by Nicola Marsh
‘Fine. I’m making progress.’
He didn’t need to spell it out. His uncle had been the first to notice the ever-increasing number of ‘accidents’, the first to see the bad publicity begin to affect sales, and the one to notice the pattern of the incidents and predict the Ocean Queen would be next.
And, though he’d never admit it, the ensuing stress hadn’t helped his battle with the illness that was slowly but surely killing him.
‘Good. Because once you sort out the Australian side of things, there’s that Mediterranean problem that needs attention.’
‘All under control.’
He’d decided to run things from the London office for a year. More to do with the old man needing him there rather than with business. Not that Jimmy wanted to be mollycoddled. He’d made that perfectly clear. But under all that gruffness was a scared man fighting to stay alive, and Zac would be damned if he left the only father he’d ever known alone at a time like this.
He wanted to ask Jimmy how he was feeling, how the treatment was going, but knew he’d get the usual brush-off.
‘So how’s things in London?’
‘All good here.’
He heard the strain beneath the forced upbeat tone.
‘And you? How’re you feeling?’
A slight pause followed by a grim throat-clearing. ‘Can’t complain.’
James Madigan wouldn’t. He hadn’t complained when Zac had left him in the lurch for a year, after he’d run off to marry Magda, hadn’t complained when he’d had a near-fatal heart attack as a result of the stress from his increased workload—picking up the slack because of Zac’s selfishness—and hadn’t complained when Zac had outlined his plans for a future in direct opposition to his.
He was that sort of man: rock-solid, steadfast. And he was the man Zac owed everything to—the type of man he aspired to be.
‘Your PR stint working out okay?’
‘Yeah, the staff are buying it, and I’m getting the info I need, so that’s the main thing.’
Jimmy coughed—an ear-splitting, hacking cough that chilled Zac’s blood. Aware that his uncle hated appearing weak in any way, he quickly tried to distract him.
‘Get this. I had Helena Rock on my case this morning, going berserk. Can’t tell you how close I was to telling her I actually run the company now. That would’ve put the old battle-axe back in her place.’
Jimmy chuckled—something Zac wished he could hear more often. ‘Lucky you didn’t. Otherwise you’d have had a mutiny on your hands. Imagine if everyone knew I’d made you head honcho and hadn’t announced it officially yet? You wouldn’t get to catch the bastard hurting our ships, for a start.’
‘You’re right. But I hate lying. The staff respect and trust me as a fellow employee. I feel like I’m using them.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. This is business. Cruise lines are becoming more competitive every day. We can’t afford to let this stuff continue or it’ll really start to hurt us. It’s your company now.’ He paused, the rattle in his throat indicating another cough coming on. ‘I’d do the job if I could. Unfortunately, I’m just an old sea dog who has to live vicariously through you these days, so make sure you do a damn good job.’
Zac searched for words to reassure him, to explain he couldn’t be prouder that Jimmy was leaving him the company he’d built from scratch. Though he was glad to get a chance to feel the salt air in his face one last time.
As if reading his mind, Jimmy said the right thing—as usual.
‘I wouldn’t have placed you in charge of my empire unless I thought you were capable, Zachary.’
‘Yeah—a regular shipping magnate, that’s me.’
He’d wondered why his uncle had pushed him into shipping after he finished his commerce degree, not twigging that the crafty codger was grooming him till a year into his first contract. By then he’d been hooked—addicted to the shifting deck under his feet and the tang of salt air in his lungs.
He was proud to be in charge of the Madigan Shipping conglomerate, and would do whatever it took to make it the best damn shipping line in the world. He had big shoes to fill. He owed Jimmy. Now more than ever.
‘You’re doing a fine job, my boy. Now, you better get back to work. Just because you’re the boss now, doesn’t mean you can slack off.’
Zac laughed, half raising his hand in a salute just as he’d used to when he was a little boy, before dropping it uselessly, all too aware he wouldn’t have much time left to share a joke with his uncle.
‘You look after yourself.’
He only just heard a mumbled, ‘You’re as bad as these damn nurses,’ before Jimmy hung up.
Life was short. Seeing a strong, vibrant man like Jimmy fade away reinforced that, and he’d be damned if he sat here and let Lana disembark next week without fully exploring this unrelenting attraction driving him to seek her out almost every second of the day.
He didn’t want to look back on this time and regret it—didn’t want to be left with memories of a kiss and little else.
She could run but she couldn’t hide, and tonight he’d make sure she knew exactly how much he wanted her.
A woman like Lana needed to be wooed, deserved to be treated right—starting with a romantic first date designed to bring a smile to her face and banish her doubts that he was anything other than genuine—in his pursuit of her, at least.
CHAPTER SIX
SHE was lousy at this.
Zac had flirted with her over starter, main course and dessert, showering her with flattery, teasing her, making her laugh. By the time she’d finished a divine lime tart smothered in lashings of double cream her sides and her cheeks ached, and he’d well and truly slipped under her guard despite logic telling her he was playing a game.
‘Fancy having coffee in one of the lounges?’
He leaned towards her, immediately creating an intimacy excluding the rest of the people at their table. It set her pulse racing, throwing her off balance quicker than the two-metre swells buffeting the ship.
‘Only if you let up with the compliments.’
‘Why?’
His eyes darkened like storm clouds scudding across a midnight sky.
‘It’s overkill.’
‘But all true.’
She raised an eyebrow and sent a pointed look at her unadorned navy shift dress. ‘You think I look good in this?’
His gaze dipped to her dress, lifted to focus on her lips, before his curved into a roguish smile.
‘What you wear is irrelevant. You’re beautiful.’
She exhaled on a soft sigh, wishing for one incredible moment she could be seduced into believing him, giving in to his low voice, his hypnotic eyes, his sincere expression. But she wasn’t beautiful, far from it, and falling under a suave sailor’s spell was beyond foolish.
‘Now that you’ve exercised all those smooth sailor boy lines for the evening, maybe I will have that coffee. I’m in need of a caffeine hit to wake me from the stupor you’ve got me in after all that stuff you’ve been shovelling.’
He laughed. ‘It’s a date. Just let me drop by the office to check on a fax, and I’ll meet you in the Crow’s Nest Lounge in ten minutes?’
‘Make it five?’
‘Can’t bear to be away from me for long?’
‘Actually, I was thinking more of the fact I need to be up early for my first official aerobics class, so I don’t want to be out too late.’
‘Spoilsport. I thought you might be pumping up my ego for a delusional moment there.’
‘Like you need it.’
Tapping her watch face, she sent him a saccharine-sweet smile. ‘Four minutes and counting. If you want that coffee you’d better get a move on.’
He held up three fingers. ‘Bet I beat you there.’
‘You’re on.’
She made a dash for the Ladies’ on the way, unable to resist touching up her lipstick. Woeful behaviour for a girl who rarely wore anything but a slick of moisturiser
back home, but considering he kept studying her as if she was a priceless painting she had no choice. That sort of scrutiny put a girl under pressure—especially one who didn’t feel beautiful, let alone believe she deserved compliments—and she needed all the help she could get.
As she strolled into the Crow’s Nest with ten seconds to spare, her stomach somersaulted as she caught sight of Zac at a cosy table for two in the farthest corner, beckoning her over with a smug smile.
‘What did you do? Sprint the whole way?’
He pulled out a seat for her and she sank into it before her knees gave the telltale wobble they had whenever he got too close.
‘The fax hadn’t arrived. I ducked my head in the door, had a quick look, and headed straight here. What about you? Have a quick dip overboard before you joined me?’
She tilted her nose in the air and sent him a withering stare. ‘First I’m beautiful; now I look like a drowned rat. You need to work on your charm.’
‘That’s what you’re here for.’ He trailed a fingertip down her forearm and her breath caught. ‘I need the practice. Now, fancy a coffee? Drink?’
‘Make mine a double,’ she muttered, snatching her arm away and sending him a disapproving glare that did little to curb his sexy smile.
‘Really?’
She waved him away. ‘No, just order me something sweet and yummy.’
‘You’ve already got it. But I’ll get you a drink too.’
Poking her tongue out in response to his corny comeback, she waited till he’d headed for the bar before grabbing a coaster and fanning her face.
Every second she spent in his company was confusing her further. The closest she’d come to feeling like this before was watching Ocean’s Eleven. What hope did a girl have with George Clooney, Brad Pitt and Matt Damon on screen simultaneously?
She’d only agreed to Zac’s invitation because she didn’t want to head back to her tiny cabin just yet—didn’t want to be alone.
Tonight was the anniversary of Jax spitting the truth at her—the anniversary of the night he’d dumped her in no uncertain terms. And while she’d made a new life, moved to a new city, taken up new activities, she couldn’t forget the devastation, the embarrassment that she’d made such a monumental error in judgment.
It wasn’t a night to be alone. It was a night to be distracted with funny quips and compliments, no matter how meaningless, a night to erase the memories of how naïve she’d once been.
‘You okay?’
Her heart sank as he dumped their drinks on the table and pulled his chair next to hers, concern creasing his brow.
Blinking rapidly, she pointed to her contact lens. ‘Still not used to these darn things. Wish I’d brought my glasses this trip.’
His eyes narrowed as they locked onto hers, probing, yet compassionate. ‘I’d believe you if I hadn’t seen your expression.’ He jerked his thumb over his shoulder towards the bar. ‘From over there you looked like someone had died. Then I get back here and you’re almost crying—’
‘I’m not!’
She sniffed as a lone tear chose that moment to squeeze out of her eye and roll down her cheek, plopping on the back of her hand clenched in her lap.
‘The hell you’re not.’ He brushed a thumb under her eye, so tenderly she almost burst into tears on the spot. ‘Now why don’t you tell me what’s really going on?’
She shook her head, mortified he’d seen her like this, frantically racking her brain for something halfway plausible to tell him—anything other than the truth.
Placing his hand over hers, he gave it an encouraging squeeze. ‘Tell me.’
She opened her mouth, closed it, then repeated her goldfish impersonation. Her mind was blank apart from the glaring truth: that it had been over three years since Jax had dumped her, and the memory still had the power to make her blubber.
‘It’s a guy, isn’t it? What did the jerk do?’
Her gaze focussed on his, her tears rapidly drying under all that fierce, fiery blue. He almost looked possessive, protective, and she found herself wanting to tell him. A small part of her was thrilled he actually seemed to care.
‘Tonight’s an anniversary of sorts.’
She stared down at his hand covering hers: tanned, strong, oh, so comforting. Some of that strength transferred to her as she took a deep breath and kept talking.
‘I loved this guy—thought he was the one. He said all the right things, did all the right things, but turned out he was only after…one thing.’
She’d almost blurted the truth—that Jax had only been schmoozing her for what she could do for him at the museum. He’d wanted insider info on items for his private collection. But she couldn’t tell Zac about any of that, considering he thought she was a fitness instructor.
‘We didn’t really click, so he dumped me.’ She shrugged, hating the lance of pain still lodged deep in her heart. ‘Said I was just a fling, a bit of fun.’
She hiccupped, a pathetic half-sob, angry at the sting of yet more tears, angry at herself more for being such a gullible fool.
‘He laughed at me for getting so involved, for being old-fashioned and taking our relationship seriously.’
Zac cursed under his breath, turning his hand over to intertwine his fingers with hers. ‘You listen to me. That piece of slime didn’t deserve you. He isn’t worth anything let alone you giving him a second thought.’
‘I know.’
She sighed, enjoying the secure feeling of her fingers intertwined with his way too much. Holding her hand was a fleeting, comforting gesture—something a guy like him would do for any woman. But for one tiny moment it made her feel beyond special, as if he really cared.
‘Come with me.’
He leaped to his feet, practically dragging her with him.
‘But what about our drinks?’
‘Forget them. Let’s go.’
‘Where?’
She had to almost run to keep up with him. His long strides were determined.
‘Somewhere I should’ve taken you first, rather than easing into this date with a drink.’
Her jaw hit the deck as he pushed through a heavy glass door and led her out onto the open promenade. ‘Date?’
‘Yeah, date. You know—that thing two people do when they want to get to know each other better, when they like each other even if one of them doesn’t want to admit it.’
If her mind had spun with memories of Jax, it was positively reeling now with Zac’s little announcement.
They reached the railing and he finally released her hand, leaned forward, his gaze fixed on the undulating ocean. ‘I’ve gone about this all wrong. I didn’t want to scare you off by calling this a date tonight, but I’d planned on bringing you up here, talking a little, getting to know each other, before catching a movie or maybe going dancing—or whatever you wanted to do.’
‘Oh.’
She couldn’t speak, the pain of memories of Jax annihilated by the unbelievable joy unfurling in her heart.
He turned to face her, reached over and stroked her cheek, soft, beguiling. She held her breath, stunned by his intimate touch, and by her craving for more.
‘I wanted tonight to be romantic, to show you I’m not just toying with you.’
He stepped closer, took hold of her arms, and she looked up, gasped, captivated by the moonlight glinting off his dark curls and the striking shadows it created as it played across his face.
He slid his hands up and down her arms, the rhythmic contact depriving her of all rational thought as he gazed at her with hunger and greed and passion.
‘I don’t know what to say—’
‘Then don’t say anything at all.’
He tugged her close a second before crushing her lips beneath his. The scorching kiss, a sensual assault, left her reeling.
If their first kiss on the beach in Noumea had rocked her world, this kiss blew it into the stratosphere.
As she tilted, along with the deck beneath her shaky
feet, she realised she’d never been kissed like this—ever.
She clung to him as his tongue coaxed its way into her mouth, teasing her to match him. She moaned, a guttural sound deep in her throat, and the noise inflamed him. He leaned into her, pressing her back against the rail as his arousal strained against her, creating an answering response in her core, setting her wildest desires alight.
She should stop this madness, re-erect the barriers that had come crashing down the first instant his lips had touched hers.
But it felt so good to be desired, so good to have the attention of a man, so good to eradicate any lingering memories of what had happened on this night three years ago.
His hands tangled in her hair, angling her head, and he slid his lips repeatedly across hers as he tried to pull her closer.
Stunned by the ferocity of his need, she inadvertently rotated her hips against his pelvis as his hand strayed to her breast, cupping and kneading, sending her resistance spiralling dangerously out of control. His thumb circled her nipple through the thick cotton of her dress, the torturous rubbing firing electric shocks through her body.
The sound of a slamming door broke the erotic spell and they tore apart. Her breathing was ragged as he ran a hand through his mussed curls, his expression dazed.
She’d lost control in his arms—and she never, ever lost control. She was the epitome of control at work.
Christmas parties? She’d be the sober one, tidying up after everyone left.
Farewelling staff? She’d do the collection and choose the perfect gift.
Organising holiday rosters? All over it.
All over Zac, more like it. Her famed control was washed away on the tide.
He laid a tentative hand on her shoulder. ‘Lana?’
‘Hmm?’
She didn’t know what to say, didn’t know where to look. Focussing on Beth’s indigo pumps with the gold wedge heel seemed a good start.
He tipped her chin up, leaving her no option but to meet his gaze. ‘I have absolutely no control around you.’
She laughed—a brittle sound whipped away by the wind. ‘I was just thinking about control.’
