Cabin Fever. Jillian Burns

mirror and a woman started trying to cut his hair.

      There had to be at least a dozen people in this cabin. Still, he easily found Carly Pendleton. She was the type to stand out in a crowd. Tall and slim, but she had curves in all the right places. Her skirt and blouse hugged her figure as if they’d been made for her. Which, come to think of it, they probably had. And her long, thick brunette hair had not a strand out of place, even at seven in the morning.

      But her best feature was her eyes. They were the color of arctic ice. A light blue so vivid they could capture a man’s gaze and freeze him where he stood, make him her prisoner until she deigned to set him free.

      He shivered just thinking about being trapped in her frigid world. A man could get frostbite.

      At the call of her name, Ms. Pendleton glanced over at the makeup guy, took another moment to nod and shake her head at a selection of clothing a woman held, and then walked over.

      Just watching her walk riveted Joe’s attention. The way she held her shoulders back and her chin slightly lifted, as if she was noble-born. She’d probably attended one of those fancy boarding schools. Surely, her father would’ve been able to afford it.

      The only thing he remembered about her father’s investment scandal was that his wife had claimed complete innocence of his scheme. The fact that the crook had a kid had barely registered.

      “What is it, Christoph?”

      “The gentleman won’t let me apply liner to his eyes.”

      She trained those icy blues on him. “Joe, I realize it seems emasculating, but the sunlight and the camera will wash out your eyes without a little liner. Surely you’re confident enough in your masculinity to allow a tiny bit of makeup?”

      Oh, well, if she was going to challenge his masculinity... He folded his arms. “No.”

      Irritation sparked in her eyes. Hmm, the ice queen heated up. This could be fun.

      She straightened her shoulders and folded her arms, too. His attention fixed on the outline of her lace bra through her thin silk blouse.

      “Mr. Tedesco.”

      He imagined her only in delicate lacy lingerie, some sheer stockings and those ridiculously high heels of hers. Barely cutting off a groan, he scanned the room for a pitcher of water. His throat was dry.

      “Mr. Tedesco? I already have one diva to deal with and she hasn’t even deigned to show up yet.” She tapped him on the shoulder. “Joe! Are you listening?”

      “What?” He pulled his mind back from the beginnings of a sensual daydream. Noticed the bottle of water on the table beside him and grabbed it.

      “I was saying that the liner won’t be at all noticeable in the final version of the photo.”

      He twisted the cap off, gulped a few swallows and dried his lips on his sleeve. “In that case...” He leaned forward and she leaned in, too. “It’s still no.”

      She jerked back, her eyes flared, anger spitting. Her perfectly shaped lips pinched. Her chest rose as she inhaled deeply. Then her face relaxed and she gave him a saccharine sweet smile. “Fine. We wouldn’t want your Man Card revoked, now would we?” She trained her eyes on the makeup guy. “Christoph, just a light dusting of powder on the nose so he doesn’t shine like Rudolph.”

      Her gaze zapped back to Joe. “Unless you’re too manly for that?”

      He grinned. “That’s fine.” No woman had ever talked to him this way before. Was this how all Manhattan women were? He’d lived in Brooklyn all his life, and the only women he hung around had known him since elementary school. To them he was Little Joey, the high school football hero.

      “Thank you so much. Is there anything else I should obtain your permission on before I resume directing my photo shoot?”

      He chuckled. “I’ll let you know.”

      Her fake smile disappeared. “Tony,” she called to a young man fiddling with some photo equipment. “Make sure the lighting on our Average Joe is filtered so he doesn’t wash out.” Then she spun on her heels and stalked back to the other side of the room.

      She had the temper of a back-alley dog. And he had a feeling her bite was worse than her bark.

      * * *

      “NO, THAT’S NOT WORKING.” Carly heaved a sigh and shook her head. Honestly, she didn’t know which one was worse, the high maintenance supermodel or the infuriatingly bullheaded contest winner. It didn’t help that her stomach was churning and her head felt as if someone had jammed an ice pick in her temples. Didn’t everyone else feel the ship listing from side to side?

      She steeled herself to approach the couple. Piper must be handled with kid gloves. And Joe, well, Carly had to fight to keep her mind on business when she went near the guy.

      “Piper, you’re looking just gorgeous with the turquoise water behind you. Really brings out your eyes.” They’d positioned the deck chairs against the railing and the Caribbean Sea sparkled in the warm sun. There was a tang of salt in the humid air. Humph. Carly would take New York cab exhaust any day.

      Piper merely rolled said eyes. “You need to hurry this up. I’m tired and bored. And thirsty. Someone bring me a Bloody Mary.”

      Carly clenched her teeth and bit back what she wanted to say. “Yes, I’ll get that ordered right away, but if I could just ask you to try to look more interested in Joe, for just a few moments?”

      Piper raised a delicate brow that got lost in the fringe of her bangs. “I am.”

      “Yes, well, maybe a little more, please? And Joe.” Carly focused her attention on his right shoulder. “When you’re turned facing Piper in the deck chair, just turn from your waist, not your legs. Leave your legs facing forward please.”

      “Like this?” The man spread his knees and, whether intentionally or not, he seemed to flex his thigh muscles.

      Now she was staring and Carly felt her face heat. She spun away, pretending to check the position of the sun.

      When she could face him once more, she studied his shoulder again. “Yes, but you have to be turned toward Piper from the waist up.” She cupped his shoulders to swivel his upper body. Her hands met rigid muscle beneath the starched cotton dress shirt. Heat radiated from him, scorching her palms. And there was that scent again. His cologne or shampoo, whatever it was made her knees weak. Or maybe that was just part of the seasickness.

      “Not that I care, but you’re wrinkling the Armani here,” Joe said in a low tone.

      Carly blinked, saw that her hands were gripping his arms, lifted them off and stepped away. “It’s Hilfiger,” she mumbled.

      One side of his mouth crooked up in a smirk. But he laid his arm along the back of Piper’s deck chair and turned from the waist exactly as Carly had asked.

      Impressed, she headed for the camera to check the frame and, as she looked through the lens, Joe lifted his other hand to cup Piper’s cheek and turn her to face him. He said something and flashed that dazzling smile and Piper actually smiled back.

      Carly straightened and motioned for the photographer to step in and snap the picture. What had Joe said to Piper? As the camera snapped away, he spoke to the model again and her expression turned sultry, her eyes half-lidded. She stared at Joe as if she were about to rip his clothes off. Unbelievable.

      Carly gaped as the two models spoke in whispered tones, their heads moving toward each other, their lips almost touching. The cameraman clicked pictures from every angle, encouraging them. Piper unbuttoned Joe’s shirt and slipped a hand inside, rubbing her fingers over his chest. Then her hand dropped to his thigh, over his denim shorts, but inching her way to—

      “That’s great!” Carly yelled. “Thank you, everyone.” She moved forward to stand before Piper, who’d, thankfully, removed her hand from Joe’s thigh, even