Passionate Protectors?

by Anne Mather

  She said in a low voice, ‘There was a time, not so long ago, when I wouldn’t have believed that people like him—like Mama Rita—even existed. I know better now. And I never believed in miracles either,’ she added. ‘I’m having to rethink my position on them too, thanks to you.’

  She hesitated. ‘And I haven’t thanked you, have I? Not really. Not as I should have done.’ She bit her lip. ‘Maybe now would be an appropriate time.’

  ‘Did you sleep well last night?’ Ash’s tone was quizzical, and when she nodded he smiled at her swiftly, with a charm that made her heart lurch. ‘Then that’s all the thanks I need,’ he said, and went.

  Chellie subsided limply against her cushions. She’d felt that smile like the brush of his fingers across her skin.

  She thought, Oh, God, I’ll have to be careful. So very careful.

  She could hear him talking to Laurent. Heard the sound of their laughter. Men comfortable in their skins, at ease together.

  I wish I could be like that with him, she thought. Relaxed. No edge.

  Able to meet and part as friends.

  But we’re barely acquaintances. He walked into my life, and saved it, and soon he’ll walk away again. In a few months, or even weeks, I’ll be a vague memory. A halfforgotten incident. And to pretend anything else would be ludicrous.

  Ash came back a few minutes later and put a bottle of Coke with a straw down beside her. He moved over to the rail and stood watching the boat’s wake, apparently lost in thought as he drank his beer.

  Chellie took a long swallow of her ice-cold drink to ease her dry throat, then she rose and went to stand beside him.

  She said constrictedly, ‘I—I’m really sorry about breakfast.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I—lied because I was afraid you’d leave me behind if I said I couldn’t cook.’

  ‘No,’ he said, after a pause, ‘I wouldn’t have done that.’ His mouth twisted. ‘But I might have asked you to display one of your other talents instead.’

  Chellie tensed, giving him a wary sideways glance. ‘What do you mean?’ She hoped he hadn’t detected the faint tremor in her tone.

  He said quietly, ‘You have the most beautiful singing voice. I might have asked for an after-dinner serenade.’

  She flushed, surprised. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Did you sing professionally back in Britain?’ The question sounded casual, but the blue eyes were curious.

  Chellie shook her head. ‘No. I was never able to have proper training.’

  ‘Was that what you wanted?’

  ‘Yes, at one time I wanted it very much.’

  For a brief, painful moment she could remember how she’d begged to be allowed to enter for a scholarship to a leading academy, and how she’d been brusquely refused. What was more, her father had given instructions at her school that her musical studies were to cease with immediate effect. How many times had she cried herself to sleep in the weeks that followed? She’d lost count.

  She said flatly, ‘It just wasn’t considered a viable career. And they were probably right.’ She forced a determined smile. ‘After all, I hardly wowed them at Mama Rita’s.’

  ‘Choose another audience,’ he said. ‘And, training or not, it might be a different story.’ He slanted a faint grin at her. ‘Besides, you made a profound impression on me. Or had you forgotten?’

  Her flush deepened. ‘No. But you aren’t exactly the typical Mama Rita customer.’ She paused. ‘Whatever made you pick that particular bar?’

  He shrugged. ‘It sold alcohol.’

  ‘Yes, but so did a dozen others. And that wasn’t its main commodity, as you must have realised.’

  ‘Yes, I knew.’ He gave her a mocking glance. ‘Never underestimate the depravity of the male sex, songbird.’

  Chellie looked away. She said quietly, ‘You don’t look like someone who needs to pay for cheap thrills.’

  ‘The thrills were certainly questionable.’ Ash’s voice was dry. ‘Cheap they were not.’

  She winced. ‘I’d forgotten that.’ She lifted her chin. ‘And I’ve caused you enough problems already, so I don’t intend you to be out of pocket as well. I—I will repay you somehow—some day.’

  ‘Oh, forget it,’ he said with a touch of impatience. ‘God knows, I could do with a few credits on my moral balance sheet.’

  There seemed to be no answer to that. Chellie was silent for a moment while she searched for a neutral subject. Eventually she said, ‘This is a fabulous boat.’

  ‘Thank you. I’ll tell the owner you said so.’

  ‘You said you were delivering it for him?’ Her brow creased. ‘From Santo Martino?’

  ‘No, from La Tortuga. He’d just put in there when he was suddenly called away on business. So he needed someone to sail ‘La Belle Rêve back to St Hilaire.’

  ‘Is that where he lives?’

  ‘Some of the time. But he’s not there at the moment.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘So, what were you doing in Santo Martino?’

  ‘Fuel,’ he said. ‘Supplies. It’s a good marina.’

  ‘You must be great friends with this man,’ she said. ‘If he’s prepared to trust you with his boat.’

  ‘Ah,’ he said lightly, ‘but I’m eminently trustworthy.’

  And his daughter, she thought. Does he trust you with her too? Thought it, but did not dare ask it aloud. Because it was too personal—and too revealing a question. Besides, it was none of her business.

  He’d done her the greatest favour of her life, but that didn’t compel him to reveal every detail of his private affairs to her.

  Not that he ever would, she thought slowly. There was something about Ash Brennan—something closed and separate. You could probably know him for a dozen years and never do more than scratch the outer shell.

  He seemed—totally self-sufficient. Complete in himself. So, even if he met a woman he wanted, would he be prepared to allow her into his heart and mind? Make the necessary emotional commitment? It seemed less than likely.

  Maybe it’s as well we’re going different ways, she thought, before I wreck my heart on his indifference.

  She hurried into speech again. ‘Will you stay on St Hilaire for long?’

  He shrugged. ‘Possibly. My plans are flexible.’

  ‘Is this what you do for a living? Skipper other people’s boats?’

  ‘I can turn my hand to all kinds of things,’ he said. ‘And you ask a lot of questions, songbird.’

  She flushed again. ‘I’m sorry. I’m just envious, I suppose, of all the freedom you seem to have.’

  ‘No one is ever completely free,’ he said. ‘But I’m working on it.’ He paused. ‘And what about you, Michelle Greer? What are your plans for the next fifty years?’

  She stared down at the sea. ‘I’m not making any immediate plans,’ she said in a low voice. ‘I don’t seem to be very good at it.’

  ‘I’d quite like to ask a few questions of my own.’ He drank some of his beer. ‘Are you up for it?’

  ‘Why not?’ Chellie returned with a touch of defensiveness.

  ‘Oh, I can think of several reasons.’ Leaning on the rail, he sent her a fleeting grin. ‘You’re a bit of a mystery, Michelle.’

  ‘Really?’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘You, of course, are an open book.’

  ‘I do hope not,’ he said softly. ‘How dull it would be if everyone I met could guess how things would end.’

  ‘You don’t have to worry about that,’ she said. ‘Ask away. I have nothing to hide,’ she added, mentally crossing her fingers.

  ‘Is that a fact?’ His drawl was amused. ‘Then that probably makes you unique. But we won’t pursue that—or not at the moment, anyway.’ He paused. ‘How did you come to be in South America?’

  ‘I went there to be married.’

  If she’d expected a reaction she was disappointed. He simply nodded thoughtfully.

  ‘So,’ he said. ‘What happened to the happy bridegroom?’

  ‘He—chang
ed his mind. Perhaps, like you, he preferred his freedom.’

  ‘Why come all this way for a wedding?’

  Chellie shrugged defensively. ‘Lots of people get married in exotic locations. As it happens, Caribbean islands are immensely popular.’

  He nodded. ‘Santo Martino less so, I’d have thought.’

  ‘The actual ceremony was going to be held on Ramon’s estate up country. He said the easiest way to reach it was by river, so we came here to catch a boat.

  She attempted a laugh, trying to make a joke of it. ‘Instead, I caught a virus.’

  ‘So you said. And Ramon?’

  ‘Perhaps he took the boat home. He didn’t wait around to tell me.’

  ‘And of course the boat wasn’t the only thing he took.’ He sounded almost matter-of-fact.

  Her mouth tightened. ‘No. Do we really have to go through all this? It’s hardly one of my favourite memories.’

  ‘Are you still in love with him?’

  ‘What?’ She stared at him.

  ‘It’s a simple enough question. If he suddenly appeared here on deck now—would you forgive him—take him back?’

  ‘Certainly,’ she said. ‘When all hell freezes over.’

  ‘Yet once you cared enough to come halfway across the world with him.’

  ‘I thought I did,’ Chellie said tightly. ‘I also believed that he cared for me. I was wrong on both counts.’

  ‘So,’ he said, ‘when did you realise you weren’t in love?’

  She thought, When we were in bed together. When I felt his hands on me—and he pushed himself into me. When he was hurting me, and he wouldn’t stop…

  She said, keeping her tone deliberately light, ‘I think I’ve told you quite enough. All other information is on a “need to know” basis.’

  He moved swiftly, sharply. Came to her, taking her face between his hands and looking deeply into her startled green eyes.

  He said softly, ‘And just how the hell, songbird, would you know what I need?’

  He let her go just as suddenly and walked away, leaving her leaning against the rail as if it was her sole support in the whole world. And staring after him with one shaking hand pressed to her parted lips.

  Chapter Five

  SHE almost called to him. Almost asked him to come back. She wanted him to explain what he’d said—and the note of suppressed anger that she’d detected beneath the words.

  But some providence—or maybe it was simple self-preservation—kept her silent. Because it was not just words that she wanted from him, and she knew it. Nor was it anger. No, although she was ashamed to admit it, her needs were very different.

  She went numbly back to her lounger and lay down, struggling to regain her composure. Her face still burned where he had touched her. His touch had been light, but she felt as if she would bear the marks of his fingers through all eternity.

  ‘Oh, God,’ she whispered to herself, ‘why did he have to do that? Why did he have to put his hands on me?’

  And that was not the worst of it. He’d been so near to her that she’d found herself breathing the erotic male scent of his skin. She’d been aware that her nipples were hardening urgently against the flimsy cups of the bikini, felt the first scalding rush of arousal between her thighs.

  The desperation of her own need had scared her. Had almost overwhelmed her.

  If he had taken her in his arms she would have yielded completely. And he must have known that. He could not have been oblivious to the sheer physicality of her response. To that shock of trembling desire.

  He had been as aware of her as she’d been of him—hadn’t he?

  But—he hadn’t followed through. Instead he’d walked away. And perhaps, she thought painfully, his words could be interpreted as a warning to her not to expect more than he was prepared to give. He’d rescued her, given her temporary sanctuary, but that was as far as it went.

  He’d probably decided she was more trouble than she was worth, and wanted no further involvement. And once they reached St Hilaire all contact between them would be severed.

  She supposed she should be grateful to him for not taking advantage of her vulnerability, but she couldn’t feel thankful. Or not yet, at least.

  She closed her eyes, forbidding herself to cry, ashamed of her own reactions—her own weakness. Her experiences in Santo Martino must have affected her more deeply than she’d realised. That was the only explanation.

  I don’t seem to be the same person any more, she told herself. I don’t think or feel as I did. I don’t know myself. It’s ludicrous—and it can’t be allowed to go on. I’ve got to build up my immune system again—particularly against men like Ash Brennan.

  She would certainly need to pull herself together before they arrived at St Hilaire. She couldn’t afford to give the impression that she was still dependent on Ash in any way—that she was in want of his continued help. She had to show by her attitude that she’d recovered and was ready to take charge of her life.

  And she would manage alone, she added grimly. She would have to, because she had no intention of asking her father for assistance.

  Not when she’d put herself in terrible danger and come within a whisker of wrecking her entire life in order to escape his control in the first place.

  Because that was what had happened. She could see that so clearly now. See that Ramon had simply seemed a lifeline—a way of resolving her frustration and unhappiness with her existence. Drastic but effective.

  I wished myself into love with him, she thought, her mouth twisting wryly. He seemed to be offering me a lifestyle that was the opposite to everything I’d ever known. Something that had a surface glamour all its own.

  But getting away from my father was always the main attraction, even if I didn’t realise it at the time.

  I had to learn it the hard way, she thought, shivering.

  But there was no substance to my relationship with Ramon, and even if he’d turned out to be a thoroughly decent guy it couldn’t have lasted.

  Looking back, she realised she’d had doubts even before they’d left England. There had been details about his background that didn’t jell. Vague contradictions in the stories he’d told her that should have alerted her.

  If I’d given myself time to stop and think, she told herself with sudden energy, I wouldn’t have gone to the end of the street with him. And I’d have saved myself a hell of a lot of misery—and sheer terror.

  Above all, I would not have met Ash, and that, in itself, would have been a kind of safety. A security I’ve lost for ever now. Because he’s under my skin—in my blood.

  And the first thing I need to do on St Hilaire is get away from him, as far and as fast as I can. And start to forget. Or try to, at least.

  She found herself shivering.

  Ash strode into the pilot house, his body taut, his mouth set.

  Laurent swung round in his leather chair, giving him a quizzical look. ‘Cą. va?’

  ‘Not particularly.’ Ash flung himself into the adjoining seat, his expression brooding.

  ‘Then I regret I must add to your troubles. Another fax from Victor. There has been a change of plan.’ He paused. ‘The girl is now to be taken directly to England, and handed over there.’

  ‘Not by me,’ Ash returned curtly. ‘The deal was St Hilaire—nowhere else—and that’s how it’s going to stand.’ He shook his head. ‘Oh, God, I knew I should never have got involved in this.’

  Laurent grinned wickedly. ‘But you were ideal—the only choice, mon vieux. Your irresistible charm was essential to entice la petite Michelle away from her lover. How were we to know that the affaire had already ended in tears?’

  A muscle moved beside Ash’s mouth. ‘He told her he had a country estate.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘A shanty in a clearing, I don’t doubt.’

  Laurent gave a philosophical shrug. ‘Then it is as well, perhaps, that it ended while she still had some of her illusions.’

  Ash sighed harshly. �
��I don’t think she had many to start with. And she’ll be left with even fewer when she realises she’s just swapped one cage for another. That she’s been bought and sold. What price her illusions then?’

  ‘You are in danger of breaking your own rules, my friend,’ Laurent warned quietly. ‘Do the job—earn the money—don’t get involved. Isn’t that you’ve always said? How you have survived?’

  ‘I haven’t forgotten,’ Ash said shortly. ‘And the rules still apply.’ He sighed again. ‘And now I’d better fax Victor and tell him to give Clive Greer a message—that I’ll keep his daughter under wraps on St Hilaire until he hands over the money and comes to fetch her. In person. As agreed.’

  ‘He will not like that.’

  Ash shrugged. ‘Victor and I stopped agreeing about a lot of things some time ago. That’s one of the reasons I decided to make this my last assignment and move on.’

  ‘I know that, mon ami. But I did not, in fact, refer to Victor. I meant Clive Greer—a very different opponent, I think. Maybe you should be careful.’

  ‘I intend to be.’ Ash sent him a swift bleak smile.

  And thought, as he bent forward on the pretext of studying the instruments, I have to be—for all kinds of reasons…

  Chellie had every intention of thinking positively, but it wasn’t easy when her unhappy thoughts insisted on marching round and round in her head as if they were on a treadmill.

  Instead of asking Ash a lot of questions he didn’t wish to answer, she’d have done better to find out more about St Hilaire, she thought ruefully, applying more sunblock to her exposed skin. And that way she might have avoided undergoing an interrogation herself—and its aftermath.

  But the plan she’d formulated in Santo Martino, to find the local consular office and ask for assistance, still seemed good to her, although she would certainly need to conceal her father’s identity if she wanted them to help her in any practical sense.

  Because they would feel Sir Clive was the obvious person for her to approach, particularly if a financial loan was involved, and she was certainly going to need money to get herself out of the Caribbean.