Cinderella and the Billionaire

by Marion Lennox

  To Matt’s werewolves. Unaccountably, she found she was smiling.

  He’d given her a job: snuggle down in the tender and take care of Henry.

  She did just that. She hauled a thermal blanket around her. Henry muttered a little in his sleep. She settled beside him, moved closer and put her arms around him.

  Boof jumped in on her feet. Um, maybe not. ‘Out,’ she murmured and he obligingly jumped out. She clicked her fingers to the side of the boat and he settled as close as he could. She could reach out and touch him if she wanted.

  Matt had stoked up their camp fire before he left. Its flames were still easing the dark.

  ‘We’re warm and we’re safe and Matt’s looking after us,’ she murmured to Henry and she felt him nestle closer still.

  Matt’s looking after us.

  It was a good thought. Maybe it was even a great thought.

  She closed her eyes and felt herself drift into sleep.

  * * *

  Peggy noticed.

  Bless her.

  Thirty minutes after he lit his fires, after his first flare lit the night, just before he was about to use his second, he saw an answering glow from Garnett Island. She must have heaved combustibles together fast. He had no field glasses and Garnett was some way off but he saw the faint, answering glow and he relaxed.

  It was the most primitive communication he could think of but it was enough. Peggy had seen his fires. She’d know where they were and her answering fire meant she’d send help. He wished he could let her know they were all safe, but he hoped she’d assume it.

  He wouldn’t light more flares—they could be seen as a plea for immediate help. He’d done all he could. He could head back to the tender and see if he could get some sleep.

  He made his way carefully down the cliff, thinking how glad he was he hadn’t needed Meg’s help. The rocks were small, shifting, unstable. He wanted her where she was, snug in the tender. Their camp fire was a glow below him and as he climbed down he was aware of a surge of something strange.

  As if...he was heading home?

  It was a weird feeling, and it didn’t ease when he reached the bottom. Boof lifted his head and gave him a token tail wag as he neared the little boat. He kept his flashlight on, but low and turned aside so he wouldn’t wake the occupants.

  Meg was cradling Henry, even in sleep. She had him tucked into the crook of her arm. Taking comfort or giving it? He couldn’t be sure.

  They were huddled against the tender’s side and there was space left beside her. Boof could have fitted, he thought, but with a flash of insight he realised what Meg had done.

  She’d left space for him.

  A hero wouldn’t climb into the tender with them, he thought wryly. A hero had no need for that sense of comfort. Surely he should stay awake, tending the camp fire, keeping watch over his charges, keeping werewolves at bay.

  But there was nary a werewolf, and suddenly Meg stirred. She was on her back, one arm around Henry, and now her spare arm reached up toward him.

  ‘Hey,’ she murmured, half-asleep. ‘Time to rest?’

  ‘Peggy saw our fires. She lit one herself to show us she’s seen.’

  ‘Excellent.’ Her voice was still slurred. ‘So come on in, Matt McLellan.’

  There was hardly room. Widthways, yes, but lengthways his feet would either have to rest up on the sides or they’d have to squash.

  She smiled up at him. That hand still reached up.

  He smiled back down and decided to squash.

  * * *

  She woke and she couldn’t breathe.

  Her first thought was that she was choking. Her second was that she couldn’t wake Henry. She choked into her sleeve, fighting for breath. Her whole body was trembling.

  She mustn’t wake...

  But Matt’s arm was suddenly around her, tugging her to sit upward. Henry was waking beside her, jerked into alarm.

  She sat and buckled and coughed and fought for breath, and then Matt was lifting her up, out of the boat, cradling her in his arms.

  ‘Henry, it’s okay,’ he said. ‘Meg got smoke in her chest today but she’ll be okay. She just needs to cough it out.’

  She wasn’t okay. She felt as if she were dying. Somehow, almost by instinct, she forced herself to snap her fingers to Boof, make a gesture...

  Boof was a great dog. He looked up at his mistress, his head on one side while he figured what she was trying to tell him—and then he stepped carefully into the tender. He plonked down beside Henry. Henry’s arm came around him and the little boy settled again into sleep.

  Which meant Meg could concentrate on breathing. Which wasn’t happening. She was fighting, her breath coming in sharp, short rasps. Her chest hurt. Her whole body was shaking.

  Matt was carrying her over to the embers of their fire, swearing.

  ‘It’s okay, sweetheart. The albuterol’s in your pocket? Right, let’s get you breathing.’

  He settled on a rock and held the albuterol to her lips.

  She sucked like she was drowning. It wasn’t helping. It wasn’t...

  And then Matt was grabbing one of the bags of muesli bars. The bars were unceremoniously tipped and the bag held to her lips.

  ‘Meg, I’m thinking this is a panic attack. Let’s treat it as that. Breathe into the bag.’

  Panic attack? She’d never had such a thing. This was a heart attack or worse. But Matt was holding the bag to her lips. ‘Breathe,’ he said. ‘Fill the bag and then take it in again. Slow as you can. Do it, Meg.’

  And his authority cut through her terror. He was still holding her, cradling her like a child, but his voice brooked no argument.

  She breathed.

  The bag forced her to slow. She had to make it inflate. She was trying so hard...

  ‘Great job, Meg. Keep going. One after the other.’

  He held her while she breathed. She just...breathed.

  And slowly, miraculously, the panic eased. The pain in her chest backed off.

  She was still shaking. If Matt let her go she would have sobbed with distress but he did no such thing. He held her close until finally the shakes subsided. Until finally she was brave enough to put the bag down, to try to talk. She was mortified.

  ‘I can’t... I don’t...’

  ‘It’s okay,’ he said, gently but firmly. ‘You’re okay. Meg, I don’t think it was the smoke. I’ve seen a full-blown panic attack before. It was a colleague when she’d realised she’d forgotten to register a share transfer. Half a million lost in an instant. You, waking up to the memory of a burning boat, with lives at stake... That’s so much worse. You have every right to panic.’

  ‘I don’t... It felt...’

  ‘Like you were suffocating? We called the paramedics for Donna. They said with the bag you’re forced to focus on breathing. You can see what’s happening with the rise and fall of the bag, and you don’t have room for the rest of the stuff. Neat, huh? I love it when a plan works.’

  She didn’t reply. She couldn’t yet, but his steady voice, his calm, had her world settling. The tremors hadn’t completely eased but the panic had.

  Had she had a nightmare? She vaguely remembered waking to the memory of flames, of choking smoke, of looking out of the hatch and knowing the lives entrusted to her were in peril.

  It was over. Past. Why should she be shaking now?

  ‘I think it’s adrenalin,’ Matt said, as if he could hear what she was thinking. ‘In an emergency adrenalin kicks in. You responded brilliantly. You got us here safe. You comforted Henry, you made him feel like all was well with his world and then you flaked out with exhaustion. And the adrenalin dropped and the fear found its way to the surface.’

  ‘It was my fault. I should have—’

  ‘What, inspected every part of the boat for faults? Nothing’s p
erfect, Meg. Even luxury limos break down.’

  ‘They don’t burst into flames.’

  ‘I bet they do. I bet somewhere in the echelons of motoring history someone’s standing beside a half-million-dollar car while the engine puffs smoke.’ And then as she relaxed, just a little bit, he hugged her tighter. ‘You did great, Meg, and it’s all great from here on. Peggy will have contacted the authorities. I wouldn’t be surprised if we have helicopters hovering over us at dawn, so how about we sleep now?’

  And before she realised what he was about, he lifted her and carried her bodily back to the tender.

  Henry, reassured by Boof’s solid presence, had drifted off to sleep again. The big dog was still lying beside him, taking up the entire floor space. Now he opened one eye and gazed up at them suspiciously. As well as he might. ‘Boof, out,’ Matt said and Boof did exactly that.

  ‘He only does...what I say,’ she managed.

  ‘He only does what’s good for his mistress.’ Matt lowered her onto the rubber and tucked a space blanket around her. ‘Now, sleep.’

  ‘Matt?’

  ‘Mmm?’

  ‘There’s room for you.’

  ‘I’ll sleep by the fire.’

  ‘No.’ The panic was still in the recesses of her mind. It was because the tender was more comfortable, she told herself. He’d sleep better on the inflatable surface.

  But she knew it was more than that. He’d held her and the terror had receded. If he could just...hold her...

  And he got it. He stooped and touched her on the cheek. It was the gentlest of touches and why it should send a frisson of pure heat through her...

  There was no reason, but as he smiled and slid into the tender beside her, as he tucked her under his arm, as he pulled the blanket over the two of them...

  She smiled, too.

  And then she slept.

  * * *

  Matt didn’t sleep.

  There was no reason why he shouldn’t. The tender was comfortable enough. Sure, his feet had to rest on the side but it was more comfortable than a bed on the rock-strewn sand. He did a bit of recreational hiking. He was used to sleeping rough.

  Their problems had been solved. Rescue was on its way.

  There was no reason at all why he should lie with Meg tucked into the crook of his arm and stare at the dark and think...

  Meg.

  He could understand why he should lie in the dark and think of the fire. But Meg?

  It was the circumstances, he told himself.

  But it was more than that. It was the sight of her at the wheel of the boat, handling the boat in the tricky seas as if she’d been born to it. Which obviously she had.

  It was her insistence on seasickness pills. It was the way she’d persuaded Henry to treat Boof as a friend.

  It was her competency and courage in the face of fire.

  She’d saved them. That thought was overwhelming enough, but she’d done it with a warmth and empathy he could hardly comprehend. So many times since Amanda had died he’d felt helpless, and now this woman was making him feel even more as if there was an entire life skill set that had passed him by.

  The way she looked. The way she smiled.

  The way she felt...

  Circumstances...

  He was emotional, too, he told himself, and as she murmured in her sleep, as he instinctively held her closer, as he felt the warmth of her body against his chest he thought...

  Circumstances?

  He needed to get a grip because the way he was feeling, circumstances didn’t come into it.

  * * *

  She woke in the small hours. Something must have woken her, but there was nothing but the hush of the waves against the sand and rocks in the sheltered cove.

  The starlit night, the warmth, the peace...

  And then she heard it, the faintest of whimpers.

  She wiggled a little, so she could hold Henry. He’d been deeply asleep when Matt had lowered her into the tender and she’d been careful not to disturb him. Now, though... Matt’s arm had been cradling her against him, forming a pillow. It took a wrench but she slid out of his hold and tugged the little boy to her.

  ‘Hey, Henry, it’s okay, we’re here.’ He was barely awake, maybe trapped in the same nightmare she’d had. But how much worse? His mother was dead. She was remembering the barren grief after her parents were killed, the fear, and all she could do was hold him.

  ‘Matt’s here, Boof’s here and I’m here. And your grandma’s waiting. She lit a fire on her cliff to say she’s seen us. Hey, I wonder if she has a dog. And I bet she can fish, too, though if she can’t, now you can teach her.’ She was muttering inconsequential things, or maybe they were important. She wasn’t sure he was hearing, but all that seemed important was to hold him close and let him know he was...loved?

  Loved. That was the ingredient that was missing, she thought. She’d had her grandparents. Did this little boy know that he was loved by someone?

  ‘We’ve got you.’ It was Matt’s voice, firm, soft but inarguable. ‘Meg and Boof and I are here for you, Henry. We’re not going to let you go until we’re sure your grandma will cuddle you. Sleep now.’

  ‘You and Meg...’ Henry’s voice was a quavery whisper.

  ‘And Boof and your grandma Peggy. We’re a team. We’re the caring-for-Henry team. Hey, Henry, how about we shift so we’re a sandwich?’

  And before Meg knew what Matt was about, he’d risen and lifted Henry over her, so the little boy was wedged between them.

  ‘You’re a Meg and Matt sandwich now,’ Matt said sleepily, the suggestion inherent that this was simply part of a dream. A warm, safe, dream. And then, because the tender was very narrow—and because...okay, maybe he even missed the contact with Meg that she’d been valuing so much—his arm slid behind her head again, tugging her close. In the process it made a snuggly, warm V for one frightened child.

  ‘Now,’ Matt said firmly, ‘everyone comfy? Everyone safe? Let’s sleep again.’

  Henry’s sleep was almost instantaneous. Meg, though, lay and looked up at the stars.

  ‘They’re spectacular, aren’t they?’ Matt whispered. How did he know what she was thinking? ‘You don’t get these in New York. But, Meg, you need to sleep, too. You’re as safe as Henry. I promise.’

  Because this man was holding her?

  It made no sense but that was the way she was feeling.

  She hadn’t liked him on first sight. Even on the boat, he’d responded to her attempts at conversation with the politeness of someone who moved in a rarefied atmosphere far from hers. She’d thought he was kind, but that kindness was overlaid with an arrogance that was almost innate. He’d thrown money at Charlie like water. He was accustomed to getting what he wanted from life, accustomed to getting his own way.

  But he was holding her now and it felt...amazing.

  She drifted back toward sleep but the feel of Matt, the thought of his words, his voice stayed with her.

  It felt as if something had changed within her—and it felt wonderful.

  CHAPTER SIX

  RESCUE DIDN’T COME by helicopter. Instead, an hour after dawn, a cabin cruiser arrived. It was a boat that looked as if it had seen better days and those days were long behind it.

  At the wheel was an elderly lady wearing men’s trousers, an ancient fishing guernsey and huge black boots. Her hair was a mass of white curls, tied, incongruously, with a scarlet ribbon. She steered the boat expertly to within thirty yards of shore, cut the engine, tossed the anchor and hailed them.

  There was no need to hail. They’d been watching her approach for the last fifteen minutes, Meg with growing incredulity.

  This boat looked less seaworthy than Bertha. The skipper looked as if she was in her seventies. There was a dog standing at the bow—a dachshund, for heaven’s sake.


  This wasn’t what Meg had hoped for.

  Henry was beside her. She could hardly say, ‘What on earth...’

  She could think it, though, and as she saw how decrepit the boat looked she glanced at Matt and saw her dismay reflected.

  Had Peggy decided to do the rescue herself?

  ‘Ahoy.’ Peggy’s yell cut across the water. ‘Is that a tender? Can you come and get me? Or just bring yourselves straight out. I can’t get any closer because of the rocks.’

  ‘Is anyone else coming?’ Matt called.

  ‘Just me.’ Peggy sounded joyful. ‘Henry, love, is that you?’

  ‘Grandma.’ Henry was on his feet. ‘Grandma!’

  ‘Yep, it’s me and Stretchie. Stretchie—say g’day to Henry.’

  And the little dog on the bow wagged her tail and gave an obedient woof.

  The dog was cute, Meg conceded. And it was lovely to see Henry reacting with such joy to seeing Peggy. These were good points. But...

  ‘That thing doesn’t even look seaworthy,’ Matt muttered, echoing her own dismay. Henry was out of earshot. He was standing on the shore, every fibre of his small being looking as if he needed to be out there hugging his grandma. Matt and Meg were carting the tender to the water, but doubts were everywhere.

  ‘Don’t take Henry out.’ That part seemed obvious. ‘Matt, she might be planning to take Henry back to Garnett herself and leave us for the authorities to collect.’

  ‘That’s not happening,’ Matt said grimly. ‘I’m seeing him safe all the way. That’s what I promised.’

  Promised who? Meg thought. Promised Henry? She glanced across the cove at the little boy. His whole body language was joyful. His grandma had come to fetch him. He wouldn’t be holding Matt to any promise.

  But the knowledge came to her, sure and strong. This was a promise Matt had made to himself and Matt was a man who kept his promises.

  It made her feel...solid. As if some things in life were right.