Beauty And The Brooding Billionaire. Donna Alward

      Jessica felt like a complete and utter fool.

      An online course and a few fun rides on the lake years ago, and she’d considered herself suitably experienced to be piloting a boat on rough waters. To Cummins’s credit, he hadn’t been keen on renting her the boat, but she’d assured him it was a short trip and she’d be fine. And she had been, at first. Until she got near the point at Bran’s place.

      She’d wanted to get the pictures and get gone. But the waves had been bigger than she’d expected, and more than once she’d hung over the side and retched. The crosscurrent had made everything more difficult, and one particular roll had knocked her down, her shoulder ramming against the fiberglass side.

      It still hurt, but not as much as her pride.

      She looked at the bruise forming on her shoulder and sighed, then gently put her arms in a soft sweater and pulled it over her head. The moment she’d seen Branson coming toward her, she’d been relieved and then embarrassed all at once. She didn’t need rescuing, for Pete’s sake. She’d never needed rescuing. She was very good at picking up when things went wrong and starting over. She’d done it when her adoptive parents had divorced. When her mom had died. When she’d lost jobs in the days before she could make a living with her art. After her horrible breakup. Even Ana hadn’t rescued her...not really. She’d just appeared, ready to be a friend, a confidant, a professional mentor. She had made Jessica’s life richer, but she hadn’t saved it.

      Today Jessica felt as if Branson Black had literally saved her life. She’d been reckless—not unlike her. But she’d got in over her head, and he’d come to her rescue. He hadn’t been pleased about it, either. He hadn’t even grunted when she said thank you when he dropped her off.

      Twice now she’d got off on the wrong foot with him. Instead of sneaking photos from the water and never having to deal with him again, she’d made it more obvious than ever that she was a pain in his neck.

      And for that, she needed to apologize.

      She had no idea how to do that, but she’d come up with something. And kill him with kindness if she had to.

      Room service sounded like a perfect idea, so she ordered and then took the memory card from her camera and popped it into her laptop. When she opened up the directory and brought up the first picture, she sighed. It was out of focus, but not too bad. But there were only two or three that were even close to being useful. Then the lens got wet and every single picture was blurred and smudged.

      All of that for nothing. She’d only accomplished making him hate her even more. Tomorrow she would apologize. And then she’d find another lighthouse. Or something else that sparked her creativity and gave her the burn to create again. In the meantime she’d keep working, because nothing helped get the muse back in business like being ready for her.