the snow and Christmas decorations in New York and landing here where there’s nothing but a warm breeze and sunshine. Do you decorate a palm tree instead of a pine tree for Christmas?”
He stopped walking and turned to her. “I don’t do either. I thought Clara might have mentioned it.”
“She didn’t say a word.”
“Long story short, I don’t like Christmas.” He turned and continued along the path to the house.
He didn’t like Christmas? She really wanted to hear the long version of that story. Was he a real-life Grinch? Impossible. He was friendly—when he wanted to be. Social—again, when he wanted to be. So why did he hate Christmas?
Wait. Who hated Christmas? It was full of heartwarming, sentimental moments. Twinkle lights. Snowflakes. Presents. Shopping. Definitely lots of shopping. And the most delicious food.
Whatever. His reasons for not enjoying the holiday were his problem. They were certainly none of her business. But that wasn’t enough to suppress her curiosity.
“Why don’t you like Christmas?” she blurted out.
He stopped. His shoulders straightened. When he turned, his forehead was creased with lines and his brows were drawn together. “Does everyone have to enjoy the holidays?”
She shrugged. “I suppose not. But I’m sure they all have a reason. I was just curious about yours.”
“And if I don’t want to share?”
“It’s your right. I just thought after we talked on the plane that we were at the stage where we shared things with each other.”
“You mean you equate our talk of books to digging into my life and finding out how my mind ticks? No.” He shook his head. “My personal life is off limits.” His tone lacked its earlier warmness. In fact, it was distinctly cold and rumbled with agitation. “You might research prospective business associates, but I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t put my life under your microscope.”
What is he afraid I’ll find?
She gave herself a mental shake. He was right. She was treading on a subject that was none of her business. His dislike of Christmas had nothing to do with her presence on—what was the name of this island? She scanned her mind, but she didn’t recall him ever mentioning it.
“What did you say the name of this island is?”
“I didn’t.”
Surely this wasn’t another one of those subjects that was off limits. Even she couldn’t be that unlucky.
As though reading her mind, he said, “It’s called Lockwood Isle.”
Not exactly original, but fitting. “Your own island nation.”
He shrugged. “Something like that. It’s a place to get away from everything.”
Her phone buzzed with a new email. “Not exactly everything. I see there’s internet access.”
“As much as I’d like to totally escape, I do have an international company to run. I can’t cut myself off completely.”
Holly was relieved to know that she could keep in contact with her mother. Even though she’d made financial arrangements with her aunt for her mother to make her very first visit to Florida, she still wanted to talk with her daily. Holly needed the reassurance that there weren’t any setbacks with her health.
Her gaze strayed back to her host. She might not have to worry too much about her mother right now, but she did have to worry about Finn. That kiss on the plane, it couldn’t happen again. He wasn’t looking for anything serious and neither was she. Her focus had to be on getting his recommendation for the new job.
Finn stopped walking. “Here we are.”
She glanced up at the white house with aqua shutters. The home was raised up on what looked like stilts. Each post was thick like an enormous tree trunk. It certainly looked sturdy enough.
Still staring at the impressive structure, she asked, “Why is the house on pylons? Are there a lot of storms?”
“No. But some of them bring in a high storm surge. I like to be prepared.”
She had a feeling it wasn’t just storms he liked to be prepared for. He struck her as the type of man who carefully plotted out not only his business but also his whole life, avoiding as many storms as possible.
* * *
“Will this do?”
Later that afternoon Finn glanced up from his desk in his study to find Holly standing there in a white sundress, holding a file folder. The bodice hugged her generous curves and tied around her neck, leaving just enough of her cleavage to tempt and tease. He swallowed hard. He should tell her to change clothes because there was no way he could conduct business with her looking so desirable.
Instead, he said, “Thank you.” He accepted the file. “By the way, don’t forget to pack lots of sunscreen.”
“Pack? I never unpacked.” Her eyes filled with confusion. “We’re leaving?”
“Yes. Tomorrow morning we’re setting sail on my yacht.”
“Yacht?”
“Did I forget to mention it?” When she nodded, he added, “We’ll be cruising around the islands for a couple of days until my business is concluded.”
“Sounds great.” Her voice lacked conviction.
“Have you been sailing before?”
She hesitated. “No.”
Why exactly had he brought her along on this trip? Oh, yes, because her credentials were excellent. But that was when she was in a skyscraper in New York City. She didn’t seem to fare so well outside her element. But it was too late to change course now. He just had to hope for the best—definitely not his idea of a good strategy, but the only one he had at this particular moment.
“Don’t worry.” He hoped to ease the worry lines now marring her face. “The yacht is spacious. You’ll have your own stateroom.” He took a moment to clarify the importance of the meeting. “I have worked for a number of months to bring these very influential men together. Discretion is of the utmost importance.”
She nodded. “I understand. I’ve worked in your legal department for the past five years. Everything that passed over my desk was confidential. You can count on me.”
He knew that. It was one of the reasons he’d agreed to this arrangement. Now, if he could just keep his mind from straying back to her luscious lips. His gaze zeroed in on them. They were painted up in a deep wine color. It was different from her usual earthy tones. But it was a good look on her.
He forced his mind back to business. “Did you reply to all of the outstanding emails?”
“I just finished them. The personal ones I’ve forwarded to your account as directed. I thought you might have
