Two Weeks in the Magnate′s Bed
Two Weeks in the Magnate's Bed
Nicola Marsh
He’ll tempt her… Shipping tycoon Zac McCoy can sense there is a passionate woman behind Lana Walker’s shy exterior. Whilst aboard his luxury yacht, he’ll tempt her out to play! He’ll tease her… Lana always looks before she leaps. But the captivating Captain has her throwing caution to the wind. The gloves come off, the silk dresses slip on – and the real Lana begins to emerge.He’ll take her! He’ll have her as his two-week mistress. But as land approaches, a fortnight may not be enough…
‘Do I make you hot?’
Zac slid his hands up and down her upper arms, the rhythmic contact depriving her of all rational thought and possible responses as he gazed at her with hunger and greed and passion
‘I don’t know what to say—’
‘You have no idea what you do to me when you look at me like that.’
He tugged her close a second before crushing her lips beneath his. The scorching kiss, a sensual assault, left her reeling.
As she tilted along with the deck beneath her shaky feet, she realised she’d never been kissed like this—ever.
She clung to him as his lips teased her to match him. She moaned, a guttural sound deep in her throat, and the noise inflamed him as he leaned into her, pressing her back against the rail and setting her wildest desires alight.
She should stop this madness, re-erect the barriers that had come crashing down the first instant his lips had touched hers.
But it felt so good to be desired, so good to have the attention of a man, so good to obliterate any lingering memories of what had happened on this night over three years ago…
Praise for
Nicola Marsh:
About Nicola’s Modern Heat™, TWO-WEEK MISTRESS:
‘Funny, witty and sensually enticing, TWO-WEEK MISTRESS by Nicola Marsh left me laughing at the antics of her characters while enjoying the sensuality of this novel.’
—www.cataromance.com
About BIG-SHOT BACHELOR, also from Modern Heat™:
‘Nicola Marsh writes a down-to-earth romance that will appeal to everyone…’
—www.cataromance.com
About INHERITED: BABY, from Mills & Boon
Romance:
‘Awe-inspiring characters combined with an incredible story, INHERITED: BABY by Nicola Marsh tells the story of a woman’s inspirational spirit to live her life her way, who is able to succeed in getting the man of her dreams…’
—www.cataromance.com
Nicola Marsh has always had a passion for writing and reading. As a youngster, she devoured books when she should have been sleeping, and later kept a diary whose content could be an epic in itself! These days, when she’s not enjoying life with her husband and son in her home city of Melbourne, she’s at her computer, creating the romances she loves, in her dream job. Visit Nicola’s website at www.nicolamarsh.com for the latest news of her books.
Nicola also writes for Mills & Boon
Romance.
Recent titles by the same author:
HOT NIGHTS WITH A PLAYBOY
THE BOSS’S BEDROOM AGENDA
PURCHASED FOR PLEASURE
With thanks to fellow M&B Romance authorClaire Baxter, for helping me brainstorm Zacin all his dynamic, enigmatic glory!
Dear Reader
There’s something about cruising… the choice to do everything or nothing, the delicious food, the excitement of sailing the seven seas (maybe indulging the odd pirate fantasy or two?), the brilliant eye candy factor with all those guys in uniform… Ahem, where was I?
Can you blame a girl for having her head turned by a strong, sexy sailor? The type of guy to sweep you off your feet, to romance you in the style you deserve?
Lana Walker doesn’t know what has hit her when suave shipping magnate Zac McCoy does exactly that—turning on the charm till the shy curator doesn’t know whether to succumb or jump ship and swim for shore.
What would you do? Give in to a spellbinding romance, no matter how brief, or settle for the safe option? I’ve been in this position and, believe me, taking the romance was worth every magical second!
I hope you get swept away by Lana and Zac’s enchanting romance too.
Happy reading
Nicola
www.nicolamarsh.com
TWO WEEKS IN THE MANGNATE'S BED
By
Nicola Marsh
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CHAPTER ONE
AS THE taxi screeched to a halt, Lana Walker flung open the door and scrambled for her bags.
‘Hey, slow down. You haven’t missed the boat.’
The deep groove in the driver’s caterpillar mono-brow had been honed with years of practice if his glare was any indication.
The way she saw it, she might have arrived on time to board the Ocean Queen, but she’d missed the boat metaphorically in every other way that counted—which was exactly why she was taking this trip.
She rummaged for the fare and darted a curious glance at the ship, spotting several officers in white uniforms on deck.
Very impressive—and the ship wasn’t half bad either.
A shadow loomed over the open passenger door as the driver held out his hand. ‘Some people have all the luck. How about my fare, lady?’
Grouch. She resisted the urge to poke out her tongue as she handed him the money, picked up her luggage and headed for the escalators.
What would he know about luck? She’d worked hard for what she had—damn hard: five years as curator at Melbourne Museum, and three years as head curator at Sydney Museum had been amazing, stimulating and stressful.
Sure, she had a stellar reputation in the industry, and a gorgeous apartment in the beachside suburb of Coogee, but that was about it.
She didn’t have a life.
No time out, no socialising, no fun.
Over the next two weeks she planned to change all that.
Though luck had played a part in this trip; if she hadn’t won the cruise she wouldn’t have taken a holiday, sad workaholic that she was.
As thoughts of work crowded her head, namely how she’d recently missed out on the opportunity of a lifetime courtesy of her crippling shyness, she stumbled at the top of the escalator and pitched forward, silently cursing the three-inch heels her shoe-crazy cousin Beth had loaned her for the trip.
So much for the hope that the illusion of height would give her extra poise. It would be difficult to feign elegance when she landed on her butt.
Grabbing wildly at anything more stable than air, she exhaled on a relieved sigh as a strong pair of arms shot out, holding her in a vice-like grip.
‘Whoa. These things are lethal if you don’t concentrate. Too busy daydreaming about the Love Boat, huh?’ The smooth voice, with more than a hint of amusement in its husky depths, sent an unexpected shiver down her spine as she looked up into her rescuer’s face.
Wow.
Seeing good-looking guys on a daily basis was a perk of her job. The museum was a haven for sexily scruffy archaeological students, attractive teachers, even the odd university professor with a distinguished Sean Connery thing going on.
Yet this guy who now pinned her with arms displaying a great set of biceps was so much more than that. Striking was more appropriate. Even sex-on-legs, as brazen Beth would say.
Hypnotic eyes, a deep, cobalt blue, were fringed with long dark lashes any woman would have envied, and those baby blues were pinned on her, a teasing glint in their rich depths.
She inhaled sharply, unprepared for an intoxicating fresh citrus scent that left her head spinning—and not just from her near-fall.
As for his lips, curving with the hint of a smile, for the first time in her reclusive life she understood the label ‘kissable’.
All too aware she was staring—gawking, more like it—she dropped her gaze. Only to be confronted by an equally intriguing sight: a broad expanse of tanned chest where the two top buttons of his shirt were undone.
Hotter than Indiana Jones, leapt to mind.
She had a major thing for Indiana—always had—and, lucky her, Indiana’s double was holding on to her as if his life depended on it.
She’d wanted to gain confidence, step outside her comfort zone, experience new things on this cruise. To broaden her outlook to the extent she was never passed over for a work opportunity again. She had been thinking along the lines of dance lessons, lectures on exotic destinations, shore excursions, that sort of thing.
However, being held by this guy had her mind sailing down channels she’d never usually contemplate. Not a bad thing entirely, if taking this holiday had already affected her mindset. Maybe shy, geeky Lana—as she’d once overheard some colleagues call her—was already slipping into vacation mode.
Her heart thumping, whether in fear of her strangely errant thoughts or excitement at what they might urge her to do, she eased out of his grip.
He grinned and, typically, he had a sexy smile to match the rest of him. ‘So, do I pass inspection?’
Great. He knew she’d been checking him out. Her skill at covert observation was on a par with her wardrobe: shabby at best.
‘What makes you think I was inspecting anything? You were holding me so tight I had nowhere to move, let alone look.’
‘Feisty. I like that.’ His eyes gleamed, and the corners of his too-tempting-for-comfort mouth twitched in amusement.
Heat suffused her cheeks as she struggled to come up with a comeback. She hated how she always thought of a great retort ten minutes too late.
How was it she could answer any student’s query in a second, but right now her brain—a whiz at cataloguing priceless artefacts, leading tour groups and calculating storage data—was totally befuddled?
‘Thanks for breaking my fall.’
As replies went, it was pretty lame. Pathetic, in fact; it looked as if her comeback skills had sunk to the same level as her flirting expertise: below average bordering on non-existent.
More embarrassed than she cared to admit, she managed a tight smile, picked up her luggage and turned away, striding towards the ship though her knees wobbled like just-set jelly.
‘Watch your step!’ he called after her, his voice shaking with laughter.
She stiffened, but didn’t break stride, determined not to look back, refusing to give him the satisfaction. Besides, she could feel his stare boring holes into her back.
Her skin prickled at the recollection of those incredibly blue eyes twinkling at her, laughing at her, and she shook her head in disgust. She was such a novice at this.
‘Live a little, cuz. Let your hair down. Go crazy,’ Beth had encouraged her. ‘You’ve got two weeks to cut loose, to be someone you wouldn’t dream of being on land. Make the most of it.’
Great advice, and it had sounded easy coming from her bubbly, confident cousin, who bounced through life with a perpetual smile on her face. And Beth sure knew what she was talking about, considering her positive attitude had landed her Aidan Voss, the dreamiest husband on the planet.
As for Beth’s other advice—‘dust off the cobwebs, get laid’—Lana blushed just thinking about it.
It was precisely three years, two months and five days since she’d last had sex. Not that she was counting or anything. Besides, she’d have to date to have sex—would have to get emotionally involved with the guy to contemplate it—and she didn’t trust her emotions any more; not after what Jax the Jackass had done.
She tucked her old holdall under her arm tighter and headed for the gangway. Beth was right. While her professional life shone, her social life sucked. She had no confidence, no social skills, and no hope of being chosen for the museum’s next overseas jaunt unless she learned to be more assertive, more outgoing, more everything.
Maybe this cruise would be just what a conservative curator needed?
Zac watched the petite brunette cut a path through the crowd, confused and intrigued.
Most of the holidaymakers he met were dressed to kill, and wearing enough make-up to sink a ship—no pun intended—yet she wore a simple navy suit bordering on severe, and barely a slick of lipgloss. And yet she had managed to capture his attention anyway.
He’d reached out to her in an instinctive reaction, but once she was in his arms his synapses had short-circuited and he’d found himself wanting to hold on way longer than necessary.
What was with that?
He’d lost any tender regard towards the fairer sex around the time Magda had done her chameleon act, and he hadn’t let a woman get close enough to sink her talons in since.
Unwittingly, his gaze was drawn to the diminutive figure striding towards the ship, head up, shoulders squared, as if ready for battle. No simple walking for her. No, sirree. She had to sway her hips in a natural, tantalising rhythm in sync with her legs.
Running a hand across his eyes didn’t help his quest to wipe her imprint from his retinas. Her sexy gait was replaced by an instant image of feline hazel eyes and a full, pouting mouth. Lord, that mouth. He could fantasise about it for ever. As for that innocent schoolgirl-channelling-schoolmarm expression she had down pat—he’d never seen anything like it.
When she’d stared at him with those striking burnt caramel eyes she’d appeared wide-eyed and ingenuous one second, and ready to give him a severe scolding the next.
Interesting. Very interesting. But he didn’t have the time or the inclination to follow up on the first woman to pique his interest in a long time.
He had more important things on his mind—like doing a damn good job the next two weeks before he moved on to the next stage of his life. His uncle wanted him here. They’d noticed a pattern to the series of accidents that had plagued their cruise fleet, and the pattern suggested that the OceanQueen was the next target. He planned for it to be the last.
After unpacking, Lana made her way to the promenade deck and wandered away from the crowds along the railings, finding a deserted spot with a clear view of the hustle and bustle below.
Circular Quay buzzed with activity, and people were waving as the ship pulled away from its berth, snapping the colourful streamers that bound it to shore. She had a great view from her vantage point: the Sydney Harbour Bridge on her left and the Opera House on her right as the ship sailed up the harbour. Both landmarks were imposing in the fading light.
The sound of low voices from somewhere on the deck above had her craning her head. If she had a great view from here, theirs must be amazing.
‘Looks like loads of single women down there. Half are here for flings; the other half hope to find a husband. It’s the same every cruise.’
‘Your job is to pamper those women, not judge them.’
‘Easy for you to say, buddy. If they see an unattached guy they’re like piranhas circling their next meal.’
Despite her intentions to ignore the conversation, this harsh judgment captured Lana’s attention, and realisation dawned as she looked up. Standing above her, silhouetted against the bridge, stood the stranger who’d saved her from falling earlier.
He wore a crisp white uniform that accentuated his tan—a larger than life Richard Gere in An Officer and aGentleman—and she swallowed, disconcerted by how she’d compared him to two of her favourite movie stars in under an hour.
Deep furrows marred his brow as his gaze swept the crowd, and she shrank back, hoping she was hidden. She didn’t want to be scrutinised by that disconcerting stare—not when she’d been eavesdropping, albeit unintentionally.
Mr Nautical’s generalisations about women had her bristling enough to barge up there and give him a verbal spray, but if she had the guts to do that she’d be winging her way to Egypt right now, as the museum’s spokesperson, not cowering under a deck hoping she wouldn’t be spotted.
He was entitled to his opinion, and she to hers. And right now, as she darted a quick glance overhead, taking in those broad shoulders, deep blue eyes and the mop of unruly dark curls, her opinion screamed Neanderthal.
The band starting up drowned out the rest of his conversation, and she stood still for several minutes, waiting for the men above to move so she could make her escape without being seen. After a few extra minutes of shuffling her feet to kill time, she sidled along the deck, taking a few steps back towards an open door.
‘Watch out!’
The owner of the low voice stood so close his warm breath caressed her ear, and she jumped and whirled around, her heart pounding as she stared into those familiar indigo eyes barely inches from her face.
‘You startled me.’ She glared, desperately trying to hide her embarrassment at being caught eavesdropping.
‘Sorry. Maybe if you watched where you were going we’d stop bumping into each other like this? By the way—Zac McCoy.’
He stuck out his hand, seemingly unaware she’d heard every word of his damning conversation. She’d wanted to keep it that way, so couldn’t be as rude as her first instinct prompted her to be.
‘Lana Walker.’
She placed her hand in his, unprepared for the jolt that shot up her arm as his fingers closed over hers. She yanked back, flustered by the residual tingle buzzing from her fingertips to her shoulder.
His eyes widened as he stared down at her hand. Great. Now he thought she was bad-mannered as well as clumsy. Way to go with the first impressions. Not that she had any intention of impressing him after what she’d just heard—and as if she’d even contemplate impressing him if she hadn’t, she thought derisively. Old clothes, minimal makeup and boring brown hair weren’t exactly designed to impress any guy, let alone someone in Mr Tall, Dark and Nautical’s league.
‘I need to finish unpacking, so if you’ll excuse me?’
As she pushed past him her bare arm brushed his. The strange buzzing was back with a vengeance, spreading upwards and outwards and confusing the heck out of her. She had no idea why her body was behaving like this.
Okay, so that was a lie. Jax the Jackass might have been her only boyfriend, the only guy she’d ever slept with, but once he’d dumped her and she’d fled to Sydney she’d had two less than memorable dates with co-workers. She still recognized that buzz.
Hormones. Her reaction to sailor boy had to be purely physical—no doubt intensified due to the fact she hadn’t been this close to a guy in over three years.
‘I’ll leave you to it. Nice meeting you.’
She mumbled a non-committal answer and sent him a half-hearted wave, glancing over her shoulder as he walked away, her curious gaze lingering on parts it had no right scoping out.
She had a thing for guys in uniform. Always had. Starting way back, when a young sailor had given her a flower after she’d dropped an ice cream cone and cried. A clumsy five-year-old who’d never forgotten her first crush. Her mum’s warning at the time, to steer clear of men like that, hadn’t meant much, considering she hadn’t known what ‘that’ meant back then.
Now, seeing the white cotton outlining Zac McCoy’s butt as he strode away, she knew exactly what that was, and it sent her scurrying for her cabin.
Banishing the encounter from her thoughts, she showered and dressed for dinner. Beth had crammed her case with designer dresses and shoes, but Lana would never have the self-confidence to wear half the sexy stuff her cousin did, so she settled for her one good dress: a plain black coat dress, cinched at the waist, set off with her cousin’s sparkly jet Manolos.
Beth had pestered Lana to allow a complete makeover, but the thought of a radical haircut and new wardrobe was way too intimidating for a girl who equated the latest fashion with the occasional update of her tortoiseshell spectacle frames.
She’d settled for a sedate trim to her blah-brown hair and contacts. Beth had settled for giving her enough shoe castoffs to make the Sex and the City girls sit up and take notice.
As for the rest of Beth’s advice on how to boost her self-confidence? She’d take it one step at a time in these damn uncomfortable shoes.
She entered the Coral Dining Room and barely had time to notice the giant chandelier, the string quartet and the silver service place settings before the maître d’ whisked her to a table where two seats remained vacant.
Sliding into one of them, she let the other occupants introduce themselves—a couple in their forties and two other women—hoping they wouldn’t expect her to make small talk. She was lousy in social situations like this, preferring to sit and listen than participate in idle chit-chat.
She listened to their friendly banter while perusing the extensive menu. As the empty chair on her right was drawn back, her skin prickled disturbingly. A sensation she associated with the hives she’d been unfortunate enough to bear several times when a strawberry came within a whiff of her.
However, this prickle had nothing to do with fruit. This time something far more dangerous to her health—well, to her peace of mind—caused her skin to flush and tingle.
‘Hi, everyone. I’m Zac McCoy, Public Relations Manager. I’m delighted you’ll be joining me for meals at my table. On behalf of the ship’s company, the Captain and the crew, we hope you enjoy your cruise.’
Fate liked to play jokes on her. Maybe she should take out a lottery ticket and be done with it.
Resisting the urge to surreptitiously scratch the flushed skin behind her ears, she tried to ignore her erratic pulse which had shifted into overdrive the minute he sat down. She toyed with the cutlery, pleated her napkin, and successfully avoided looking at him until the table introductions reached her.
‘How are you, Lana?’
He flashed that killer smile, blue eyes glinting with amusement.
‘Fine, thanks.’
That’s it. Slay him with scintillating conversation. For a professional who gave presentations weekly—as painful as it was, speaking in front of her peers—she was doing a marvellous job appearing to be a brainless bimbo.
While the voluptuous blonde on his right distracted him, she couldn’t resist sneaking a peek. Smooth, suave and sexy. He was exactly the type of guy any sane woman would stay away from: a glib, good-looking charmer, with the body of Adonis and a face designed to turn heads. Way out of her league.
As dinner proceeded she remained silent, toying with her food, faking polite smiles. She’d never been a flirt, like Beth, and sitting next to a guy like Zac had her tongue-tied. Probably for the best, as she doubted he’d be interested in the latest marsupial display in the Australian Gallery, or in hearing her expound the virtues of digital cataloguing. Though her reticence was barely noticed as he maintained a steady flow of conversation, captivating everyone at the table.
During dessert—a light chocolate soufflé that melted in her mouth—he turned towards her.
‘You’re awfully quiet. Maybe we should get to know each other better?’
His bold stare scanned her face, focusing briefly on her mouth before returning to her eyes, and admiration tinged with something more—something that made her heart go pitter-patter—glittered in those blue depths.
‘Maybe. Though I should warn you. I’m single, and probably hungrier than a piranha.’
His smile slipped as he dabbed at the corners of his mouth with a linen napkin, those vivid eyes never leaving hers for a second. She blinked to break the hypnotic contact.
‘You overheard me earlier?’
‘Yeah, and your opinion of women on cruises sucks.’
She silently applauded her bravado—fuelled by indignation—even while cringing at her outburst. Antagonising him wouldn’t be conducive to remaining unnoticed, which was what she’d hoped for if she had to sit next to him every night for the next two weeks.
His eyes deepened to midnight, dark and challenging, as he leaned towards her.
‘Care to change my mind?’
‘And disillusion you because I’m not the man-hunter you think I am?’ She eased back, needing some distance between them before she leaned into him and lapped up some of that delicious citrusy-sea-air scent he exuded. ‘Where’s the fun in that?’
‘Oh, I think it could be fun,’ he said.
His gaze dipped to her mouth again, lingered before sweeping back to her eyes. and she flicked her tongue out to moisten her lips, which tingled as if he’d physically touched her.
‘And seeing as you think I’m a judgmental idiot, you would take a lot of convincing.’ His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘Which could equate to a lot of fun.’
‘I didn’t say you were an idiot.’
He chuckled—a rich, deep sound which washed over her in a warm wave. ‘You didn’t have to. You’ve got very expressive eyes.’
‘Must be the contacts.’
Her dry response elicited more laughter.
‘Look, I’d really like to clear the air between us. I honestly didn’t mean anything by what you overheard. It was merely an observation from working on these tugs too long.’
She opened her mouth to respond and he held up a hand. ‘Yes, it was a sweeping generalisation. And, yes, I’m suitably chastened and I apologise. But tell me, Lana Walker, which are you?’
He leaned closer. So close she couldn’t breathe without imprinting his seductive scent on her receptors. ‘Husband-hunter or fun fling girl?’
She reared back, knowing now was the time to clam up as she usually did, before she scolded him like a tardy student. As she compressed her lips into an unimpressed line she noticed the teasing sparkle in his eyes, the cheeky smile playing about his mouth.
‘You’re trying to wind me up.’
‘Is it working?’
‘No.’
‘So I could say anything and you’d be totally immune to me?’
Immune? She could have a hospital’s worth of vaccinations against suave sailors and it still wouldn’t give her guaranteed immunity—the type of immunity she needed more and more urgently the longer he stared at her with those twinkling eyes.
‘That’s right.’
‘So I could say you intrigue me and you wouldn’t react?’
‘Nope.’
‘What about if I tell you I think there’s more to you than the obvious?’
She rolled her eyes. ‘That’s the same as intrigue, so you need to come up with a better line, sailor boy.’
‘Sailor boy?’
A slow grin spread across his face as she mentally slapped a hand over her mouth.
Nicknames implied camaraderie. Nicknames implied fun. And there was no way she’d be foolish enough to ever contemplate having fun with him.
‘Figure of speech.’ She pleated her napkin, folding it over and over with origami-like precision, till he reached over and stilled her hand, setting her pulse rocketing as she tried not to flinch from his touch.
‘What if I said I like you?’
Taking a great gulp of air to ease her constricted lungs, she frowned. ‘You’re still trying to wind me up. And you’re good. I’ll give you that much.’
She extracted her hand on the pretext of picking up her wine glass, racking her brain for an easy way to end this conversation before she blurted out exactly how wound up she was by his teasing. The nape of her neck prickled. A colony of ants had taken up residence under her skin, and her blood flowed thick and sluggish, heating her from the inside out. Logically, she knew it was merely a physiological response—a simple chemical reaction to the first male to enter her personal space in a long time. But logic wouldn’t untie her tongue or stop the rising blush from making her feel more gauche and awkward than ever in a social situation like this.
Smiling, he picked up his own wine glass and raised it in her direction.
‘You do intrigue me. And I’m not trying to wind you up.’ His smile widened. ‘Well, not much. For some inexplicable reason I’ve taken an instant liking to you, despite your somewhat prickly exterior, and I’ve got two weeks to prove it to you.’
Prickly? The cheeky son of a—
He chuckled, and she knew he was winding her up again, trying to get a reaction.
She bit her tongue, mulling over what he’d said. He’d taken an instant liking to her, huh? As if. If she believed that she’d believe the ship would sail into the horizon and drop off the end of a flat earth.
Leaning forward, he murmured in her ear. ‘Two very interesting weeks.’
She stiffened, unable to think when he was this close. What was the best response? Ignore him? Berate him? Wait the requisite ten minutes it would take to think up a scathing comeback and put him firmly back in his place?
‘What? Nothing to say? Surprising, from a woman with such strong opinions about me.’
Sitting back, he fixed her with a smug smile—a smile that said he knew how flustered he made her, how she was struggling to come up with a suitable response.
She should have ignored him, pleaded a headache and left the table. That would have been her usual course of action—quietly slinking away, ruing her shyness. But his self-satisfied smile was too much, goading her into matching wits with him.
He assumed she couldn’t come up with a quick answer? She’d show him.
So rather than pushing back her chair and making a run for it, she felt blood surge to her cheeks, and her head snapped up as she fixed him with a scathing glare.
‘Go ahead, then, sailor boy. Prove it.’
CHAPTER TWO
LANA’S eyelids creaked open at the crack of dawn the next morning. A newly converted gym junkie, she usually bounced out of bed early and hit the nearest gym at six, when fitness fanatics liked to sweat through their first aerobics class of the day.
She’d never graced a gym, let alone tried an aerobics class, till eighteen months ago—all part of Operation Obliterate. Obliterate her memories of Jax, obliterate the embarrassment of how he’d used her; obliterate the fact that her first love had seen her as nothing more than a fling.
Now, not only was she hooked, she’d become a qualified instructor just for the fun of it. Madness? Probably. But for the hour she jumped around every morning she was just like the rest of the sweaty women around her, when no make-up and casual clothes weren’t a big deal.
After a quick shower, she donned her favourite capri pants—in urgent need of replacing, considering the frayed cuffs—and a plain white T-shirt. She had a ton of them, as they went with everything. Then she slipped her feet into a pair of well-worn slingbacks.
Beth had shuddered when she’d seen her casual outfits, but, hey, she’d always been a comfort-over-style girl. Besides, she didn’t adhere to the old ‘dress to impress’ motto. She used her brain to get people to notice her. Discounting last night, when her intellect had gone AWOL.
Prove it, she’d dared Zac. All very brave in the heat of the moment, when she’d fired off the retort without thinking it through properly, but now, in the clear light of a perfect summer’s day, her resolve wavered.
It was one thing setting out to build confidence by trying new things, but challenging a pro like Zac to flirt with her could only end in disaster.
He’d pushed her, taunted her till she’d snapped. He couldn’t have known she’d react that way, for she still couldn’t believe she’d done it herself. And while she now regretted her outburst, a small part of her was jumping up and down with joy at the unusual flash of bravado.
The old, sensible, conservative Lana would have ducked her head, pushed her ancient glasses up her nose and ignored him. She would have scuffed her well-worn sensible shoes under the table, tugged on the hem of her favourite shapeless sweatshirt and made a quick escape. She’d always taken the safe route, always done the right thing, always focussed on her career and nothing else.
She was the diligent employee, the dependable colleague, the model girlfriend, the reliable cousin. And where had it got her?
She’d been dumped, overlooked for a brilliant opportunity at work, and had come on this cruise for one reason and one reason only: to gain confidence socially and ensure she was never passed over at work again.
If she couldn’t rely on her job, the one thing in this world she knew she was good at, what hope did she have?
Maybe standing up to brash sailors and proving she wasn’t a push-over fell into the category of confidence-building?
With a shake of her head—as if that would dislodge the memory of making a fool of herself with that rash challenge—she headed for the lido deck, where continental breakfast was being served. She helped herself to a plate of mango, melon and pineapple, before finding a table next to the floor-to-ceiling glass overlooking the Pacific Ocean, stretching as far as she could see, its undulating swell infinitely soothing.
Her apartment in Coogee had an ocean view, though nothing as gorgeous as this. She’d deliberately chosen a sea view for its calming qualities and, boy, had she needed it when she’d first moved to Sydney from Melbourne, hellbent on leaving her past behind.
‘Enjoying the view this morning?’
She glanced up, her pulse-rate accelerating in an instant. Zac—in a navy polo shirt and matching shorts, his hair recently washed and slicked back, resident charming smile in place—rivalled the ocean in the stunning stakes.
She took a sip of water, trying to ease the dryness in her throat. ‘Yes, it’s spectacular.’
He wasn’t looking at the view. Instead, that steady, captivating blue-eyed gaze remained riveted to her. ‘Spectacular would describe it perfectly.’
She blushed and glanced down, toying with the fruit on her plate rather than face his intense scrutiny.
What made her think she could practise gaining confidence with this guy? He was a major player, and she’d barely graduated from Little League.
‘You really should try some of that mango rather than playing with it. It’s succulent this time of year.’
The way he said ‘succulent’ fascinated her; tripping from his lips, it almost sounded obscene.
‘Shouldn’t you be circulating amongst the passengers?’
She speared a piece of juicy mango and bit into it, trying to appear casual yet anxious to fob him off.
As if in slow motion he reached his index finger towards the corner of her mouth, where a rivulet of juice had started to run, and wiped it up.
Shaken to her core, she watched him lick the droplet of juice from his fingertip in a shockingly intimate gesture.
‘Mmm—tasty.’
His smouldering gaze dropped to her lips before sweeping back to her eyes, triumphant blue clashing with shell-shocked hazel.
‘You’re right. I should get back to work. I can’t have my time monopolized by one woman,” he teased, before adding, ‘Delectable as she may be.’
With a cocky smile, he gave her a half-salute and sauntered away.
The corner of her mouth was still quivering from his sensual touch. Great. If that was his first foray into provingit she was in trouble. Big trouble.
With a trembling hand she devoured the remainder of her breakfast, eager to escape. Whenever she looked up she caught a glimpse of him, moving among the tables, talking to various people. Their eyes met only once across the crowded room, and she looked away first, hating the blush staining her cheeks, hating her inadequacy at coping with light flirtation more.
It was hot in this room, way too hot. Pushing her plate away, she almost tripped in her haste to stand and dashed for the door, keeping her head down, unwilling to tempt fate further. After virtually falling into his arms, landing next to him at dinner, and then running into him first thing this morning, it looked as if fate was having a mighty big chuckle at her expense.
Zac watched Lana bolt, hiding a triumphant grin as he flipped the pages on his clipboard. He had her thoroughly rattled, if that stunned, wide-eyed gaze when he’d touched her lips was any indication.
Maybe he’d pushed the boundaries a tad there, but he hadn’t been able to help it; he wanted to see if anything disturbed that cool-bordering-on-haughty mantle she wore like a fine fur.
He’d disconcerted her last night to the point where she’d thrown out that challenge. He was in little doubt she would never have been that brazen, that sassy, if she’d been thinking straight. After all, a woman who turned up to her first dinner on a luxurious cruise liner wearing a drab black dress with oversized buttons, a God-awful belt, and barely a slick of make-up, and who rarely spoke, wasn’t exactly brimming with confidence.
Yet he’d wanted to push her buttons anyway.
Must be the pressure. He had a job to do, a saboteur to uncover, and some bad publicity to bring to a screaming halt. His uncle was relying on him, and he owed Jimmy big-time. He’d let him down once. Never again.
He needed to concentrate on business—needed to convince everyone he was just the new PR guy. The success of his plan depended on it. Even if he was actually the CEO of the whole damn company, and usually had bigger fish to fry.
And concentrating on business meant not giving Lana a hard time—challenge or not. Though there had been something about the spark in her eyes when she’d fired back at him last night, something about her wary yet indignant expression that had him wanting to delve beneath her prim surface to discover the hidden depths.
Maybe if he unnerved her enough, unsettled her enough, he’d get to see the real her?
An interesting proposition, but for now work came first. Work was reliable, dependable, and never let him down. It wasn’t clouded by emotions and it didn’t change when he least expected it. Work was the one constant in his life. The only constant.
Exactly the way he liked it.
Lana studied Neptune’s News, the ship’s daily planner, as she lounged around the lido pool, staggered by the array of activities on board: lectures on ports they were due to visit, wine-tasting, art auctions, dance lessons—the list went on for ever. She studiously avoided any activities with Zac’s name pencilled next to them, and finally decided on ballroom dancing—something she’d always wanted to try but never had the guts to. Hopefully mastering a waltz or two might give her a quickstep in the right direction to boosting her self-confidence.
Finding her way to the ballroom proved easier said than done. Maps were clearly visible around the ship, but understanding the difference between port and starboard was the first hurdle to overcome in figuring out directions, and only after several botched attempts did she finally find the room. So much for her sure-fire navigational skills; apparently they only applied to the maze of one-way streets around Sydney and to convoluted museum corridors.
Several women stood to one side of the ballroom, while a few men loitered on the outskirts of the dance floor. She learned from Mavis, the woman standing next to her, that the men were hosts, hired by the ship’s company for single women who needed a dance partner.
‘This is my seventh cruise, dear. Why do you think I keep coming back? Though I’m seventy, these dance hosts make me feel twenty-one again, whisking me all over the dance floor. Not to mention their youthful good-looks.’
Lana smothered a smile as the youngest host appeared to be a greying fifty-five. She observed that the men were skilled at mingling with the women, and soon everyone had paired off. Predictably, she had no partner. Story of her life, really.
‘Don’t worry, love, you’ll be the lucky one paired with the instructor.’
Mavis, veteran cruiser, obviously knew how these things worked.
‘I hope he’s good.’
Because she was a dervish out there on the dance floor? Yeah, right. She moved her feet to an imaginary samba rhythm and almost took a tumble.
‘I’m better than good. Let’s just hope you can keep up.’
Her nerve-endings snapped to attention as the deep voice rippled over her, and she didn’t have to turn around to know who it belonged to. Fickle fate dealing her a bum hand yet again.
‘Okay, class, let’s get to work. As you can see, I’m not Rafe, our illustrious dance instructor. He was called away to a last-minute rehearsal for tonight’s extravaganza, so you’re stuck with me instead. For those who don’t know me, I’m Zac McCoy, the PR manager. Though I’m not a professional entertainer, I can safely say I don’t have two left feet, and I’ve managed to learn a thing or two during my years working with the entertainment staff. So, how about a waltz to start with?’
‘Anything you want, handsome. Oh, if only I was thirty years younger.’ Mavis fanned her face, a twinkle in her eyes.
‘If only I’d decided on taking the chess class,’ Lana muttered, wondering if she could feign a sprained ankle.
‘Did you say something?’
She had two choices. Duck and run, as she usually would in an uncomfortable situation like this, or ignore the blush burning her cheeks, discount the fact she’d never done this before, and suck it up and see if she could get through this awkward encounter without making a fool of herself.
She shook her head, managing a tight smile resembling a grimace. ‘No.’
‘Right, then. Shall we dance?’
Zac grinned and held out his hand, leaving her no option but to take it. She tried to relax, she really did, but as he pulled her closer, his body grazing hers, she inadvertently stiffened.
His knowing smile didn’t help. ‘See—a perfect fit.’
‘I thought we were doing a waltz. The way you’re holding me seems more like the Lambada.’
‘Fancy a bit of dirty dancing, do you?’
‘Don’t flatter yourself. You certainly don’t hold a candle to Patrick Swayze.’
A glint of hidden excitement lit his extraordinary eyes.
‘And here I was thinking you were falling under my spell. You disappoint me.’
She averted her gaze, focussing on anything other than those all-seeing eyes, wishing her heart would stop racing. ‘Don’t you ever stop flirting?’
His grin widened. ‘I’m sure Fred did his fair share of flirting while he whisked Ginger around. I’m just taking my role seriously.’
‘Your role as the resident Casanova, you mean?’
The naughty glint in his eyes alerted her to the fact she hadn’t insulted him. Moreover, he was enjoying their sparring way too much.
‘We’re both adults here. There’s nothing wrong with a bit of harmless flirtation. Besides, you dared me—remember?’
More fool her.
‘Look, this is silly. You were taunting me last night. I bit back. Let’s just forget it, okay?
The naughty glint didn’t let up. If anything it intensified as his lips kicked up into an all too sexy grin.
‘Unfortunately for you I have a very good memory, so I can’t forget it. But I’m willing to concentrate on our dance steps for now.’ And with that he spun her outwards, at arm’s length.
‘If that’s your way of changing the subject, I’m not buying it.’
He reeled her in with a slight tug on her hand. ‘Who said anything about needing to change the subject? I enjoy flirting. You’re the one with the problem.’
If he only knew.
She didn’t know how to flirt—had absolutely no experience at it. Jax had targeted her, played her, said all the right things—done all the right things to get her to fall for him. Flirting hadn’t entered into it. As for her other two dates, they’d been stilted, awkward, rushed dinners, with limited small talk and frequent glances at watches on both sides.
It wasn’t so much having a problem with flirting, she just didn’t have a clue how to do it.
She stumbled, winced, trod on his toes, and wished the parquet floor would open up and swallow her.
‘Easy, Ginger. Just follow my lead.’
If he’d smiled or smirked or had the faintest amused twinkle in his eyes she would have slammed her heel on his foot—well, she would have thought about it—and made a run for it.
Instead, he tightened his hold on her hand, gently increased the pressure with the other in the small of her back, and counted softly under his breath as he led her around the dance floor.
The counting was for her benefit, but it didn’t help. Clumsy, stiff and awkward didn’t begin to describe how she felt in his arms—like a mannequin given an airing before being dumped in a shopfront in only her knickers.
Thinking of knickers while in his arms had her trampling his toes again, and she bit her lip, silently cursing her ineptness.
‘Sorry.’
Her gaze fixed on his chest, heat scorching her cheeks.
He stopped twirling her about, placed a finger under her chin and tilted it up so she had no option but to look at him.
‘Don’t apologise. This class is about learning, and you’re doing great for a beginner.’
His understanding smile sent a tremor through her. Why couldn’t he be condescending and obnoxious so she could dislike him, rather than considerate and kind?
She mumbled a noncommittal answer, wishing he’d stop staring at her like a pet project. Though it could be worse; he could be looking down on her as a charity case with pity in his eyes.
‘Just feel the music. Let the beat take you.’
Easy for Fred Astaire Junior to say.
Her dubious expression had him chuckling as he pulled her closer again. ‘Come on. You’ll enjoy it.’
To her surprise, he was right. As soon as she stopped focussing on her feet not stomping on his, and ignored the fact he was holding her close, she started to relax.
The music filtered over her, soft and ethereal, a classical hit from a bygone era, and she found herself humming softly, swept away in the magic of the moment.
She closed her eyes, remembered a dancing show she’d once seen on TV, and imagined herself in a red chiffon dress with a fitted bodice held up by will-power alone, with handkerchief layers cascading from her waist to her ankles. She imagined snazzy red shoes to match, sequinned, with impossibly high heels, that floated across the dance floor of their own volition.
With immaculate hair and make-up, and the smile of a ballroom dancing champion, she lived the fantasy, let the music infuse her body, her senses, and allowed Zac to whisk her around and around, her feet finally falling into step with his as an exhilaration she’d never known rushed through her.
She’d never felt so light, so graceful, so unselfconscious. If this was what ballroom dancing could do for her, she’d sign up for a year’s worth of classes as soon as she got back.
But there was more to it than perfecting a waltz and she knew it.
Zac had given her this gift—had given her the confidence to let go of her reservations and enjoy the moment. He’d empowered her to believe that for a precious few minutes she could be agile and lithe and elegant, rather than a shy, clumsy klutz.
When the music died her eyelids fluttered open, but rather than feeling let down by reality, the gleam of appreciation in his deep blue eyes had her craving to do it all over again.
‘You’re good.’
His admiration made her want to perform a few extra twirls for good measure.
She flushed with pleasure. ‘Thanks. So are you.’
‘You up for a cha-cha?’
Ignoring the usual flicker of nerves at the thought of trying something new, she nodded. ‘Sure. Let’s give it a try.’
Not only did she try a cha-cha, Zac showed her the finer points of a foxtrot too. While the class danced around them, she matched him step for step, exhilarated by his fancy manoeuvres, thrilled by her increasing confidence to try more complicated steps.
At the end of the hour she collapsed into a nearby chair, her face flushed, her feet aching and her imagination still tripping the light fantastic.
He crouched next to her as she puffed at the damp hair strands falling over her face, knowing she must look a hot, rumpled mess. Yet a small part of her was still feeling like that dance champion she’d imagined.
‘You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you, Ginger?’
‘Why? Because I only managed to break all the toes on your right foot and not your left?’
He laughed. ‘You’ll be pleased to know my toes are just fine. Better than fine, considering I had to do some fancy footwork out there to keep up with you once you got going.’
There was a reason he was in PR. He probably laid it on this thick for countless other gullible females every cruise.
‘Yeah, well, I told you I was good at the start.’ His eyebrows shot up as he clearly relived every clumsy stumble she’d made initially and she smiled. ‘And you’re not such a bad teacher, once you concentrate on the task at hand and put a zip on the banter.’
‘Thanks. I think.’ He stood, stretched, and she quickly averted her gaze from the window of tanned, flat stomach poking between his polo shirt and shorts. ‘See you tonight at dinner?’
His smile was pure invitation. If he’d asked her a few hours ago she would have sent him a short, sharp RSVP in the negative, but after the enlivening hour she’d just spent, thanks to him, she found herself nodding.
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Right-o. See you then.’
She fanned her cheeks as he walked away, wondering if it was the exercise, the exhilaration of feeling graceful for the first time in her life, or being wrapped in his muscular arms that had made her hot and bothered?
In reality she should be happy—ecstatic, even. She’d tried something new today and had given her flagging confidence a much-needed lift. Her sense of achievement was immense, and she owed it to one guy.
And now she’d experienced the rush of feeling graceful for the first time in her life she wondered how much further he could boost her confidence—if she didn’t try so hard to fend him off.
CHAPTER THREE
WHILE Zac had impressed her with his sensitivity during dance class yesterday, he had ruined it by slipping into full flirting mode over dinner last night. Her fledgling confidence hadn’t lasted and she’d clammed up, grunted monosyllabic answers, and done her best to ignore the persistent attentions of a suave sailor boy with smooth moves and slick words.
She hated the fact it was a game to him, a response to the challenge she’d thrown down in a fit of pique. Her inherent shyness was a bane she lived with every day, it affected her professionally, socially and romantically, yet he seemed to view it as something she could shrug off if he teased her enough.
He was really starting to get to her, but thankfully the ship had docked at Noumea today, and she wouldn’t waste another minute thinking about him. Instead, she explored the French-inspired capital of New Caledonia, with its tree-lined boulevards flanked by trendy boutiques and cafés, enjoying every minute.
She savoured the aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafting on the light tropical breeze, she scoffed melt-in-the-mouth flaky croissants, and she scoured the shops—something she never did back home. When she shopped it was for necessity rather than a burning need for retail therapy—no matter how many times Beth dragged her from one boutique to another trying to make her see otherwise.
Yet here, with the balmy breeze ruffling her ponytail and the tempting shopfronts laid out like bright, sparkling jewels in the sun, she couldn’t help but browse.
Entering a small boutique, she meandered through aisles crammed with enough hangers and clothes to outfit the entire cast of South Pacific. Her hands drifted over soft silky sarongs, short strappy summer dresses, before lingering over the swimwear. The only bathers she’d brought on this trip were an old black one-piece cut high in the front—the ones she used if she swam at home as part of a workout.
So why was she picking up a cerise bikini, its hot pink colour the exact shade her cheeks would be if she ever had the guts to wear something so revealing?
She put it down and trailed her hand over some straw hats, before her gaze settled on the bikini again, drawn to it, mesmerised by its newness, its brightness and its blinding contrast to everything else in her wardrobe.
Glancing down at her worn black flip-flops, khaki Bermuda shorts and well-washed grey T-shirt, she hovered over the bikini, sorely tempted. Just looking at it gave her the same buzz she’d had when floating around the dance floor in Zac’s arms—the feeling she could be more assertive if she set her mind to it.
Spurred on by an eagerness to recreate that feeling, she snatched it up and headed for the counter before she changed her mind.
After thrusting the bikini at the young Melanesian guy behind the counter, she ducked her head on the pretext of searching for her purse in her straw carryall, hating how her cheeks burned when making what was a simple, everyday purchase for most women.
She rummaged around, waiting for him to ring it up, and was unprepared for the small puff of perfume in the vicinity of her right ear.
‘This fragrance will be perfect for mademoiselle.’
She shook her head, ready to tell him she wasn’t interested, when an intoxicating blend of light floral tones mingling with subtle vanilla drifted over her. She inhaled, savouring the heady scent, feeling surprisingly feminine after one small squirt.
She never wore perfume, had never owned a bottle in her life, but when the young guy stared at her with soulful chocolate-brown eyes and insisted again that it was perfect for her, in a divine French accent, she found herself handing over her credit card and being handed back a duty-free bag with two purchases she’d never dreamed of making, let alone using.
But for those few minutes when she’d watched him wrap the bikini and the perfume she’d stood a little taller, felt a little braver—as if she could be the type of woman who wasn’t passed over for an amazing trip to Egypt as the museum’s spokesperson just because she wasn’t articulate or outgoing enough.
However, her flash of spirit didn’t last as she strolled back to the ship. The perfume box banged against her leg, a constant reminder of its presence, and she couldn’t help but feel a fool.
Since when did she wear perfume? Let alone go for something so…so…out there? Seductive, feminine items were for girls not short on confidence—girls who’d have the guts to live up to the perfume’s promise; girls who’d have the spirit to match wits with sailor boys. Girls absolutely nothing like her.
Impulse buying a stupid perfume with a naughty name wouldn’t give her the confidence boost she needed. Nothing would. And she’d be better off remembering that rather than entertaining foolish dreams of showing everyone, Zac included, that she wasn’t the shy nerd they’d labelled her.
When she got back to her cabin, she flung the duty-free bag into the wardrobe and slammed the door shut.
Ruing the waste of money—as if she’d ever have the chutzpah to wear that bikini—she wriggled into her trusty one-piece and headed for the Dolphin Deck pool. She dumped her towel and sarong on a deckchair before plunging into the water, eager to wash away memories of her recent foolishness.
Closing her eyes, she flipped over, floating blissfully until a dark shadow passed over her. When it didn’t move, she opened her eyes.
And promptly sank.
Torn between the natural urge to fight her way to the surface for air or stay submerged, safely away from charming sailor boys, she eventually floundered her way to the surface, spluttering and coughing and ruining her Esther Williams impersonation.
‘Need a hand?’
She glared at his outstretched hand and shook her head, deriving some satisfaction as water droplets sprayed his immaculate uniform.
‘No, thanks.’
His lips curved into a deliciously tempting smile. ‘You sure? Not tempted to try and pull me in?’
The thought hadn’t crossed her mind, but now he mentioned it maybe a good dunking would cool him off.
‘Not really. And I’m quite capable of hoisting myself out of the pool—if you’d move out of my way?’
‘I like a strong woman.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘You like women, period.’
‘What’s wrong with that? I’m a healthy red-blooded male.’
Her gaze drifted across his broad shoulders of its own volition, and lower, before snapping back to meet his all too sure of himself stare.
‘I’ll take your word for it.’
She pushed away from the side of the pool, treading water, floundering out of her depth physically and literally. Ever since she’d been silly enough to dare him that first night he’d been teasing her, pushing her for a reaction.
‘As much as I’m enjoying your mermaid impersonation, why don’t you come a little closer so we can have a proper chat?’
‘About…?’
‘Tonight. You and me.’
How did he do that? Infuse every word with mystery and mayhem and untold promise? As if his sexy smile and come-get-me eyes weren’t enough.
For the second time in as many minutes she went under, cursing her inability to be anything other than clumsy and inept in his presence. He unnerved her to the point of bumbling, and it was high time she got over this funk he had her in with his constant teasing. Either that or jump ship.
She breaststroked underwater to the side, and hauled herself up the pool ladder. ‘Don’t say a word. Just hand me that towel, please.’
He was smart as well as good-looking, for he didn’t speak as he passed her the towel. Then again, he didn’t need to. His smug smile said it all.
He had her squirming, wanting to match wits with him, wishing she could, but scared of the consequences. Her heart was slamming against her ribcage at the thought of what they might entail.
For some strange reason he’d fixated his charms on her this cruise. Her—the last woman who’d reciprocate, the last woman to put up with his nonsense, the last woman to dally with if that was his intention.
She wasn’t a dallying type of girl, yet with him staring at her with a twinkle in those deep blue eyes it was hard not to wish she was.
‘Aren’t you at all interested to hear what I have in mind for you and me tonight?’
Oh, she was interested all right—interested to the point she’d almost drowned when he’d strung the words you, meand tonight into the same sentence.
Tying her sarong around her waist, having quickly patted herself dry, she aimed for casual. ‘I’m sure you’ll tell me.’
He chuckled. ‘Nice to see you this wound up. It must mean I’m getting somewhere in my quest to prove how much I like you.’
‘I’m not wound up.’
She finished tying the knot at her waist with an extra hard yank, almost cutting off her circulation in the process.
‘No?’
He sent a pointed stare at the twisted mess she’d made of her sarong, and she stopped fiddling with it, crossing her arms instead.
Bad move, considering the wicked gleam in his eyes as he dragged them away from her cleavage.
‘I just wanted to make sure you’re coming to the Island Banquet. You won’t want to miss it.’
‘That good, huh?’
‘Better.’
His lowered tone indicated he wasn’t just talking about the banquet. See, this was where she struggled. She had no idea if he was being clever or flirty or deliberately naughty—no idea how to respond without sounding repressed and uptight or foolishly naïve.
‘Well, then, I look forward to seeing your prowess at organising events.’
‘I’m sure you won’t be disappointed with my prowess.’
He took a step towards her and ran his hand lightly down her arm. She shivered, tiny goosebumps crawling across her skin as she belatedly realised she’d given him the upper hand yet again.
‘That’s a promise.’
Oh, he was good—too good. She should just hoist her white flag up the main pole now in surrender.
He’d won. He’d bombarded her with enough smooth moves and clever words to prove he liked her. Though it was just a game to him, and she knew it. Then why the urge to ignore her head, the logical part of her that she always listened to, the part telling her to jump ship now before she was sucked into believing any of this was real?
‘See you tonight.’ His husky tone washed over her like a warm wave, soft, soothing, seductive, and he grazed her arm in a fleeting touch before walking away, leaving her helpless and yearning and cursing her inexperience with men more than ever.
Lana needed a shot of confidence, and in the absence of a ballroom dancing class she settled for a squirt of that frivolous perfume.
Considering her hand still shook as she pulled a brush through her hair it hadn’t worked and she contemplated staying in and ordering Room Service rather than face another inevitable encounter with Zac.
Her nerves were shredded. She couldn’t pretend to be someone she wasn’t, and standing up to his incessant beguiling barrage could wear her down eventually. She couldn’t handle that.
As she strolled towards the huge marquee about a mile from the ship, where the banquet was being held, the warm trade winds ruffled the hair at the nape of her neck. She knew wearing a new perfume and hoping it would give her poise while under duress was wishful thinking.
Fear settled in the pit of her stomach. Pep-talks to herself, telling her to stay cool and not let him rattle her, were fine in the confines of her cabin, but how would she stand up under pressure from his persistent charm?
Smoothing her old formal dress with nervous hands, she entered the marquee, where suspended fairy lights created a magical effect as they reflected in the water. Tables lined the outskirts, heavily laden with local seafood delicacies, salads and decadent desserts, and she tried not to drool. Easy, considering a certain sailor boy was nowhere in sight.
Mavis, resplendent in a floral dress with an orange hibiscus tucked behind her right ear, sidled up to her, beaming as usual. ‘Aloha, dear.’
Lana didn’t have the heart to tell her the Hawaiian greeting wasn’t used here. ‘You’re looking very tropical.’
‘Yes, well, we’ve got to get into the island spirit, haven’t we? By the way, where’s your beau? I haven’t seen him.’
‘My beau?’
Mavis tut-tutted. ‘Don’t play coy with me, my girl. I saw the way that sailor looked at you yesterday in dance class. I may be old, but I’m far from senile, and if my eyes didn’t deceive me I think you liked the attention.’
‘No way—’
‘Why don’t you live a little? Have some fun, dear. You’re only young once. Now, in order to do that you need to keep mingling and stop wasting your time talking to an old chook like me.’ She patted Lana’s cheek. ‘Say hello to that gorgeous boy for me,’ she said and waddled away, chuckling under her breath
Have some fun. You’re only young once.
She wanted to, she really did, but ignoring the habits of a lifetime was tough. Even if she knew how to flirt, would Zac be satisfied with that? She doubted it. If she responded he’d take it as a signal that she was interested in more, would probably expect more, and she couldn’t give it to him.
She was anti-casual-sex for a reason, a damn good one, and casting off her inhibitions along with her reservations would be near impossible.
Unless she had great motivation?
Maybe she did—all wrapped up in six-foot-plus of sexy sailor. Was Zac incentive enough for her to drop her guard and see where it led?
The thought had her bolting from the marquee for the safety of the deserted beach, where she could quash daft thoughts like that before they blossomed and encouraged her to indulge in all kinds of crazy, uncharacteristic actions.
Zac made small talk with a couple from Alabama while his gaze was riveted on Lana as she left the marquee.
He was an expert at multi-tasking—his job, his real job, demanded it—so he had no trouble nodding and laughing and responding even while hiding a grimace at yet another hideous dress, this one in a drab brown, and at the way it hid her curves.
And she had them—man, did she have them. He’d seen them on full display this afternoon, despite that neck-to-knee ensemble. Okay, it hadn’t been that bad, but those boring bathers were gruesome just the same, and she noto-knee doubt thought they hid the curves that could give a guy ideas of how far he’d like to push this challenge, despite his every intention not to.
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Nicola Marsh
He’ll tempt her… Shipping tycoon Zac McCoy can sense there is a passionate woman behind Lana Walker’s shy exterior. Whilst aboard his luxury yacht, he’ll tempt her out to play! He’ll tease her… Lana always looks before she leaps. But the captivating Captain has her throwing caution to the wind. The gloves come off, the silk dresses slip on – and the real Lana begins to emerge.He’ll take her! He’ll have her as his two-week mistress. But as land approaches, a fortnight may not be enough…
‘Do I make you hot?’
Zac slid his hands up and down her upper arms, the rhythmic contact depriving her of all rational thought and possible responses as he gazed at her with hunger and greed and passion
‘I don’t know what to say—’
‘You have no idea what you do to me when you look at me like that.’
He tugged her close a second before crushing her lips beneath his. The scorching kiss, a sensual assault, left her reeling.
As she tilted along with the deck beneath her shaky feet, she realised she’d never been kissed like this—ever.
She clung to him as his lips teased her to match him. She moaned, a guttural sound deep in her throat, and the noise inflamed him as he leaned into her, pressing her back against the rail and setting her wildest desires alight.
She should stop this madness, re-erect the barriers that had come crashing down the first instant his lips had touched hers.
But it felt so good to be desired, so good to have the attention of a man, so good to obliterate any lingering memories of what had happened on this night over three years ago…
Praise for
Nicola Marsh:
About Nicola’s Modern Heat™, TWO-WEEK MISTRESS:
‘Funny, witty and sensually enticing, TWO-WEEK MISTRESS by Nicola Marsh left me laughing at the antics of her characters while enjoying the sensuality of this novel.’
—www.cataromance.com
About BIG-SHOT BACHELOR, also from Modern Heat™:
‘Nicola Marsh writes a down-to-earth romance that will appeal to everyone…’
—www.cataromance.com
About INHERITED: BABY, from Mills & Boon
Romance:
‘Awe-inspiring characters combined with an incredible story, INHERITED: BABY by Nicola Marsh tells the story of a woman’s inspirational spirit to live her life her way, who is able to succeed in getting the man of her dreams…’
—www.cataromance.com
Nicola Marsh has always had a passion for writing and reading. As a youngster, she devoured books when she should have been sleeping, and later kept a diary whose content could be an epic in itself! These days, when she’s not enjoying life with her husband and son in her home city of Melbourne, she’s at her computer, creating the romances she loves, in her dream job. Visit Nicola’s website at www.nicolamarsh.com for the latest news of her books.
Nicola also writes for Mills & Boon
Romance.
Recent titles by the same author:
HOT NIGHTS WITH A PLAYBOY
THE BOSS’S BEDROOM AGENDA
PURCHASED FOR PLEASURE
With thanks to fellow M&B Romance authorClaire Baxter, for helping me brainstorm Zacin all his dynamic, enigmatic glory!
Dear Reader
There’s something about cruising… the choice to do everything or nothing, the delicious food, the excitement of sailing the seven seas (maybe indulging the odd pirate fantasy or two?), the brilliant eye candy factor with all those guys in uniform… Ahem, where was I?
Can you blame a girl for having her head turned by a strong, sexy sailor? The type of guy to sweep you off your feet, to romance you in the style you deserve?
Lana Walker doesn’t know what has hit her when suave shipping magnate Zac McCoy does exactly that—turning on the charm till the shy curator doesn’t know whether to succumb or jump ship and swim for shore.
What would you do? Give in to a spellbinding romance, no matter how brief, or settle for the safe option? I’ve been in this position and, believe me, taking the romance was worth every magical second!
I hope you get swept away by Lana and Zac’s enchanting romance too.
Happy reading
Nicola
www.nicolamarsh.com
TWO WEEKS IN THE MANGNATE'S BED
By
Nicola Marsh
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CHAPTER ONE
AS THE taxi screeched to a halt, Lana Walker flung open the door and scrambled for her bags.
‘Hey, slow down. You haven’t missed the boat.’
The deep groove in the driver’s caterpillar mono-brow had been honed with years of practice if his glare was any indication.
The way she saw it, she might have arrived on time to board the Ocean Queen, but she’d missed the boat metaphorically in every other way that counted—which was exactly why she was taking this trip.
She rummaged for the fare and darted a curious glance at the ship, spotting several officers in white uniforms on deck.
Very impressive—and the ship wasn’t half bad either.
A shadow loomed over the open passenger door as the driver held out his hand. ‘Some people have all the luck. How about my fare, lady?’
Grouch. She resisted the urge to poke out her tongue as she handed him the money, picked up her luggage and headed for the escalators.
What would he know about luck? She’d worked hard for what she had—damn hard: five years as curator at Melbourne Museum, and three years as head curator at Sydney Museum had been amazing, stimulating and stressful.
Sure, she had a stellar reputation in the industry, and a gorgeous apartment in the beachside suburb of Coogee, but that was about it.
She didn’t have a life.
No time out, no socialising, no fun.
Over the next two weeks she planned to change all that.
Though luck had played a part in this trip; if she hadn’t won the cruise she wouldn’t have taken a holiday, sad workaholic that she was.
As thoughts of work crowded her head, namely how she’d recently missed out on the opportunity of a lifetime courtesy of her crippling shyness, she stumbled at the top of the escalator and pitched forward, silently cursing the three-inch heels her shoe-crazy cousin Beth had loaned her for the trip.
So much for the hope that the illusion of height would give her extra poise. It would be difficult to feign elegance when she landed on her butt.
Grabbing wildly at anything more stable than air, she exhaled on a relieved sigh as a strong pair of arms shot out, holding her in a vice-like grip.
‘Whoa. These things are lethal if you don’t concentrate. Too busy daydreaming about the Love Boat, huh?’ The smooth voice, with more than a hint of amusement in its husky depths, sent an unexpected shiver down her spine as she looked up into her rescuer’s face.
Wow.
Seeing good-looking guys on a daily basis was a perk of her job. The museum was a haven for sexily scruffy archaeological students, attractive teachers, even the odd university professor with a distinguished Sean Connery thing going on.
Yet this guy who now pinned her with arms displaying a great set of biceps was so much more than that. Striking was more appropriate. Even sex-on-legs, as brazen Beth would say.
Hypnotic eyes, a deep, cobalt blue, were fringed with long dark lashes any woman would have envied, and those baby blues were pinned on her, a teasing glint in their rich depths.
She inhaled sharply, unprepared for an intoxicating fresh citrus scent that left her head spinning—and not just from her near-fall.
As for his lips, curving with the hint of a smile, for the first time in her reclusive life she understood the label ‘kissable’.
All too aware she was staring—gawking, more like it—she dropped her gaze. Only to be confronted by an equally intriguing sight: a broad expanse of tanned chest where the two top buttons of his shirt were undone.
Hotter than Indiana Jones, leapt to mind.
She had a major thing for Indiana—always had—and, lucky her, Indiana’s double was holding on to her as if his life depended on it.
She’d wanted to gain confidence, step outside her comfort zone, experience new things on this cruise. To broaden her outlook to the extent she was never passed over for a work opportunity again. She had been thinking along the lines of dance lessons, lectures on exotic destinations, shore excursions, that sort of thing.
However, being held by this guy had her mind sailing down channels she’d never usually contemplate. Not a bad thing entirely, if taking this holiday had already affected her mindset. Maybe shy, geeky Lana—as she’d once overheard some colleagues call her—was already slipping into vacation mode.
Her heart thumping, whether in fear of her strangely errant thoughts or excitement at what they might urge her to do, she eased out of his grip.
He grinned and, typically, he had a sexy smile to match the rest of him. ‘So, do I pass inspection?’
Great. He knew she’d been checking him out. Her skill at covert observation was on a par with her wardrobe: shabby at best.
‘What makes you think I was inspecting anything? You were holding me so tight I had nowhere to move, let alone look.’
‘Feisty. I like that.’ His eyes gleamed, and the corners of his too-tempting-for-comfort mouth twitched in amusement.
Heat suffused her cheeks as she struggled to come up with a comeback. She hated how she always thought of a great retort ten minutes too late.
How was it she could answer any student’s query in a second, but right now her brain—a whiz at cataloguing priceless artefacts, leading tour groups and calculating storage data—was totally befuddled?
‘Thanks for breaking my fall.’
As replies went, it was pretty lame. Pathetic, in fact; it looked as if her comeback skills had sunk to the same level as her flirting expertise: below average bordering on non-existent.
More embarrassed than she cared to admit, she managed a tight smile, picked up her luggage and turned away, striding towards the ship though her knees wobbled like just-set jelly.
‘Watch your step!’ he called after her, his voice shaking with laughter.
She stiffened, but didn’t break stride, determined not to look back, refusing to give him the satisfaction. Besides, she could feel his stare boring holes into her back.
Her skin prickled at the recollection of those incredibly blue eyes twinkling at her, laughing at her, and she shook her head in disgust. She was such a novice at this.
‘Live a little, cuz. Let your hair down. Go crazy,’ Beth had encouraged her. ‘You’ve got two weeks to cut loose, to be someone you wouldn’t dream of being on land. Make the most of it.’
Great advice, and it had sounded easy coming from her bubbly, confident cousin, who bounced through life with a perpetual smile on her face. And Beth sure knew what she was talking about, considering her positive attitude had landed her Aidan Voss, the dreamiest husband on the planet.
As for Beth’s other advice—‘dust off the cobwebs, get laid’—Lana blushed just thinking about it.
It was precisely three years, two months and five days since she’d last had sex. Not that she was counting or anything. Besides, she’d have to date to have sex—would have to get emotionally involved with the guy to contemplate it—and she didn’t trust her emotions any more; not after what Jax the Jackass had done.
She tucked her old holdall under her arm tighter and headed for the gangway. Beth was right. While her professional life shone, her social life sucked. She had no confidence, no social skills, and no hope of being chosen for the museum’s next overseas jaunt unless she learned to be more assertive, more outgoing, more everything.
Maybe this cruise would be just what a conservative curator needed?
Zac watched the petite brunette cut a path through the crowd, confused and intrigued.
Most of the holidaymakers he met were dressed to kill, and wearing enough make-up to sink a ship—no pun intended—yet she wore a simple navy suit bordering on severe, and barely a slick of lipgloss. And yet she had managed to capture his attention anyway.
He’d reached out to her in an instinctive reaction, but once she was in his arms his synapses had short-circuited and he’d found himself wanting to hold on way longer than necessary.
What was with that?
He’d lost any tender regard towards the fairer sex around the time Magda had done her chameleon act, and he hadn’t let a woman get close enough to sink her talons in since.
Unwittingly, his gaze was drawn to the diminutive figure striding towards the ship, head up, shoulders squared, as if ready for battle. No simple walking for her. No, sirree. She had to sway her hips in a natural, tantalising rhythm in sync with her legs.
Running a hand across his eyes didn’t help his quest to wipe her imprint from his retinas. Her sexy gait was replaced by an instant image of feline hazel eyes and a full, pouting mouth. Lord, that mouth. He could fantasise about it for ever. As for that innocent schoolgirl-channelling-schoolmarm expression she had down pat—he’d never seen anything like it.
When she’d stared at him with those striking burnt caramel eyes she’d appeared wide-eyed and ingenuous one second, and ready to give him a severe scolding the next.
Interesting. Very interesting. But he didn’t have the time or the inclination to follow up on the first woman to pique his interest in a long time.
He had more important things on his mind—like doing a damn good job the next two weeks before he moved on to the next stage of his life. His uncle wanted him here. They’d noticed a pattern to the series of accidents that had plagued their cruise fleet, and the pattern suggested that the OceanQueen was the next target. He planned for it to be the last.
After unpacking, Lana made her way to the promenade deck and wandered away from the crowds along the railings, finding a deserted spot with a clear view of the hustle and bustle below.
Circular Quay buzzed with activity, and people were waving as the ship pulled away from its berth, snapping the colourful streamers that bound it to shore. She had a great view from her vantage point: the Sydney Harbour Bridge on her left and the Opera House on her right as the ship sailed up the harbour. Both landmarks were imposing in the fading light.
The sound of low voices from somewhere on the deck above had her craning her head. If she had a great view from here, theirs must be amazing.
‘Looks like loads of single women down there. Half are here for flings; the other half hope to find a husband. It’s the same every cruise.’
‘Your job is to pamper those women, not judge them.’
‘Easy for you to say, buddy. If they see an unattached guy they’re like piranhas circling their next meal.’
Despite her intentions to ignore the conversation, this harsh judgment captured Lana’s attention, and realisation dawned as she looked up. Standing above her, silhouetted against the bridge, stood the stranger who’d saved her from falling earlier.
He wore a crisp white uniform that accentuated his tan—a larger than life Richard Gere in An Officer and aGentleman—and she swallowed, disconcerted by how she’d compared him to two of her favourite movie stars in under an hour.
Deep furrows marred his brow as his gaze swept the crowd, and she shrank back, hoping she was hidden. She didn’t want to be scrutinised by that disconcerting stare—not when she’d been eavesdropping, albeit unintentionally.
Mr Nautical’s generalisations about women had her bristling enough to barge up there and give him a verbal spray, but if she had the guts to do that she’d be winging her way to Egypt right now, as the museum’s spokesperson, not cowering under a deck hoping she wouldn’t be spotted.
He was entitled to his opinion, and she to hers. And right now, as she darted a quick glance overhead, taking in those broad shoulders, deep blue eyes and the mop of unruly dark curls, her opinion screamed Neanderthal.
The band starting up drowned out the rest of his conversation, and she stood still for several minutes, waiting for the men above to move so she could make her escape without being seen. After a few extra minutes of shuffling her feet to kill time, she sidled along the deck, taking a few steps back towards an open door.
‘Watch out!’
The owner of the low voice stood so close his warm breath caressed her ear, and she jumped and whirled around, her heart pounding as she stared into those familiar indigo eyes barely inches from her face.
‘You startled me.’ She glared, desperately trying to hide her embarrassment at being caught eavesdropping.
‘Sorry. Maybe if you watched where you were going we’d stop bumping into each other like this? By the way—Zac McCoy.’
He stuck out his hand, seemingly unaware she’d heard every word of his damning conversation. She’d wanted to keep it that way, so couldn’t be as rude as her first instinct prompted her to be.
‘Lana Walker.’
She placed her hand in his, unprepared for the jolt that shot up her arm as his fingers closed over hers. She yanked back, flustered by the residual tingle buzzing from her fingertips to her shoulder.
His eyes widened as he stared down at her hand. Great. Now he thought she was bad-mannered as well as clumsy. Way to go with the first impressions. Not that she had any intention of impressing him after what she’d just heard—and as if she’d even contemplate impressing him if she hadn’t, she thought derisively. Old clothes, minimal makeup and boring brown hair weren’t exactly designed to impress any guy, let alone someone in Mr Tall, Dark and Nautical’s league.
‘I need to finish unpacking, so if you’ll excuse me?’
As she pushed past him her bare arm brushed his. The strange buzzing was back with a vengeance, spreading upwards and outwards and confusing the heck out of her. She had no idea why her body was behaving like this.
Okay, so that was a lie. Jax the Jackass might have been her only boyfriend, the only guy she’d ever slept with, but once he’d dumped her and she’d fled to Sydney she’d had two less than memorable dates with co-workers. She still recognized that buzz.
Hormones. Her reaction to sailor boy had to be purely physical—no doubt intensified due to the fact she hadn’t been this close to a guy in over three years.
‘I’ll leave you to it. Nice meeting you.’
She mumbled a non-committal answer and sent him a half-hearted wave, glancing over her shoulder as he walked away, her curious gaze lingering on parts it had no right scoping out.
She had a thing for guys in uniform. Always had. Starting way back, when a young sailor had given her a flower after she’d dropped an ice cream cone and cried. A clumsy five-year-old who’d never forgotten her first crush. Her mum’s warning at the time, to steer clear of men like that, hadn’t meant much, considering she hadn’t known what ‘that’ meant back then.
Now, seeing the white cotton outlining Zac McCoy’s butt as he strode away, she knew exactly what that was, and it sent her scurrying for her cabin.
Banishing the encounter from her thoughts, she showered and dressed for dinner. Beth had crammed her case with designer dresses and shoes, but Lana would never have the self-confidence to wear half the sexy stuff her cousin did, so she settled for her one good dress: a plain black coat dress, cinched at the waist, set off with her cousin’s sparkly jet Manolos.
Beth had pestered Lana to allow a complete makeover, but the thought of a radical haircut and new wardrobe was way too intimidating for a girl who equated the latest fashion with the occasional update of her tortoiseshell spectacle frames.
She’d settled for a sedate trim to her blah-brown hair and contacts. Beth had settled for giving her enough shoe castoffs to make the Sex and the City girls sit up and take notice.
As for the rest of Beth’s advice on how to boost her self-confidence? She’d take it one step at a time in these damn uncomfortable shoes.
She entered the Coral Dining Room and barely had time to notice the giant chandelier, the string quartet and the silver service place settings before the maître d’ whisked her to a table where two seats remained vacant.
Sliding into one of them, she let the other occupants introduce themselves—a couple in their forties and two other women—hoping they wouldn’t expect her to make small talk. She was lousy in social situations like this, preferring to sit and listen than participate in idle chit-chat.
She listened to their friendly banter while perusing the extensive menu. As the empty chair on her right was drawn back, her skin prickled disturbingly. A sensation she associated with the hives she’d been unfortunate enough to bear several times when a strawberry came within a whiff of her.
However, this prickle had nothing to do with fruit. This time something far more dangerous to her health—well, to her peace of mind—caused her skin to flush and tingle.
‘Hi, everyone. I’m Zac McCoy, Public Relations Manager. I’m delighted you’ll be joining me for meals at my table. On behalf of the ship’s company, the Captain and the crew, we hope you enjoy your cruise.’
Fate liked to play jokes on her. Maybe she should take out a lottery ticket and be done with it.
Resisting the urge to surreptitiously scratch the flushed skin behind her ears, she tried to ignore her erratic pulse which had shifted into overdrive the minute he sat down. She toyed with the cutlery, pleated her napkin, and successfully avoided looking at him until the table introductions reached her.
‘How are you, Lana?’
He flashed that killer smile, blue eyes glinting with amusement.
‘Fine, thanks.’
That’s it. Slay him with scintillating conversation. For a professional who gave presentations weekly—as painful as it was, speaking in front of her peers—she was doing a marvellous job appearing to be a brainless bimbo.
While the voluptuous blonde on his right distracted him, she couldn’t resist sneaking a peek. Smooth, suave and sexy. He was exactly the type of guy any sane woman would stay away from: a glib, good-looking charmer, with the body of Adonis and a face designed to turn heads. Way out of her league.
As dinner proceeded she remained silent, toying with her food, faking polite smiles. She’d never been a flirt, like Beth, and sitting next to a guy like Zac had her tongue-tied. Probably for the best, as she doubted he’d be interested in the latest marsupial display in the Australian Gallery, or in hearing her expound the virtues of digital cataloguing. Though her reticence was barely noticed as he maintained a steady flow of conversation, captivating everyone at the table.
During dessert—a light chocolate soufflé that melted in her mouth—he turned towards her.
‘You’re awfully quiet. Maybe we should get to know each other better?’
His bold stare scanned her face, focusing briefly on her mouth before returning to her eyes, and admiration tinged with something more—something that made her heart go pitter-patter—glittered in those blue depths.
‘Maybe. Though I should warn you. I’m single, and probably hungrier than a piranha.’
His smile slipped as he dabbed at the corners of his mouth with a linen napkin, those vivid eyes never leaving hers for a second. She blinked to break the hypnotic contact.
‘You overheard me earlier?’
‘Yeah, and your opinion of women on cruises sucks.’
She silently applauded her bravado—fuelled by indignation—even while cringing at her outburst. Antagonising him wouldn’t be conducive to remaining unnoticed, which was what she’d hoped for if she had to sit next to him every night for the next two weeks.
His eyes deepened to midnight, dark and challenging, as he leaned towards her.
‘Care to change my mind?’
‘And disillusion you because I’m not the man-hunter you think I am?’ She eased back, needing some distance between them before she leaned into him and lapped up some of that delicious citrusy-sea-air scent he exuded. ‘Where’s the fun in that?’
‘Oh, I think it could be fun,’ he said.
His gaze dipped to her mouth again, lingered before sweeping back to her eyes. and she flicked her tongue out to moisten her lips, which tingled as if he’d physically touched her.
‘And seeing as you think I’m a judgmental idiot, you would take a lot of convincing.’ His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘Which could equate to a lot of fun.’
‘I didn’t say you were an idiot.’
He chuckled—a rich, deep sound which washed over her in a warm wave. ‘You didn’t have to. You’ve got very expressive eyes.’
‘Must be the contacts.’
Her dry response elicited more laughter.
‘Look, I’d really like to clear the air between us. I honestly didn’t mean anything by what you overheard. It was merely an observation from working on these tugs too long.’
She opened her mouth to respond and he held up a hand. ‘Yes, it was a sweeping generalisation. And, yes, I’m suitably chastened and I apologise. But tell me, Lana Walker, which are you?’
He leaned closer. So close she couldn’t breathe without imprinting his seductive scent on her receptors. ‘Husband-hunter or fun fling girl?’
She reared back, knowing now was the time to clam up as she usually did, before she scolded him like a tardy student. As she compressed her lips into an unimpressed line she noticed the teasing sparkle in his eyes, the cheeky smile playing about his mouth.
‘You’re trying to wind me up.’
‘Is it working?’
‘No.’
‘So I could say anything and you’d be totally immune to me?’
Immune? She could have a hospital’s worth of vaccinations against suave sailors and it still wouldn’t give her guaranteed immunity—the type of immunity she needed more and more urgently the longer he stared at her with those twinkling eyes.
‘That’s right.’
‘So I could say you intrigue me and you wouldn’t react?’
‘Nope.’
‘What about if I tell you I think there’s more to you than the obvious?’
She rolled her eyes. ‘That’s the same as intrigue, so you need to come up with a better line, sailor boy.’
‘Sailor boy?’
A slow grin spread across his face as she mentally slapped a hand over her mouth.
Nicknames implied camaraderie. Nicknames implied fun. And there was no way she’d be foolish enough to ever contemplate having fun with him.
‘Figure of speech.’ She pleated her napkin, folding it over and over with origami-like precision, till he reached over and stilled her hand, setting her pulse rocketing as she tried not to flinch from his touch.
‘What if I said I like you?’
Taking a great gulp of air to ease her constricted lungs, she frowned. ‘You’re still trying to wind me up. And you’re good. I’ll give you that much.’
She extracted her hand on the pretext of picking up her wine glass, racking her brain for an easy way to end this conversation before she blurted out exactly how wound up she was by his teasing. The nape of her neck prickled. A colony of ants had taken up residence under her skin, and her blood flowed thick and sluggish, heating her from the inside out. Logically, she knew it was merely a physiological response—a simple chemical reaction to the first male to enter her personal space in a long time. But logic wouldn’t untie her tongue or stop the rising blush from making her feel more gauche and awkward than ever in a social situation like this.
Smiling, he picked up his own wine glass and raised it in her direction.
‘You do intrigue me. And I’m not trying to wind you up.’ His smile widened. ‘Well, not much. For some inexplicable reason I’ve taken an instant liking to you, despite your somewhat prickly exterior, and I’ve got two weeks to prove it to you.’
Prickly? The cheeky son of a—
He chuckled, and she knew he was winding her up again, trying to get a reaction.
She bit her tongue, mulling over what he’d said. He’d taken an instant liking to her, huh? As if. If she believed that she’d believe the ship would sail into the horizon and drop off the end of a flat earth.
Leaning forward, he murmured in her ear. ‘Two very interesting weeks.’
She stiffened, unable to think when he was this close. What was the best response? Ignore him? Berate him? Wait the requisite ten minutes it would take to think up a scathing comeback and put him firmly back in his place?
‘What? Nothing to say? Surprising, from a woman with such strong opinions about me.’
Sitting back, he fixed her with a smug smile—a smile that said he knew how flustered he made her, how she was struggling to come up with a suitable response.
She should have ignored him, pleaded a headache and left the table. That would have been her usual course of action—quietly slinking away, ruing her shyness. But his self-satisfied smile was too much, goading her into matching wits with him.
He assumed she couldn’t come up with a quick answer? She’d show him.
So rather than pushing back her chair and making a run for it, she felt blood surge to her cheeks, and her head snapped up as she fixed him with a scathing glare.
‘Go ahead, then, sailor boy. Prove it.’
CHAPTER TWO
LANA’S eyelids creaked open at the crack of dawn the next morning. A newly converted gym junkie, she usually bounced out of bed early and hit the nearest gym at six, when fitness fanatics liked to sweat through their first aerobics class of the day.
She’d never graced a gym, let alone tried an aerobics class, till eighteen months ago—all part of Operation Obliterate. Obliterate her memories of Jax, obliterate the embarrassment of how he’d used her; obliterate the fact that her first love had seen her as nothing more than a fling.
Now, not only was she hooked, she’d become a qualified instructor just for the fun of it. Madness? Probably. But for the hour she jumped around every morning she was just like the rest of the sweaty women around her, when no make-up and casual clothes weren’t a big deal.
After a quick shower, she donned her favourite capri pants—in urgent need of replacing, considering the frayed cuffs—and a plain white T-shirt. She had a ton of them, as they went with everything. Then she slipped her feet into a pair of well-worn slingbacks.
Beth had shuddered when she’d seen her casual outfits, but, hey, she’d always been a comfort-over-style girl. Besides, she didn’t adhere to the old ‘dress to impress’ motto. She used her brain to get people to notice her. Discounting last night, when her intellect had gone AWOL.
Prove it, she’d dared Zac. All very brave in the heat of the moment, when she’d fired off the retort without thinking it through properly, but now, in the clear light of a perfect summer’s day, her resolve wavered.
It was one thing setting out to build confidence by trying new things, but challenging a pro like Zac to flirt with her could only end in disaster.
He’d pushed her, taunted her till she’d snapped. He couldn’t have known she’d react that way, for she still couldn’t believe she’d done it herself. And while she now regretted her outburst, a small part of her was jumping up and down with joy at the unusual flash of bravado.
The old, sensible, conservative Lana would have ducked her head, pushed her ancient glasses up her nose and ignored him. She would have scuffed her well-worn sensible shoes under the table, tugged on the hem of her favourite shapeless sweatshirt and made a quick escape. She’d always taken the safe route, always done the right thing, always focussed on her career and nothing else.
She was the diligent employee, the dependable colleague, the model girlfriend, the reliable cousin. And where had it got her?
She’d been dumped, overlooked for a brilliant opportunity at work, and had come on this cruise for one reason and one reason only: to gain confidence socially and ensure she was never passed over at work again.
If she couldn’t rely on her job, the one thing in this world she knew she was good at, what hope did she have?
Maybe standing up to brash sailors and proving she wasn’t a push-over fell into the category of confidence-building?
With a shake of her head—as if that would dislodge the memory of making a fool of herself with that rash challenge—she headed for the lido deck, where continental breakfast was being served. She helped herself to a plate of mango, melon and pineapple, before finding a table next to the floor-to-ceiling glass overlooking the Pacific Ocean, stretching as far as she could see, its undulating swell infinitely soothing.
Her apartment in Coogee had an ocean view, though nothing as gorgeous as this. She’d deliberately chosen a sea view for its calming qualities and, boy, had she needed it when she’d first moved to Sydney from Melbourne, hellbent on leaving her past behind.
‘Enjoying the view this morning?’
She glanced up, her pulse-rate accelerating in an instant. Zac—in a navy polo shirt and matching shorts, his hair recently washed and slicked back, resident charming smile in place—rivalled the ocean in the stunning stakes.
She took a sip of water, trying to ease the dryness in her throat. ‘Yes, it’s spectacular.’
He wasn’t looking at the view. Instead, that steady, captivating blue-eyed gaze remained riveted to her. ‘Spectacular would describe it perfectly.’
She blushed and glanced down, toying with the fruit on her plate rather than face his intense scrutiny.
What made her think she could practise gaining confidence with this guy? He was a major player, and she’d barely graduated from Little League.
‘You really should try some of that mango rather than playing with it. It’s succulent this time of year.’
The way he said ‘succulent’ fascinated her; tripping from his lips, it almost sounded obscene.
‘Shouldn’t you be circulating amongst the passengers?’
She speared a piece of juicy mango and bit into it, trying to appear casual yet anxious to fob him off.
As if in slow motion he reached his index finger towards the corner of her mouth, where a rivulet of juice had started to run, and wiped it up.
Shaken to her core, she watched him lick the droplet of juice from his fingertip in a shockingly intimate gesture.
‘Mmm—tasty.’
His smouldering gaze dropped to her lips before sweeping back to her eyes, triumphant blue clashing with shell-shocked hazel.
‘You’re right. I should get back to work. I can’t have my time monopolized by one woman,” he teased, before adding, ‘Delectable as she may be.’
With a cocky smile, he gave her a half-salute and sauntered away.
The corner of her mouth was still quivering from his sensual touch. Great. If that was his first foray into provingit she was in trouble. Big trouble.
With a trembling hand she devoured the remainder of her breakfast, eager to escape. Whenever she looked up she caught a glimpse of him, moving among the tables, talking to various people. Their eyes met only once across the crowded room, and she looked away first, hating the blush staining her cheeks, hating her inadequacy at coping with light flirtation more.
It was hot in this room, way too hot. Pushing her plate away, she almost tripped in her haste to stand and dashed for the door, keeping her head down, unwilling to tempt fate further. After virtually falling into his arms, landing next to him at dinner, and then running into him first thing this morning, it looked as if fate was having a mighty big chuckle at her expense.
Zac watched Lana bolt, hiding a triumphant grin as he flipped the pages on his clipboard. He had her thoroughly rattled, if that stunned, wide-eyed gaze when he’d touched her lips was any indication.
Maybe he’d pushed the boundaries a tad there, but he hadn’t been able to help it; he wanted to see if anything disturbed that cool-bordering-on-haughty mantle she wore like a fine fur.
He’d disconcerted her last night to the point where she’d thrown out that challenge. He was in little doubt she would never have been that brazen, that sassy, if she’d been thinking straight. After all, a woman who turned up to her first dinner on a luxurious cruise liner wearing a drab black dress with oversized buttons, a God-awful belt, and barely a slick of make-up, and who rarely spoke, wasn’t exactly brimming with confidence.
Yet he’d wanted to push her buttons anyway.
Must be the pressure. He had a job to do, a saboteur to uncover, and some bad publicity to bring to a screaming halt. His uncle was relying on him, and he owed Jimmy big-time. He’d let him down once. Never again.
He needed to concentrate on business—needed to convince everyone he was just the new PR guy. The success of his plan depended on it. Even if he was actually the CEO of the whole damn company, and usually had bigger fish to fry.
And concentrating on business meant not giving Lana a hard time—challenge or not. Though there had been something about the spark in her eyes when she’d fired back at him last night, something about her wary yet indignant expression that had him wanting to delve beneath her prim surface to discover the hidden depths.
Maybe if he unnerved her enough, unsettled her enough, he’d get to see the real her?
An interesting proposition, but for now work came first. Work was reliable, dependable, and never let him down. It wasn’t clouded by emotions and it didn’t change when he least expected it. Work was the one constant in his life. The only constant.
Exactly the way he liked it.
Lana studied Neptune’s News, the ship’s daily planner, as she lounged around the lido pool, staggered by the array of activities on board: lectures on ports they were due to visit, wine-tasting, art auctions, dance lessons—the list went on for ever. She studiously avoided any activities with Zac’s name pencilled next to them, and finally decided on ballroom dancing—something she’d always wanted to try but never had the guts to. Hopefully mastering a waltz or two might give her a quickstep in the right direction to boosting her self-confidence.
Finding her way to the ballroom proved easier said than done. Maps were clearly visible around the ship, but understanding the difference between port and starboard was the first hurdle to overcome in figuring out directions, and only after several botched attempts did she finally find the room. So much for her sure-fire navigational skills; apparently they only applied to the maze of one-way streets around Sydney and to convoluted museum corridors.
Several women stood to one side of the ballroom, while a few men loitered on the outskirts of the dance floor. She learned from Mavis, the woman standing next to her, that the men were hosts, hired by the ship’s company for single women who needed a dance partner.
‘This is my seventh cruise, dear. Why do you think I keep coming back? Though I’m seventy, these dance hosts make me feel twenty-one again, whisking me all over the dance floor. Not to mention their youthful good-looks.’
Lana smothered a smile as the youngest host appeared to be a greying fifty-five. She observed that the men were skilled at mingling with the women, and soon everyone had paired off. Predictably, she had no partner. Story of her life, really.
‘Don’t worry, love, you’ll be the lucky one paired with the instructor.’
Mavis, veteran cruiser, obviously knew how these things worked.
‘I hope he’s good.’
Because she was a dervish out there on the dance floor? Yeah, right. She moved her feet to an imaginary samba rhythm and almost took a tumble.
‘I’m better than good. Let’s just hope you can keep up.’
Her nerve-endings snapped to attention as the deep voice rippled over her, and she didn’t have to turn around to know who it belonged to. Fickle fate dealing her a bum hand yet again.
‘Okay, class, let’s get to work. As you can see, I’m not Rafe, our illustrious dance instructor. He was called away to a last-minute rehearsal for tonight’s extravaganza, so you’re stuck with me instead. For those who don’t know me, I’m Zac McCoy, the PR manager. Though I’m not a professional entertainer, I can safely say I don’t have two left feet, and I’ve managed to learn a thing or two during my years working with the entertainment staff. So, how about a waltz to start with?’
‘Anything you want, handsome. Oh, if only I was thirty years younger.’ Mavis fanned her face, a twinkle in her eyes.
‘If only I’d decided on taking the chess class,’ Lana muttered, wondering if she could feign a sprained ankle.
‘Did you say something?’
She had two choices. Duck and run, as she usually would in an uncomfortable situation like this, or ignore the blush burning her cheeks, discount the fact she’d never done this before, and suck it up and see if she could get through this awkward encounter without making a fool of herself.
She shook her head, managing a tight smile resembling a grimace. ‘No.’
‘Right, then. Shall we dance?’
Zac grinned and held out his hand, leaving her no option but to take it. She tried to relax, she really did, but as he pulled her closer, his body grazing hers, she inadvertently stiffened.
His knowing smile didn’t help. ‘See—a perfect fit.’
‘I thought we were doing a waltz. The way you’re holding me seems more like the Lambada.’
‘Fancy a bit of dirty dancing, do you?’
‘Don’t flatter yourself. You certainly don’t hold a candle to Patrick Swayze.’
A glint of hidden excitement lit his extraordinary eyes.
‘And here I was thinking you were falling under my spell. You disappoint me.’
She averted her gaze, focussing on anything other than those all-seeing eyes, wishing her heart would stop racing. ‘Don’t you ever stop flirting?’
His grin widened. ‘I’m sure Fred did his fair share of flirting while he whisked Ginger around. I’m just taking my role seriously.’
‘Your role as the resident Casanova, you mean?’
The naughty glint in his eyes alerted her to the fact she hadn’t insulted him. Moreover, he was enjoying their sparring way too much.
‘We’re both adults here. There’s nothing wrong with a bit of harmless flirtation. Besides, you dared me—remember?’
More fool her.
‘Look, this is silly. You were taunting me last night. I bit back. Let’s just forget it, okay?
The naughty glint didn’t let up. If anything it intensified as his lips kicked up into an all too sexy grin.
‘Unfortunately for you I have a very good memory, so I can’t forget it. But I’m willing to concentrate on our dance steps for now.’ And with that he spun her outwards, at arm’s length.
‘If that’s your way of changing the subject, I’m not buying it.’
He reeled her in with a slight tug on her hand. ‘Who said anything about needing to change the subject? I enjoy flirting. You’re the one with the problem.’
If he only knew.
She didn’t know how to flirt—had absolutely no experience at it. Jax had targeted her, played her, said all the right things—done all the right things to get her to fall for him. Flirting hadn’t entered into it. As for her other two dates, they’d been stilted, awkward, rushed dinners, with limited small talk and frequent glances at watches on both sides.
It wasn’t so much having a problem with flirting, she just didn’t have a clue how to do it.
She stumbled, winced, trod on his toes, and wished the parquet floor would open up and swallow her.
‘Easy, Ginger. Just follow my lead.’
If he’d smiled or smirked or had the faintest amused twinkle in his eyes she would have slammed her heel on his foot—well, she would have thought about it—and made a run for it.
Instead, he tightened his hold on her hand, gently increased the pressure with the other in the small of her back, and counted softly under his breath as he led her around the dance floor.
The counting was for her benefit, but it didn’t help. Clumsy, stiff and awkward didn’t begin to describe how she felt in his arms—like a mannequin given an airing before being dumped in a shopfront in only her knickers.
Thinking of knickers while in his arms had her trampling his toes again, and she bit her lip, silently cursing her ineptness.
‘Sorry.’
Her gaze fixed on his chest, heat scorching her cheeks.
He stopped twirling her about, placed a finger under her chin and tilted it up so she had no option but to look at him.
‘Don’t apologise. This class is about learning, and you’re doing great for a beginner.’
His understanding smile sent a tremor through her. Why couldn’t he be condescending and obnoxious so she could dislike him, rather than considerate and kind?
She mumbled a noncommittal answer, wishing he’d stop staring at her like a pet project. Though it could be worse; he could be looking down on her as a charity case with pity in his eyes.
‘Just feel the music. Let the beat take you.’
Easy for Fred Astaire Junior to say.
Her dubious expression had him chuckling as he pulled her closer again. ‘Come on. You’ll enjoy it.’
To her surprise, he was right. As soon as she stopped focussing on her feet not stomping on his, and ignored the fact he was holding her close, she started to relax.
The music filtered over her, soft and ethereal, a classical hit from a bygone era, and she found herself humming softly, swept away in the magic of the moment.
She closed her eyes, remembered a dancing show she’d once seen on TV, and imagined herself in a red chiffon dress with a fitted bodice held up by will-power alone, with handkerchief layers cascading from her waist to her ankles. She imagined snazzy red shoes to match, sequinned, with impossibly high heels, that floated across the dance floor of their own volition.
With immaculate hair and make-up, and the smile of a ballroom dancing champion, she lived the fantasy, let the music infuse her body, her senses, and allowed Zac to whisk her around and around, her feet finally falling into step with his as an exhilaration she’d never known rushed through her.
She’d never felt so light, so graceful, so unselfconscious. If this was what ballroom dancing could do for her, she’d sign up for a year’s worth of classes as soon as she got back.
But there was more to it than perfecting a waltz and she knew it.
Zac had given her this gift—had given her the confidence to let go of her reservations and enjoy the moment. He’d empowered her to believe that for a precious few minutes she could be agile and lithe and elegant, rather than a shy, clumsy klutz.
When the music died her eyelids fluttered open, but rather than feeling let down by reality, the gleam of appreciation in his deep blue eyes had her craving to do it all over again.
‘You’re good.’
His admiration made her want to perform a few extra twirls for good measure.
She flushed with pleasure. ‘Thanks. So are you.’
‘You up for a cha-cha?’
Ignoring the usual flicker of nerves at the thought of trying something new, she nodded. ‘Sure. Let’s give it a try.’
Not only did she try a cha-cha, Zac showed her the finer points of a foxtrot too. While the class danced around them, she matched him step for step, exhilarated by his fancy manoeuvres, thrilled by her increasing confidence to try more complicated steps.
At the end of the hour she collapsed into a nearby chair, her face flushed, her feet aching and her imagination still tripping the light fantastic.
He crouched next to her as she puffed at the damp hair strands falling over her face, knowing she must look a hot, rumpled mess. Yet a small part of her was still feeling like that dance champion she’d imagined.
‘You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you, Ginger?’
‘Why? Because I only managed to break all the toes on your right foot and not your left?’
He laughed. ‘You’ll be pleased to know my toes are just fine. Better than fine, considering I had to do some fancy footwork out there to keep up with you once you got going.’
There was a reason he was in PR. He probably laid it on this thick for countless other gullible females every cruise.
‘Yeah, well, I told you I was good at the start.’ His eyebrows shot up as he clearly relived every clumsy stumble she’d made initially and she smiled. ‘And you’re not such a bad teacher, once you concentrate on the task at hand and put a zip on the banter.’
‘Thanks. I think.’ He stood, stretched, and she quickly averted her gaze from the window of tanned, flat stomach poking between his polo shirt and shorts. ‘See you tonight at dinner?’
His smile was pure invitation. If he’d asked her a few hours ago she would have sent him a short, sharp RSVP in the negative, but after the enlivening hour she’d just spent, thanks to him, she found herself nodding.
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Right-o. See you then.’
She fanned her cheeks as he walked away, wondering if it was the exercise, the exhilaration of feeling graceful for the first time in her life, or being wrapped in his muscular arms that had made her hot and bothered?
In reality she should be happy—ecstatic, even. She’d tried something new today and had given her flagging confidence a much-needed lift. Her sense of achievement was immense, and she owed it to one guy.
And now she’d experienced the rush of feeling graceful for the first time in her life she wondered how much further he could boost her confidence—if she didn’t try so hard to fend him off.
CHAPTER THREE
WHILE Zac had impressed her with his sensitivity during dance class yesterday, he had ruined it by slipping into full flirting mode over dinner last night. Her fledgling confidence hadn’t lasted and she’d clammed up, grunted monosyllabic answers, and done her best to ignore the persistent attentions of a suave sailor boy with smooth moves and slick words.
She hated the fact it was a game to him, a response to the challenge she’d thrown down in a fit of pique. Her inherent shyness was a bane she lived with every day, it affected her professionally, socially and romantically, yet he seemed to view it as something she could shrug off if he teased her enough.
He was really starting to get to her, but thankfully the ship had docked at Noumea today, and she wouldn’t waste another minute thinking about him. Instead, she explored the French-inspired capital of New Caledonia, with its tree-lined boulevards flanked by trendy boutiques and cafés, enjoying every minute.
She savoured the aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafting on the light tropical breeze, she scoffed melt-in-the-mouth flaky croissants, and she scoured the shops—something she never did back home. When she shopped it was for necessity rather than a burning need for retail therapy—no matter how many times Beth dragged her from one boutique to another trying to make her see otherwise.
Yet here, with the balmy breeze ruffling her ponytail and the tempting shopfronts laid out like bright, sparkling jewels in the sun, she couldn’t help but browse.
Entering a small boutique, she meandered through aisles crammed with enough hangers and clothes to outfit the entire cast of South Pacific. Her hands drifted over soft silky sarongs, short strappy summer dresses, before lingering over the swimwear. The only bathers she’d brought on this trip were an old black one-piece cut high in the front—the ones she used if she swam at home as part of a workout.
So why was she picking up a cerise bikini, its hot pink colour the exact shade her cheeks would be if she ever had the guts to wear something so revealing?
She put it down and trailed her hand over some straw hats, before her gaze settled on the bikini again, drawn to it, mesmerised by its newness, its brightness and its blinding contrast to everything else in her wardrobe.
Glancing down at her worn black flip-flops, khaki Bermuda shorts and well-washed grey T-shirt, she hovered over the bikini, sorely tempted. Just looking at it gave her the same buzz she’d had when floating around the dance floor in Zac’s arms—the feeling she could be more assertive if she set her mind to it.
Spurred on by an eagerness to recreate that feeling, she snatched it up and headed for the counter before she changed her mind.
After thrusting the bikini at the young Melanesian guy behind the counter, she ducked her head on the pretext of searching for her purse in her straw carryall, hating how her cheeks burned when making what was a simple, everyday purchase for most women.
She rummaged around, waiting for him to ring it up, and was unprepared for the small puff of perfume in the vicinity of her right ear.
‘This fragrance will be perfect for mademoiselle.’
She shook her head, ready to tell him she wasn’t interested, when an intoxicating blend of light floral tones mingling with subtle vanilla drifted over her. She inhaled, savouring the heady scent, feeling surprisingly feminine after one small squirt.
She never wore perfume, had never owned a bottle in her life, but when the young guy stared at her with soulful chocolate-brown eyes and insisted again that it was perfect for her, in a divine French accent, she found herself handing over her credit card and being handed back a duty-free bag with two purchases she’d never dreamed of making, let alone using.
But for those few minutes when she’d watched him wrap the bikini and the perfume she’d stood a little taller, felt a little braver—as if she could be the type of woman who wasn’t passed over for an amazing trip to Egypt as the museum’s spokesperson just because she wasn’t articulate or outgoing enough.
However, her flash of spirit didn’t last as she strolled back to the ship. The perfume box banged against her leg, a constant reminder of its presence, and she couldn’t help but feel a fool.
Since when did she wear perfume? Let alone go for something so…so…out there? Seductive, feminine items were for girls not short on confidence—girls who’d have the guts to live up to the perfume’s promise; girls who’d have the spirit to match wits with sailor boys. Girls absolutely nothing like her.
Impulse buying a stupid perfume with a naughty name wouldn’t give her the confidence boost she needed. Nothing would. And she’d be better off remembering that rather than entertaining foolish dreams of showing everyone, Zac included, that she wasn’t the shy nerd they’d labelled her.
When she got back to her cabin, she flung the duty-free bag into the wardrobe and slammed the door shut.
Ruing the waste of money—as if she’d ever have the chutzpah to wear that bikini—she wriggled into her trusty one-piece and headed for the Dolphin Deck pool. She dumped her towel and sarong on a deckchair before plunging into the water, eager to wash away memories of her recent foolishness.
Closing her eyes, she flipped over, floating blissfully until a dark shadow passed over her. When it didn’t move, she opened her eyes.
And promptly sank.
Torn between the natural urge to fight her way to the surface for air or stay submerged, safely away from charming sailor boys, she eventually floundered her way to the surface, spluttering and coughing and ruining her Esther Williams impersonation.
‘Need a hand?’
She glared at his outstretched hand and shook her head, deriving some satisfaction as water droplets sprayed his immaculate uniform.
‘No, thanks.’
His lips curved into a deliciously tempting smile. ‘You sure? Not tempted to try and pull me in?’
The thought hadn’t crossed her mind, but now he mentioned it maybe a good dunking would cool him off.
‘Not really. And I’m quite capable of hoisting myself out of the pool—if you’d move out of my way?’
‘I like a strong woman.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘You like women, period.’
‘What’s wrong with that? I’m a healthy red-blooded male.’
Her gaze drifted across his broad shoulders of its own volition, and lower, before snapping back to meet his all too sure of himself stare.
‘I’ll take your word for it.’
She pushed away from the side of the pool, treading water, floundering out of her depth physically and literally. Ever since she’d been silly enough to dare him that first night he’d been teasing her, pushing her for a reaction.
‘As much as I’m enjoying your mermaid impersonation, why don’t you come a little closer so we can have a proper chat?’
‘About…?’
‘Tonight. You and me.’
How did he do that? Infuse every word with mystery and mayhem and untold promise? As if his sexy smile and come-get-me eyes weren’t enough.
For the second time in as many minutes she went under, cursing her inability to be anything other than clumsy and inept in his presence. He unnerved her to the point of bumbling, and it was high time she got over this funk he had her in with his constant teasing. Either that or jump ship.
She breaststroked underwater to the side, and hauled herself up the pool ladder. ‘Don’t say a word. Just hand me that towel, please.’
He was smart as well as good-looking, for he didn’t speak as he passed her the towel. Then again, he didn’t need to. His smug smile said it all.
He had her squirming, wanting to match wits with him, wishing she could, but scared of the consequences. Her heart was slamming against her ribcage at the thought of what they might entail.
For some strange reason he’d fixated his charms on her this cruise. Her—the last woman who’d reciprocate, the last woman to put up with his nonsense, the last woman to dally with if that was his intention.
She wasn’t a dallying type of girl, yet with him staring at her with a twinkle in those deep blue eyes it was hard not to wish she was.
‘Aren’t you at all interested to hear what I have in mind for you and me tonight?’
Oh, she was interested all right—interested to the point she’d almost drowned when he’d strung the words you, meand tonight into the same sentence.
Tying her sarong around her waist, having quickly patted herself dry, she aimed for casual. ‘I’m sure you’ll tell me.’
He chuckled. ‘Nice to see you this wound up. It must mean I’m getting somewhere in my quest to prove how much I like you.’
‘I’m not wound up.’
She finished tying the knot at her waist with an extra hard yank, almost cutting off her circulation in the process.
‘No?’
He sent a pointed stare at the twisted mess she’d made of her sarong, and she stopped fiddling with it, crossing her arms instead.
Bad move, considering the wicked gleam in his eyes as he dragged them away from her cleavage.
‘I just wanted to make sure you’re coming to the Island Banquet. You won’t want to miss it.’
‘That good, huh?’
‘Better.’
His lowered tone indicated he wasn’t just talking about the banquet. See, this was where she struggled. She had no idea if he was being clever or flirty or deliberately naughty—no idea how to respond without sounding repressed and uptight or foolishly naïve.
‘Well, then, I look forward to seeing your prowess at organising events.’
‘I’m sure you won’t be disappointed with my prowess.’
He took a step towards her and ran his hand lightly down her arm. She shivered, tiny goosebumps crawling across her skin as she belatedly realised she’d given him the upper hand yet again.
‘That’s a promise.’
Oh, he was good—too good. She should just hoist her white flag up the main pole now in surrender.
He’d won. He’d bombarded her with enough smooth moves and clever words to prove he liked her. Though it was just a game to him, and she knew it. Then why the urge to ignore her head, the logical part of her that she always listened to, the part telling her to jump ship now before she was sucked into believing any of this was real?
‘See you tonight.’ His husky tone washed over her like a warm wave, soft, soothing, seductive, and he grazed her arm in a fleeting touch before walking away, leaving her helpless and yearning and cursing her inexperience with men more than ever.
Lana needed a shot of confidence, and in the absence of a ballroom dancing class she settled for a squirt of that frivolous perfume.
Considering her hand still shook as she pulled a brush through her hair it hadn’t worked and she contemplated staying in and ordering Room Service rather than face another inevitable encounter with Zac.
Her nerves were shredded. She couldn’t pretend to be someone she wasn’t, and standing up to his incessant beguiling barrage could wear her down eventually. She couldn’t handle that.
As she strolled towards the huge marquee about a mile from the ship, where the banquet was being held, the warm trade winds ruffled the hair at the nape of her neck. She knew wearing a new perfume and hoping it would give her poise while under duress was wishful thinking.
Fear settled in the pit of her stomach. Pep-talks to herself, telling her to stay cool and not let him rattle her, were fine in the confines of her cabin, but how would she stand up under pressure from his persistent charm?
Smoothing her old formal dress with nervous hands, she entered the marquee, where suspended fairy lights created a magical effect as they reflected in the water. Tables lined the outskirts, heavily laden with local seafood delicacies, salads and decadent desserts, and she tried not to drool. Easy, considering a certain sailor boy was nowhere in sight.
Mavis, resplendent in a floral dress with an orange hibiscus tucked behind her right ear, sidled up to her, beaming as usual. ‘Aloha, dear.’
Lana didn’t have the heart to tell her the Hawaiian greeting wasn’t used here. ‘You’re looking very tropical.’
‘Yes, well, we’ve got to get into the island spirit, haven’t we? By the way, where’s your beau? I haven’t seen him.’
‘My beau?’
Mavis tut-tutted. ‘Don’t play coy with me, my girl. I saw the way that sailor looked at you yesterday in dance class. I may be old, but I’m far from senile, and if my eyes didn’t deceive me I think you liked the attention.’
‘No way—’
‘Why don’t you live a little? Have some fun, dear. You’re only young once. Now, in order to do that you need to keep mingling and stop wasting your time talking to an old chook like me.’ She patted Lana’s cheek. ‘Say hello to that gorgeous boy for me,’ she said and waddled away, chuckling under her breath
Have some fun. You’re only young once.
She wanted to, she really did, but ignoring the habits of a lifetime was tough. Even if she knew how to flirt, would Zac be satisfied with that? She doubted it. If she responded he’d take it as a signal that she was interested in more, would probably expect more, and she couldn’t give it to him.
She was anti-casual-sex for a reason, a damn good one, and casting off her inhibitions along with her reservations would be near impossible.
Unless she had great motivation?
Maybe she did—all wrapped up in six-foot-plus of sexy sailor. Was Zac incentive enough for her to drop her guard and see where it led?
The thought had her bolting from the marquee for the safety of the deserted beach, where she could quash daft thoughts like that before they blossomed and encouraged her to indulge in all kinds of crazy, uncharacteristic actions.
Zac made small talk with a couple from Alabama while his gaze was riveted on Lana as she left the marquee.
He was an expert at multi-tasking—his job, his real job, demanded it—so he had no trouble nodding and laughing and responding even while hiding a grimace at yet another hideous dress, this one in a drab brown, and at the way it hid her curves.
And she had them—man, did she have them. He’d seen them on full display this afternoon, despite that neck-to-knee ensemble. Okay, it hadn’t been that bad, but those boring bathers were gruesome just the same, and she noto-knee doubt thought they hid the curves that could give a guy ideas of how far he’d like to push this challenge, despite his every intention not to.
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Nicola Marsh
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: He’ll tempt her… Shipping tycoon Zac McCoy can sense there is a passionate woman behind Lana Walker’s shy exterior. Whilst aboard his luxury yacht, he’ll tempt her out to play! He’ll tease her… Lana always looks before she leaps. But the captivating Captain has her throwing caution to the wind. The gloves come off, the silk dresses slip on – and the real Lana begins to emerge.He’ll take her! He’ll have her as his two-week mistress. But as land approaches, a fortnight may not be enough…