One Night with a Diver

Read the first pages

From Chapter 1

A gorgeous stranger sits down at Mariella's table at the campground restaurant.

“What’s good here?” He wrapped thick, long fingers around the handle of the mug and lifted it to his mouth.

My gaze followed, transfixed by the size of his hands. Guys with giant hands usually had giant… ugh… I needed to get a grip. Heat marched up my cheeks and simmered in my belly.

“Oh, um, everything’s good. The omelets are delicious. If you’ve got more of a sweet tooth, you can’t go wrong with the cinnamon roll French toast.” He didn’t look like he indulged in sweets too often based on the way the tight t-shirt clung to his pecs.

“What do you like best?” His eyes sparkled over the rim of his mug.

My mouth went bone dry while my mind went blank. I couldn’t think of a single word. The only thought drifting through my head was whether his full beard would feel soft or coarse against my skin. Moments passed, and I stood there completely mute. Finally, I pulled myself together enough to croak out a few words. “Lumberjack omelet. My boss says it’ll put hair on your chest.”

His brow furrowed. “Are you trying to grow hair on your chest?”

My face burst into flames. I sounded like a complete and utter idiot. “Um, no, I didn’t mean it like that.”

His mouth ticked up on one side. “Sorry, I’m just giving you a hard time. The lumberjack omelet sounds great.”

“I’ll put that order in for you. My name’s Mariella if you need anything else.” Eager to retreat as quickly as possible, I turned around and almost ran back to the kitchen. I was used to waiting on hot as hell men. What was it about this one that had me stumbling over my words and making a total fool out of myself?

By the time the cook rang the bell to let me know the guy’s omelet was ready, my cheeks had cooled. Surely I’d be able to deliver the man’s meal without shoving my foot even further down my throat. I grabbed the coffee and the tray holding his breakfast, intending to limit my communication with him to a bare minimum.

As I approached his table, I caught a glimpse of his computer. Colorful underwater images filled the screen. I stopped and stared while he flipped from one picture to the next.

“Oh, hey, let me move my stuff.” He slid the laptop over to make room for his plate. “I was just trying to get some work done while I waited.”

“What kind of work do you do?” Seeing images of the creatures living under the sea filled me with a deep longing for the life I’d left behind.

He unwrapped his silverware from the paper napkin and cut into his omelet with the side of his fork. “I’m an underwater photographer.”

Find out what happens next tonight.