Red-Hot Honeymoon. Joss Wood

       PROLOGUE

      ‘MINIMALISM, MODERNISM OR IMPRESSIONISM?’

      Finn Banning looked up from his seat in business class into the lovely face of a navy-eyed blonde with her hand resting on the seat in front of him. A ten-second scan told him that her body was long, lean and leggy, her waist tiny, her bright blonde hair falling way past her shoulders. Another five seconds of looking into those impish flirty eyes told him that she was Trouble. With a capital T. God, he hoped she wasn’t sitting next to him on this long-haul flight back to Cape Town from JFK.

      Over the past two months his life had been turned upside down and inside out and he didn’t want to make small talk with a stranger—even if she was supermodel-gorgeous.

      But he couldn’t help the corners of his mouth kicking up in response to the mischief in those amazing eyes.

      ‘Graffiti,’ he replied when she cocked an arrogant sculpted eyebrow.

      Her mouth twitched in what he suspected was a smile waiting to bloom.

      ‘Whisky or bourbon?’

      ‘Beer.’

      She tipped her head and tapped her foot, encased in what looked to be, under the hem of dark jeans, low-heeled black boots. ‘Rugby or cricket?’

      He’d never played either as he’d spent every spare moment he had at the dojo. ‘I was on the UCT crochet team.’

      Her mouth twitched again with amusement as the other eyebrow lifted. ‘You went to the University of Cape Town? Me too! What year? Degree?’

      ‘Journalism. Is there a point to these questions?’

      ‘Sure. I’m trying to decide whether you’re worth flirting with or whether I should ignore you for the rest of the flight.’

      She flashed him a megawatt smile that had his groin twitching and his heartbeat jumping. An elegant hand gestured to the empty seat next to him.

      ‘My seat.’

      ‘Ah …’ he replied. Of course it was.

      Finn watched as she tossed that bright head of relaxed curls and pushed some of them out of her eyes. Reaching for the strap over her shoulder, she dropped her leather rucksack to her feet and shrugged out of her thigh-length brown leather coat to reveal a taut, tight white T-shirt that covered small and perky breasts. Nice.

      She folded the coat and stood on her toes to push it into the bin above their heads and that white T-shirt rode up to reveal a tanned, taut stomach and a beaded ring piercing the skin above her belly button. He watched, bemused, as she picked up