for Mia. She was the most un-coordinated person she knew, and even baby heels, as Meryl called them, were a no-no on anything but the most important occasion. Mia had long realized she preferred her mum's hippy ideals to those of present day society.
* * * * *
"Have you checked out the stables?" One of Meryl's friends—she could never remember who was who—spoke to her as she wandered into the lounge. For once it was a room which wasn't over-decorated. Not like her bungalow. The room that shouted fantasy and sex to Mia, which she guessed it was supposed to, but she didn't need the trappings. The lounge was classy and minimal. Mia preferred it.
"Shades of Jilly Cooper there . . . the best bits," Jo, or was it Sarah, went on.
Mia smiled and remembered she was not going to be a party pooper, just not a joiner-inner.
"Not yet," she said cheerfully "I've been too busy admiring my villa." Liar, liar pants on fire.
"Ooh, yes."
Mia was fairly sure it was Jo who spoke.
"And deciding on my choice of dream or fantasy, of course. The props and presents are amazing, don't you think?"
Not prepared to admit that, as far as she was aware, because she hadn't sent in any ideas, she didn't have any props and presents, Mia murmured her agreement. Then she apologized to Jo, and murmured something about looking for Meryl, before she made her way to where the middle-aged man was pouring champagne into elegant flutes. Christophe, she remembered as she smiled at him, grateful to see someone else over the age of thirty.
He smiled back and handed her a glass. "Feeling a bit overwhelmed?"
"Totally. I'm just not the right person for somewhere like this. Meryl might be my sister, but I'm old enough to be her mother. And with all these bright young twenty-somethings, I so feel it." Mia sipped her champagne. "I'm more of a put-my-feet-up-and-read woman than a kidnapped and ravished one." He raised one eyebrow, and Mia blushed. She could all but hear him calling her a liar. "Though I do appreciate the champagne."
He looked at her closely. "Never deny your desires, Mia. Dreams and fantasies come in all manner of guises. I'm sure we can fulfill yours."
Christophe winked briefly, so briefly that Mia wondered if she'd imagined it. However, before she could ask him what he meant, he turned and spoke to an impossibly manicured and buffed blonde. Mia smiled. In that girl's case, she had no reason to be jealous, unless she once had shares in a hairspray firm and sold them. The Barbie look-alike must use at least two cans a day. Mia was glad the resort had a no smoking indoors policy. It was a good bet that a match anywhere in a three-foot radius would start a fire to vie with a bonfire at night. She closed her eyes so no one could see her roll them. How Meryl got on with Felicity, she never knew. They were chalk and cheese. Nevertheless, they'd been friends since nursery, and Mia knew fine well not to judge people by appearances. Felicity headed a law firm in London.
With her glass in hand, Mia turned and wandered over to the open doors, which lead out onto a narrow swath of lush grass and the beach beyond. How on earth they managed to keep everything so abundant, Mia had no idea. The island had its own desalination plant, but it must be a full-time job watering the greenery.
Somewhere a bird called, and was answered by another farther away. The palm trees swayed gently in the soft breeze and waves rolled lazily across the white sand.
Good grief, I'm in the middle of a romantic novel. So where's the tall, dark, and handsome man? Or should that be men? And why can't it be short, craggy, blond, or middle-aged, rugged, red-headed or . . . oh, stop it.
Mia looked to her left where she thought she could see another building in the distance. She sniggered to herself. If half a mile was distant. Nothing was far from anything on the island, it seemed. Once again, she wondered how they could guarantee the total privacy bit. Although Meryl had
* * * * *
"Have you checked out the stables?" One of Meryl's friends—she could never remember who was who—spoke to her as she wandered into the lounge. For once it was a room which wasn't over-decorated. Not like her bungalow. The room that shouted fantasy and sex to Mia, which she guessed it was supposed to, but she didn't need the trappings. The lounge was classy and minimal. Mia preferred it.
"Shades of Jilly Cooper there . . . the best bits," Jo, or was it Sarah, went on.
Mia smiled and remembered she was not going to be a party pooper, just not a joiner-inner.
"Not yet," she said cheerfully "I've been too busy admiring my villa." Liar, liar pants on fire.
"Ooh, yes."
Mia was fairly sure it was Jo who spoke.
"And deciding on my choice of dream or fantasy, of course. The props and presents are amazing, don't you think?"
Not prepared to admit that, as far as she was aware, because she hadn't sent in any ideas, she didn't have any props and presents, Mia murmured her agreement. Then she apologized to Jo, and murmured something about looking for Meryl, before she made her way to where the middle-aged man was pouring champagne into elegant flutes. Christophe, she remembered as she smiled at him, grateful to see someone else over the age of thirty.
He smiled back and handed her a glass. "Feeling a bit overwhelmed?"
"Totally. I'm just not the right person for somewhere like this. Meryl might be my sister, but I'm old enough to be her mother. And with all these bright young twenty-somethings, I so feel it." Mia sipped her champagne. "I'm more of a put-my-feet-up-and-read woman than a kidnapped and ravished one." He raised one eyebrow, and Mia blushed. She could all but hear him calling her a liar. "Though I do appreciate the champagne."
He looked at her closely. "Never deny your desires, Mia. Dreams and fantasies come in all manner of guises. I'm sure we can fulfill yours."
Christophe winked briefly, so briefly that Mia wondered if she'd imagined it. However, before she could ask him what he meant, he turned and spoke to an impossibly manicured and buffed blonde. Mia smiled. In that girl's case, she had no reason to be jealous, unless she once had shares in a hairspray firm and sold them. The Barbie look-alike must use at least two cans a day. Mia was glad the resort had a no smoking indoors policy. It was a good bet that a match anywhere in a three-foot radius would start a fire to vie with a bonfire at night. She closed her eyes so no one could see her roll them. How Meryl got on with Felicity, she never knew. They were chalk and cheese. Nevertheless, they'd been friends since nursery, and Mia knew fine well not to judge people by appearances. Felicity headed a law firm in London.
With her glass in hand, Mia turned and wandered over to the open doors, which lead out onto a narrow swath of lush grass and the beach beyond. How on earth they managed to keep everything so abundant, Mia had no idea. The island had its own desalination plant, but it must be a full-time job watering the greenery.
Somewhere a bird called, and was answered by another farther away. The palm trees swayed gently in the soft breeze and waves rolled lazily across the white sand.
Good grief, I'm in the middle of a romantic novel. So where's the tall, dark, and handsome man? Or should that be men? And why can't it be short, craggy, blond, or middle-aged, rugged, red-headed or . . . oh, stop it.
Mia looked to her left where she thought she could see another building in the distance. She sniggered to herself. If half a mile was distant. Nothing was far from anything on the island, it seemed. Once again, she wondered how they could guarantee the total privacy bit. Although Meryl had
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