The Captain and the Best Man
When Josh meets handsome airline pilot Captain Guy
Collingwood on a sun-kissed island, he finds out what flying first class really
means!
When Josh leaves the rainy shores of England for the
sun-drenched tropical island of St Sebastian, his biggest worry is remembering
his best man’s speech. But a chance meeting with dashing airline pilot Captain
Guy Collingwood leads to a hot and raunchy holiday romance.
Guy’s everything Josh is looking for in his ideal man.
Mature, dashing and confident, he’s also single and more than happy to show
Josh the pleasure of St Sebastian. Yet Guy’s unruffled demeanor hides a past
regret. Is the wedding of Josh’s best friend about to reopen a painful chapter
that has never fully closed?
As a fearsome tropical storm threatens the island paradise
and a broken family threatens Josh and Guy’s happiness, the stakes have never
been higher. Can St Sebastian work its magic to heal past wounds and will Josh
and Guy’s holiday fling take flight?
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/48424754-the-captain-and-the-best-man?from_search=true
Amazon: mybook.to/captainbestman
Author Bios
Catherine Curzon is a royal historian who writes
on all matters of 18th century. Her work has been featured on many
platforms and Catherine has also spoken at venues including the Royal
Pavilion, Kenwood House, and Godmersham Park. She is also the playwright behind
Being Mr Wickham.
Catherine holds a Master’s degree in Film and when not
dodging the furies of the guillotine, can be found in Yorkshire atop a
ludicrously steep hill.
Eleanor Harkstead likes to dash about in
nineteenth-century costume, in bonnet or cravat as the mood takes her. She can
occasionally be found wandering old graveyards. Eleanor is very fond of
chocolate, wine, tweed waistcoats and nice pens. Her large collection of
vintage hats would rival Hedda Hopper's.
Originally from the south-east of England, Eleanor now lives somewhere in the Midlands with a large ginger cat who resembles a Viking.
Originally from the south-east of England, Eleanor now lives somewhere in the Midlands with a large ginger cat who resembles a Viking.
Visit them at https://www.curzonharkstead.co.uk
Extract
The farthest Josh had ever traveled before was Magaluf. He
glanced at his boarding pass again as he headed to the departure lounge, still
not quite believing what it said.
Pointe-à-Pitre, Guadeloupe.
Nine hours on a plane.
At least I can have a nap.
Josh trundled his cabin bag through Duty Free and left with
aftershave and sunglasses that he wasn’t sure he needed. Then he found a café,
the perfect place to camp out with a book and kill time before the flight.
Half-asleep, Josh clambered over other people’s luggage to join the queue.
Nine hours in steerage.
The cafe’s prices seemed only slightly more reasonable than
the eye-watering first-class ticket that Josh couldn’t afford, but he could
treat himself at least. An array of elaborate, decadent pastries filled the
glass-fronted cabinet, tempting any travelers who were about to submit to
airline food, and Josh was happy to surrender to their charms. It was a nice
way to start the holiday, after all.
Where are all these people going? he wondered
idly as he waited to be served. Screaming babies, excited gaggles of students
with packs on their backs, stressed-looking business types and children zooming
around making plane noises, all of them ready to escape the autumn drizzle.
Josh ordered a latte, then selected a cinnamon bun from the
pastries on offer. It was the last one, a complicated twist of pastry zigzagged
with icing and dark with cinnamon. He’d never seen a bun like it.
“If that’s really the last bun, you’d
better hope you’re not on my flight,” a plummy voice announced
from behind Josh. “Or I’ll make it a bumpy landing.”
“It’s the last one,” the young woman who was serving Josh
said with a comical pout, a red flush creeping over her throat. “Sorry, Cap!”
Cap?
When Josh turned to face the man behind him, his fringe
swished into his eyes. He brushed it away with the back of his hand as he
looked up.
Bloody hell.
There behind him in the queue was a pilot clad in the sort
of immaculate uniform he could only have dreamed of—every button shiny, every
seam straight, his hat at a perfect angle on his head. But Josh barely noticed
because his gaze was drawn to the pilot’s handsome, chiseled face.
“I…erm…sorry! I don’t mind having an almond croissant
instead, if you’ve got your heart set on a cinnamon bun.”
“Well it is my birthday,” the pilot told
him, his expression somber. Then he blinked his blue eyes and smiled. “But I’m
a nice fellow, so take it. It’s my treat.” He looked to the woman behind the
counter, who was beaming at him, Josh entirely forgotten in the wake of the
Cap. “Throw me something nice with pistachios into a bag and a huge cup
of tea, please! I’m paying for His Cinnamon Munching Majesty here, too. And
something for you as well, of course! Happy birthday to me, eh?”
Josh smiled. A stranger—a pilot, no less—was footing
his bill. “You really don’t have to!”
The bright lights of the café picked out discreet flecks of
silver in the pilot’s hair and Josh couldn’t look away. The man was so
effortlessly confident and self-assured. Radiant. And at this time
of the morning, too. “But…if you insist. And—happy birthday, by the way.”
“Thirty again.” The pilot grinned. “I’ve been thirty for
about nineteen years now, but don’t tell anyone.”
“Do you keep a portrait in your attic or something? You’re
never—” Forty-nine? Josh stopped himself before he announced
the man’s age across the café. “I’m thirty next year,” Josh volunteered, though
he had no idea why.
“Happy early thirtieth.” He chuckled, handing a note to the
woman. “Take my advice and always claim to be thirty next birthday. It’s a good
age to be, even for nineteen years.”
Josh chuckled. “And what if I claim to be twenty-nine again
next year? Then I’ll always be a year younger than you!”
Always? Josh glanced away. You don’t say
always to the man stood behind you in the queue, who’s about to fly off to God
knows where. Josh looked instead at the bottles of syrup along the
shelf and caught the pilot’s reflection in the mirrored wall behind.
What a smile.
“It’s a deal,” was the reply. “Maturity is vastly overrated,
after all.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Josh turned back to the pilot
with a grin. Why not? If he was straight, the bloke wouldn’t
notice he was flirting. “Maturity can be very nice indeed.”
He heard the tinkle of coins as the pilot dropped his change
into the tip cup. “Well, this birthday’s getting better. No cinnamon bun this
morning, but you’ve more than made up for it.”
They stood at the end of the counter, waiting for their
drinks.
“Is it your favorite?” Josh asked. “I honestly don’t mind
relinquishing it. Seeing as it’s your birthday. That bun does look amazing, but
so do all the others.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it!” The pilot nodded toward a brightly
decorated paper bag on the counter. “Whatever’s in there will be just as tasty.
Besides, I can always have something special when you and I go out to dinner.
If you’d let an old reprobate like me take you to dinner, that is?”
Stunned, Josh rubbed his tired eyes and blinked. “I’m not
imagining things, am I? You did just invite me to dinner?”
“Don’t tell me you’re flying out of Blighty for good?” The
pilot’s grin grew more mischievous. “I’m off on a bit of a jolly once I clock
off but I’m safely back on British shores in a fortnight. What do you say?”
“I’d say very definitely yes. I’m going to my
friend’s wedding, but I’ll be back in a week. So…once you’ve returned from your
jolly, let’s meet.” Josh’s face began to ache from smiling. He added, “I’m
Josh, by the way.”
“Guy,” he replied. Guy. How well the name suited
him. Guy the pilot. Guy with the immaculate uniform and blue eyes.
Happy birthday to Guy. “Hello, Josh!”
Not knowing what else to do, Josh held out his hand to
shake. “Hello, Guy.”
Gorgeous Guy.
Who was about to hop into the cockpit and fly off who knew
where.
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