‘We are almost there,’ the Italian driver announced in English, turning off the main road and driving into the port proper. There were dozens of ships lined up on the water, stacked up side-by-side like huge floating hotels. As we drove on the boats began to get smaller, sleeker, and sexier. I felt my spine stiffen as I pressed my nose against the car window. These were the kind of boats you saw in the newspapers, setting the scene for paparazzi shots of supermodels and billionaires, and usually accompanied by articles full of words like ‘cavorting’ and ‘carousing’. That or they belonged to the bad guy in a movie. The good guy never had a yacht, it was always the villain. A red flag flashed briefly in front of my eyes. That’s because nothing good happens at sea, a little voice whispered in my ear. Jaws, bad. Titanic, bad. The remake of Overboard, terrible. Even all the stressful stuff in The Little Mermaid happened at sea. If Ariel had stayed away from ships, she wouldn’t have ended up a child bride who never got to see her father or sisters again, and Prince Eric wouldn’t have had to sneak out while his sixteen-year-old wife was asleep and eat fish and chips under cover of darkness. I assumed.

Despite my reservations, when we pulled to a stop and the passenger door of the car opened from the outside, I clambered out of the car instead of hiding behind the front seat, and looked up into the face of the most beautiful man I had ever seen in my entire life.

‘Miss Cooper?’

He held out a hand and I froze, forgetting my manners, my name, and how to breathe. It was absurd how handsome he was. Offensive, even. He was a Ken doll come to life, all hazel eyes, tanned skin and an extremely obvious bulge in the front of his very tight white trousers. Just before I began to turn blue, I remembered to breathe in and raised my hand to meet his, swooning at his firm grip and the warmth of his skin, hard-earned callouses rubbing against the tender tips of my fingers. He was a good few inches taller than my five foot four, and the highlights in his sandy brown hair simply screamed piña coladas and getting caught in the rain.

‘I’m Lenny.’ He spoke with a faint Australian accent, still shaking my hand slowly. His jaw was so square, I could have used it as a bottle opener. ‘I’ll be your chief steward.’

‘Hello,’ I stuttered as I released his hand, perfectly happy for him to be whatever he wanted to be. ‘Please call me Fran.’

‘Fran.’