30DaystoSyn

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

But it hurt him more.

  If she had thought the jet was something, the yacht was something else entirely. One hundred and sixty-nine feet of aluminum hull and dark teak decking lazed in the water. Above it was yards and yards of pitch-black canvas.

  “It looks like a pirate ship,” she said, trying to wrap her mind around the gleaming ship. The figurehead on the prow was that of a woman with long, flowing dark hair chiseled in curling wooden tresses that swept back to either side of the hull. The pale-gray gown which clothed her stood out sharply against the dark bow.

  “I’d fly a Jolly Roger if the Coast Guard would allow it but they tend to frown on that sort of thing,” he said.

  They were standing on the quay looking up at the soaring masts—her with her arms crossed defensively across her chest.

  “Have you ever been sailing?” he asked and swiveled his head toward the darkest part of the bay. He’d seen the same flash of lightning on the horizon that she had.

  “No.” She was avoiding touching him again, would not let him hold her hand as they stood there. “Are we in for bad weather?”

  “Capt. Fitzgerald doesn’t think so. The storm is moving south of us. We might run into some brief showers,” he told her. “But nothing to worry about.”

  “So the dinner will be below decks,” she said.

  “That’s not a given,” he replied. “Dinner isn’t until nine and the rain could have stopped long before then. It also depends on how cold it is on deck.” He looked at his watch. “It’s only seven now. A lot of weather can happen—or not happen—in that length of time. Come. Let me show you the cabins.”

  There were three cabins that held double beds, two with single beds plus there were two additional berths. Even with a crew of nine, the yacht could safely and comfortably accommodate twelve passengers.

  “I bring my mates down in August,” he said. “Craigie’s wife doesn’t like to sail so she stays behind but Kit’s wife comes with him. Jake brings a new woman every time and Jono and Spike come alone.”

  “I wonder why?” she said with a sad smile. She looked up at him. “You do know they’re a thing, don’t you?”

  “Known it longer than I think they have,” he admitted. “Sometimes I just want to take them by their necks and knock their heads together and yell at them to get on with it!”

  She laughed despite the fact her heart was breaking and her body was numb. A sudden thought swept the laughter away.

  “What about you?” she asked. “Do you bring a different woman each time, too?”

  “No,” he said. “I always come alone in August.”

  “Why?” she asked, fairly sure he was lying.

  He shrugged. “I just prefer it that way. I don’t have to dance attendance on someone. I can just lie on the deck, soak up the rays and gather wool.”

  The way he said it made her think he was telling the truth this time. It would be like him to be that selfish and self-absorbed.

  His cabin was beautifully done in shades of gray accented with black. A thick black fake-fur coverlet was thrown over the bed. Piles of gray and gray-tone throw pillows were propped against tailored red suede shams. The lampshades were black perched atop gleaming chrome ginger-jar lamps. Two red scatter rugs covered the highly polished teak floor. There was a built-in armoire, a desk with chair and a comfortable-looking wingback that she thought might be the mate to the one in the Room. A thirty-five-inch flat screen hung on one wall. Beside it was shelving containing DVDs and CDs. A cursory glance at the titles on the CD jewel cases revealed he had the exact same albums she did. The DVDs were mostly sci-fi and fantasy with a few war movies thrown in for variety. Manly stuff, she thought.

  “No porn?” she asked, twisting her head around to look at him.

  “Don’t need it,” he said. “I have a very vivid imagination for when I need to take matters in hand.”

  She had to know.

  “What do you fantasize about?” she asked.

  “Not what,” he said softly. “Who.”

  “Angelina? Kiera? Kate B.?”

  “You,” he said, holding her gaze. “I fantasize about you.”

  She pursed her lips and rolled her eyes—pretending to be derisive of his admission when what she really wanted to do was slap him as hard as she could for telling such a blatant lie.

  A low roll of thunder made them both look up.

  “The captain may have been wrong about the weather,” he said. “I’d better go have a talk with him and find out when dinner will be served. I’m getting hungry. How ’bout you?”

  She couldn’t have eaten a sliver of carrot if her life depended on it. There was a hard lump in her throat and a rock sitting in her belly. “I’m in no hurry,” she said.

  “Well, I am,” he said, going to the door. “You can stay here if you like. I won’t be gone long.”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him of course he was in a hurry. He was getting tired of the role he was playing, the role into which he had thrust her, and wanted to bring down the curtain on his sordid play.

  He left the door open when he left and she wandered about the cabin, seeing nothing personal belonging to him save the DVDs and CDs. A glance into the armoire showed jeans and sweatshirts, cutoff shorts and T-shirts, a few pair of jandals and some battered old sneakers. All the clothing was well worn and faded. None of it looked expensive. As a matter of fact, most of it looked as though it had come from a thrift store.

  There wasn’t a single feminine item to be found. In the small head, there were no feminine toiletries and only one toothbrush, brush and comb. Glancing in the medicine chest and vanity drawers, she found no condoms. Curious, she went to the built-in nightstands to either side of the bed and did not find any there, either. Of course he’d had a vasectomy and insisted on her using birth control to be on the safe side. Perhaps that was all he needed though, but she thought the threat of contracting an STD might ensure he had a supply of frenchies, as he called them.

  “It’s raining out there now,” he said, appearing in the doorway. His hands were hooked over the top jamb as he stared at her. “Whatcha looking for?”

  So, he had caught her snooping.

  “Signs of the women you’ve brought here,” she admitted.

  He frowned. “The only woman who spends any time on board is Suzanne.”

  “Who’s Suzanne?” she asked.

  “The stewardess,” he said.

  “Is she that pretty young woman with the long dark hair?” she asked. “The one who looks a lot like me?”

  “You saw her?” he asked, his brow furrowed. “When?”

  “No, I haven’t seen her,” she said. “Just a lucky guess.”

  Why, she thought, bring along a woman when you already had one available who met the qualifications?

  He let go of the overhead jamb and moved into the room. “All right, Melina, I want to know what’s gotten under your skin.”

  “Is dinner ready?” she countered.

  “They’re getting the table ready now,” he said. “But we’re not going anywhere until you tell me what the hell is wrong.”

  “I’ll tell you over dinner.”

  “No,” he said, shaking his head. “You’ll tell me now.”

  “No,” she said, extending the word as though she was talking to a mentally challenged man. “I’ll tell you at the table.”

  He stood there watching her then exhaled loudly. “All right. Have it your way. You wanna go to the saloon now? We can have a drink while we wait.”

  “Yes,” she lied. She really wanted nothing more than to put off ever seeing the dining table and what she knew would be on it.

  A small voice in the back of his head told him not to take her to the saloon. It screamed at him to have the captain radio the crewmen who handled the launch at his beach house and have him come pick them up. He didn’t understand the warning signals going off inside his mind but he couldn’t ignore them. As he led her to the saloon, he could feel her eyes watchin
g him and something did not seem quite right.

  She did not seem quite right. Something was off. Something was building like the storm off the starboard bow and it worried him like a man poking his tongue at a sore tooth. He couldn’t let it rest no matter how much it hurt.

  Why he felt as though he were walking to his doom he didn’t know but that was exactly how he felt. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling and it caused an ache in the vicinity of his heart.

  “A long walk down a short plank,” he said under his breath.

  “Excuse me?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” he replied. “Just me being me.”

  As beautiful as the cabin of the jet had been, the saloon of the sailing yacht was even more extravagant and beautiful. Done in the same shades of gray and black—what was it with the Kiwi and those two colors? she wondered—the wall over the banquette was solid pewter-veined black glass that reflected the silver candlesticks that sat to either side of a huge arrangement of gardenias.

  Matter of fact, she realized, the entire room was filled with gardenias in urns and vases and in bud vases. The room smelled heavenly.

  “You know how to make a girl feel special, don’t you, Kiwi?” she asked.

  “I wanted this night to be special,” he said.

  “I’m sure it will be one neither of us will ever forget,” she said as she swept her gaze over the low couches that were covered in a black-and-gray herringbone pattern with a touch of burgundy on the cording running along the back, the cushions’ edges and the rolled arms. Four deep-burgundy red leather wingback chairs sat off to one side of the couches and in one corner was a piano.

  “Do you play?” she asked, strolling over to run her hand over the polished black finish of the instrument.

  “Yes,” he said. “Did I not tell you that?”

  She shook her head. “No, you didn’t.” She looked around at him. “Do you play any other instruments?”

  “The guitar.” He smiled ruefully.

  “I’m impressed,” she told him.

  “Want a drink?” he asked. He had moved to the black lacquered bar at the end of the saloon—in front of which were six burgundy-red leather barstools with polished chrome legs.

  “No, thank you,” she said. “But you go ahead.”

  “I’ll wait,” he said.

  The sound of movement behind her made her turn. A stunning woman in a black jacket and long skirt, gray silk blouse and six-inch gray heels came in with three stewards who were bringing the meal to an intimate little table that had been placed in front of a bank of windows overlooking the water. A very thick French braid of dark brown hair interwoven with a burgundy ribbon hung down to her waist. She flashed her dark green eyes to the piano then away.

  “Your meal is ready, Mr. McGregor,” she said then turned without acknowledging that anyone else was in the room with him. When she passed him, she reached out to touch his arm.

  “Thank you, Suzi,” he said.

  “Always my pleasure to serve you, sir,” she said in a deep, sensuous voice.

  She and the stewards left the saloon as quietly as they had entered. The woman closed the door behind their departure.

  “Shall we?” he asked.

  Another conquest, she thought as she stared at the door. Another pretty woman with long, dark hair and green eyes. She wondered if he knew he was bedding women who reminded him of his mother. If he did, he was more damaged than she realized.

  “Melina?” he asked.

  She mentally shook herself and looked over at him. Her gaze went past him to the table. The aromas coming from the chafing dishes were enticing but she had no appetite. A glance at the clock on the wall over the seating area reminded her she had a little less than two hours before he tossed her aside and she never saw him again.

  The very thought of that hurt so badly she could barely put one foot ahead of the other as she crossed the room. He was standing behind one of the chairs at the elegantly appointed table. A dark-gray silk tablecloth covered the round table and the chairs were upholstered in black suede. The china was pale gray, rimmed in burgundy and in the center was the MI logo in silver. The flatware was pewter and the stemware a rich, smoky-black shade.

  “Beautifully set table,” she said, staring at the china. Beside her plate was the envelope about which Jake had warned her.

  He pulled the chair out for her. “Suzi is very good at what she does,” he said. “She takes very good care of me.”

  That had been the wrong thing for him to say. Anger, jealousy and overwhelming hurt washed over her like molten lava. For the first time in her life she understood what it meant to be so furious you saw red for her vision was tinged with that color.

  She didn’t sit down. Instead, she reached for the envelope, snatched it up.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, his brow furrowed.

  “Would you ask the captain to take us back, now, please?” she asked. She folded the envelope and stuffed it into the back pocket of her jeans. “I see no need to drag this out. You’ve already fucked me so that’s our session for the night.”

  He literally took a step back from her. “What?” he asked.

  “We fucked, Kiwi. For the last time.”

  “I don’t understand,” he said.

  “What is there to understand?” she challenged. “I have fulfilled my part of the deal as I told you I would. You’ve paid me and now we’re done.”

  She watched his mouth open and close but he seemed incapable of speech. He looked dumbfounded. His blue eyes betrayed his shock, his forehead crinkling. He was staring at her as though she had stabbed him in the heart with a dull blade. It was almost painful to see the astonishment building on his handsome face.

  “Why are you doing this?” he whispered in a voice she swore held a slight break.

  “The food smells great and I’m sure it is the best money can buy but I’ll just get a burger when we get back to the marina,” she said, twisting the blade deeper and—while feeling good about doing so—it did give her some satisfaction to see the realization on his face that his plan was crumbling around him.

  “Melina, why?” he asked, and to give him credit, he put hurt into his voice.

  “I’m not a champagne and caviar kind of gal,” she said. “I’m more a beer and pretzel person, myself.”

  “That’s not what I mean and you know it,” he said and she heard resentment creeping into his tone even though he still looked as though she’d gutted him. “Why did you take the check?”

  “The check is why I’m here, remember? I did a job and now it’s finished,” she said, lifting her chin. “You bought the rights to my cherry. You popped it. I stayed the full thirty days and now it’s time to move on.”

  “That’s all it meant to you? That’s all you wanted from me?” he asked. “The bloody check?”

  “Did you think there was anything else?” she countered, wanting to wound his pride, to teach him a lesson before he crushed her heart any further. “I signed on for the money. That’s what I needed. Now I have it and that’s all she wrote. I don’t have to worry about having your hands on me or enduring you fucking me again.”

  His eyes widened. “What did you say?”

  “You heard me,” she said. “Have the captain take us back to shore. I’ve got a plane to catch.”

  “A plane?” he questioned, his fists opening and closing at his sides.

  “I booked it this morning,” she said. “It leaves at—”

  “Shut up,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “I don’t want to miss the flight,” she said.

  “I said shut the hell up!” he shouted at her.

  “Not the outcome you had it mind, eh, Kiwi?” she said, rubbing salt into his wounds. “You like being in charge, shoving a woman out on her ass when you’re done with her, tossing her away like yesterday’s garbage. Well, it didn’t quite work out that way this time, did it, stud? Now you know how it feels to get the shaft. Doesn’t feel good, does it,
you conceited bastard!”

  He stared at her for a long time then his face turned hard as flint. “You bitch,” he whispered.

  She gave him a mean smile. “No worse a bitch than you are a bastard,” she said.

  He took a step toward her, raised his hand but she held her ground. She didn’t really think he would hit her and he didn’t. Instead, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the saloon.

  Exacting, crippling agony raced through her as she stood there. She wanted to cover her face with her hands and cry but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. He was a player but this time he’d been the one to get played and she knew he would take some kind of revenge on her. That was his nature.

  He might try to stop payment on the check in her back pocket but it didn’t matter. She’d never wanted the money for herself, anyway. It meant nothing to her. She could make do.

  She’d have to.

  A call to Ann-Louise Holloway-Lutz earlier that day had reassured her Drew’s place at Cedar Oaks was not in danger. He could stay there for the rest of his life and be taken care of the way she had wanted for him. She now knew beyond any doubt the Kiwi would see to that. He liked Drew and he had made permanent provisions for her brother. He would not go back on the commitment he had made to a young man who was innocent in this thing between her and the man from New Zealand.

  She had made up her mind to leave Atlanta. It would hurt too much to even be in the same city with the man to whom she’d so unwisely given her heart. She wasn’t even sure she should visit Drew again. He didn’t know her anyway and the last few times she’d gone to see him, he acted as though she was annoying him. She refused to think the Kiwi was behind the change in her brother’s attitude toward her but it would make sense if he wanted to get rid of her completely. Take the brother; throw the sister away.

  “Miss Wynth?”

  She tensed, turning around to confront the only other woman on board the yacht. She squared her shoulders. “Yes?”

  “Mr. McGregor asked me to tell you the launch is on its way out to pick you up. They should be here in about thirty minutes.”

  Suzanne’s green eyes were filled with venomous delight.