The Accidental Honeymoon. Portia MacIntoshЧитать онлайн книгу.

      It doesn’t matter how long I’ve been at it, it never truly sinks in that I get to write books. To finish them, to see them published and the fact that people actually read them still blows my mind. I don’t think the shine will ever wear off – I wouldn’t ever want it to.

      None of this would be possible without the hard work, help and support of the people around me.

      Thanks, as always, to my editor, Charlotte, for her continuing hard work and support. Without her guidance and the seemingly endless work of everyone at HQ, you wouldn’t be reading this now.

      A massive thank you to everyone who reads and reviews my books. To have the support of so many wonderful readers and reviewers blows me away. An extra special shout-out to my wonderful friend Helena for all her help and to the beautiful Blossom Twins for going above and beyond with their support – grazie mille.

      Thank you to my parents for all of their love and support. If it weren’t for my wonderful, beautiful, supportive mum, I wouldn’t be writing. Thank you for always believing in me. They say you can’t choose your family, but I couldn’t have asked for two more incredible brothers. They’re not just my siblings, they’re my best friends. Without them, I’m not sure I’d be the person I am today – I owe them so much that I’ll never be able to repay them for. A huge shout-out also has to go to my beautiful granny and my wonderful doggos. I love you all so much.

      Last but not least, thank you to my other half. I’ll never know what I could have possibly done to deserve him, but I do know how lucky I am to have him. Sometimes I have to pinch myself because there’s this incredible, gorgeous man, and he’s always around, always looking out for me, making my life better every day. He’s my world, my best friend and the love of my life.

Chapter One

      ‘What have you got in here, a body?’ the hotel porter asks as he places my suitcase on the floor.

      ‘Ha, ha, ha,’ I laugh politely, but the worried look on his face suggests he would actually like an explanation.

      ‘I did a bit of last-minute holiday shopping on my way here,’ I tell him. Well, what I actually did was buy myself the best part of a whole new wardrobe. In an inexplicable moment of madness I bought everything I could get my hands on that was distinctly ‘not me’. I left home for my trip without the suitcase I’d already packed with my usual, demure, conservative clothing. Instead, I bought a new one and overstuffed it with short, low, brightly coloured, cheaply made alternatives.

      ‘Good for you,’ he replies. ‘I thought maybe your fiancé was in there.’

      ‘Ha, ha, ha,’ I laugh again, this time a little more genuinely as I fantasise about John being stuffed in a suitcase.

      ‘So, let me show you around the room.’

      I glance around my corner suite at the Black Diamond Hotel. It’s still daylight, but even so, the view is amazing. The first thing I do is head towards the window to take it all in.

      ‘First time in Vegas?’ the porter asks.

      I nod my head.

      ‘I figured so when I heard your accent. Well, you’re in for a treat when it gets dark. This is one of our best rooms for admiring the view. This over here is your bathroom.’

      The porter gestures towards a door. I pop my head inside. Both the floor and wall tiles are black, flecked with colourful sparkles that twinkle the second he flicks the light on. There’s a huge rainfall shower and an even bigger bath. Even the toilet is fancy with its silver mosaic finish, resembling a disco ball.

      ‘It’s very nice,’ I tell him.

      ‘And back in the bedroom, the mini bar and safe are down here.’ He gestures to a cupboard. ‘And the TV is inside this cabinet.’

      ‘Awesome,’ I reply, struggling to hide my indifference.

      ‘And here is your bed, obviously. It’s a super king, with Egyptian cotton sheets. The rose petals were a request by your fiancé – you’re a very lucky lady.’

      I smile as I reach for my purse to tip the porter.

      ‘Thank you for all your help,’ I tell him, handing him some money.

      The porter takes it and thanks me, but he doesn’t leave the room. Instead, he hovers in the doorway.

      ‘Is everything OK with your room, Miss… er…?’ he asks.

      ‘Georgie,’ I reply. ‘And it’s great. Thank you.’

      Still, the porter lingers.

      ‘It’s just… you don’t seem very happy with it,’ he persists.

      ‘Honestly, the room is perfect.’

      He furrows his brow, unconvinced.

      ‘Well, OK then.’

      ‘OK then,’ I echo.

      I force a smile, holding it only as long as it takes the porter to close the door behind him. Finally alone, I crouch down on the floor next to the inviting-looking bed and start picking up the pink and red rose petals that have been scattered around the room. I place the ones from the floor on top of the bed before scooping them all up together. I glance around for a wastepaper bin, but it turns out that’s the only thing this room doesn’t seem to have. There isn’t a bin in the fancy bathroom either. I just need these rose petals out of here. The sparkly toilet literally catches my eye, so I dump the petals inside and flush. I’m walking out of the bathroom when the sound of the toilet spluttering catches my ear. I glance back at it and realise I’ve blocked it, the water having risen all the way to the top. Brilliant, wonderful, marvellous. Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse.

      I massage my temples for a moment, wracking my brains for a solution. I am a strong, independent woman who doesn’t need a man. Glancing into the toilet, full to the seat with water, completely out of my depth, I realise I might not need a man, but I definitely need a plumber, and it could well be a bloke. First, though, I need a drink.

      Seeing as I’ll be spending the entire evening in here alone, I may as well pillage the mini bar. I grab all of the tiny bottles of booze and line them up on the desk in front of me.

      I tap a finger on the bottles one at a time, trying to figure out which one to have first. I land on a miniature bottle of gin, remove the lid and toss the contents down the hatch. ‘Argh!’ I say out loud. I’m not usually one for drinking spirits neat.

      I cast an eye over the snacks in the mini bar, umming and aahing over whether to eat the honey-roasted nuts, the vegetables chips or one of the many bars of chocolate. I shrug my shoulders, grab them all and dump them down on the bed, but as I go back for the tiny bottles of booze, I notice something else in the mini bar. I take the can from the inside door and examine it. It’s some energy drink-looking thing called Ecstasy. I hate energy drinks,