Second Chance At Sea - Jessica Gilmore Mills & Boon M&B

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this was purely business. Lawrie had been thrown in at the deep end, after all. She might be a whizz with a spreadsheet and able to decipher the finer points of contracts in the blink of an eye, but Jonas was prepared to bet good money that she hadn’t been anywhere near a tent or a crowded gig in years. This was his festival—his reputation at stake. He might agree that in the circumstances Lawrie was the right person to help them out, but she still needed hand-holding. Metaphorically, of course.

      Of course he might be playing with fire. But what was life without a little danger? He’d been playing it safe for far too long.

      Time to light the fireworks.

      Jonas nodded towards a folder on the dashboard. ‘Our accommodation is in there.’

      Concealing a smile, Jonas watched out of the corner of his eye as she slid the folder onto her knee and pulled out the sheaf of paper from inside.

      Her brow crinkled. ‘These aren’t hotels.’

      ‘Excellent opportunity to check out some of the competition,’ he said.

      ‘You own a hotel.’

      ‘And a campsite,’ he reminded her.

      ‘But I’m not set for camping. I don’t camp—not any more.’ Her voice was rising. ‘I don’t even own a sleeping bag.’

      ‘Relax,’ Jonas said easily. ‘I’m not subjecting you to a tent. Barb has everything we need. You won’t even need a bag. I have sheets and quilts. Even pillowcases.’

      ‘We’re sleeping in here? Both of us?’

      ‘She’s a four-berther, remember?’ He flashed a grin over at her, looking forward to her reaction. ‘Do you want to go on top or shall I?’

      ‘I’m not nineteen any more, Jonas.’

      Lawrie’s face was flushed, her eyes dark with emotion. Anger? Fear? Maybe a combination of both.

      ‘This really isn’t acceptable.’

      Jonas raised an eyebrow appraisingly. What was she so scared of? ‘I’m sorry, Lawrie, I didn’t think this would be a big deal. I really do want to see how the facilities at the sites compare with mine. Look, if you feel that strongly about it I can drop you at a motel or a B&B after tonight’s gig. But I promise you you’ll get a better night’s sleep here than in some anonymous hotel chain bedroom.’

      ‘Call me old-fashioned, but I like en-suite facilities.’

      But his conciliatory tone seemed to have worked as she sounded more petulant than angry. He decided to push it a little.

      ‘I promise you we won’t be roughing it. Barb’s newly sprung and very comfortable. All these sites have electric hook-up and plenty of shower blocks. The place I have picked out for tonight has a very well-regarded organic restaurant too. I thought it would be good to compare it with the Boat House. And Saturday’s site prides itself on its sea views, which is one thing we’re lacking. I really would value your opinion.’

      ‘But I thought you had the best toilets in Cornwall? I won’t settle for less.’

      Was that a small smile playing around the full mouth?

      ‘If I didn’t think every single one of these toilets weren’t a serious contender I promise you I wouldn’t have dreamt of bringing you along. Come on, Lawrie, it’ll be fun. Food, music and the stars. I know I need the break. And...’ he slid his eyes over to her again, noting the dark shadows under her eyes, the air of bewildered fragility she wore whenever her professional mask slipped ‘...I’ll bet everything I own that you do too.’

      ‘This isn’t a break—this is work,’ she reminded him primly.

      ‘True,’ he conceded. ‘But who’s to say we can’t have fun while we’re working?’

      She wound a tendril of hair around her finger, staring out of the window, lost in thought. ‘Okay, then,’ she said finally. ‘I’ll give it one night. But if it’s cold or uncomfortable or you snore—’ she gave him a dark look ‘—then tomorrow we’re in a hotel. Deal?’

      ‘Deal,’ he said. ‘Okay, then, woman-with-clipboard, which road do you want me to take?’

       CHAPTER SIX

      ‘THIS IS SO good.’

      ‘Better than your Pinot Noirs and Sauvignon Blancs?’

      Lawrie took a long sip of the cool, tart cider and shook her head. ‘Not better—different. I’m not sure I’d want to drink it in a restaurant. Too filling, for a start,’ she finished, turning the pint glass full of amber-coloured liquid round in her hands, admiring the way it caught the light.

      ‘They have a micro-brewery on site.’ Jonas was reading the tasting cards. ‘Rhubarb cider—that sounds intriguing. I wonder if they would want a stall at the festival? Talking of which, have you made a decision on the bands yet?’

      Lawrie pulled a face. ‘It’s so hard,’ she said. ‘They were all good, and so different. Seriously, how do you compare punk folk with rock with acoustic?’ She shook her head. ‘Who would have thought punk folk even worked, and yet they were fab. Can I ask them all?’

      ‘You’re the organiser; it’s up to you,’ Jonas said. He gave her a mock stern look. ‘Not last night’s support, though. We want people to enjoy their festival-going experience.’

      ‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Lawrie smiled at him sweetly. ‘I thought the part where she read out poetry to a triangle beat was inspiring. Especially the poem about her menstrual cycle.’

      ‘Stop!’ Jonas was covering his ears. ‘Those words are seared onto my brain. As is that triangle. I swear I could hear it in my sleep. Ting, ting ting.’ He shuddered.

      Lawrie laughed and took another sip. ‘I think the triangle represented her feminine aura.’

      It was amazing, how comfortable she was. How comfortable they were. Having him around, driving, tasting, listening, bouncing ideas—it had made the whole trip easy, fun. And it hadn’t been awkward. Well, hardly at all. Lying in the upper berth listening to his deep breathing had been a little odd. A little lonely, maybe. But nothing she couldn’t shake off.

      And he’d been a perfect gentleman. Which was good, obviously.

      ‘It was a good idea of yours to stay an extra night,’ she said with a small, happy sigh.

      Jonas had been right about the views. The final campsite was perfectly placed in the dip of a valley, with the beach and sea clearly visible from their sheltered pitch. Lawrie wriggled back in her chair and closed her eyes, savouring the feel of the late-afternoon sun on her face.

      ‘It seemed a shame to get a pitch with these views and then not be around to enjoy them,’ Jonas said. ‘Besides, we deserve some relaxation. And we discovered this cider.’ He held up his pint with a satisfied smile. ‘And that crêperie this morning. I think you should consider that patisserie too—their croissant was a work of art.’

      ‘Hmm...’ Lawrie opened her eyes and reached down to the folder at her feet. Picking it up, she flicked through it thoughtfully. ‘They were good, weren’t they? And the bakers near Liskeard were superb. I think that’s enough pastries and bread though, don’t you? We need some diversity. Two ice cream suppliers, four breweries, one Indian, one Thai and an Indonesian takeaway. Paella, the baked potato stall...’

      ‘Stop right there.’

      Jonas held his hand up and, startled, Lawrie let the folder slip shut.

      ‘Lawrie Bennett, it is Sunday afternoon. You have been working day and night all weekend. Relax, enjoy the view, and drink your cider.’

      A warm glow spread through her at his words. Nobody

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