There would be no crimson sunset to disappear into - he’ll be the one that’s doing the disappearing when he hoists anchor tomorrow and sets sail in his boat. Superyacht. Whatever.
With his kiss deepening, she allowed herself the luxury of surrendering to the simple excitement of seduction. BUT – she made sure to detach her blossoming emotions, neatly storing them away in the ‘for future reference, but not now’ section of her brain. Because, as inevitable as his departure would be, she also guessed how the rest of the night was likely to play out, and she found herself eager for the next step.
So she kissed him back.
Hard.
His reaction was equally fervent, and she felt him raise his own game. Their arms wound around each other, more frantic, more fevered. Mac’s hands found her hair, released the up-do and pulled her face towards him. Running his fingers through her tousled blonde locks, his tongue showing her mouth exactly what he’d like to be doing to her body. And it didn’t escape the attention of nearby couples.
‘Vous voulez une chambre à l’hôtel?’ a fellow dancer giggled.
‘She said, “get a room”,’ Mac explained, as he and Sadie unclamped themselves from each other.
‘Pardonnez-moi’ Sadie said, and the dancer smiled.
‘You speak French?’ Mac asked
‘About four sentences,’
‘What are the others?’
‘You don’t want to know…’
Things were getting a bit too hot on the dance floor, and with a couple of pointing fingers aiming his way, this was definitely not the way to remain incognito. Holding her hand, he led her back towards the booth.
As he reached the table and slid in next to her, his eyes were drawn across the other side of the bar. There, by the door, two of his crew innocently stood watching them, making a thumbs-up sign.
He shook his head, warning them off.
Sadie saw none of it.
‘So I was thinking,’ he said, as they both finished off their drinks and he grabbed his jacket. ‘Ever seen inside a Superyacht?’
‘No. Only a Sunseeker Cruiser…’
‘You’re learning.’
‘I was wondering if you’d be offering me a tour.’
‘Well only if you think your sea-legs can stand it without throwing something else overboard - I’ve had my swim for the day.’
‘I’d say my legs are capable of lots of things…’ she replied, and then giggled realising what she’d said.
Mac chivalrously picked up her jacket and as he placed it on her shoulders he saw her bite her lip slightly.
Sadie continued, ‘I do have a busy day tomorrow.’
‘Well I’ve got an early start too so no problem. A quick tour and a nightcap to round the evening off?’
‘Walk me outside and I’ll think about it.’
A woman like this in my arms and I’m wanting a quick tour and an early night? I’m losing my touch, thought Mac.
The lights were twinkling in Port Hercule as they walked outside. The sky was clear and the silence of the night air was broken periodically by a tinkling of mismatched music as they passed the various bars in silence. From time to time, Sadie glanced up at him, admiringly, then looked away quickly when he turned to see what she was looking at. Finally they reached the quay.
‘Well, are you coming back for a nightcap?’ he said, taking her in his arms, playing with her hair and looking expectantly into her eyes.
Sadie was thinking.
It’d been a lovely night.
Should she risk ruining the magical memory by going further?
Or risk ruining it by saying no?
Miss out on a scintillating night of passion? Or miss out on a potential disaster. She shuddered, remembering the last one night stand she’d had.
It was with a date she’d met on the internet. ‘Tragically funny’, was how she’d described it. She’d vowed never to do that to herself again. Not without love, she’d told herself. After all, being feisty with her clothes on was one thing – keeping men at a distance was her specialty. But when it was all stripped back – literally – the vulnerability scared her. So full of the backchat, so lacking in confidence in her post-baby body. Yuk – tragically funny all right. That’s why it had been easy to set up a five year exclusion zone. Then when her business was sorted and the kids were grown up enough not to need so much of her time – then she’d hit the gym and find a man.
But looking up at Mac, she saw how different tonight had been – how easy he was in her company, for one thing. And for another, how much she fancied him – totally unlike the one night stand guy. Or Damian the big kid. Or Stuart the domineering ex-husband. Mac was gorgeous and she could tell he was totally attracted to her too. She surprised herself – suddenly she was imagining the look on Stuart’s face if she turned up with Mac by her side – and it was too much. A pang of longing passed through her and she knew in a heartbeat there could only be one possible answer.
Ten minutes later Mac closed the stateroom door, not quite sure how he’d ended up there - alone.
Alone.
He took a deep breath. What was he doing? Messed that one up completely. And what is this feeling? Fretting? Disappointment? Failure? Surely not…
It had all seemed so promising.
‘Thank you for a lovely evening,’ she’d said. Then she’d kissed him with all the passion and promise he usually received at the end of a successful date. But then that was it. She’d gone off in a taxi, and he’d gone off to consult with his old friend Mr J. Daniels. Mac swigged the whisky he’d poured himself and grimaced at it – nope not working. Then he started undressing, removing his belt, and throwing it onto the floor in frustration.
‘You certainly didn’t see that one coming, Mac my boy’ he said to his reflection in the mirror. First time for everything, he thought.
Still hot from his earlier encounters, he relived the scintillating kisses over and over again and thrilled at the memory of her curves. Real curves. She’d certainly left him shaken - and stirred.
But something was niggling him. And it wasn’t just being turned down for the first time in years. It was his own behaviour, that’s what.
Mac sat himself down on his bed and started untying his shoes. The more he thought about it, the more he became wracked with guilt.
Why did he let her think he was a deckhand?
He paused and rasped his fingers across the stubble on his face.
Because she joked about being into rich men?
Because that’s when his alarm bell had rung, an alarm bell that chimed with the clang of ancient history?
He clinked more ice into his glass and it too, gave a clang.
He downed it in one. Go on, punish yourself and ruin your training tomorrow, yeh, good move, loser.
Whatever, it wouldn’t make any difference ‘cos now she was gone. And whether he’d intentionally lied or not, now he’d never be able to tell her the truth.
Which was what? Exactly?
He held his head in his hands and rubbed his temples. Think.
Point one, ‘Mac the deckhand' wasn’t likely to be rich, but she’d agreed to meet him anyway.
Point two, even she had suggested it was going to be just a brief liaison, so don't stress about it.
Point three, she seemed keen on him too – she hadn’t pushed him away when he’d kissed her. In fact, she’d kissed him back, hard and full.
But even that on its own had particular significance. For most men, that would be quite normal. But for Mac, a billionaire, it was rare to know for sure whether a woman wanted him for himself – or for his wallet. No wonder he’d been too easily tempted to play along. To react to him the way she did, even though she thought he was mere crew - meant more to him than any of his usual encounters.
No, there had been something altogether more… primal… about this voluptuous woman who’d called herself Sam. And he’d been curious, that’s all, to see what would happen if he stayed incognito.
Yes that was it. Curiosity. That was all it was.
Then he realised point four - the most reassuring thought of all – a killer fact: telling her he was rich at the end of the night - specifically to find out if it would make her act differently – to even stoop as low as to see if it would change her mind about coming on board – that would have been far, far worse.
Lose - lose.
It didn’t matter now, she’d gone. But he couldn’t get her out of his mind.
He rubbed his scarred face. She didn’t even say anything about this.
What a woman.
He remembered the feel of her luscious lips and the press of her hips, and felt the familiar stirring. Again.
God she was sexy. He adjusted himself and picked up his shoes.
Obviously had a good brain on her to match her generous curves, if she was here on business. And he’d always had a weakness for intelligent women. And curves. Sadly that combination was rare amongst the lettuce-munching Barbie dolls everyone expected a billionaire like him to have on his arm.
Mac stopped what he was doing and paused for one second to think about that description. He stared into space like a statue, contemplating. Then threw his shoes into the corner.
Billionaire. On paper at least.
It brought him happiness, it brought him trouble. He’d earned every penny of it and nowadays he’d found ways of spending much of it, that resonated with whom he’d become.
This yacht had brought him the best kind of happiness – it had been a hard-won prize – unique, admired – it made him feel part of the select group of people rich enough to not only afford to buy it, but to run it, crew and all. A carefully chosen crew, genial and full of camaraderie – some of whom had known him since he was a rookie property developer and began taking weekend sailing courses. It meant a lot that they treated him with no airs and graces – at least when no outsiders were around.
Yes, he could totally be himself here, cocooned away from the glare of publicity and other people’s expectations, when it wasn’t being rented out. Which was of course partly why he’d bought it.
Mac took out his smartphone and checked through the calendar – hired out to capacity and paid-for months in advance - no more nights for him here till the end of the summer. Dammit. Sucks for him, but it’d be a busy season for the crew. This year at least.
Mac picked up the only photo frame on show in his elegant VIP state room. Mac, Captain James Wiltshire and financial advisor and old friend Simon Leadbetter, at the helm of the Nomad, on the day he bought it, early the previous year.
Touching the photo frame, he smiled at the Captain’s burly chest puffed out so far, you almost couldn’t see the slight, suited, serious figure of Simon, raising a glass beside him. And Mac with his usual slicked back hair and designer shades.
Almost as rewarding as owning the craft was seeing the Captain’s beaming face taking the helm of the vessel - twice the size of Mac’s previous yacht.
Mac’s mouth quirked into a wry smile, remembering whom he’d outbid. Arch rival Philip Tremain’s face would have been a picture when he found out it was Mac who had pipped him to the top of the waitlist, despite – or rather, because of – Tremain’s foolish attempts to bribe the selling agent. Stupid man, thought Mac. A great photograph. A great day. It had made him very, very happy.
Then Mac frowned.
Sure, that had been a good day. But sometimes a day starts off well, but ends badly. He felt a pang of regret - he’d certainly had his fill of those types of days. Hence avoiding commitment.
And the biggest reminder of one of his worst mistakes was kept safely behind the yacht photo, inside the frame. He turned it over, hesitated, but then went ahead and flipped open the back of the frame and pulled out a small snapshot hidden inside. He held it up and blinked at it.
He was looking at himself - a few years ago, holding the hand of a small child.
Yes it still hurt.
He looked at it blankly. Pain coursed through his heart as it always did. A great photograph, but that had ended up a really bad day.
But it was also a watershed – it was the day he’d begun one of his most important business rules. One he’d now become known for amongst his colleagues and competitors – one that he now lived his life by, and based every decision on.
Never mix business with pleasure – or children.
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.
Mac’s brow creased. How old would the boy be now? The whole experience had been alien. He’d spent most of his life getting as far away from children as he could. And then that happened, and reminded him why. But it wasn’t the kid’s fault.
He slid the small photo back into the rear of the frame, and put it down.
End of another era.
Still, onwards and upwards. Suddenly he felt very weary.
Time for a change – time for a new chapter.
Mac picked up his belt and sneakers and entered his walk-in closet full of expensive designer clothes, row after row of pristine jackets and trousers, plus shoes, belts, ties, cufflinks. At the end, a dozen expensive suit bags containing whole outfits - complete with little Polaroids stuck to the front of each. Easier for Mac to choose the outfits for a valet to pack when he was in a rush. The final photo made him stop in his tracks and laugh out loud. Instead of a slick suit ensemble, someone had put a picture of some old, shabby tramp, and stuck Mac’s face on it. Banter, there was always banter.
He reached below that suit bag to his favourite chest of old clothing and replaced his worn belt inside it. He also replaced the shabby pair of loafers - his first pair of Tods – a natural choice for tonight – a super-expensive brand but with no obvious designer label on show. Tidying up the fifteen year old, frayed laces, he felt the frisson of first-date excitement again – the one she’d rekindled. The one he hadn’t felt in years. He stared at the shoes, remembering.
Until tonight, he’d forgotten what his life used to be like - out of the spotlight. To go out for an evening on shore and just be treated like a normal man.
Not to be kow-towed to.
Not to be surrounded by sycophants.
Not to be treated like royalty wherever he went. Just to be ordinary. To be ‘Mac’.
Well tonight, thanks to this gorgeous woman, he’d had a trip down memory lane, and loved every minute. For the right reasons, or wrong ones, money hadn’t even got a mention.
So often, having so much of it made it meaningless. He ran his fingers along the row of hand-made suits - navies, blacks, charcoals. Each silk tie cost more than the average family’s weekly shopping basket. He shrugged. Reaching the end of the row, he walked back out and closed the closet door behind him. Sure, wealth was a blessing, but it was also, undeniably, a curse.
And anyway, lately, just lately, there’d been that gaping hole - something missing, something important – something money couldn't buy.
And if it COULD buy it, it couldn't keep it.
Deep down, Mac knew exactly what that something was, but tried hard to ignore it. He had everything else, everything he'd ever wanted to own - and that would have to do, right?
Sadly the answer was as clear as day – to anyone else. To Mac, it was a gnawing feeling that crept over him when he closed his eyes at night, and opened them in the morning, and he shook himself often to chase it away. But no matter – he was certain the brand new venture he was planning would help take the edge of the emptiness, and take him in a new direction. Yes, a change was as good as a rest.
But some things never change, he realised as he topped up his drink - even though this lady had reached parts of him none of the others had, lately, it had still been his plan to let her walk away. And maybe Sam deserved better than that, so perhaps it was a good thing he’d not got his way tonight.
So hard to learn new tricks – he truly was an old dog.
Taking one final look in the mirror, he shrugged. And old dog, that’s for sure. She’d probably say he l
ooked ‘weathered.’ Too much time in bright sunshine. It should be Factor 50 next time he went skiing or mountain climbing - but he knew he wouldn’t bother. He still scrubbed up pretty well. He’d never give George Clooney a run for his money, but hell, George Hamilton better watch out.
And the scars… well, he’d deserved them. One day maybe he’d succumb to the Captain’s suggestion of laser surgery, but for now the camouflage creams would do. Except not tonight. The disguise – the covering up who he really was - was for other nights, to provide the mask, to complete the shroud of formality, the uniform of a billionaire. But tonight he’d been free of it all.
Yes, tonight had been a good night.
Mac took his drink and made his way back up to the deck, barefoot on the smooth polished wood once more. He felt the cool boards beneath his feet – that’d help take some of the heat away. He gazed out over the bay into the distance at the sea wall and the dark sky, a vague smell from an on-board barbecue floating somewhere in the breeze. The gentle night air cooled his heated body, and beckoned him to his new life beyond. Ironic that having made his first fortune in property, big executive penthouses and sprawling ranches all over the US, he would be moving into the next phase of his career on a glorified mobile home. A home that didn’t have a woman. Any woman. Even a woman like Sam. Especially a woman like Sam.
On the breeze, he could swear he smelled her fragrance and his heart began to pound again the same way it had that afternoon when she’d walked along the jetty. Blonde hair falling out of her up-do. Curves, confidence and an air of being comfortable in her own skin. So refreshing. Plus the rare thrill of the backchat. The high cheekbones and her beautiful green eyes had helped too. And that walk. And those shoes. And the noise they made on the cobblestones. In fact, he could hear it right now.
Mac shook his head, rubbed his eyes and looked at his drink, then looked back again along the jetty. He couldn’t believe what he saw.
‘Ahoy there ship mate, is it too late for a tour?’
Hawaiian Affair (Part 1 of 4) (Hawaiian Affair - 30 days to sign the deal - and stay out of love) Page 7
