Willing to Learn
The fiancée of a prince visits the tropic paradise that is Trésorier du Coeur to learn how to make love, and instead she finds it.
Meredith McKenna is neither graceful nor a beauty, but that’s never stood in her way. She knows who she is and, more importantly, what she deserves. Not one to wish on a star or hang her hopes on a fairy tale like true love, her practical nature won her the hand of a prince. That’s how she ended up here: Trésorier du Coeur. An island paradise.
But becoming a princess is no simple matter. Regardless of the mysticisms mouthed by the island’s proprietress, the jungle waterfalls and long, pristine beaches, the resort is first and foremost a school for seduction, an ancient tradition of her fiancé’s family, and she must select a man to be her “tutor.” Anders Collier is the most insubordinate and infuriating of the lot. But behind those ice-blue eyes lurks a white-hot secret, and behind closed doors lies everything their hearts and bodies have yet to learn.
Anders splashed along behind her. “You’re welcome. It was my pleasure.” He sarcastically enunciated each word. “It’s not every day a man has the chance to save a damsel in distress not once but twice. First a runaway horse. Then a near drowning. Maybe we should try for a hat trick. If I had a gun, you could shoot yourself in the foot.”
“Shut. Up.” She rounded on him, sodden hanks of hair whipping her face. “This is all your fault.”
Knee deep in surf, they went toe to toe, nose to nose, both furious, neither backing down.
“You’re the one who started this, not me.” Amused self-righteousness laced his voice, and the message came in across the last rational synapse in her skull. She knew Anders was right. Horribly, horribly right.
As he stood there waiting for her to say something, she noticed glittering droplets on his spiky hair and shards of blue within his gray irises. His jaw was clean-shaven except for the whiskery outline of a goatee framing a sensual mouth. It was the bottom lip that did it, she decided. Fuller than the top, and that pouting curve was suckably plump.
“Don’t even think about it,” he said.
“Think about what?” Occupied with her examination of his features, Meredith had lost track of the argument.