Two Weeks in the Magnate's Bed

by Nicola Marsh

  ‘I need to finish unpacking, so if you’ll excuse me?’

  As she pushed past him her bare arm brushed his. The strange buzzing was back with a vengeance, spreading upwards and outwards and confusing the heck out of her. She had no idea why her body was behaving like this.

  Okay, so that was a lie. Jax the Jackass might have been her only boyfriend, the only guy she’d ever slept with, but once he’d dumped her and she’d fled to Sydney she’d had two less than memorable dates with co-workers. She still recognized that buzz.

  Hormones. Her reaction to sailor boy had to be purely physical—no doubt intensified due to the fact she hadn’t been this close to a guy in over three years.

  ‘I’ll leave you to it. Nice meeting you.’

  She mumbled a non-committal answer and sent him a half-hearted wave, glancing over her shoulder as he walked away, her curious gaze lingering on parts it had no right scoping out.

  She had a thing for guys in uniform. Always had. Starting way back, when a young sailor had given her a flower after she’d dropped an ice cream cone and cried. A clumsy five-year-old who’d never forgotten her first crush. Her mum’s warning at the time, to steer clear of men like that, hadn’t meant much, considering she hadn’t known what ‘that’ meant back then.

  Now, seeing the white cotton outlining Zac McCoy’s butt as he strode away, she knew exactly what that was, and it sent her scurrying for her cabin.

  Banishing the encounter from her thoughts, she showered and dressed for dinner. Beth had crammed her case with designer dresses and shoes, but Lana would never have the self-confidence to wear half the sexy stuff her cousin did, so she settled for her one good dress: a plain black coat dress, cinched at the waist, set off with her cousin’s sparkly jet Manolos.

  Beth had pestered Lana to allow a complete makeover, but the thought of a radical haircut and new wardrobe was way too intimidating for a girl who equated the latest fashion with the occasional update of her tortoiseshell spectacle frames.

  She’d settled for a sedate trim to her blah-brown hair and contacts. Beth had settled for giving her enough shoe castoffs to make the Sex and the City girls sit up and take notice.

  As for the rest of Beth’s advice on how to boost her self-confidence? She’d take it one step at a time in these damn uncomfortable shoes.

  She entered the Coral Dining Room and barely had time to notice the giant chandelier, the string quartet and the silver service place settings before the maître d’ whisked her to a table where two seats remained vacant.

  Sliding into one of them, she let the other occupants introduce themselves—a couple in their forties and two other women—hoping they wouldn’t expect her to make small talk. She was lousy in social situations like this, preferring to sit and listen than participate in idle chit-chat.

  She listened to their friendly banter while perusing the extensive menu. As the empty chair on her right was drawn back, her skin prickled disturbingly. A sensation she associated with the hives she’d been unfortunate enough to bear several times when a strawberry came within a whiff of her.

  However, this prickle had nothing to do with fruit. This time something far more dangerous to her health—well, to her peace of mind—caused her skin to flush and tingle.

  ‘Hi, everyone. I’m Zac McCoy, Public Relations Manager. I’m delighted you’ll be joining me for meals at my table. On behalf of the ship’s company, the Captain and the crew, we hope you enjoy your cruise.’

  Fate liked to play jokes on her. Maybe she should take out a lottery ticket and be done with it.

  Resisting the urge to surreptitiously scratch the flushed skin behind her ears, she tried to ignore her erratic pulse which had shifted into overdrive the minute he sat down. She toyed with the cutlery, pleated her napkin, and successfully avoided looking at him until the table introductions reached her.

  ‘How are you, Lana?’

  He flashed that killer smile, blue eyes glinting with amusement.

  ‘Fine, thanks.’

  That’s it. Slay him with scintillating conversation. For a professional who gave presentations weekly—as painful as it was, speaking in front of her peers—she was doing a marvellous job appearing to be a brainless bimbo.

  While the voluptuous blonde on his right distracted him, she couldn’t resist sneaking a peek. Smooth, suave and sexy. He was exactly the type of guy any sane woman would stay away from: a glib, good-looking charmer, with the body of Adonis and a face designed to turn heads. Way out of her league.

  As dinner proceeded she remained silent, toying with her food, faking polite smiles. She’d never been a flirt, like Beth, and sitting next to a guy like Zac had her tongue-tied. Probably for the best, as she doubted he’d be interested in the latest marsupial display in the Australian Gallery, or in hearing her expound the virtues of digital cataloguing. Though her reticence was barely noticed as he maintained a steady flow of conversation, captivating everyone at the table.

  During dessert—a light chocolate soufflé that melted in her mouth—he turned towards her.

  ‘You’re awfully quiet. Maybe we should get to know each other better?’

  His bold stare scanned her face, focusing briefly on her mouth before returning to her eyes, and admiration tinged with something more—something that made her heart go pitter-patter—glittered in those blue depths.

  ‘Maybe. Though I should warn you. I’m single, and probably hungrier than a piranha.’

  His smile slipped as he dabbed at the corners of his mouth with a linen napkin, those vivid eyes never leaving hers for a second. She blinked to break the hypnotic contact.

  ‘You overheard me earlier?’

  ‘Yeah, and your opinion of women on cruises sucks.’

  She silently applauded her bravado—fuelled by indignation—even while cringing at her outburst. Antagonising him wouldn’t be conducive to remaining unnoticed, which was what she’d hoped for if she had to sit next to him every night for the next two weeks.

  His eyes deepened to midnight, dark and challenging, as he leaned towards her.

  ‘Care to change my mind?’

  ‘And disillusion you because I’m not the man-hunter you think I am?’ She eased back, needing some distance between them before she leaned into him and lapped up some of that delicious citrusy-sea-air scent he exuded. ‘Where’s the fun in that?’

  ‘Oh, I think it could be fun,’ he said.

  His gaze dipped to her mouth again, lingered before sweeping back to her eyes. and she flicked her tongue out to moisten her lips, which tingled as if he’d physically touched her.

  ‘And seeing as you think I’m a judgmental idiot, you would take a lot of convincing.’ His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘Which could equate to a lot of fun.’

  ‘I didn’t say you were an idiot.’

  He chuckled—a rich, deep sound which washed over her in a warm wave. ‘You didn’t have to. You’ve got very expressive eyes.’

  ‘Must be the contacts.’

  Her dry response elicited more laughter.

  ‘Look, I’d really like to clear the air between us. I honestly didn’t mean anything by what you overheard. It was merely an observation from working on these tugs too long.’

  She opened her mouth to respond and he held up a hand. ‘Yes, it was a sweeping generalisation. And, yes, I’m suitably chastened and I apologise. But tell me, Lana Walker, which are you?’

  He leaned closer. So close she couldn’t breathe without imprinting his seductive scent on her receptors. ‘Husband-hunter or fun fling girl?’

  She reared back, knowing now was the time to clam up as she usually did, before she scolded him like a tardy student. As she compressed her lips into an unimpressed line she noticed the teasing sparkle in his eyes, the cheeky smile playing about his mouth.

  ‘You’re trying to wind me up.’

  ‘Is it working?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So I could say anything and you’d be totally immune to me
?’

  Immune? She could have a hospital’s worth of vaccinations against suave sailors and it still wouldn’t give her guaranteed immunity—the type of immunity she needed more and more urgently the longer he stared at her with those twinkling eyes.

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘So I could say you intrigue me and you wouldn’t react?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘What about if I tell you I think there’s more to you than the obvious?’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘That’s the same as intrigue, so you need to come up with a better line, sailor boy.’

  ‘Sailor boy?’

  A slow grin spread across his face as she mentally slapped a hand over her mouth.

  Nicknames implied camaraderie. Nicknames implied fun. And there was no way she’d be foolish enough to ever contemplate having fun with him.

  ‘Figure of speech.’ She pleated her napkin, folding it over and over with origami-like precision, till he reached over and stilled her hand, setting her pulse rocketing as she tried not to flinch from his touch.

  ‘What if I said I like you?’

  Taking a great gulp of air to ease her constricted lungs, she frowned. ‘You’re still trying to wind me up. And you’re good. I’ll give you that much.’

  She extracted her hand on the pretext of picking up her wine glass, racking her brain for an easy way to end this conversation before she blurted out exactly how wound up she was by his teasing. The nape of her neck prickled. A colony of ants had taken up residence under her skin, and her blood flowed thick and sluggish, heating her from the inside out. Logically, she knew it was merely a physiological response—a simple chemical reaction to the first male to enter her personal space in a long time. But logic wouldn’t untie her tongue or stop the rising blush from making her feel more gauche and awkward than ever in a social situation like this.

  Smiling, he picked up his own wine glass and raised it in her direction.

  ‘You do intrigue me. And I’m not trying to wind you up.’ His smile widened. ‘Well, not much. For some inexplicable reason I’ve taken an instant liking to you, despite your somewhat prickly exterior, and I’ve got two weeks to prove it to you.’

  Prickly? The cheeky son of a—

  He chuckled, and she knew he was winding her up again, trying to get a reaction.

  She bit her tongue, mulling over what he’d said. He’d taken an instant liking to her, huh? As if. If she believed that she’d believe the ship would sail into the horizon and drop off the end of a flat earth.

  Leaning forward, he murmured in her ear. ‘Two very interesting weeks.’

  She stiffened, unable to think when he was this close. What was the best response? Ignore him? Berate him? Wait the requisite ten minutes it would take to think up a scathing comeback and put him firmly back in his place?

  ‘What? Nothing to say? Surprising, from a woman with such strong opinions about me.’

  Sitting back, he fixed her with a smug smile—a smile that said he knew how flustered he made her, how she was struggling to come up with a suitable response.

  She should have ignored him, pleaded a headache and left the table. That would have been her usual course of action—quietly slinking away, ruing her shyness. But his self-satisfied smile was too much, goading her into matching wits with him.

  He assumed she couldn’t come up with a quick answer? She’d show him.

  So rather than pushing back her chair and making a run for it, she felt blood surge to her cheeks, and her head snapped up as she fixed him with a scathing glare.

  ‘Go ahead, then, sailor boy. Prove it.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  LANA’S eyelids creaked open at the crack of dawn the next morning. A newly converted gym junkie, she usually bounced out of bed early and hit the nearest gym at six, when fitness fanatics liked to sweat through their first aerobics class of the day.

  She’d never graced a gym, let alone tried an aerobics class, till eighteen months ago—all part of Operation Obliterate. Obliterate her memories of Jax, obliterate the embarrassment of how he’d used her; obliterate the fact that her first love had seen her as nothing more than a fling.

  Now, not only was she hooked, she’d become a qualified instructor just for the fun of it. Madness? Probably. But for the hour she jumped around every morning she was just like the rest of the sweaty women around her, when no make-up and casual clothes weren’t a big deal.

  After a quick shower, she donned her favourite capri pants—in urgent need of replacing, considering the frayed cuffs—and a plain white T-shirt. She had a ton of them, as they went with everything. Then she slipped her feet into a pair of well-worn slingbacks.

  Beth had shuddered when she’d seen her casual outfits, but, hey, she’d always been a comfort-over-style girl. Besides, she didn’t adhere to the old ‘dress to impress’ motto. She used her brain to get people to notice her. Discounting last night, when her intellect had gone AWOL.

  Prove it, she’d dared Zac. All very brave in the heat of the moment, when she’d fired off the retort without thinking it through properly, but now, in the clear light of a perfect summer’s day, her resolve wavered.

  It was one thing setting out to build confidence by trying new things, but challenging a pro like Zac to flirt with her could only end in disaster.

  He’d pushed her, taunted her till she’d snapped. He couldn’t have known she’d react that way, for she still couldn’t believe she’d done it herself. And while she now regretted her outburst, a small part of her was jumping up and down with joy at the unusual flash of bravado.

  The old, sensible, conservative Lana would have ducked her head, pushed her ancient glasses up her nose and ignored him. She would have scuffed her well-worn sensible shoes under the table, tugged on the hem of her favourite shapeless sweatshirt and made a quick escape. She’d always taken the safe route, always done the right thing, always focussed on her career and nothing else.

  She was the diligent employee, the dependable colleague, the model girlfriend, the reliable cousin. And where had it got her?

  She’d been dumped, overlooked for a brilliant opportunity at work, and had come on this cruise for one reason and one reason only: to gain confidence socially and ensure she was never passed over at work again.

  If she couldn’t rely on her job, the one thing in this world she knew she was good at, what hope did she have?

  Maybe standing up to brash sailors and proving she wasn’t a push-over fell into the category of confidence-building?

  With a shake of her head—as if that would dislodge the memory of making a fool of herself with that rash challenge—she headed for the lido deck, where continental breakfast was being served. She helped herself to a plate of mango, melon and pineapple, before finding a table next to the floor-to-ceiling glass overlooking the Pacific Ocean, stretching as far as she could see, its undulating swell infinitely soothing.

  Her apartment in Coogee had an ocean view, though nothing as gorgeous as this. She’d deliberately chosen a sea view for its calming qualities and, boy, had she needed it when she’d first moved to Sydney from Melbourne, hellbent on leaving her past behind.

  ‘Enjoying the view this morning?’

  She glanced up, her pulse-rate accelerating in an instant. Zac—in a navy polo shirt and matching shorts, his hair recently washed and slicked back, resident charming smile in place—rivalled the ocean in the stunning stakes.

  She took a sip of water, trying to ease the dryness in her throat. ‘Yes, it’s spectacular.’

  He wasn’t looking at the view. Instead, that steady, captivating blue-eyed gaze remained riveted to her. ‘Spectacular would describe it perfectly.’

  She blushed and glanced down, toying with the fruit on her plate rather than face his intense scrutiny.

  What made her think she could practise gaining confidence with this guy? He was a major player, and she’d barely graduated from Little League.

  ‘You really should try some of that mango
rather than playing with it. It’s succulent this time of year.’

  The way he said ‘succulent’ fascinated her; tripping from his lips, it almost sounded obscene.

  ‘Shouldn’t you be circulating amongst the passengers?’

  She speared a piece of juicy mango and bit into it, trying to appear casual yet anxious to fob him off.

  As if in slow motion he reached his index finger towards the corner of her mouth, where a rivulet of juice had started to run, and wiped it up.

  Shaken to her core, she watched him lick the droplet of juice from his fingertip in a shockingly intimate gesture.

  ‘Mmm—tasty.’

  His smouldering gaze dropped to her lips before sweeping back to her eyes, triumphant blue clashing with shell-shocked hazel.

  ‘You’re right. I should get back to work. I can’t have my time monopolized by one woman,” he teased, before adding, ‘Delectable as she may be.’

  With a cocky smile, he gave her a half-salute and sauntered away.

  The corner of her mouth was still quivering from his sensual touch. Great. If that was his first foray into proving it she was in trouble. Big trouble.

  With a trembling hand she devoured the remainder of her breakfast, eager to escape. Whenever she looked up she caught a glimpse of him, moving among the tables, talking to various people. Their eyes met only once across the crowded room, and she looked away first, hating the blush staining her cheeks, hating her inadequacy at coping with light flirtation more.

  It was hot in this room, way too hot. Pushing her plate away, she almost tripped in her haste to stand and dashed for the door, keeping her head down, unwilling to tempt fate further. After virtually falling into his arms, landing next to him at dinner, and then running into him first thing this morning, it looked as if fate was having a mighty big chuckle at her expense.

  Zac watched Lana bolt, hiding a triumphant grin as he flipped the pages on his clipboard. He had her thoroughly rattled, if that stunned, wide-eyed gaze when he’d touched her lips was any indication.