NEW RELEASE - 30th April 2025
White Island Villa
Where Dreams Can Grow
Arabella Sheen
Can Jason win Beth’s heart and her love?
Jason Andre, a successful billionaire architect, believes he can have anything he desires, including Beth. She’s a feisty landscape designer, and not only does he want her to create a garden for his villa in Greece, but he also yearns to have her in his bed.
Beth Ashton has said “no” to Jason and his proposal, but when his light aircraft crashes and he loses his sight, she does exactly what she vowed she wouldn’t do … she offers to work for him.
Are Beth and Jason destined to love, or are passion and desire the only things to be found at White Island Villa?
Warning: Contains sensual love scenes.
PREORDER LINKS: https://books2read.com/u/4X15wN
EXERPT
Chapter
1
Beth
Ashton had one foot out the door of the lodge house when the sharp trill of her
phone stopped her in her tracks. She hesitated, debating whether to ignore it,
but curiosity won out. Flipping the phone open, she frowned at the blocked
caller ID on the screen.
It
looked as if it was going to be one of those frustrating days where even the
simplest of plans seemed impossible. Her weekend trip home to Devon already
felt like an uphill battle. Sighing, she tossed her untamed hair over her
shoulder and pressed the phone to her ear. She was determined to keep the call
brief as time was not on her side.
She
needed to hit the motorway before it transformed into a chaotic crawl of
overloaded cars that were crammed full of luggage and restless children. It was
a bank holiday weekend, and if she acted quickly, she thought she might just be
able to miss the worst of the traffic.
“Hello,
Beth Ashton speaking,” she said, forcing a professional tone into her voice
despite her rising irritation.
“Ashton?”
A man’s voice snapped impatiently on the other end.
“Yes,”
she replied, her brows knitting together in suspicion.
“What
took you so long? I was beginning to think I’d been given the wrong number.”
The
signal wasn’t great, but the man’s tone was unmistakable. It was impatient and
sharp, which in Beth’s opinion, was putting it mildly.
Biting
back a retort, it took all Beth’s restraint not to come back with the snappy
reply, “You’re lucky I’m even answering.”
Instead,
she inhaled deeply, steadying herself.
“What
can I do for you?” she asked, her voice was calm but clipped.
The
man on the other end of the line sounded irritable, and Beth didn’t have the
patience to deal with ill-mannered strangers who clearly lacked basic phone
etiquette. His accent had a Mediterranean lilt—though she couldn’t be
certain—but his English was fluent and precise. Despite the smooth, husky
timbre of his voice, which might have been attractive under different
circumstances, his tone was unmistakably rude and domineering.
Still
clutching the phone, Beth stepped outside, pulling the lodge house door firmly
shut behind her. She grabbed her luggage in one hand and awkwardly balancing
her mobile in the other, strode toward the waiting Land Rover.
The
deep voice snapped at her again, barking something she barely caught.
“I
need to speak with your husband. It’s about work. If I leave my number, could
you have him call me back … immediately?” The sarcasm in his tone was
unmistakable. It was dripping with impatience.
Beth
gritted her teeth. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think that’s a good idea—”
“Why
not?” he interrupted sharply.
Her
earlier impression of him was spot on. Whoever this man was, he was
insufferably overbearing. She could even imagine him glancing at his watch,
counting the seconds for her to put
her non-existent husband on the phone. But it was this man who was wasting her
time, not the other way around.
Beth
didn’t have a husband, and while the man on the phone couldn’t have known that,
she despised arrogant people who assumed they were entitled to whatever they
wanted. Especially men like him.
An
uncomfortable silence stretched between them, each waiting for the other to
speak.
“Your
husband,” he pressed again, his voice hardening. “This is his number,
isn’t it?”
Beth’s
grip on the phone tightened. There was no way she was going to let anyone speak
to her like this.
“I’m
sorry, but I think you’ve got the wrong number, Mr…?” Beth paused, giving the
caller a chance to identify himself. He didn’t.
“I’m
trying to reach Ashton—the gardener,” he said curtly. “I’ve recently seen some
work at Clifton Hall that he’s done. I’d like him to landscape a garden for me
in Greece. He comes highly recommended.”
Beth’s
last name was Ashton, and she was a landscape gardener—but she
certainly wasn’t a man.
“Well?”
the voice prompted, waiting for her response.
Beth
still had no idea who this man was.
“Look,”
she began, summoning as much calm as she could muster. “I’m sorry you’re having
a bad day and seem to be in such a foul mood, Mr…?”
“Andre.
Jason Andre,” he replied tersely.
The
name tugged at the edges of her memory. It was familiar but not immediately
placeable.
“Mr
Andre,” she said firmly, “I’m not here for you to shout at. And as I said, I
think you’ve got the wrong number. I’ve no idea who you are or what you want.”
There
was a pause, followed by the sound of a long sigh of apparent frustration. His
tone shifted slightly, still annoyed but now tinged with condescension, as
though he were trying to reason with a stubborn child.
Beth
felt her irritation rise.
She
hadn’t done anything to deserve this man’s attitude, yet here he was, testing
her patience. Whoever he was, she already disliked him.
