LITMIR.BIZ

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Sam said. “Wiggle room. I knew you couldn’t do it.”

      The tone and the words hit a nerve and started Cal’s competitive juices flowing. “Why would I want to?”

      “For the Duchess.” There was a dare in his brother’s voice.

      “But you love that car,” Cal protested.

      “I do. But you’re not going to stay on the island for a month, so there’s no chance I’ll lose the car.”

      It was like they were kids again, and Cal felt that honor challenge clear to his core. A double dog dare if he’d ever heard one. Plus, he really did love that car. It was a Rolls-Royce Silver Shadow and something that belonged to his grandfather, which made it priceless.

      He stuck out his hand. “You’re on.”

      “Excellent,” Sam said, shaking on the terms of the wager. “Mom, you’re a witness.”

      “I am.” She pointed to the activity on the other side of the room. “Look, all the single men are gathering. Sam, I think you’re being paged. And, Cal, go catch the garter.”

      “No way.”

      “I’ve been looking forward to this.” Sam rubbed his hands together. “I’ll throw it right to you.”

      “Don’t do me any favors.”

      A few minutes later Sam removed the garter from his bride’s leg and threw it over his shoulder into the crowd of single guys. Unfortunately, Cal caught the blasted thing. The satin-and-lace symbol of the next guy to walk down ball-and-chain lane sailed just close enough that he couldn’t resist the challenge of snagging it. Damn his competitive streak. And he was pretty sure Sam had done it on purpose, to prove relaxing was too big a challenge for Cal, that he was going to lose the bet.

      His brother was wrong, Cal thought.

      The problem was going to be finding ways to fill his time for a month on an island. Or die trying. Really, what could go wrong?

      * * *

      Calhoun Hart broke his leg on the first day of vacation, so now he was going to work on the island. Justine Walker believed she’d drawn the short straw in agreeing to fill in for his vacationing secretary. But that was before she stepped off the plane and saw sun, sand, sea. And palm trees swaying in the gentle trade winds. That’s when it hit her. Working in a tropical paradise wasn’t like being the one who had to stay behind to manually blow a nuclear device and prevent an asteroid from wiping out Earth.

      Technically she hadn’t drawn the short straw anyway. No one else in the clerical pool at Hart Energy wanted to work with Cal Hart. In desperation, Human Resources made her an offer she couldn’t refuse. Putting up with the infamous workaholic who signed her paycheck meant she was that much closer to being her own boss.

      Pulling a carry-on bag behind her, she limped up the flower-and shrub-lined path to Mr. Hart’s private villa at the resort. Her leg was as good as it would ever be, but long stretches of sitting still made it ache. In spite of the discomfort, she was grateful the doctors had saved it after the accident. She’d come a long way from wishing she’d died, too.

      In front of the impressive double-door entry, she stopped and took several deep, cleansing breaths, counting each one to slow down her racing pulse and heart rate. It took more effort than usual, but she didn’t usually go to work in a villa with a three-hundred-sixty-degree view of the ocean. The crystal clear varying shades of turquoise water defied words. It was one of those sights one simply had to see. The stunning beauty almost made her forget about the discomfort in her leg.

      She inhaled one last deep breath, counted, slowly released it, then knocked on the door. While there was no expectation of a speedy response since her boss was an invalid, the wait dragged on long enough that she debated going for help. But finally it opened and the man standing there, propped up on crutches, looked the picture of masculinity, in spite of the white, no-nonsense cast on his lower left leg. For the second time since his private plane had landed, she found herself without words. He was very sexy and that was more than a little distracting.

      She’d heard about him, none of it flattering, but had only actually seen him from a distance at work. He was very good-looking with his light brown hair and deeply intense blue eyes. The white cotton shirt he wore framed his shoulders and probably made them look broader. Only a hands-on examination would confirm, but the odds of that happening were lower than zero.

      “Good. You’re finally here.” He backed up awkwardly and negotiated a turn. “Would you mind getting the door...um—”

      She realized he was hesitating because he either couldn’t remember or didn’t know her name. “Justine Walker. And I don’t mind at all, Mr. Hart.”

      “Cal.”

      “Excuse me?”

      “My name is Cal. Short for Calhoun, and it will save time if you use it.”

      “Of course.”

      She shut the door and limped after him into a spacious living area. The plush white sofas had throw pillows in tropical ocean shades, and a light-colored wood floor seemed to stretch on forever to the sand and sea beyond, merging inside and outside. Overhead was a high-pitched wooden ceiling and several fans with blades that resembled palm fronds circulated the refreshing breeze coming through the open French doors. Beneath her low-heeled pumps was the thickest, cushiest area rug she’d ever felt.

      “Something wrong?”

      Justine dragged her gaze from the floor and looked up at her boss. She might as well be honest. “I think I’m on luxury overload.”

      “Oh?” He looked amused.

      “I’ve never been on a private plane before or anyplace like this.” She glanced around, not bothering to pretend she wasn’t in awe. “And a villa with that ocean view—the sand and palm trees. It’s amazing.”

      With a sigh he lowered himself to the sofa that looked big enough to hold an extended family reunion and elevated his injured leg. “Feel free to look around. Your room is over there.” He lifted one of his crutches and used it to point to a recessed doorway on the other side of the enormous area. “The valet has instructions to bring the rest of your luggage, and he’ll use the patio door so you won’t see him.”

      The Human Resources director at Hart Energy had explained the accommodations—the fact that this villa was over five thousand square feet and contained two very large, very private suites. Mr. Hart’s injury limited his mobility and he preferred his assistant nearby to facilitate the work environment.

      The subtext was that she didn’t need to worry about any hanky-panky. After meeting him that was oddly disappointing. But the compensation for this assignment was so generous, she would have slept on a lounge chair under a tree if he wanted. Before she could check out her room, there was a knock at the door.

      “That should be room service,” Cal said. “Would you mind letting them in?”

      “Of course.” She walked to the door and felt Cal watching her. When she was tired, like she was now, the limp was more pronounced, but she tried very hard to minimize it. Because she didn’t want to show any weakness in front of this man.

      She opened the door to several hotel employees who waited with wheeled carts containing covered dishes. Stepping back, she let them move past her and set everything up on the coffee table, where it was easily accessible to Cal. He signed for it and the servers discreetly left.

      “Can I get a plate for you?” she asked.

      “Yes. Thank you.”

      She lifted silver domes from the serving dishes and saw there were multiple entrées to choose from, as well as potatoes, rice, pasta, green salad and fruit. And a sampling of chocolate desserts made her mouth water.

      She filled a plate and brought it to him, then arranged eating utensils where he could

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