Romy Sommer - The Trouble with Mojitos

She ignored the deep-throated chuckle down the other end of the bar as the barman removed her glass to re-fill it.

The second drink followed the first a little more slowly, and this time she took a moment to savour the alcohol-drenched mint leaves. Now she felt better.

But she was still screwed.

Neil had known it when he sent her out here. He’d known she’d be stonewalled, he knew he’d set her an impossible task, and still he’d sent her. He’d expected her to fail. Perhaps even wanted her to fail.

There were days when her past seemed very far behind her. And then there were days like today, when it seemed she’d never escape the follies of her youth.

“Sod him!”

“That’s the spirit.” The stranger at the other end of the bar slid from his bar stool, out of the shadows and into the yellow lamplight.

In another time and place he might have looked gorgeous, but in low-slung jeans that had seen better days, black long-sleeved tee, with hair in drastic need of a cut, several days’ worth of beard, and darkly glittering eyes, he was devastating.

Pirate devastating. Bad boy devastating.

Kenzie swallowed. Double great.

This was supposed to be a family resort, for heaven’s sake. Instead, the beach bar was as good as deserted, and she was alone with two strange men. Would the bartender leap to her defence if this latter day marauder made a move on her?

She doubted it. He’d probably stand back and laugh at the silly gringo girl, like everyone else she’d met over the last three days.

Though she tried hard not to notice, she was ultra-aware when the stranger came to stand beside her, leaning up against the bar close enough to touch. He didn’t smell much like a barfly. In fact, he smelled damned fine, exuding raw, primal masculinity. She turned to face him, trying hard not to breathe him in.

“What do you want?” she challenged, setting her hands on her hips.

“Nothing. I just don’t think it’s healthy to drink alone.”

“Oh really? And what exactly were you doing before I got here?”

His mouth quirked, on the edge of a not-quite smile. “I came here so I wouldn’t have to drink alone.”

He seriously needed a better pick-up line. “Good luck finding someone else to drink with, then. I don’t need company.”

“Are you always this friendly?”

He was smirking, damn him!

She was usually much friendlier. But since she’d sworn off bad boys for good, she didn’t need this one in her face, oozing smarminess and temptation. And especially on a day like this when she’d been forcibly reminded how hanging out with the wrong sort could destroy a girl’s reputation.

There was even a moment this afternoon she’d contemplated changing her name and starting fresh somewhere else. Perhaps across the Atlantic, because England just seemed to be getting smaller with every passing year.

She turned back to the bartender. “Where is everyone, anyway? I thought this resort was near capacity.”

Again it wasn’t the bartender who answered. “It’s karaoke night in the main hotel bar.” Which would explain the blaring 80s music she’d heard on her way past reception.

“You don’t want to join them?” She barely caught the mockery beneath her drinking companion’s words.

She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not really into karaoke, thanks.”

“So you’re here to get drunk then. Join the club.” He raised his glass to her. Rum and cola. A pirate’s drink. How unimaginative.

“I never get drunk. I just had a tough day.”

“What was so tough about it – too much snorkelling, sailing and lying on the beach?” This time the mocking tone was impossible to miss.

She straightened her shoulders. “I’m here to work, not play.”

“Pity.” He glanced down over her attire, taking in the crumpled white tee, khaki cargo pants and dusty hiking boots. “You don’t look dressed for work. What is it you do?”

“I’m a location scout for a film company that wants to shoot a feature here on the island.” Or rather a film company that wanted to shoot somewhere in the Caribbean. There were other scouts out on other islands. She’d only been thrown this job as a bone to her best friend, who’d practically begged for Kenzie to be given a chance.

The pirate’s gaze swept over her again with the same sardonic look she’d got from the harbour master, the clerk at the mayor’s office, and that officious jerk at Environmental Services. “A film shoot. Sounds like fun.”

Except he didn’t sound at all thrilled. He sounded bored. The same way she was starting to feel. Just three days ago, she’d been so psyched for this job that she’d practically bounced off the plane. Warm sun, wide blue sky, palm trees, and the chance to finally prove her worth – what wasn’t there to like about Los Pajaros?

A lot it seemed.

She really needed to recapture her enthusiasm. Perhaps if she were more passionate, she’d be able to convince someone…anyone…to give this film a shot. To give her a shot.

She injected as much excitement into her voice as she could muster. “It’s kind of Pirates of the Caribbean meets Lost . With a bit of comedy thrown in.”

Not that she’d read the script, of course. That was classified. All she’d needed to know was the list of locations the director wanted and how much the producer was willing to pay for them. Easy, right?

It should have been. She’d fixed locations for dozens of shoots, usually the kind that had nothing more than goodwill to pay with. Now she had a big studio movie, a Hollywood director to impress and a budget to die for, and she couldn’t get a foot in the door. What was wrong with this place?

The pirate’s blistering, dark gaze raked over her. “So what does a location scout do?”

“Mostly I take pictures and send them back to the director. If he likes what he sees, then I negotiate permission for the crew to film there.”

“Does your director like what he’s seen so far?”

And that was where her problems began. She hadn’t sent a thing yet. Not anything the director could use, anyway. She had no doubt the scouts who’d been sent to the Virgin Islands and Bahamas were doing way better.

“I hired a charter boat, but the skipper only took me to all the usual tourist spots, and they’re completely useless for our needs. Either too small, or too rocky, or too busy. I’m looking for a bay big enough to hold a pirate ship, and a long stretch of white beach with no sign of human habitation – and preferably a handy bit of tropical forest that isn’t too dense for us to shoot in.”

She rubbed the back of her neck. “According to Google Earth, there are a few uninhabited islands not far from Los Pajaros, but the skipper refused to take me to any of them without a permit. The clerk at the harbour master’s refused to give me the permit without a letter from the Environmental Services office, who refused to give me a letter without the governor’s permission.”

“The governor’s role is purely titular. He wouldn’t be much help.”

“I gathered. His office sent me to the mayor and he’s almost impossible to get in to see. I waited for the entire afternoon. Do you know the mayor’s waiting room doesn’t even have air conditioning! How can the mayor’s office not have air conditioning?”

“Depends which waiting room you’re in.” Her pirate smiled for the first time, but there was still a twist of mockery in the way his mouth curved. “There are two, and only one gets you an audience.”

She’d suspected that officious secretary wanted to get rid of her. Even the women of Los Pajaros had it in for her. She recognised the run around when she saw it, but she wasn’t going to be so easy to get rid of.