The Trouble with Mojitos. Romy Sommer

       Chapter One

       @KenzieCole101: Paradise is not all it’s cracked up to be.

      “A mojito, please.”

      Kenzie sagged against the bar counter, not caring that her order sounded desperate or her body language suggested impatience. She needed alcohol, and she needed it now.

      The benefit of an empty bar was that the drink came reassuringly quickly, poured from an ice cold jug ready and waiting, and complete with swizzle stick, sprig of mint and paper parasol. She ditched all of them and tossed the drink back.

      “Rough day?” The dreadlocked bar tender leaned on the scarred wooden counter.

      “You don’t know the half of it.”

      “Want to talk about it?”

      “Thanks, but I didn’t come here to talk.” She’d done enough of that all day. Talk, talk, talk, and still nothing to show for it. Now she understood how used car salesmen felt. Used.

      It was enough to drive a girl to drink. Or at least to the resort’s beach bar, since hitting the minibar in her hotel room was just too sad to contemplate.

      She didn’t drink alone. For that matter, she didn’t usually drink. Not these days.

      Beyond the thatched cabana, the sky flamed every shade of pink and orange imaginable as the sun set over the white sand and surf. But here inside the bar was dark, shadowy and strangely comforting after a day of white-hot heat.

      “She’ll have another.”

      She turned to the wryly amused voice, and wished she hadn’t as she spotted the dark figure at the shadowy end of the long bar. Great. The resident barfly, no doubt. As if she needed another reason to hate this resort, this island, and the whole stinking Caribbean.

      “I can order my own drinks, thank you.”

      The shadowed figure shrugged and turned his attention back to his own drink. “Suit yourself.”

      What was it with the men in this place? They didn’t think a woman could order her own drinks, didn’t think a woman could do business, wouldn’t even give her the time of day. She ground her teeth, the effects of the first drink not quite enough to blur the edges of her mood. “I’d like another, please.”

      She ignored the deep-throated chuckle down the other end of the bar as the barman removed her glass to re-fill it.

      The second drink followed the first a little more slowly, and this time she took a moment to savour the alcohol-drenched mint leaves. Now she felt better.

      But she was still screwed.

      Neil had known it when he sent her out here. He’d known she’d be stonewalled, he knew he’d set her an impossible task, and still he’d sent her. He’d expected her to fail. Perhaps even wanted her to fail.

      There were days when her past seemed very far behind her. And then there were days like today, when it seemed she’d never escape the follies of her youth.

      “Sod him!”

      “That’s the spirit.” The stranger at the other end of the bar slid from his bar stool, out of the shadows and into the yellow lamplight.

      In another time and place he might have looked gorgeous, but in low-slung jeans that had seen better days, black long-sleeved tee, with hair in drastic need of a cut, several days’ worth of beard, and darkly glittering eyes, he was devastating.

      Pirate devastating. Bad boy devastating.

      Kenzie swallowed. Double great.

      This was supposed to be a family resort, for heaven’s sake. Instead, the beach bar was as good as deserted, and she was alone with two strange men. Would the bartender leap to her defence if this latter day marauder made a move on her?

      She doubted it. He’d probably stand back and laugh at the silly gringo girl, like everyone else she’d met over the last three days.

      Though she tried hard not to notice, she was ultra-aware when the stranger came to stand beside her, leaning up against the bar close enough to touch. He didn’t smell much like a barfly. In fact, he smelled damned fine, exuding raw, primal masculinity. She turned to face him, trying hard not to breathe him in.

      “What do you want?” she challenged, setting her hands on her hips.

      “Nothing. I just don’t think it’s healthy to drink alone.”

      “Oh really? And what exactly were you doing before I got here?”

      His mouth quirked, on the edge of a not-quite smile. “I came here so I wouldn’t have to drink alone.”

      He seriously needed a better pick-up line. “Good luck finding someone else to drink with, then. I don’t need company.”

      “Are you always this friendly?”

      He was smirking, damn him!

      She was usually much friendlier. But since she’d sworn off bad boys for good, she didn’t need this one in her face, oozing smarminess and temptation. And especially on a day like this when she’d been forcibly reminded how hanging out with the wrong sort could destroy a girl’s reputation.

      There was even a moment this afternoon she’d contemplated changing her name and starting fresh somewhere else. Perhaps across the Atlantic, because England just seemed to be getting smaller with every passing year.

      She turned back to the bartender. “Where is everyone, anyway? I thought this resort was near capacity.”

      Again it wasn’t the bartender who answered. “It’s karaoke night in the main hotel bar.” Which would explain the blaring 80s music she’d heard on her way past reception.

      “You don’t want to join them?” She barely caught the mockery beneath her drinking companion’s words.

      She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not really into karaoke, thanks.”

      “So you’re here to get drunk then. Join the club.” He raised his glass to her. Rum and cola. A pirate’s drink. How unimaginative.

      “I never get drunk. I just had a tough day.”

      “What was so tough about it – too much snorkelling, sailing and lying on the beach?” This time the mocking tone was impossible to miss.

      She straightened her shoulders. “I’m here to work, not play.”

      “Pity.” He glanced down over her attire, taking in the crumpled white tee, khaki cargo pants and dusty hiking boots. “You don’t look dressed for work. What is it you do?”

      “I’m a location scout for a film company that wants to shoot a feature here on the island.” Or rather a film company that wanted to shoot somewhere in the Caribbean. There were other scouts out on other islands. She’d only been thrown this job as a bone to her best friend, who’d practically begged for Kenzie to be given a chance.

      The pirate’s gaze swept over her again with the same sardonic look she’d got from the harbour master, the clerk at the mayor’s office, and that officious jerk at Environmental Services. “A film shoot. Sounds like fun.”

      Except he didn’t sound at all thrilled. He sounded bored. The same way she was starting to feel. Just three days ago, she’d been so psyched for this job that she’d practically bounced off the plane. Warm sun, wide blue sky, palm trees, and the chance to finally prove her worth – what wasn’t there to like about Los Pajaros?

      A lot it seemed.

      She really needed to