by Annie Seaton
Dangerous Desire
Annie Seaton
Other Entangled Books by Annie Seaton
Holiday Affair
Italian Affair
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2013 by Annie Seaton. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Entangled Publishing, LLC
2614 South Timberline Road
Suite 109
Fort Collins, CO 80525
Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.
Edited by Erin Molta
Cover design by Fiona Jayde
Ebook ISBN 978-1-62266-134-3
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition September 2013
The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction: Best Western, iPhone, Camira, Jet Ski, SkyDrive, Skype, SouthWind.
This book is dedicated to Ian, my ever-patient and supportive husband who loves the Whitsunday Islands as much as I do.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Chapter One
“You okay there, lady?”
Heart pounding and dry-mouthed, Gracie James turned to the brawny security guard standing behind her. Putting on a childish giggle—God knew she heard plenty of them every day in her kindergarten classroom—she looked up into a battered face and tried to look sexy and apologetic at the same time.
“Sorry to be a bother, but my heel got caught in the grate at the bottom of the ramp and then I dropped my purse.”
His gaze traveled slowly down her body from the plunging neckline to her bare legs and she fought the urge to tug at the bottom of the tight dress, which just skimmed the tops of her thighs. He bent and retrieved her purse. He was so close to her, the top of his head brushed against her leg.
“Off to a party on the Midas?” He handed the purse to her and gave her a knowing look, obviously used to scantily dressed women in killer heels walking by.
“Yes. That’s where I’m heading.” She clutched her purse in one hand and smoothed the other hand over the tight fabric, trying to play the role of a seasoned partygoer. “Which way do I go?”
The guard smiled, his fleshy lips spreading even wider as his lecherous gaze remained fixed below her waist.
“Go to the end of the fourth dock and turn right.” He pointed to the floating concrete walkway, which ran down the center of the marina, without removing his slick gaze from her butt. “The Midas is right at the end. She’s too big to come into any other berth.”
“Thanks,” Gracie said, trying to inject confidence into her voice even though her heart was pounding and her legs were shaking. All she wanted to do was keep walking, preferably in the other direction. “I’ll be off, then. Don’t want to miss the party.”
“You won’t miss anything, babe,” he said. “Parties on the Midas last all night. Legendary here in the tropics.” He laughed and winked at her. “I knock off at midnight if you want to meet me for a drink?”
Gracie took a deep breath and gave him what she hoped was a coy glance. “Oh, I bet you say that to all the girls. Thanks, but I’m actually meeting up with a friend.”
“See you in the morning…maybe,” he replied finally, looking her in the eye and Gracie repressed a shiver—God, he was almost salivating.
She took a deep breath and walked along the dock in the direction he’d indicated. Turning and heading along row B-4, she knew his lewd gaze was fixed on her departing rear end and this time she did pull at the hem of her dress as she hurried along on the four-inch heels.
More than five hundred vessels of all shapes and sizes crammed the deep-water berths; multimillion-dollar vessels and smaller boats were moored side by side in parallel rows. Flickering lights reflected on the still water and music drifted across from the huge, luxury motor cruiser sitting at the far end of the marina. Gracie kept her gaze firmly fixed on the huge boat until she reached the end of the dock. She turned to see if the security guy was still watching her, and she relaxed with a small, relieved sigh. He’d gone back into his little booth at the base of the ramp and his gaze was fixed on the television flickering in the corner.
First hurdle crossed.
Despite twenty-four-hour security, Gracie had figured if she was dressed to kill, she’d look as though she was going to a party on the boat despite having no invitation. Life on the one hundred and twenty foot luxury yacht where her sister had been working as a housemaid over the tropical winter was one continuous party, according to the daily e-mails from Regan. But the e-mails had stopped suddenly three weeks ago when she’d told Gracie she’d been invited to stay on the boat for the trip down to this marina and since then Regan hadn’t returned any of her increasingly worried e-mails or texts. Her phone went straight to voice mail and Gracie was sick with worry. Even if she didn’t approve of Regan’s lifestyle—which sometimes teetered on the edge—they had always kept in touch.
Regan had the exotic and flamboyant personality, and Gracie had always been the boring sister. Gracie had put aside her share of the small inheritance from their mother and had eked out a living working part-time jobs while she’d gone to university and then she’d settled into a teaching career. Regan had flitted around the world on her half share.
But no matter how Regan had led her life, she had always been there for Gracie and was her only living relative. She’d looked out for Gracie when their mother and grandmother had died in the same year and had waited until Gracie had finished high school before she had taken off on her travels.
Ten years later, she still tried to tell her baby sister what to do, particularly now that Gracie was thinking about getting married.
“He just wants a nanny for his kids—he doesn’t give a shit about you.” She could still hear Regan’s voice the last time they’d Skyped. Regan had threatened to drive over from the coast and confront David about the way he was treating Gracie and ask him why he really wanted to marry her.
“You’re worth more than that. When are you going to wake up and realize there is a life out there to be lived?” As usual, her sister had shown her displeasure at Gracie’s choices. Gracie kept her opinion of Regan’s lifestyle choices to herself. She hated confrontation. But Regan had never been able to understand why she’d moved to the outback to teach and Gracie knew if she didn’t tell David she wouldn’t marry him, her sister would—with guns blazing.
Now she shook her head and turned onto the dock leading to the last mooring. She was worried sick about Regan’s disappearance. She knew there was something wrong because Regan would have wanted to know what had happened with David.
> Earlier in the day, walking through the marina in the hot tropical sunshine, Gracie had scoped out the marina and knew exactly where the luxury motor yacht was moored. Strolling up and down the rows licking an ice cream, she had blended into the crowd of tourists ogling the multimillion-dollar boats moored in Abel Point marina. She had stood back and watched for a while as a crew of workers had washed down the large vessel. A couple of female deckhands in skimpy white shorts and bright blue-and-gold bikini tops had chatted away in another language as they had polished the trim on the side of the boat. An older man who had dragged a water hose from the water station on the boardwalk had stopped beside her.
“Looking for a job, love? They’re hiring housemaids at the moment.” He had looked her up and down with interest. “Just go on over to the marina office.”
“Er…no thanks,” she had replied hesitantly. “I’m actually looking for someone.”
“Yeah? Who?”
“Regan James? She was working on the boat up in Cairns.”
“Not this boat. Never heard of her.” He’d pulled the hose sharply and it snaked past her feet.
Gracie pulled her phone from her pocket and followed him closer to the side of the dock. “This is her. Have you seen her around another boat, maybe?”
He took the phone and frowned before he held it out to the other deckhand standing near the water station. “Mick, you know this girl?”
A younger guy with a blond buzz cut sauntered over and looked Gracie up and down before taking the phone from the older man. “What did you say her name was?”
“Regan. Regan James.” Gracie had caught a look as it passed between the two men.
“Nuh. Don’t know no Regan,” he said.
With a flick of his head, the older man had gestured for the crewman to follow him and they had disappeared through a doorway on the bottom deck. Gracie had stood there for a few moments watching the girls work until a prickle of unease had skittered down her spine and forced her to look up. The older man had pointed her out to a man in a white uniform standing in a large glass doorway on the top deck. She’d turned away and sauntered casually back along the boardwalk despite having a feeling she was being discussed.
Now she was back and the full moon hung low in the east, casting a soft and mysterious light across the moored boats. All was quiet as a song ended and the loud music faded away to nothing. The occasional creak of a boat rocking in the gentle swell and a sail flapping in the breeze did nothing to disguise her footsteps. Afraid someone would hear her walking by, she bent down and removed her shoes, looping her fingers through the straps as she made her way quietly to the end of the boardwalk.
If the conservative parents at the little outback school where she’d taught kindergarten for the past two years could see her now, she’d probably be out of a job. Skintight, red, sparkly dress, four-inch heels, and heading for a party on a tycoon’s yacht. The butterflies in her stomach confirmed for her, she was way out of her comfort zone. Even shopping for the clothes this afternoon had made her nervous.
This was so not my scene. Not at all.
Of course, she wasn’t going to try to board the yacht and join the party just yet. She was going to check it out before she decided on her next move. Gracie swallowed and put one hand to her throat, trying to dislodge the fear stuck in there like a lump of stale bread. It was much easier dealing with snotty noses and tying shoelaces than skulking around a marina with million-dollar boats docked along each boardwalk.
As a private eye, I’d be a dismal failure.
Her worry about Regan warred with irritation. At this rate she’d end up a total mess. If her big sister had managed to stay out of trouble before, Gracie would have simply gone to the police, but that was not an option. She bit down on the worry and the anger and tried to put a positive spin on her thoughts. Hopefully Regan would show up tomorrow, they would laugh about Gracie’s overreaction, and they could spend a couple of weeks on the coast, having a vacation together.
Thank God it was the start of the summer holidays and school didn’t go back for six weeks. Plans formed in her mind as she kept walking, and she turned left onto the last dock, ignoring the guard’s directions to turn right.
Moored at the end of the row of berths opposite the Midas was an old wooden single-hulled sloop with peeling paint and tattered sails, out of keeping with the luxurious yachts moored alongside it. She’d smiled to herself this morning when she’d read the faded name on the side of the boat. Pretty Lady was more in her dotage than her name suggested. The old boat rocked gently in the waves rolling in through the channel of Pioneer Bay from the Whitsunday Passage. Each time the water level dropped from the wash, it exposed the barnacles clinging to the battered hull. Gracie had walked past it twice during the day and each time there had been no sign of life on the old tub. The view from the old boat looked straight across the narrow channel to the berth where the Midas was moored.
Now she stood for a moment in the shadows before moving slowly across to the old sloop. Looking around once more to check that no one was watching her, she jumped across the narrow expanse of dark water and landed quietly on the deck. It was surprisingly smooth beneath her bare feet. She hitched impatiently at her dress as it crept up past her thighs and longed for a comfortable pair of shorts and a T-shirt, as she made her way to the back of the boat. A soft scraping sound set her heart pounding and she paused midstep, breath held, listening intently. Goose bumps ran down her arms and she held her shoes and bag tightly against her stomach, not moving. The boat rocked slightly again and she leaned her back against the side of the cabin in the middle of the deck to keep her balance.
Only the boat rubbing against its mooring.
She let out her breath and inched along the boat until she reached the narrow V of the back deck. Looking across the water, she had a perfect view of the deck of the Midas. The music was blaring again and voices and laughter drifted across the narrow channel between the two boats, as did a distinct aroma of marijuana. Gracie searched around in the dim light for the best vantage point before she spotted a life jacket on a peg. She reached up, pulled it down and then made a seat in the shadows. Settling down, she sat cross-legged watching the boat to see if her sister appeared.
A large group of partygoers in bathing suits milled about on the middle deck. Some were dancing while others sat around watching a scantily clad woman pole dance at the back of the deck. One of the girls who’d been polishing the trim that morning stood on the top sundeck on the side closest to the old ketch and her voice carried clearly across the water. A skimpy white bikini exposed an eyeful of tanned skin, and her arms were linked through those of a man on each side. Another woman in a red sarong stood in the doorway watching and Gracie gasped, scrambling to her feet. She leaned against the side of the boat to get her balance, putting her other hand over her eyes to block out the bright light reflecting on the glass door next to the woman. It looked like Regan—long, dark hair and olive skin—but before she could get a good look, the woman turned and stepped back inside.
She was sure it was Regan. So why the hell wasn’t she answering her messages? And why had that guy said he’d never heard of her?
“I’m ready, who goes first?” The European accented voice floated across the water. The young woman in the bikini had climbed up and was sitting on the railing, and for a moment Gracie thought she was going to dive into the water. One of the men moved across and held her waist and she leaned in and wrapped her arms around his neck pulling his head close to hers, while the other man crouched down. Only the top of his head was visible as he disappeared between her legs. Giggles punctuated by moans of delight drifted across the water. Gracie gasped and put her hand over her eyes.
Oh, God, Regan, what have you got yourself into this time?
Gracie stood and took a deep breath. What the hell was she going to do now?
She should have known she’d never be able to carry off trying to get on the boat. It was a stupid idea.
Little Miss Boring Schoolteacher. Way out of your league.
God, the Country Women’s Association Hall in Ashby Downs had been the venue for the most recent party she’d been to and they’d had tea and scones. There was no way she could confidently step onto that boat. Regan had always had to egg her on in their childhood escapades but this time it was out of the question.
Totally.
But I have to.
Going to the police and reporting Regan as a missing person was not an option. She had a few minor indiscretions in her past, and if she turned up and discovered Gracie had been to the police, she’d be really pissed off. Besides she was almost sure it was Regan she’d glimpsed on the top deck. So all she had to do now was confirm it and everything would be fine.
Deciding to go back to the hotel for the night and rethink her plan, Gracie gathered up her shoes and purse and tiptoed along the front of the boat. She stumbled as it rocked slightly and she paused, listening, but there was only the sound of the water slapping gently on the side of the hull. The hair rose on the back of her neck and she moved quickly past the cabin. Gracie gripped the side of the boat and looked across at the dock. The gap between the boat and the floating pontoon had widened with the movement of the tide and she took a deep breath preparing to jump across the oily water to the concrete.
…
Jake Alexander had been watching the woman since she’d climbed onto his boat. He’d smothered a smile when she had covered her eyes as the action across the water heated up. The nightly activity on the Midas had been the same since he’d started this surveillance job. Same stuff, same drugs, different participants. He was well used to it.
It hadn’t helped his libido. Stuck on his old yacht with no company, he left quietly in the early hours each morning to drive back to his house up the coast. He would file his nightly reports and upload the photographs, shower, and try to catch some sleep before replenishing his rucksack with food for the next nightly stint. It had been a boring three weeks.
