Free Tycoon's One-Night Revenge by Bronwyn Jameson

be a surprise, and he wasn’t wrong.
    Her stride faltered infinitesimally. Her head came up. Her fingers tightened on the tote bag slung over her shoulder.
    Then Gilly called out a greeting and she straightened her shoulders and stepped onto the timber planks of the jetty. She wore the same coat as yesterday, the same boots, but there was something different about her, Van mused, studying her approach with narrowed interest. When a sudden snap of breeze grabbed at her hair, she lifted a hand to push it back into order and he was struck by another minibolt of déjà vu.
    It was the wind in her hair. Or the sun lighting it in a dozen shades of gold. Or the way she caught the bright mass all together and held it at the side of her throat, bunched in one hand.
    Whatever it was, he’d seen it before. The first instances he’d discounted as insignificant, but not anymore. Just being around her tapped into that deep well of forgotten moments, and that made another good case for keeping her close.
    Straightening from the mooring he’d been leaning against, he greeted her with a lazy smile. “Good morning, Susannah. Enjoying the sunshine?”
    Designer sunglasses obscured half her face but they didn’t disguise the pique in her voice. “What are you doing here?”
    “Same as you, I expect.”
    “You’re leaving today?”
    “Can’t see much point in staying,” he said, “once you’ve gone.”
    Gilly cleared his throat, a reminder of his presence and a reminder that they needed to get going. “Morning, Miss Horton. If you’re ready, I’ll help you aboard. Is that all your luggage?”
    “Yes. I—”
    “I’ll help Susannah,” Van said smoothly. Then to Gilly, “You have to admire a woman who travels this light.”
    Her lips tightened ominously but when she didn’t fire back the expected salvo, Van took a closer look and realised that she wasn’t only surprised at finding him here or angry that he’d hijacked her attempt to escape him. Against the dark frames of her glasses and under the clear September sky, her skin looked even paler than yesterday, that gold-dust sprinkling of freckles more pronounced. And the fingers gripping the leather straps of her bag reflected the same tension he saw in the tight set of her lips.
    His smile faded. “You really do have a thing about boats, don’t you?”
    “Only about getting on them,” she muttered. Then her shoulders went back and her nostrils flared as if she’d drawn a swift breath. Deftly, she stepped around him and allowed Gilly to hand her on board.
    Van intercepted before she reached the cabin, and steered her toward the flydeck. At the base of the steps she dug in her heels. “I would prefer to sit inside.”
    “Your stomach won’t thank you,” he said mildly.
    “I’ve taken something for that.”
    “You got the Dramamine then?”
    “How did you know…?” Beneath his hand, he felt her stiffen. She drew an audible breath. “ You sent that?”
    Van shrugged. “It helps. So does being on deck, in the fresh air. You can fix your gaze on a set point—”
    “Like all that water?”
    Suppressing a smile, he widened his hand against her lower back. “Trust me on this. You’ll feel much better up on top.”

    Trust him? After he’d pulled this surprise, I’m coming with you stunt? After he’d dropped that sly suggestion about her feeling better on top.
    Okay, Susannah conceded, perhaps she’d only imagined that double meaning. When she met his eyes, she read nothing beyond mild impatience when he asked, “Upstairs or down?”
    Either way she had his company. Downstairs, alone. Upstairs, with the laconic-looking captain, as well. “Up,” she decided. If she was going to humiliate herself by upending her breakfast, it might as well be with a full audience.
    Five minutes later, she was happy with her decision. Whether it was the medication, the open air in her face or her preoccupation with Donovan close at her side didn’t matter. She tipped her