpiece off. The bow, too.

  He hadn’t moved, just continued to stare up at her, the air seeming to crackle around them, and not from the incoming storm. Needing to cut the sudden tension, Hannah scrambled off him, sitting back on her heels on the foot of the bed. “You’ll still do anything to win, I see,” she turned to quip.

  He sat up as well, smile long gone. “Good thing, then, that this time all I’m interested in winning is some peace and quiet.” Pushing off the bed, he headed to the door.

  “You’re leaving?” she asked his back. “You’re letting me have this cabin without a fight?”

  “We’re not kids anymore, Hannah.” His mouth quirked very slightly, but he didn’t smile. “And I’m not doing this with you again. Once was enough for me.” He paused. “Though I’ll admit watching you hitch up that sundress to race me is going to stick with me for many nights to come.”

  She looked down at her sundress, mostly as a delay tactic, because he was right, of course. What had happened was all on her. “Look,” she said in a low voice, “I just need to give something to Harry, and then I’ll leave, and you and your parents can have the whole week to yourselves, okay?”

  He looked surprised. “Okay.”

  So he wasn’t going to try to keep her here. Fair, though also hurtful. She scooted off the bed and then nearly hit the floor when the boat rocked.

  They stared at each other in shock.

  “Are we—” She shook her head. “No. He wouldn’t. It’s probably just the tide coming in.”

  “It’s too early for the tide.” He moved to the porthole. “Shit.”

  She rushed to the porthole, too, elbow to elbow with him. “Oh my god.”

  “Yeah,” he said grimly. “We’ve set sail.”

  Chapter 2

  Both James and Hannah hit the door running, racing back in the direction they’d just come, down the narrow hallway and up the stairs. James had no idea what her thoughts were, but his were hell no. No way was he going to get stuck on this boat with Hannah Banfield. No way, no how.

  He’d been thrown off-balance when he’d first boarded and seen her standing there with Harry, as if the past six years hadn’t happened.

  Like maybe Jason was still alive . . .

  Just his brain messing with him again, of course. Because Jason was long gone.

  James was no longer drowning in grief. He had his head above water. He was finally, finally starting to get used to his new normal, living in a world with his two best friends gone. One dead. One—Hannah—gone by choice.

  And yet here she was, all five feet seven inches of sexy curves and curly honey-brown hair flying around her face, with milk chocolate eyes he’d happily drowned in more than once—a fact he was doing his best to forget. Above deck, he looked around, stunned to find Miami’s shoreline was already far away, and stopped short.

  Hannah plowed into the back of him, and he reached back to steady her. When she held her own, he turned to her, the woman he was stuck at sea with, the first woman he’d ever fallen for. And while logically he knew he was long over it, over her, there was nothing rational about how just looking at her had made his heart roll over in his chest and expose its underbelly.

  She gave him a look he couldn’t begin to interpret and then stalked to the cockpit.

  Harry stood there, hands on the helm as he steered, chewing on an unlit cigar, looking fully at ease as he eyed the navigation systems.

  “What the actual hell, Dad?” Hannah asked.

  Harry glanced over at them. “Problem?”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  Harry flashed his stepdaughter a grin before looking at James. “Just got a text from your parents. They never got out of New York. Planes are grounded due to a massive snowstorm. They’re going to catch up with us in San Juan.”

  A stay of execution . . .

  “Take us back, Dad,” Hannah said.

  “No can do, Smalls. We’ve got our own storm system moving in. No worries, though. If all goes to plan, we’ll stay well ahead of it.”

  “Dad, this is silly. There’s no reason for you to waste the fuel and rations for only the two of us. Just take us back.”

  At the emotion in her voice, Harry took his gaze off the horizon to look at her.

  James did not. He’d already soaked up the sight of her in that adorably sexy sundress. Plus, he’d just quite literally been beneath her, which had stirred up a lot of things best forgotten. His brain knew this, it did. But the rest of him hadn’t quite caught up. He hadn’t seen her in years, and the last time he had was right here on this boat, when he’d watched her walk away from him.

  “This isn’t happening,” she said, tossing up her hands. “Turn us around.”

  “As I mentioned, James’s parents are going to catch up with us in Puerto Rico. Same with your mom, I’m sure.” He smiled around the cigar. “Damn, it’s going to be great to all be together again.”

  “Dad, that’s at least three days from now.”

  Harry looked over the instruments, did a quick calculation, and shook his head. “Actually, with the headwind, maybe even four.”

  “Look, Dad . . . just don’t get your heart set on this, okay? You know how Mom can be.”

  “No, this year she’s coming,” Harry said firmly. “I can feel it.”

  Hannah didn’t say anything to this, just slid dark sunglasses on her face. But the worry wasn’t hard to read, concern likely with good reason. Leslie Banfield liked to make promises, but she wasn’t as fond of keeping them. Same as Harry. Growing up, James had hated that for Hannah.

  She had her arms crossed over her chest. Clearly there was something more than just worry on her mind.

  James knew this woman. Or at least he’d known the girl she’d once been. She was smart as hell, passionate, and incredibly dedicated to those she cared about.

  Once upon a time he’d been one of those people.

  “Dad, this isn’t funny,” Hannah said.

  And yeah, there was definitely something more in her voice besides worry. He turned to her. “What’s going on?”

  She kept her gaze on her dad. “You mean other than the captain kidnapping us against our will?”

  Harry sighed. “Do you really want to be the one to call your mom and tell her we’re not spending Christmas together this year?”

  “Dad—”

  “See this little dot?” Harry asked, pointing to his screen. “That’s us. See this other dot over there? That’s the port of San Juan. That’s how far we have to go. So nothing personal, Smalls, but I’d rather take on you two any day of the week than a pissed-off Leslie.”

  Guilt. That was the unnamed emotion on Hannah’s face, and it flashed again now. Not that James gave a shit. All he did give a damn about was the fact that for at least three days, maybe four, they were stuck on this boat together—a complete nightmare. Especially since he still had absolutely no idea what had happened the last time he and Hannah had been together.

  Granted, he’d been royally messed up at that time. Years ago, Jason had died of a rare and misdiagnosed heart condition. His family had fallen apart, and James had . . . lost himself. So much so that he’d asked Hannah to walk away from her life and go explore the planet with
him. She’d declined and ghosted him. Probably she’d been the smart one. He’d spent the next year doing the wanderlust thing in between helping his dad run the family lumber business. Eventually he had become an expedition guide, which had mended his heart. Somewhat. The last he’d heard about Hannah, she’d been dating some suit.

  He could insist on going back. He’d known Harry for most of his life. He was a lot of things, and reasonable wasn’t always one of them, but at heart he was a good guy. He wouldn’t keep James here against his will.

  But looking at Harry and Hannah staring at each other now, both wary and hurting and unsure of their footing together, he knew he wouldn’t be the one to make them turn around. They needed these days together—anyone who cared about either of them could see that.

  And like it or not, James did care about them. More than he wanted to admit. But that didn’t mean he wanted to be a part of it, so he turned and walked away, his goal being to lie low and try to stay out of the way of any emotional turmoil. He had his own problems coming his way as soon as his dad met up with them in Puerto Rico. Plus—and this was the biggie—he’d had enough emotional turmoil to last him a lifetime.

  Chapter 3

  Late that night, they set anchor near the Bahamas. Hannah had spent the day helping Sally. They fixed dinner and prepped the next day’s meals, and then had gone through the daily maintenance routine.

  She was aware that James was assisting her dad, but their paths didn’t cross—which on a seventy-foot boat was a miracle, or she wasn’t the only one using avoidance techniques.

  Well done.

  She waited until her dad had consumed his usual bedtime cocktail and passed out before sneaking into his quarters to steal back her phone. It wasn’t hard to see in the cabin because he had twinkle lights hung across the room, blinking in festive red and green. Through the holiday glow, she easily spotted her phone on his dresser, along with another. She tiptoed into the room, but she could’ve been a bull in a china shop and he wouldn’t have been able to hear her over his own snoring.

  She eyed the two phones, flashing back to James dropping his phone into the Santa hat without argument. She knew from her mom that he helped out with the family lumber business but also ran his own expedition company. Surely he needed his phone, too, right? After all, what if Candy wanted to reach him? Or sext him?

  With a sigh, she grabbed both phones and was backing out of the room when from the corner of her eye she caught sight of a shadow watching her and nearly screamed.

  James.

  She opened her mouth, but he put a finger against her lips and pulled her into the hallway, carefully and quietly shutting her dad’s door.

  “Hannah Banana, sexy cat burglar,” he murmured. “Who knew?”

  “I needed my phone. I’ve got work to do.”

  “Of course you do.”

  She opened her mouth to further explain, but he shook his head. “None of my business,” he said.

  Right. And true, but a little part of her felt . . . sad? There’d been a time when they’d known everything about each other. Now the only thing she knew for sure was that he’d hoped to make this trip without her. She was silently grappling with that when one of the two phones in her pocket buzzed with an unfamiliar tone. Pulling it from her pocket, she tossed it to James. “When you scared me half to death, I forgot I also liberated your phone for you.”

  He simply slid it into his pocket. Still ringing. She stared at him. He’d changed into cargo shorts, but still wore the same T-shirt. As per yachting rules to protect the teak flooring, he was still barefoot, as was she. There was something about being barefoot with someone that felt . . . oddly intimate. “You’re not even going to look and see who was calling?” she asked in shocked disbelief. “It could be important. Maybe it’s Candy.”

  “I’m off-line. And she wouldn’t be calling me.”

  Okay, that actually told her nothing. “But . . .” This was unfathomable to her. “What if it’s work?”

  “I’m unreachable to work. It’s called a vacation, Hannah. Everyone should unplug once in a while. Especially people like you.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “People like me?”

  “People who can’t unplug from work because they don’t have a life.”

  She gaped at him. “I have a life.”

  “Good.”

  “I do!”

  “I said good.”

  She eyed his pocket, which was lit up from his phone inside it. “What about the people who might need to get ahold of you who aren’t your work?”

  “The people who matter most to me either know where I am or are here.”

  She sucked in a breath, having no idea what to do with that, plus still stinging from the “people like you” comment.

  “Have you talked to your dad yet?” he asked.

  Startled, she blinked. “What?”

  “I could tell earlier that you were holding something back from him. Figured you were here to talk to him about something.”

  Nice to know she was still transparent. “It’s nothing that concerns you.”

  He looked at her for a long beat, then nodded, and with one last unreadable look, he vanished down the dark hallway.

  The next morning, Hannah awoke at the crack of dawn. Actually, that statement wasn’t quite accurate. In order to wake up, she would have had to have gotten some sleep—which she hadn’t. She lay there registering the gentle vibration of the motor beneath her. They were on the move again. Turning her head, she looked out the porthole. The porthole she hadn’t won but had anyway because James had given it to her without a fight.

  As if she wasn’t worth the fight.

  But that was a problem for another day. Or, you know, never. At the moment, she needed to own her past and her mistakes—of which there were many. That’s what adulting meant, right? She was going to have to face all of it. Trying to pretend to vacation while working to keep a promise to her boss. Giving her dad the divorce papers right before Christmas.

  James . . .

  Mad at herself, she pulled on a bathing suit and another sundress—which for someone who’d just come from the States in December felt unreal. After an extremely cold fall and early winter at home, she’d been unable to fathom ever being warm again, so she had packed heavy clothes. She added a thick cardigan sweater to her ensemble before padding upstairs.

  It was a stunning Caribbean morning, already warm and glorious, which was a comfort but also made her heart hurt. Drawing a deep breath, she went directly to the closed bridge door and lifted her hand to knock.

  But didn’t.

  Instead, she hesitated, picturing how happy her dad had been at the idea of seeing his estranged wife again.

  How was she going to do this without breaking his heart? Answer: she wasn’t.

  Lowering her hand, she swore and turned to walk away. But . . . she couldn’t. He needed to know. Turning back, she stared at the door again. For god’s sake, make like a Nike commercial and Just Do It already. Again she tried to knock, but couldn’t make her knuckles touch the wood. “Argh!” Spinning on a heel to leave, she plowed right into a brick wall.

  James.

  Of course. Because this wasn’t hard enough.

  “Whoa,” he said, easily absorbing the impact without moving, wrapping his arms around her to keep her from falling.

  Which was how she found herself face-first in the crook of his neck, enveloped in the only pair of arms where she’d ever felt at home. For a beat, she didn’t move, didn’t breathe, didn’t do anything but sift her way through the memories of being right here in his arms on this boat, safe and sound and cared for.

  When she didn’t move, his arms tightened a bit, and he bent and put his head against hers. “You okay?”

  Sure. For someone completely losing her shit.

  “Hannah?”

  Just the low timbre of his voice had her eyes stinging. She decided to blame this on the sun and the morning breeze, which was blowing her hair
into her face.

  James looked in his element in a pair of board shorts and a T-shirt advertising something in Spanish. He was warm and toasty and so familiar she burrowed in closer without thinking.

  He stilled before squeezing her gently. “Hey,” he said softly. “Let’s go somewhere else not quite so visible.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I know you hate it when anyone sees you cry.”

  She sniffed and shook her head. “I’m not crying.” But she was sweating. She shucked her sweater. “It’s just allergies.”

  “Yeah. You’re allergic to confrontation,” he said dryly and untangled her fingers from where, oh boy, they’d been fisted in his shirt. Taking her by the hand, he pulled her away from the bridge, portside toward the stern until they came to the aft deck. This was where guests usually hung out on the days they were moored and near land. It was half-covered, half-open to the sky, complete with a stocked bar, tables for dining, and comfortable lounge chairs, and led to the swim platform where all the toys were kept, such as snorkel gear and flotation devices—all empty now.

  James gestured to the ladder that would take them up a level to the crow’s nest, where they’d be two stories up in the lookout, all alone.

  “I don’t bite,” he said. “Not unless you ask real nice.”

  Rolling her eyes to hide the fact that for one second she was tempted, she reached for the ladder. She started to climb, all too aware of him beneath her waiting for his turn. “Are you staring up my dress?” she asked.

  “I do that only when you’re not crying.”

  She snorted, then realized that somehow he’d managed to make her sadness retreat a little. At the top of the ladder, she climbed into the crow’s nest, which was a round platform with a railing protecting the “nest.” Someone—most likely Sally—had wrapped the mast with holly, and there was also a tiny Christmas tree that looked more like a Groot wannabe than anything else, decorated with eco-safe scrap ribbons and what looked like salt dough ornaments.