by Dana James
Busy in the sink, Polly hid a mischievous smile.
‘I don’t take sugar.’
She looked over her shoulder, a picture of innocence and apology. ‘Don’t you? Oh, dear.’
He leaned back against the padded settee. There was no preoccupation now in the heavy-lidded gaze that slid lazily from her rapidly warming cheeks down her slim high-breasted body to her bare legs. Why hadn’t she worn trousers or a skirt?
‘Well?’ One dark brow rose in sardonic enquiry.
Polly swallowed. She wanted to look away, but she couldn’t.
‘You have my undivided attention.’ He paused. ‘That is what you wanted, isn’t it?’ He seemed totally relaxed, but Polly was suddenly as nervous as a kitten.
‘Nothing to say?’ he goaded.
She bit her lip. No matter what she said it would sound defensive. It wasn’t fair.
Rising to his feet, he picked up the mug and came towards her. She bent her head and scrubbed furiously at the plates.
The galley was shaped like a three-sided square, and by parking himself at right angles to the double sink, his back to the companionway ladder, Nathan had her trapped. The cooker was on her right and the worktop behind her.
He was so close that Polly could feel his body warmth and smell the soap he had used that morning. She couldn’t even edge away. There was simply no room—the grab-rails in front of the sink and cooker made sure of that.
‘In that case,’ he said softly, ‘there’s something I’d like to say.’
‘Oh?’ She glanced up at him, and looked quickly back at the dishes as various possibilities chased through her mind.
‘Yes. I want your word that you’ll treat anything you see or hear while on board this boat as absolutely confidential.’
She glared up at him. ‘You really are incredible. You won’t accept that I knew nothing about the drugs, yet you want my word? If you knew anything about me, Mr Bryce,’ she bristled, ‘you’d realise your request is both unnecessary and offensive. Not only have I never handled any drug stronger than an aspirin, but discretion and confidentiality are an integral part of my job. The day after I finished working for the managing director of a certain company fighting off a take-over bid, the agency sent me to the rival company.’
Nathan studied her. ‘And?’
‘And nothing. That’s the point. I’ve always treated everything I’ve seen or heard as absolutely confidential. As far as I’m concerned the person paying my salary has a right to expect total loyalty.’
‘I’m not paying your salary.’
‘You got me out of gaol. I’m working on your boat. The principle’s the same.’
‘And when you were on board with Clive Kemp,’ he shot back, ‘did he have your total loyalty?’
Knowing he was referring to the drugs, Polly recoiled as though he had struck her. ‘No,’ she whispered, then repeated the word with all the force she could muster. ‘No!’
He frowned. ‘Do you realise you probably have information which, if offered to the right people, could make you one hell of a lot of money?’
‘Of course I realise,’ Polly snapped. ‘I’m not stupid. But I’d be dropped faster than a hot brick if I betrayed a confidence. Money isn’t everything, Mr Bryce. I enjoy working for the agency. And at least I can sleep at night.’
‘Come from a wealthy family, do you?’ There was an edge of cynicism to his enquiry.
The question took Polly aback. ‘Well . . .’ She hesitated, remembering the large rambling house she’d grown up in and the hours she had spent with Mrs Richards, their cook and housekeeper, who lived in a self-contained flat over the double garage.
Polly’s parents had entertained a lot, and dinner for up to twenty people two or three times a week was not unusual. They had had other help in the house too; Mrs Eddy from the village who came for three hours every morning, and her daughter Jess who waited at table for dinner parties and helped with the clearing up after. Then there was Tom the gardener.
‘We certainly weren’t poor,’ she admitted. ‘Though my sisters and I were never given pocket money. We had to earn it. We each had a list of chores, and if we didn’t do them we didn’t get paid. I learned the value of money very young.’ She raised her head and looked him in the eye. ‘But there are more important things in life, Mr—’
‘Don’t,’ he warned softly. As he leaned towards her she instinctively recoiled, colouring furiously as he smiled. ‘My name is Nathan.’
Damn him. He’d put it in such a way that she couldn’t argue. He was stating a fact, not inviting intimacy. Half a dozen cutting remarks trembled on the tip of her tongue, but though she longed to hurl them at him, and watch him shrivel, she knew she couldn’t. And what was even worse, he knew it too.
‘Anyway, what has my family got to do with it?’ she challenged.
‘Nothing,’ he shrugged lightly, pushing his hands into the pockets of his shorts. ‘Except that it’s easy to be indifferent to money when you’ve never been short of it.’
‘And you have?’ Sarcasm and disbelief coloured her voice, but she didn’t care.
He gave a brief nod. ‘Yes.’ He turned, started up the ladder then paused. ‘My father was one of the kindest men you could hope to meet. Unfortunately he was too trusting. Or, to put it another way, he had no head for business. People he looked on as friends took advantage of him.’ He looked into her eyes. ‘That appears to be one experience you and I have in common. Anyway,’ his gaze shifted slightly and his tone grew harder, as if he regretted the revelation, ‘he was forced out of business and lost the boatyard which had been in his family for four generations.’
‘What happened?’ Polly tentatively broke the lengthening silence.
Nathan’s features were cold as he met her eyes once more, and she tensed, expecting a rebuff. But it didn’t come.
‘My parents wouldn’t let me leave school, so I got a daily paper-round and weekend work at the local timber yard. To help pay off the debts my mother got herself a job. But physically she wasn’t strong. She’d lost two babies before they had me. The demands of running a home, looking after my father and me, and going out to work, were too great. She died when I was fifteen.’ His voice was totally devoid of emotion. ‘Father blamed himself and just gave up. He lived another five years.’ Nathan’s face was bleak. ‘If it could be called living. In the end he was glad to go. He never came to terms with losing her, or the fact that people he’d trusted cheated him.’
Polly swallowed hard. ‘I’m so sorry.’
His dismissive gesture made it clear he didn’t want sympathy. ‘It taught me a lot about life, about being self-sufficient, and,’ his voice hardened, ‘about people.’
‘I can understand you being bitter.’ She was angry with herself for being moved by this completely unexpected glimpse into his past. She didn’t want to feel warmth or compassion for Nathan Bryce. It would put her at even more of a disadvantage than she already was.
‘I’m not bitter.’ The way he said it forced her to believe him. ‘I believe in the American motto: don’t get mad, get even.’
‘And have you?’ she couldn’t help asking.
His slow smile made her flesh creep. ‘Oh, yes. The boatyard was to be my inheritance. I got it back. But in case you’re wondering, no, I didn’t.’
Polly gazed at him blankly. ‘No, you didn’t what?’
‘Make my fortune by cheating others. I’m a hard man, Polly. Some call me ruthless. But when I don’t sleep, it’s not my conscience that’s keeping me awake.’
His gaze raked her body, returning to linger for a moment on her mouth. Then, without another word, he hauled himself up the ladder, leaving her wide-eyed, speechless, and so confused that she wanted to scream.
CHAPTER FIVE
Polly finished drying the dishes and wiped down the cooker and the work surfaces, vaguely aware of the engine’s deep rumble and the sensation of movement. She had concentrated hard on the mundane chores, hoping, unsuccessfull
y, to keep Nathan Bryce out of her thoughts.
The galley gleamed. She looked wistfully up the companionway to the square of blue sky, but fought the urge to go up on deck, scared he might ask her to do something that would reveal her ignorance. It would be wiser to stay out of sight a while longer.
In her own cabin she stowed her sleep shirt in a locker. She started to roll up her sleeping-bag, then hesitated. Far better to leave it opened out on the mattress to air. Plumping up the pillows, she set them against the padded headrest and left, closing the door behind her.
She felt like a cork tossed on the swirl and eddy of her own thoughts. Just when she thought she had Nathan Bryce weighed up he would reveal another totally unexpected side to his character. He had as many facets as a diamond, and was just as hard.
As she walked into his cabin, she could smell the faint elusive fragrance that was uniquely his, a blend of soap, shower gel, and the heady musk of clean warm male. She breathed him in, and the battle inside her intensified. She folded his discarded jeans and shirt and stowed them in a locker, then turned his sleeping-bag inside out and shook it. What had he done with his pyjamas? The cabin simply wasn’t big enough to lose things in.
Then she realised, and felt heat flood her face. She couldn’t find them because he didn’t wear any.
Her movements brisk and businesslike though her mind was imitating a tumble-drier, she gave his sleeping-bag another quick but thorough shake and spread it out over the mattress.
‘Polly?’
She jumped as his voice reached her through the open hatch. ‘Yes?’ Thank heaven he couldn’t see her.
‘Leave what you’re doing and come up here.’
Oh, lord, what now? Reluctantly Polly joined him on deck, aware that the engine had stopped.
‘You bellowed, sir?’ she enquired tartly, ignoring the dread that coiled like snakes in her stomach. What was he going to ask her to do?
He turned to study her, eyes narrowed, expression thoughtful. ‘Respect? From you?’ he mocked. ‘Now why does that make me suspicious?’
Polly’s heart gave a horrible lurch. He was far too astute. ‘Look, did you call me up here for a particular reason? Only I have plenty to—’
‘Take the wheel,’ he cut in softly.
Startled, she gazed at him. ‘Me?’
‘I don’t see anyone else around,’ he replied.
She slid past him and curled her fingers around the thin wheel with its padded sleeve. Nearly a metre across and mounted on a sturdy pedestal which also contained the compass, it looked oddly fragile, but Polly knew that was deceptive. In fact, it was immensely strong, yet light enough to be controlled single-handed.
She had seen pictures taken on board ocean racers which showed the helmsman steering though mountainous seas with one hand while he operated the winch handle controlling the mainsail with the other. Her throat constricted. Was Nathan expecting her to do both?
Panic fluttered like dark wings inside her. ‘Is—is there something wrong with the engine?’ Her voice emerged a note or two higher than normal.
With a south-westerly wind filling her sails, Seawitch was slicing through the sparkling waves like a hot knife through butter.
Nathan looked surprised. ‘No. I only ran it to get us clear of the bay and to charge the batteries.’ He started to move away. ‘Just keep her on her present heading.’
Polly glanced at the compass, tried desperately to imprint the numbers on a brain that seemed to have gone completely blank, then looked round at him. ‘Where are you going?’ Hearing the panic in her voice, she quickly added, ‘I mean, will you want me up here for long? Only I’m—’
‘Busy?’ he supplied drily. ‘Polly, Seawitch isn’t a Cunard liner, and her design and fittings are all energy-efficient. It takes very little effort to keep her clean and tidy.’
‘That depends on your standards,’ she retorted.
He tilted his head to one side. ‘Or could you have some reason for wanting to avoid me?’
He had completely ignored her remark, preferring his own theory.
Tossing her head, Polly clicked her tongue. ‘Your vanity’s showing again,’ she warned. ‘We’re together through circumstances, not choice.’ Though her tone was crisp, her insides were like jelly. ‘You’re simply not important enough for me to want to avoid you.’ Silently praying she would be forgiven for the lie, she gave a small shrug. ‘Sorry, but there it is.’
‘You know,’ he mused, gazing at her, ‘for someone apparently so much in command of herself and the situation, you seem strangely nervous. Now why is that?’
Polly had to think quickly. They were still close enough to shore for him to return her to the police if she admitted she was not an experienced ocean sailor. Rather than have that happen she would take her chances on the boat.
But to deny being nervous when he knew that she was would be both pointless and stupid.
‘Of course I’m nervous,’ she retorted. ‘Wouldn’t you be, in my shoes? Seawitch is obviously very special to you, and I’ve never crewed for a world-famous yachtsman before.’ That at least was totally honest.
Nathan’s expression hovered between cynicism and puzzlement. ‘Somehow I find it difficult to imagine you being overawed by anything.’
Polly gulped, and immediately disguised it with a cough. He had been studying her. The knowledge was petrifying. Yet at the same time his remark provoked a traitorous pang of delight.
The boat heeled in the freshening breeze. She braced herself and gazed at the compass, silently begging the needle to stop wavering to and fro.
‘Hold her steady,’ Nathan warned, and vaulted up on to the deck. ‘Did you set the headsail yesterday?’
Polly didn’t dare take her eyes off the compass. She moistened her lips. She hadn’t set anything. She wouldn’t even know where to start. But had Clive? ‘I can’t remember. We weren’t on board very long. In any case—’
‘You were down below, busy,’ he finished with cutting mockery. ‘I should have guessed. Nesting, are you?’ The sneering curl to his lip made the question a deliberate insult.
Polly was both infuriated and unnerved. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Practising to be a good little wife?’
Livid, Polly sucked in a breath. ‘Mr Bryce, wherever I’m living I like things clean and tidy. It has everything to do with personal standards, and absolutely nothing to do with a desire to get married. Only a man,’ she invested the word with all the contempt she could muster, ‘would assume otherwise.’
‘Are you telling me you don’t want to get married?’ He was openly sceptical.
‘I might, eventually,’ she allowed. ‘But right now I prefer freedom and independence.’
His mouth twisted in a derisive smile. ‘Oh, you’re one of the “love them and leave them” types. Get what you can and move on. I’ve known a few like you.’
The terrible injustice of his bitter words, echoing Giles’s cruel slander, stabbed her to the heart. Had they been anywhere else but on the sleekly beautiful boat she would have rounded on Nathan with a devastating tirade and cut the ground from under his feet. But concentrating as she was on simply surviving, she had neither time nor energy enough.
‘Why not?’ she flung back at him. ‘It’s what men have been doing for centuries.’ She drew in a shaky breath. The look on his face made her recoil inwardly. But though her cheeks flamed she held his gaze. ‘Why are you asking about the headsail?’ she enquired, steering the conversation on to less painful ground. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘One of the ropes seems to be jammed.’ Though his tone was abrupt, Polly sensed a lessening of tension in him at the change of subject. She was overwhelmed by a mixture of terror and relief as he left her at the wheel and went forward to free the line. How long could she keep up the pretence of being a competent sailor?
She risked a glance back over her shoulder. The towering cliffs of Gibraltar were still all too clearly visible. She gritted her teeth. She
had to keep going.
A few minutes later Nathan jumped down into the cockpit once more and hauled out the roller-reefed headsail. As it filled, Seawitch leaped forward. Nathan’s gaze flicked over sails, lines, winches and compass, in a swift visual check.
Polly half turned, ready to return control of the boat to him.
‘Right, I’ll leave you to it, then.’ He gave a brief nod, and swung himself down the companionway.
‘Where are you going?’ Even as the words left her lips she knew they sounded ridiculous. On a forty-foot yacht there weren’t many places he could go. ‘I—I mean, just in case . . . if I should need . . . anything.’
His hooded eyes were quizzical. ‘I have several calls to make on the radio telephone.’
‘Business as usual, even out here.’ Polly shook her head in mock admiration, anxious to deflect his attention from herself.
‘Of course it’s business as usual.’ He was curt. ‘After all, this is my business. As for leaving you to sail the boat, what could possibly happen that you haven’t handled before?’
As Polly turned her head away, terrified of betraying herself, he gave the knife several more twists by adding, ‘Stop worrying. I trust you.’
She swung round. ‘You do?’
His expression hardened. ‘With my boat. No woman has ever skippered Seawitch before.’
Immediately Polly stepped backwards, offering him the wheel. ‘If you’d rather not—’
He didn’t let her finish. ‘Forget it. You’re here to share the workload. This is one of the perks. Relax, enjoy it while you can.’
Watching his dark head disappear, Polly conjured up some very satisfying visions of Nathan Bryce being chased by a shark with a mouth like a huge pair of pinking shears.
Then she was overcome by panic. Being the skipper meant she was in sole command of a million pounds’ worth of yacht. She couldn’t even control her trembling limbs and chattering teeth.
At that moment she would have willingly given her right arm to be anywhere but on Nathan Bryce’s boat. She’d have given both arms to have avoided even meeting the blasted man. He was far too disturbing; an intimidating blend of magnet and menace.
