Off the Charts Read online

  Off the Charts

  A Serendipity Adventure Romance

  by

  Anna Lowe

  The Prequel

  Off the Charts

  Copyright 2016 by Anna Lowe

  [email protected]

  Editing by Lisa A. Hollett

  Cover art by Fiona Jayde Media

  www.FionaJaydeMedia.com

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in articles or reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons is purely coincidental.

  Other books in this series

  Serendipity Adventure Romance

  Off the Charts

  Uncharted

  Entangled

  Windswept

  Adrift

  visit www.annalowebooks.com

  Contents

  Other books in this series

  Off the Charts

  A note from the author

  On location in Belize

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Endnote

  Thank you

  Sneak Peek: Uncharted

  Sneak Peek II

  Sneak Peek III

  Books by Anna Lowe

  AnnaLoweBooks.com

  Off the Charts

  All Julie Steffens wants is a quiet couple of days on a Caribbean beach. Just her, a good book, and the balmy sea breeze. But the minute she meets Seth Cooper, sparks start to fly, and she’s tempted into the one type of adventure she’s never tried. The only question is, will one night be enough?

  This red-hot prequel to Uncharted is heavy on romance and the best kind of action — the kind between the sheets.

  A note from the author

  A balmy tropical night, a whispering sea breeze. Two strangers meeting for the first time, setting off heated sparks. That’s Off the Charts: the story of two people brought together in one serendipitous moment. Two people who wouldn’t normally be tempted by a one-night stand until something clicked and set off a night to remember.

  This is the story of that click. No more, no less. I’m sure you’ll enjoy this glimpse into the red-hot night that started everything for Seth and Julie: the adventures, the misadventures, and the passion of an enduring relationship that needs a little time (and luck) to reach happily ever after. All of the latter can be found in Uncharted, Book 1 of the Serendipity Adventure Romance series.

  Just a warning: Off the Charts doesn’t end on a cliffhanger, but Seth and Julie’s story isn’t over when you reach the last page of this book. It will have only just begun!

  On location in Belize

  Where exactly is Belize? A sailor like Seth might tell you to head south from Mexico, hugging the coast. Just don’t hug it too closely, because Belize’s Caribbean coast is lined with treacherous reefs and sandy cays. It’s the perfect place for an archaeologist like Julie to take a break from excavating in the jungle and plan a few birthday adventures. And as things turn out, Belize gives her a birthday to remember…

  Chapter One

  Julie strode along the beach, letting her sandals dangle from one finger. The sand was so clean, it squeaked under her feet, and the wave whispering up the shore tickled her toes. Overhead, the sky was shot through with bolts of red, orange, and yellow as the sun set somewhere over the jungle.

  She took a deep breath and let her whole soul sigh with the pleasure of it. The perfect way to celebrate her twenty-eighth birthday — in a quiet beach town along the Caribbean coast of Belize, with a whole week of vacation.

  Alone.

  She shoved that party-pooper thought out of her mind and focused on the rest: the balmy temperature, the swaying palms, the indigo night sky. The stars winked as if they had a party all planned out and were just waiting for the right moment to jump out and yell, Surprise!

  No matter what, it was going to be a birthday to remember. She’d splurged for a beachside bungalow on the edge of the two-road town of Santa Marta, and now she was headed to dinner in a halfway decent restaurant. A birthday to remember, for sure.

  The Caribbean was quiet, the sailboats at anchor in the bay aslumber. Most of them looked like they came off the same cookie-cutter production line — all but that rugged one over by the edge of the reef. The one with the dark hull and a long spar sticking out the front.

  Nice life that would be, sailing from tropical port to port. Not that she had it so bad. Getting halfway through six months’ research in Central America was nothing to sneer at, especially when it was funded by a generous grant. A couple more months and she’d be ready to tackle her master’s thesis and then spring into the next adventure. Maybe in South America. Or maybe she could head back to Turkey or Greece…

  She shook her head a little. Getting ahead of herself as always. Right now she was on vacation, damn it, and she’d enjoy it. A cool drink, a beautiful night, the chance to spoil herself.

  “Goooooooaaaallllll!”

  A cry went out as she passed a beach bar, and the crowd inside went wild. Belize hadn’t qualified for the World Cup, but a goal against Mexico in a friendly match was still cause for celebration in this soccer-crazy nation. It would have been fun to watch, but squeezing into that bar along with three-quarters of the town’s male population didn’t seem like a good idea. Not in her cutoff shorts and tank top, and not when she was alone.

  So she bypassed the sports bar and headed for the next place down the beach. The one she’d scoped out just after rolling into town on her motorcycle a couple of hours back. She finger-combed her hair back into her usual ponytail, slipped on her sandals, and stepped inside. Classic rock played from the speakers — not too loud, not too quiet. Colorful flags hung from the rafters, and a calico cat sat in one corner, licking its paw. Just the right kind of place to kick back and let her imagination wander.

  She picked a quiet corner table, gave herself permission to order a guacamole cheeseburger — after all, it was her birthday — and opened her book, ready to slide into a different world, half the globe and two centuries away.

  Chapter Nine. It was in the longitude eighty-nine east that the frigate caught them…

  Within minutes, she was swept into a raging sea battle, with cannons thundering, captains bellowing, sails torn asunder.

  The first ranging shot plunged into the sea a hundred yards out, sending up a tall white plume, torn away by the wind. Another, closer to starboard. A pause, and now the Marengo’s side disappeared behind a cloud of white smoke—

  “Hi.”

  She looked up into eyes as blue as the summer sky. A nice enough view, but couldn’t he tell she was reading?

  “You look like you could use some company,” the guy said, smiling a perfect smile.

  Either his father was a dentist or he was blessed with perfect genes. Probably the latter, given the bronzed skin, the upward sloping eyebrows, the vee of his chin. American, judging by the accent, and about her age. A man who wouldn’t be out of place in a Chippendales’ lineup.

  A man interested in more than a little conversation.

  Well, she was not. Not with a guy who played loose and light, like this surfer dude. Three months as the sole woman on her archaeological team had given her man-fatigue. She’d had enough of their advances: the subtle, the not-so-subtle, even the crude. If only the right kind of guy would come along. Preferably, not in the middle of an epic battle scene. But that was the thing. The right kind of man — sweet, modest, interesting — would never just swagger up and introduce himself in a bar.

&
nbsp; “Hi,” she replied in a monotone.

  The guy already had a hand on the chair opposite her, ready to pull it out and make himself comfortable.

  She hooked her foot around the leg of the chair and held it back.

  “Not really looking for company,” she added, going straight back to her book.

  She could sense him standing there, probably shocked to be turned down. A guy like him probably didn’t get rejected too often, but he’d find company soon enough. Any minute now, in fact, judging by the hungry look on the face of the brunette checking him out from the bar.

  Let that woman entertain him. Julie didn’t do fast and easy. She didn’t do pickups in bars.

  “The book’s that good, huh?” he asked a little skeptically.

  She didn’t look up. “Yep.”

  “You like boats?” he went on.

  She turned on Ignore mode and kept her nose in the book.

  “Because I have—” he started, but another voice cut in, and something about the timbre of it made her look up in spite of herself. Just enough baritone to make her blood tingle, just enough tenor to sound sincere.

  “Tobin,” a second man said, pulling at Surfer Dude’s arm. “Don’t bother her.”

  “I’m not bothering her,” Tobin protested.

  “Yes, you are,” the second man said at exactly the same time Julie did.

  She blinked at the second man for a minute, and he blinked back.

  Caramel-colored eyes, like dark, deep honey. The slightest hint of shadow on his chin. A deep furrow in his brow. Deeper than it ought to be on someone close to her age. Shortish brown hair that might have been shaped by an expensive cut some time ago, but was now growing out and just starting to curl around the ears.

  He opened his mouth as if to say something then closed it again and gave himself a little shake. “Don’t mind my brother.”

  “I’m not bothering her, Seth. Just saying hi.”

  Seth. Nice guy’s name was Seth. For whatever reason, her mind insisted on making a little note.

  Seth took the first man by the shoulder. “And now you’re saying bye.”

  Tobin shrugged, gave his brother a long-suffering look, and backed away. “Enjoy the book.” He turned around, honed in on the brunette at the bar, and made a beeline her way, leaving Julie alone with the second man.

  A man who wasn’t quite as smooth or perfect, and all the more appealing as a result. When he sighed and ran a hand through his hair, it struck her that he was every bit as good-looking as his brother, only without the neon “Available” sign turned on.

  For some reason, she was finding it awfully hard to go back to her book.

  His sigh was long and heavy, and the slight stoop of his shoulders proved it was genuine.

  “Sorry about my brother.” He flashed an apologetic smile, then made to turn away. “I’ll give you your peace—” His eyes caught on something near her hands, and he did a double take.

  “What?”

  “Sorry.” He looked like a puppy at obedience school: trying hard to remember his manners, but desperate to chase down a loose ball. “Nothing. Sorry to bother you.”

  Now she was really hooked. “Come on. What?”

  His eyes lit up as he motioned toward her book. “Patrick O’Brian. HMS Surprise, right?”

  A smile escaped before she could catch it. A big, bright one. “You’ve read Patrick O’Brian?”

  His smile came out of hiding, and it seemed to light up that corner of the bar. “Yeah. My grandfather gave me the series a long time ago, but I only got around to them recently.”

  “Your grandfather has good taste.”

  His smile was bittersweet, his voice a whisper as he nodded. “He did. He really did.”

  It was like he left the room for a moment, lost in some memory. Then his eyes came back into focus and landed on the book. “That’s the one with the drunk sloth, right?”

  “I loved the sloth!” She chuckled and held up the book, showing the dog-eared pages. “I’ve got it marked, see?” She flipped to the page and read aloud. “‘Stephen looked sharply round, saw the decanter, smelt the sloth, and cried—’”

  “‘Jack, you have debauched my sloth!’” Seth filled in.

  They both folded into laughter.

  “That’s the best part.” He smiled. “That and the battle at the end.”

  “I’m just getting to that part.” She might just have read another quote aloud when the man — Seth — stepped back.

  “Well, sorry to bother you,” he said, looking serious again. The man could go from merry to boarded up in the blink of an eye.

  She liked merry better. Kind of had the urge to coax merry back out of him, in fact.

  “You’re not.” The words slipped from her lips, all on their own. “Bothering me, I mean.”

  Wait, wasn’t she supposed to be brushing men off? But her foot was no longer hooked around the opposite chair. In fact, it might have nudged it out just a little bit.

  His smile was genuine; not a hint of flirt in it at all. The kind of smile that made her happy, too. There was something about him, like a man on the cusp of…something. Some discovery, maybe, or some revelation in life. And suddenly, she was dying to find out what it was. The sea battle would wait for her in the pages of that book, but this guy…something in her wanted to jump while she had the chance.

  A chance at what, she wasn’t sure. Only that she wasn’t quite ready to let him go.

  She was so immersed in those brown eyes and the crinkles in the corners of his perfect lips that she didn’t notice the waiter come up with her hamburger and two drinks.

  “I only ordered one.”

  The waiter tilted his chin toward the bar. “He ordered the other one.”

  She looked up and spotted Seth’s brother, standing oh-so-close to the brunette, raising his beer in a silent toast.

  Seth shook his head and muttered something about pesky younger brothers.

  Julie laughed because she had one of those, too. She nodded to Seth to take the second glass.

  “A toast. To Patrick O’Brian and the HMS Surprise.”

  His face lit up, and he clinked his beer against hers. “To sailors. And the sea.”

  Before she had a chance to think about it, her foot slid the chair nearest him the rest of the way out, and she let a couple of words slip.

  “Care to join me?”

  Chapter Two

  Seth had to bite his lip just looking at her.

  Cute. Capable. Comfortable in her own skin. The kind of woman you could picture jumping off a horse or whizzing past by on a mountain bike. With sea-green eyes as alive and bright as the reefs off the thorny coast of Belize. Brighter, even.

  A minute ago, she’d been Arctic ice; now she was extending a hand that clasped his in a firm shake.

  “Julie,” she said.

  “Seth,” he said and sat down.

  A palm frond swept over the thatched roof, making a whispering sound. Like the waves, quietly lapping at the shore. Shhh. A wave rolled gently forward. Shmm. It rolled back into the sea. Back and forth, back and forth, like the beating of a heart. Except his pulse had skipped into a higher gear. Maybe she was a sailor. Maybe she was headed his way…

  “Have you read all of them?” she asked.

  It took him a second to figure out what she meant. The Patrick O’Brian series.

  “I’m on the sixth one, The Fortune of War.”

  “Got a favorite?”

  He nodded toward the volume in her hand. “That one, and the first one.”

  “I loved the first one, and the second one, and now this one…” She chuckled. “They’re all good.”

  She was tanned and freckled, her sandy brown hair going gold from the sun. Toned shoulders rounded out the sides of her blue tank top, and long legs extended from her cutoff jean shorts. A woman who didn’t spend a lot of time sitting still, that was for sure. The kind you’d only get to meet if she slowed down enough to let you.
/>   “I can’t believe I never read them before,” he said. Then again, working eighty hours a week hadn’t left a lot of time for reading. But he was a sailor now, with all the time in the world. Time for watching sunsets and trying new things. Time to study her face and wonder who she was. What she was doing here in this bar.

  He’d already noticed her, half an hour back, leaning in close to the pages in the dim light. She only looked up long enough to gaze out at the sea, dreamy-eyed, like she was turning the boats into galleons and filling them with treasure and pirate maps. Then she’d glance at the cover of her book like she wasn’t sure which she wished herself into: the sunset or that book.

  Something moved at his elbow, and a waiter leaned in with a plate — the calamari he forgot he’d ordered.

  “Gracias,” he murmured, then looked at Julie. Should he stay? Go back to his table? “Um…”

  “Dig in.” She bit into her burger like a castaway just re-entering civilization. He smiled. A woman with a taste for adventure and cheeseburgers. Who could resist?

  Not him, that was for sure.

  “So…you vacationing here?” he asked between bites of calamari.

  She munched, swallowed, and chased it down with a swig of her drink. “Sort of.”

  He tilted his head.

  “I rode in from Guatemala.”

  “You rode what in from Guatemala?”

  “My motorcycle.” Her tone said, What else would I ride in from Guatemala?

  A woman who biked alone in Central America?

  “I work in Guatemala,” she continued, “but I’m taking a week off.”

  A little part of his high deflated. She wasn’t a sailor. She wasn’t headed his way.

  “What kind of work?”

  “Research.”

  “Researching what?”

  He could picture almost anything: Her sitting in the jungle like a young Jane Goodall, studying monkeys in the trees. Or maybe she was a Peace Corps type, calculating how to bring solar power to remote villages. Or maybe—