Jack & Jilted Read Free Page B

slimy, it also means you’re going to have a weepy, emotional basket case on your hands for the next six days and seven nights.
    Jack closed his eyes. It had seemed like the perfect solution at the time. She was in trouble, he was offering her a breather. It would also get him some cash—and he had no problem taking money from the schmuck who had stood her up in the first place. And she’d sounded sweet, if sad. He doubted she’d become completely unglued once they set out.
    But if she did, what then? What if she decided she hated all men and made his life a living hell for the next week? Or what if she cried all over him?
    Too late now, he counseled himself, still feeling troubled.
    Then it hit him. She was going to be leaving the comfort, albeit nosy comfort, of her family. Instead choosing to enjoy the four-star luxuries of her private cruise. Except for the fact that they’d lost their private chef, their masseuse and their maid.
    So what exactly was she going to be enjoying, besides enduring her troubles alone?
    “Oh, hell,” Jack muttered to himself. Rough waters ahead, his gut had told him. He would have to find out a way to navigate them because he’d gone too far to turn back now.
    CHLOE STOOD IN FRONT of the yacht, her rolling bag handle gripped tightly in her right hand. It had been awkward walking over the planked decking in the low heels she’d worn with her soft-pink traveling suit. If she’d been with Gerald, he’d have pulled the luggage for her.
    Don’t think about Gerald.
    She closed her eyes for a second. Not thinking about Gerald was impossible, especially in light of the fact that she was now on the brink of what should’ve been their honeymoon. And the fact that she was doing this alone seemed impossible, as well as everything else in the foreseeable future.
    “Hi, there,” she heard a voice say and she opened her eyes.
    For a second, the man in front of her almost didn’t register. She’d been with Gerald for four and a half years, and while she appreciated other men, she had never been hit by the looks of one the way she was right now. For the past six months, unless the man was either a caterer, floral arranger or hotel manager, she had not even noted his existence.
    That was all changing.
    The man had dark, walnut-colored hair, worn long enough to be unkempt, curling at the collar of his T-shirt. His eyes were a beautiful golden-green, lit almost ethereally by the setting sun. He had a broad, easy smile, and his whole demeanor was friendly and laid-back.
    “Hey, you,” she ventured, thinking of the captain’s joke: Call me “hey, you” if you want to.
    He chuckled, and she could see the muscles bunch and release beneath his shirt. To her surprise, her mouth went temporarily dry.
    You haven’t had sex in six months, she excused herself. And you’ve just been through an emotional trauma. This is just chemical, a way to self-medicate and feel better.
    Except she didn’t feel better—although she was feeling and that was a nice change from numbness.
    “You must be Chloe Winton,” he said. “Can I take your bag?”
    “Thanks,” she said, relinquishing it to him. He gestured to her to walk up the thin walkway that connected the yacht to the dock, and she realized if she took the step, then she was deliberately leaving behind all that had happened today. She should be yelling at Gerald right now, she told herself. She should be calling a lawyer about the house, as one of her uncles had recommended. She should…
    She shook her head, then lifted her chin. “I’m regrouping,” she said softly, so softly she doubted Jack heard her. She’d been murmuring the two words like a mantra since she’d gotten off the phone with him. With that, she took a step on the unsteady plank. And promptly bobbled.
    “Whoa,” he said, and he was behind her, one hand on her waist, steadying her. “You all right?”
    “Fine,” she said, taking a few more steps gingerly. His hand, she noticed,