they were approaching the dock at Holley Cay.
One would think that having grown up visiting and working at some of the finest resorts in the world, PrivateParty
Julie would be immune to the sight. Nevertheless, she let out a low whistle of admiration at her first view of Chris’s domain.
It looked exactly like the brochure, and yet the brochure couldn’t possibly convey the scent of the sea, the warmth of the sun, the soothing rhythm of waves gently lapping on the shore. A huge pale pink stucco main building sat perched on a hill above the beach. Bungalows ranging in size from small cottages to near-mansions nestled among the palms. The sugar sand beach stretched for hundreds of yards, and guests occupied lounge chairs and umbrellas set up to provide everyone with more than enough space and privacy. Julie knew that there were several smaller, more secluded beaches around the island, including the one that was right in front of the bungalow Wendy had reserved. She couldn’t wait for her first swim in the warm, crystal clear sea.
She didn’t see Chris until they were almost to the dock. Several yachts were moored nearby. Some must have belonged to guests, but most, she had learned from the brochure, belonged to the resort and were available for guests to reserve for private excursions.
“Chris, you have really outdone yourself,” she said under her breath as the ferry pulled up to the dock.
He was there, waiting to meet the new arrivals, like a modern day Mr. Roarke from Fantasy Island . But instead of a white suit, Chris was the epitome of island casual. A loose blue-and-white tropical print shirt hung from his broad shoulders, untucked from the waistband of his wheat-colored shorts. His large, tanned feet sported flip-flops, and his eyes were hidden behind a pair of mirrored Oakleys.
Not to mention he was sexier than Mr. Roarke had ever been. His coffee colored hair was streaked through with auburn from the Caribbean sun, his body was tanned and hard. He exuded a masculine charisma that went beyond mere good looks.
And Julie already had firsthand knowledge that he could make all her fantasies come true.
“Oh my God,” exclaimed a tall blonde to her group of three female friends. “Is that the owner? He’s so hot.”
Apparently she wasn’t alone in her thoughts.
“Yes, that’s Chris Dennison. He built this place from the ground up.” Julie winced at her tone. She sounded like a proud parent.
“I heard that he came here with a few friends and returned home with a business plan,” said the blonde with a friendly smile. “But with his connections his success isn’t all that surprising.”
“This place has no connection to D&D Resorts, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Julie said. “He did all this on his own, no help or influence from his father.” PrivateParty
“You sound like you know him pretty well,” the blonde said. Now her three friends were looking at Julie as the group moved toward the front of the ferry.
Oh great, way to keep a low profile. “Our families know each other,” she said, hoping they wouldn’t press for details.
The blonde’s eyes grew round. “Wait, I know who you are! You’re Julie Driscoll! I’m Amy, by the way.” The blonde offered her hand. “I read about you in the— the Chronicle . Your wedding, I mean. I saw the write-up in the Chronicle .”
Julie appreciated the attempt at tact, but she was pretty sure Amy recognized her from a much less reputable publication than the San Francisco paper. “You’re from San Francisco?”
“Napa, actually. My father owns a winery.” She named a vineyard that Julie was familiar with. “I just want to say, I so admire you. Brian Dennison is a total male slut, and he deserved a lot worse than cake in his face.”
Her friends nodded and murmured in agreement.
Julie’s smile brightened. She may have been busted, but at least these women seemed inclined to be allies. “Thanks. I’m sure you’ve seen some of
One would think that having grown up visiting and working at some of the finest resorts in the world, PrivateParty
Julie would be immune to the sight. Nevertheless, she let out a low whistle of admiration at her first view of Chris’s domain.
It looked exactly like the brochure, and yet the brochure couldn’t possibly convey the scent of the sea, the warmth of the sun, the soothing rhythm of waves gently lapping on the shore. A huge pale pink stucco main building sat perched on a hill above the beach. Bungalows ranging in size from small cottages to near-mansions nestled among the palms. The sugar sand beach stretched for hundreds of yards, and guests occupied lounge chairs and umbrellas set up to provide everyone with more than enough space and privacy. Julie knew that there were several smaller, more secluded beaches around the island, including the one that was right in front of the bungalow Wendy had reserved. She couldn’t wait for her first swim in the warm, crystal clear sea.
She didn’t see Chris until they were almost to the dock. Several yachts were moored nearby. Some must have belonged to guests, but most, she had learned from the brochure, belonged to the resort and were available for guests to reserve for private excursions.
“Chris, you have really outdone yourself,” she said under her breath as the ferry pulled up to the dock.
He was there, waiting to meet the new arrivals, like a modern day Mr. Roarke from Fantasy Island . But instead of a white suit, Chris was the epitome of island casual. A loose blue-and-white tropical print shirt hung from his broad shoulders, untucked from the waistband of his wheat-colored shorts. His large, tanned feet sported flip-flops, and his eyes were hidden behind a pair of mirrored Oakleys.
Not to mention he was sexier than Mr. Roarke had ever been. His coffee colored hair was streaked through with auburn from the Caribbean sun, his body was tanned and hard. He exuded a masculine charisma that went beyond mere good looks.
And Julie already had firsthand knowledge that he could make all her fantasies come true.
“Oh my God,” exclaimed a tall blonde to her group of three female friends. “Is that the owner? He’s so hot.”
Apparently she wasn’t alone in her thoughts.
“Yes, that’s Chris Dennison. He built this place from the ground up.” Julie winced at her tone. She sounded like a proud parent.
“I heard that he came here with a few friends and returned home with a business plan,” said the blonde with a friendly smile. “But with his connections his success isn’t all that surprising.”
“This place has no connection to D&D Resorts, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Julie said. “He did all this on his own, no help or influence from his father.” PrivateParty
“You sound like you know him pretty well,” the blonde said. Now her three friends were looking at Julie as the group moved toward the front of the ferry.
Oh great, way to keep a low profile. “Our families know each other,” she said, hoping they wouldn’t press for details.
The blonde’s eyes grew round. “Wait, I know who you are! You’re Julie Driscoll! I’m Amy, by the way.” The blonde offered her hand. “I read about you in the— the Chronicle . Your wedding, I mean. I saw the write-up in the Chronicle .”
Julie appreciated the attempt at tact, but she was pretty sure Amy recognized her from a much less reputable publication than the San Francisco paper. “You’re from San Francisco?”
“Napa, actually. My father owns a winery.” She named a vineyard that Julie was familiar with. “I just want to say, I so admire you. Brian Dennison is a total male slut, and he deserved a lot worse than cake in his face.”
Her friends nodded and murmured in agreement.
Julie’s smile brightened. She may have been busted, but at least these women seemed inclined to be allies. “Thanks. I’m sure you’ve seen some of
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