Title: A TROPICAL HOLIDAY DUET
Author: Elle Wright & Misty Urban
Genre: Contemporary romance
Book Blurb:
Going to the tropics is the best way to spend the holidays, especially when romance helps heat things up.
In “Deep Dive,” Saba Sweet has escaped to the Seychelles to help relaunch a luxury resort. It’s the perfect place to hide after the humiliation of being rejected by world-class diver Anton Olivier—until Anton strolls into Makarios with his dive bag and crew, ready to film the island’s spectacular underwater preserve. Saba would stay as clear as she could, except her manager keeps throwing them together. She can’t deny the smolder between them, but what if it’s just Christmas making everyone more jolly? How can she trust that what’s happening on this island paradise could be real?
Excerpt from “Deep Dive” by Misty Urban
I never wanted to see Anton Olivier again.
So naturally, he showed up at my hotel. Right before Christmas. Strolling into the big, open-air reception space of the resort as if he owned the place and expected people to prostrate themselves before him like some island deity. Which was what he looked like.
My pulse catapulted into high gear. “They’re not supposed to be here.” I pulled my assistant, Nic, behind the curved hospitality desk as the band of big, luggage-toting men strutted across the lanai. “We’re closed. Who let them in?”
December in the Seychelles meant a balmy eighty degrees every day, so most of the crew wore thin T-shirts or no shirts with their baggy shorts and sandals. Muscles in every shade of brown bulged with the weight of scuba gear and sturdy duffels. They laughed, joked, and clattered into my serene, carefully designed space like typical noisy men, but my gaze homed like a pigeon onto the one in front.
The one with the sunglasses shading eyes I knew were a knock-you-down, steal-your-breath steel blue. The one with sweat glistening on his bare chest, dusted with black hair that defined the lean muscles built by long hours in the water.
He’d shaved the beard he’d worn in France, and the dark stubble sculpted his jaw and cheekbones into sensual art. I swore I could smell him coming, that mix of salt and musk and man that was signature Anton Olivier. So was the confident walk, shoulders thrown back, biceps flexing as he swung his dive bag off his shoulder and set it on the freshly laid reclaimed wood floor.
I knew, as did his crew, no one but Anton Olivier touched his dive bag.
But women touched Anton Olivier all the time.
He was bait, and he was waiting for me to bite.
So said the cocky smile he slanted at me as he sauntered up to my desk. That smile made women all over the world tune in to his show, ready to follow him on an underwater adventure with a side of erotic fantasy.
Not me. I’d been fooled once.
At the last minute, my guardian angel had saved me from catching myself on that line. So instead of being one of the long string of women he nibbled on and set aside, I was churned-up chum in the wake of Hurricane Anton. One of those thrown back for whom the erotic stayed a fantasy.
I’d extracted myself as quickly as I could, ditching France for the Seychelles at the first opportunity. Hiding out on a tropical paradise outside the cyclone belt, where I’d be safe.
Yet, here came Hurricane Anton whirling into my hotel, sexy, tanned, on a new adventure, broadcasting that devastating smile every one of his million viewers felt was only for them.
“Bonzour.” Nic waved and greeted them in Kreol, the local language I was still learning. “Welcome to Makarios.”
“Which is currently not open.” I glared at Anton, determined not to notice how even the environment conspired to showcase his beauty: the island breeze ruffled his thick hair, and the apricot midmorning light bronzed his muscled skin. He looked like a god risen from the sea, and I knew damn well the gods played games with humans.
“Saba Sweet,” he said in that delicious accent, French flavored with Morocco. He remembered my name. “La belle Saba.”
“Still not open.” I looked pointedly at his bag. “Who sent you here?”
“Bernard.”
I held back a groan. My manager. “No, no, no.”
He flashed those white teeth, one charmingly crooked. “Yes, yes, yes.”
The chant was too close to what I imagined his women called out in the midst of the one night they were allotted. I scowled at him as I grabbed my phone and checked the signal. Not great, but not absent, which could sometimes happen on Mahé. I tapped out a text.
“So,” Anton said. “Saba. You’re running this place now?” He drummed his palms on my desk, tapping to a rhythm in his head.
The man lived to music, either humming, joining his deep voice in harmony with a song, or swinging along to his own relaxed beat. Many times, I’d walked down to the beach in Hyères to find Anton, up to his knees in cobalt blue water, holding some fantastic sea animal for the camera close-up.
I’d seen those long, brown fingers wrapped around a tall cool glass in the shade of a cabana, and once around the neck of a sweating beer when I’d ventured out to a local club with the guys.
More than once, I’d seen those well-shaped, clever hands brush the shoulder or back of a woman who looked like she’d recently stepped away from a Saint Laurent photo shoot. A woman who appeared once or twice at dinner, came to watch an hour or so of shooting, then drifted away with the tide, making way for the next day’s catch.
I looked away from his criminally beautiful face, and out of habit, scanned the empty lanai for anything out of place. A few of Anton’s team had settled into the bamboo and palm fiber furniture, trading banter. I didn’t have the heart to tell them to get up. My design was working just as I’d planned it to, inviting guests to linger, creating spaces for people to connect.
“I’m overseeing the reopening of Makarios,” I told Anton. “Bernard made some major renovations when he bought the place. He hopes to relaunch shortly after Christmas, and I’m here to make that happen.”
After embarrassing myself in France, I’d taken the most distant location I could find. A remote island country in the Indian Ocean, a thousand miles from anywhere, sounded like exactly the place I could hide until my wounded pride recovered.
Yet here stood the man I’d been trying to escape. The universe certainly had a sense of humor.
Buy Links (including Goodreads and BookBub):
From the Publisher: https://boroughspublishinggroup.com/books/tropical-holiday-duet
Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-tropical-holiday-duet-misty-urban/1144389065?ean=9781957295640
What I love most about the holiday season:
I love how the holidays make everything feel a little warmer, a little more bright. It’s a chance to reconnect with people outside of the daily rush; we slow down, talk to each other, enjoy good food. I love the smells of delicious dinners and treats, and I love the quiet, soulful twinkle of lights. They remind me to pause and appreciate the beauty of the everyday, not just in special seasons.
Why is your featured book a must-read to get you in the holiday mood?
Since it’s July and summer, at least in the Northern Hemisphere, why not enjoy a holiday season on the beach? What could be more fun than enjoying a little Christmas spirit with sand, water, sunshine, and the sway of wind in the tropical palm trees.
Giveaway –
One lucky reader will win a $100 Amazon gift card.
Open internationally.
Runs July 1 – 31, 2024
Drawing will be held on August 1, 2024.
Author Biography:
Misty Urban fell in love with stories at an early age and has spent her life among books as a teacher, scholar, editor, writer, and bookseller. Her favorite stories take you new places, teach you new things, and end with a win. She especially likes romances about unconventional heroines who defy the odds and the unexpected heroes who woo them, so that’s mostly what she writes. When she puts down the book she likes to take long walks, drag her family to new places, or hang out around water, dreaming up new stories.
Social Media Links:
Author website: https://mistyurban.com/
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Linktree: https://linktr.ee/mistyurban
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