by Lily Harlem
“But I’m not going near the water,” I said quietly as a small tremor shook in my belly.
“No, but in this stupid dress you’ll trip and fall in.”
He moved away and I grabbed a silver bar running over the entrance to the cabin for support. Clutching it with both hands, I glanced at the doorway. Where was Jose? He’d said he would only be a minute. And Dillon was growling and snapping. I suspected he would bite soon.
“What are you doing?” I asked again.
He didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled a long, curved-blade fishing knife from a box on the floor.
“What, Jesus…” I shifted away, fear welling in my chest. “Please, no. Just leave me alone. I won’t be any trouble, I promise.”
He shook his head. “Some crazy-assed trip this is. Should have just gone to the Bermuda triangle and got it over with,” he muttered. “It would have been less stressful than being stuck here with a whimpering starlet and her ridiculous outfit.”
I watched in horror as he fisted the delicate material of my dress, tugged it away from my legs and began to cut into it with the knife, sliding the wickedly sharp blade horizontally. Fraying and severing the fragile silk.
“For fuck’s sake,” I gasped, too afraid to move even an inch as he wielded the knife so close to my skin. “This dress is a limited edition Yves Saint Laurent.”
He didn’t answer, just continued to shred my dress. Hacking and cutting so that it became mid-thigh length.
I felt a firm shove on my ass. He turned me so that he could finish the job at the back.
The warm sea breeze wrapped around my bare legs. There was a final ripping sound then he stepped away, holding up the bright red slash of material. It flicked and flacked in the wind, gliding up behind him.
“Much safer,” he said.
“You’ll have to pay me back for that.” Fear was replaced with indignation and grew like a great big ball of fire within me. “That dress is worth over four thousand dollars, you know.”
He widened his eyes and looked at the billowing material. “Really? Thousands for a scrap of material?”
“Yes, really.”
“Did you buy it?”
I set down my shoulders, tilted my chin. “Well no, it was a gift from the designers. They like me to be photographed in their clothes.”
He shrugged. “But if you didn’t buy it then why should I pay you back?”
“Because, because…that’s not the point. You should have asked before you damaged my property.”
He slid the knife into a suede sheath and set it aside. “You should have asked before you climbed onto my boat.”
If I’d had two good feet I would have stamped one of them. The nerve of the man. At first he’d scared me half to death, now he was just making me angry.
“What’s going on here?” Jose appeared on deck holding a tray with three mugs. “Ah, a new look.” He nodded at my freshly shortened dress and allowed his gaze to scan down my legs.
I scowled and went to fold my arms. Realized I couldn’t do that either because of the cuffs. Damn these men. I stared between the two of them and then snapped, “Just help me down and give me some coffee.”
Chapter Four
Jose would have helped India down but his hands were full. Besides, if he got rid of the tray and had to touch her, hold her hand, she’d know what he was thinking. His hands shook slightly, and his breathing had gone haywire on him, erratic and jagged. His face was hot, and it was nothing to do with the damn sun. Fuck, with her dress revamped, she was too alluring.
Christ, her elevated position made her legs seem like they went on forever. His mind raced with flashing images of him licking those pins from ankle to inner thigh, then moving his tongue across to the shadowy, musky place between her legs. He’d bet she was soft as fuck there, all silk and wetness, her cream just waiting for him to lick it out. She stared at him, her mouth in a pout, and despite the rumors he’d read about her being a diva, she had an innocent look about her, one that was the direct opposite of what she usually showed. She was out of her element, he reckoned, on a boat with two strange men who didn’t rush to do that she wanted, when she wanted. It wouldn’t do her any harm, that.
But, fuck, he wanted to fly forward and help her down.
Dillon tsked. “Get down by yourself. What, you think by having a little scrape on your foot it warrants us treating you like you’re in need, like you can’t manage?”
“A little scrape?” She shook her head. “Your friend there said that if I didn’t have it cleaned it could have led to amputation!”
Dillon laughed so hard he might well have pissed his shorts if he hadn’t cut it off so abruptly. “And you believed that?”
“Yes! Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because eventually you’d have had one of your minions to deal with the cut once we take you to land. It wouldn’t have had time to get infected to that degree. Jose was just using his admirable persuasion skills in getting you to do what he wanted. Yep, if left for a very long time you might have lost your skinny little foot, but the only thing you’d have needed to worry about in the immediate future was it going a bit infected. You know, oozing pus and whatever.”
She widened her eyes at Jose. He shrugged in return, and she dipped her head to stare at the bandage.
Thanks for that, man. Now she won’t trust me.
Did that matter to Jose? Yes, it did. Too much, and he didn’t understand why.
“Please. Help me down?” she whispered. “It’s sore and—”
“Who d’you think we are, your employees?” Dillon asked. “I tell you, lady, it’s different here. You expect to be treated like whoever you are, you’ve got a long fucking wait.”
Dillon had said what Jose would have if he had the balls, but there was something about the woman that had prevented him from doing so. Her fame, was that it? Did having a star onboard, someone he’d only ever seen on TV or in the rags, make a difference to how he acted? He’d thought it wouldn’t, that he was capable of treating everyone the same like Dillon did, but he’d be kidding himself. She was a shining angel up there, tempting him to forget all his training on treating people equally. Plus, she was a woman. Not the hardened, criminal type he was used to dealing with, but a soft, feminine one who he doubted had the first clue about the harsh realities of life. Of how some people out there lived, how they behaved. She must surely be sheltered from the ugly by a huge team of willing servants.
India widened her eyes a moment before masking the reaction with another—one she must have perfected since being in the limelight. Now she appeared steely, petulant, and downright sexy for it too. She turned away from Jose—and thank fuck for that; his cock was getting twitchy—and she stared at Dillon.
“Have you always been such a…a mean person?” she asked.
Jose held back a sudden bubble of laughter and stepped forward to place the tray on a small fixed table—one with only two chairs around it. He could guess by Dillon’s expression—eyes going cold, mouth firming, jaw rigid—she wouldn’t like his answer.
“Yes, and it’s tough shit if you don’t like it,” Dillon said. “Unwanted guests tend to do that to me. You know, piss me off by being on my boat. Getting in the way. Standing there like they’re royalty, when all the while they piss and shit just like the rest of us.”
“Oh my God, you’re disgusting,” she said, her voice light, as though all the bluster had been sucked out of her. “Honestly…”
Jose inwardly cringed. He knew what was coming next. Dillon had used these lines before on a guy who’d been caught growing weed and making young kids sell it, a gangster from the slums who had more than a chip on his shoulder. He’d had a crater.
“What, you saying you don’t shit?” Dillon asked.
Jose sat in one of the chairs, shifting it so he faced them and could watch the show. He was torn between wanting to enjoy the dressing down Dillon planned to give and protecting her from it.
“Of course I do!” she said, half
closing her eyes and inhaling deeply. “But it isn’t exactly a conversation I thought I’d ever have, and one I don’t plan on continuing.”
Her eyes, the way she studied Dillon, brought a visual to mind of how she would look when she was on the verge of coming. Her cheeks were flushed, from anger or embarrassment, certainly not arousal, but it gave the same effect. Man, she was beautiful, if a little on the thin side. He had the urge to bury his hands in her hair and tighten them into fists. To direct her head to his cock and dictate how fast she bobbed. To have her sucking and looking up at him, waiting for his nod that he was about to come down her slender throat.
What the fuck is wrong with you?
“Right,” Dillon said. “So we’ve established you’re the same as us then, yeah?”
“Well, no.” She smirked. “You’re a man and I’m a—”
“Woman who is not only elevated in the sense she’s up high, but who has the insane idea that her status in life makes her somehow different.” Dillon tsked again. “It doesn’t work like that here, you got that? So, get down your fucking self.”
That was a bit harsh, man…
Dillon strode to the table and sat in the free chair. Reached across and picked up a cup, then leaned back and took a sip as though he hadn’t just spoken to a famous star like that. He eyed Jose, communicating with his gaze that this woman had seriously got on his last nerve. Jose understood why—Dillon had never been one to give a shit about who was who—but the man needed to cut her some slack. She clearly wasn’t used to this kind of behavior. Dillon silently told him that if he so much as moved a muscle to get up and help her…
Jose nodded, glancing away to take in another welcome sight of India. He lifted one hand to shield his eyes—the sun was behind her—and she appeared to have an aura, making her seem as special as she undoubtedly thought she was. How must it be to have people telling you you’re so wonderful?
Get told that enough and you’d eventually believe it.
He felt for her.
“I think I’ll just stay up here anyway,” she said, looking out to sea. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to catch some sun.”
“I wouldn’t remain where you are for too long, lady.” Dillon sipped again. Swallowed. “You’ll get those bony little shoulders of yours burned.”
She snapped her head around to face them, boring her gaze into the back of Dillon’s head, narrowing her eyes until those abundant lashes of hers almost met. “You’re such a jerk!”
Dillon shrugged. “Glad we have our feelings established. It’ll make it easier to get through the next twenty-four hours before we dump your ass.”
Jose admired her stubborn streak. Half an hour had passed and she was still in the same place.
Unable to bear the lack of conversation and the tense air on deck, he declared he needed more caffeine, gathered the crockery and carried the tray below. Swilled the cups out and set more coffee on. Perhaps the lure of a fresh coffee, the scent of it, would make her come off her perch. Several times he’d wanted to interfere, to get up and offer her a hand, but he sensed she needed this treatment. It would do her good to realize not everyone was willing to fawn over her, but he’d found it difficult to resist and to watch her get hotter and hotter under the growing strength of the sun’s rays.
He took the replenished tray back out into the sunshine and stopped short, shocked to see her sitting in the chair he’d vacated. Dillon sat forward, elbows on the table, in deep, hushed conversation with her. How the fuck had that happened? Jose had only been gone five minutes, or so he thought. He remembered back to how long he’d been when they were searching for her earlier, how he’d checked their position, slowed the boat and heard voices coming from where she’d hidden herself. How he’d waited then, at the top of the steps. A few minutes had gone by, he was sure of it. Then he’d recognized her tones from the TV and had been stuck in place until Dillon had cuffed her. He felt like that now, immovable, unable to press forward, like time was not quite ticking at normal pace.
Get it together, for fuck’s sake.
Feigning nonchalance, he placed the tray on the table so they could both take a cup and walked over to a stack of sun loungers, lifting one and opening it out to keep himself occupied while he listened.
“I see,” Dillon said. “You should have explained the details more clearly before.”
Jose stilled for a second then put the lounger next to the table. He climbed on, positioning the headrest so he was able to see them both. Reached for his coffee, feeling invisible, unwanted, not needed. And how was it that Dillon always ended up being the one people gravitated to? How come the surly, albeit loveable bastard, always got to the bottom of everything when his attitude should have put people off opening up? In their case, the good-cop-bad-cop routine didn’t always sway in favor of the good.
The air still held that tenseness, but it was a different kind, the sort he felt when a break came in a case and they had to get their heads together to work out what to do next. A kind of pregnant expectation lingered, hovered over Dillon and India.
“I would have,” she said, cradling a cup in her cuffed hands, raising it to her lips then lowering it again, “but things didn’t exactly happen where I could slot the information in, did it?” She sipped, swallowed, then let out a breathy sigh.
“I suppose not.” Dillon ran a hand through his hair.
“Put yourself in my position.” She paused, staring at Dillon and poking out the tip of her tongue, sweeping it over her bottom lip. “For all I knew, you could have been him. Yes, I’d been running from someone, but there could have been two of you sending me those notes, working together. You could still be those two.” She raised her cup again, blew the coffee. “I mean, anyone can get fake cop badges, and if I saw one I wouldn’t know any different.”
“Listen.” Dillon placed a hand on her upper arm.
Lucky bastard…
“I assure you we’re cops and we’re not the ones sending notes. Now, exactly how long has this been going on?” Dillon asked. “Give me a time frame.”
Jose drank, his senses on high alert. Something was up, and it wasn’t just his cock, for Dillon to have changed his attitude so quickly, to be talking to her as though she was a human worth speaking to.
“Quite a while.” Her hands shook and a droplet of coffee balanced on the cup rim, dribbling down to anchor itself to the base before it finally gave up holding on and plopped to the table. “I knew people were odd, that they got weird ideas into their heads, but this goes beyond my usual crazed fan. It’s more sinister. Real. Like whoever is sending the notes means it. And they’re close, getting really close to me.”
Dillon nodded. “Sounds true enough. What have your people done about it?”
She shrugged. “Upped security, made sure I’m never alone.”
“But you managed to be alone when you visited the restroom.”
“Well, yes. My bodyguard’s a man. He could hardly come in there with me.”
Notes? Restrooms? Bodyguards? What the fuck?
Jose couldn’t hold off any longer. “What the hell’s going on?”
Dillon explained in his non-nonsense, blunt way, ending with, “And India here decided to climb out of a fucking window and run for it, knowing the person who sent the notes might follow her.” He rolled his shoulders and his eyes.
“I was frightened!” she said, staring from Dillon to Jose, appealing with her eyes for some support, to justify her actions. “I didn’t know what to do.”
Jose sat up, swinging his legs around until his feet touched deck. “So whoever you were running from could know you’re on this boat?”
India blushed. “If they saw me jump on, yes.”
“Do you think you were followed that far?” Jose asked.
“I don’t know. It’s all a blur. I was so scared I didn’t think—couldn’t think.” She put her coffee on the tray then smeared the fallen droplet with her fingertip.
The sun dr
ied it up, and Jose wished crimes disappeared as quickly.
“What time did you board?” Jose thought back to the night before, what they’d been doing, how much alcohol they’d had. He hadn’t been conscious of anyone lurking at the marina, but then again, he’d consumed quite a bit of beer and his senses would have been dulled.
Fuck.
India cocked her head, looking at the sky as she thought. “Our table reservation was for ten o’clock, but we were a little late arriving because our evening meeting had gone on longer than planned.” She settled her gaze back down and nodded. “We’d just finished starters. So I’m thinking about eleven, maybe just after.”
Jose stared at Dillon. “We headed back only a few minutes later.”
Dillon nodded. “Might have put them off following her onboard if they saw us wandering toward the pier.”
“Must be only one person if he or she didn’t wait until we were all asleep. You know, to come on board to take India off. They’d known they’d get caught by one of us.” Jose scrubbed his chin, stood and scanned the sea, expecting to find another boat on the horizon, a pinprick of white against the blue that announced they were being followed. He saw nothing but endless water and sky. Pacing, he said, “You will have been missed immediately. I would suggest we radio in and let your people know where you are.” He paused and squeezed his lips together, drew down his eyebrows. “But we should hold off on that.”
“Why?” she asked, shaking her head. “They’ll be frantic with worry. Tommy will be beside himself.”
Jose glanced at Dillon then back at India. “Have you ever seriously considered that one of those you employ may be doing this?”
She lowered her gaze to the table, and Jose stopped, stared down at the top of her head where the sun changed the strands into several different colors.
Eventually India nodded, the weary kind that admitted defeat, and he hated the thought of her trying to work out on her own who the hell it could be, who would put on a friendly face each and every damn day when behind the curtain of their smile and twinkling eyes, they harbored intense dislike for her.
