by Dana James
‘If you’re going to be of any use to me at all, the work has to start now.’
She simply nodded, but her heart sank at the prospect implied by his cold clipped tones. Reality was even worse. For the rest of that day and evening Nathan kept her constantly busy. When she wasn’t preparing food she could barely swallow, or making hot drinks, or washing up, he was instructing her on how to use the boat’s equipment. Then he would test her to make sure she was taking it in.
By ten that evening Polly was literally reeling with exhaustion. When Nathan ordered her to set up and engage the auto-helm she tried, desperately searching a mind that had gone totally blank for the sequence which would ensure that the boat remained on course. But it was hopeless.
‘I’m sorry.’ She pressed her fingertips to her temples, shaking her head. ‘I can’t remember.’ Shoulders bowed, almost drunk with fatigue, she waited for his scathing tirade.
‘Go and get some sleep,’ he said at last, his voice devoid of expression.
As the words sank in she raised her head. ‘I’ll do better tomorrow.’ She was careful to match his lack of expression. It wouldn’t do to let him see her relief and gratitude.
He gazed past her. The pale glow from the masthead light emphasised his strong profile while deepening the shadows around his eyes. ‘Take my cabin.’
She looked at him quickly, but he gave her no chance to reply.
‘Don’t waste time arguing.’ His tone was brusque. ‘You’re hardly an asset now. Without proper rest you’ll be a positive liability.’
Various responses chased across her tongue, but Polly swallowed them all. Unfortunately he was right. She ached in every muscle from the constant strain of trying to keep her balance on the heaving deck. And, though she was tired enough to sleep on a clothes-line, the chance to spread her weary limbs over the full width of a double mattress instead of lying cramped on the narrow settee was too appealing to turn down.
‘Thank you,’ she managed finally. ‘Goodnight.’
His only reply was a grunt.
At the top of the ladder she hesitated. ‘Nathan?’
‘What?’ His tone was not encouraging.
‘I swear I’ve told you the truth about the drugs. I really didn’t know.’
His eyes were ice-bright, and pierced her like twin blades as he regarded her for a long moment. ‘Go to bed,’ he said, turning away.
Polly stumbled down the ladder. Her brain felt like scrambled egg. She craved the oblivion of sleep, desperate to escape the physical discomfort and mental exhaustion which had worsened as the day had worn on.
Yet nausea and bone-weariness were mere pinpricks compared to the emotional upheaval she was going through. Though she tried to tell herself it didn’t matter whether or not he believed her, she knew the truth—it did. It mattered terribly. And, because of what had happened to his father, honesty and integrity were of far greater importance to him than to many businessmen she had worked for.
With cool detachment he had explained clearly and in terms that were easy for her to grasp how the various items of equipment worked, only lapsing into irritation or sarcasm when he thought she was not making enough effort.
‘We both know you’ve got a brain. Try using it.’
Such remarks, though a backhanded compliment in their implied assumption of her intelligence, made her hate him with such an intensity that she could actually feel herself start to tremble and sweat. ‘Please,’ she demurred through gritted teeth, ‘no flattery.’
Yet despite the antagonism that vibrated between them, Polly still found him profoundly attractive. It was as if he exerted some kind of gravitational pull over her.
Clearly it wasn’t deliberate. His manner made it obvious he didn’t like her. Well, she didn’t like him either. So why did she feel so irresistibly drawn to him? It was appalling and ridiculous, and this inner battle was draining away what little strength she had left.
For the first time in her adult life, Polly went to bed without bathing or cleaning her teeth. She stripped to her panties, crawled into the sleeping-bag, and lapsed into unconsciousness as her head touched the pillow.
Waking with a start, she lay in the grey half-light of dawn, wondering where she was. Then as memory returned she closed her eyes, her sigh ending in a groan.
The sound of footsteps on the deck above her head brought her fully awake. Nathan must have been on deck all night. Not only on deck, but on watch. He would not have risked their safety in the busy Mediterranean shipping lanes by sleeping.
She jumped out of bed and, pulling on her shirt, darted next door into the head.
Emerging a quarter of an hour later, showered, her hair washed and teeth cleaned, she felt very much better. Eight hours of deep, dreamless sleep had helped enormously. Apart from a slight queasiness, physically she felt quite fit. For which she was very grateful when she thought of what the day ahead was likely to hold.
Work-wise it followed a similar pattern to the previous day. But if Nathan had been difficult then, today he was virtually impossible. Terse and abrupt, the orders he issued took almost no account of her lack of experience.
Polly battled on, practically biting her tongue in half. She tried to make allowances, constantly reminding herself of the responsibility Nathan was carrying and how long he had been without sleep.
As the day wore on her nerves grew more and more frayed. After yet another bawling-out following their evening meal, which once again she had hardly been able to touch, Nathan sent her below to make coffee. ‘Perhaps a shot of caffeine will stir your grey cells into some sort of life,’ he snapped. ‘What is it about boats that makes women so inept?’
‘I’m doing my best,’ she blazed back. ‘Before yesterday I didn’t even know port from starboard. I’ve learned more in twenty-four hours than most people would manage in a week. Yet all you can do is carp and criticise. Well, I’ve had enough.’ Turning her back on his icy gaze, she stormed down the ladder.
But out of sight in the galley, she gripped the rail in front of the cooker to steady herself and choked back tears of rage and frustration. He was absolutely impossible.
‘Where the hell’s that coffee?’ Nathan roared down the hatch.
Polly lifted her chin. She’d taken as much from him as she was going to. Wiping her tear-streaked face with the back of her hand, she yelled back, ‘Where the hell do you think? I’m waiting for the beans to ripen. If you want it any faster, come and make it yourself.’
She held her breath, tensed against the tongue-lashing she was sure would come. Only it didn’t. Not a word.
Though relieved, and fiercely delighted that she had apparently stopped him in his tracks, Polly was apprehensive about going back up on deck.
When she finally appeared and handed Nathan his mug he nodded coolly. After taking a sip he glanced across to where she was sitting.
‘Starting tonight you’ll stand a watch. You can take the four hours from two a.m. until six.’
Polly stared at him, filled with a mixture of pride and terror. He wouldn’t put her on watch if he didn’t think she could handle the responsibility. On the other hand, it was obvious from the shadows like sooty thumbprints beneath his eyes and the tension around his mouth that he desperately needed some sleep. With only the two of them on board his choices were limited.
Determined to respond in the same offhand manner with which he had made the announcement, she simply tossed her head. ‘OK.’
But as she raised the mug to her lips her hand shook and, instead of the sip she had intended to take, she ended up gulping and burned her mouth.
She shot him a quick, embarrassed glance. But to her untold relief he seemed preoccupied and obviously hadn’t noticed. Lord only knew what cutting comments would have come her way if he had.
She took another careful sip. This time when she looked up he was watching her.
‘So,’ he said, ‘as soon as you’ve finished your coffee, I want you in bed.’
The wo
rds vibrated in the air between them like the aftermath of an explosion. His swift intake of breath and the shock that flashed across his face mirrored her own as their eyes locked in a split-second of naked honesty.
Polly’s heart pounded like a hammer in her ears. Nathan gave a brief shrug, and a wry, self-mocking smile flickered at the corners of his mouth.
‘How about that for a Freudian slip?’ he murmured.
Flushing from her toes to the roots of her hair, Polly drained the last of her coffee, the mug clattering against her teeth. She stood up.
Immediately Nathan rose too, casually placing himself between her and the companionway. Silhouetted by the masthead light above, and the glow from the saloon, he loomed, dark and threatening, against the night sky.
Polly swallowed. ‘Don’t let it worry you.’
‘It doesn’t,’ he assured her.
‘I know you couldn’t possibly have meant it.’
‘Oh? Why not?’ He was being deliberately awkward and provocative.
‘Because,’ Polly said crisply, ‘you’ve just spent the entire day yelling at me, and telling me how slow, clumsy, and generally useless I am.’
‘So?’ he demanded. ‘Why should that make any difference?’
‘Are you serious?’ she flared. ‘When you look at me it’s usually with contempt. You refuse to accept that I knew nothing about the drugs. You accuse me of being “just like all the rest”, which is clearly an insult. And,’ her blush deepened, ‘you’re obviously determined to believe the worst of me where both Giles and Clive are concerned.’ Her nails bit into her palms as she hurled all her anger and bitter hurt at him. ‘In the circumstances, how could you possibly want to go to bed with someone like me?’
The silence stretched, broken only by the slap of the water against the hull and Polly’s heart thundering in her ears.
‘How indeed?’ he mused ironically. ‘But I do.’
Polly caught her breath as she drew herself up. Every sinew in her slender frame radiated defiance. ‘I’m worth more than that, Nathan Bryce.’ Her whole stance was a silent challenge to him to deny it, but she had to press her lips tightly together to stop them quivering.
Slowly he raised one hand and gently cupped her face.
Polly wanted to jerk away, but her body refused to obey her brain’s command. The warmth from his palm curled through her like smoke. It comforted, soothed, excited and terrified.
She swallowed, her heart leaping wildly. His head came down. She couldn’t move. She felt his warm breath on her cheek. ‘Yes,’ he murmured, his lips brushing hers, a touch as light as a moth’s wing.
Her eyes closed, Polly stopped breathing. Yes what? Yes, she was worth more? She wanted—wanted—what? Him. His mouth covered hers and time seemed to stand still. For several blissful seconds she abandoned herself to his kiss, and to all the incredible, startling sensations exploding inside her. Then she froze. What was she doing?
Her hands flew up, pushing against the wall of his chest. And, with a gasp, she freed herself, stumbling backwards, her head bent as she struggled against the hunger and disappointment that clamoured inside her.
‘What’s your price, Polly?’ Nathan grated.
Stunned, she gaped at him. ‘What?’
‘Come on,’ he rapped impatiently. ‘What are you holding out for?’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she cried, hugging her arms across her chest, shaken by the bleakness of his expression and the loathing in his eyes.
‘Yes, you do.’ His lethal smile made her skin crawl. ‘I’m talking about sex. When a man wants a woman he pays, one way or another.’
Polly stared at him, trembling with anger and humiliation. ‘Do you really believe that?’ Her voice was a husky rasp. ‘Nathan Bryce, I feel terribly sorry for you.’
It was Nathan’s turn to look shocked. Then his face grew thunderous. ‘You what?’
Polly swallowed. ‘You’ve probably had more . . .’ she flushed ‘. . . sex than I’ve had hot dinners. But obviously you’ve never known love. I think that’s very sad.’
‘Don’t patronise me, young woman,’ Nathan roared.
She flinched. ‘I’m not. I—’
‘And what makes you such an expert on love?’ he demanded, cutting across her attempt to explain. ‘Giles Denton’s reputation springs from the number, not the quality or duration of his . . . liaisons.’
Wincing as the shaft struck home, Polly stiffened. ‘Rather like yours,’ she retaliated.
They glared at one another, attraction and antagonism crackling between them like electricity.
Suddenly he reached for her. Startled, she jerked backwards, her breath catching in her throat. But the cockpit was too small. There was nowhere to go.
Grasping her upper arms, he pulled her hard against him. His roughness, hinting at violent emotions barely controlled, made her frighteningly aware of his awesome strength. Yet when his mouth claimed hers once more, there was pleading in the passion that made her head spin, and she responded instinctively. Her lips parted to admit the hot, sweet lance of his tongue. She felt his breath on her face, heard the low sound in his throat and knew that, in spite of the terrible confusion he aroused in her, she didn’t want this moment to end.
Tearing his mouth from hers, Nathan thrust her away. They were both breathing fast, and Polly’s legs threatened to give way at any second.
Nathan grabbed his empty coffee-mug and pushed it into her unsteady hand, turning aside. ‘Go and get some sleep.’ His tone was curt, his voice slightly hoarse.
‘I—’ She had to clear her throat and start again.
‘About my turn on watch. I—I’m afraid I don’t have an alarm.’
‘No matter.’ Busy checking the compass, he didn’t look at her. ‘I’ll wake you when it’s time.’
She nodded. ‘Thank you.’ She started down the companionway. ‘Goodnight.’
He didn’t answer.
CHAPTER SEVEN
After rinsing the mugs and putting them away, Polly staggered through the saloon to her own cabin to fetch her night attire, a pair of jeans, and her Aran cardigan. She washed quickly and brushed her teeth, then returned to Nathan’s cabin.
Though closing the door shut her off from the rest of the boat, she was still acutely aware of him only inches away on the other side of the deckhead.
As she undressed she saw her limbs were rainbowed with bruises from bumping into various bits of furniture. Pulling on the soft, baggy shirt she slept in, she sat on the bed and massaged her legs. The muscles ached with the strain of trying to balance on the constantly shifting deck. Life on a yacht, even one as well equipped as this, was far more physically demanding than she had ever imagined. If only her stomach would settle and she could face eating again perhaps she would feel less tired and her nerves less ragged.
Sighing, she swivelled round, looking at the cabin properly for the first time. The varnished wood, pale cream paintwork and maroon fabric were the same as in her own cabin.
But whereas the shelf above her bed was empty, this one was crammed with books. As she scanned the titles Polly’s brows contracted in a puzzled frown.
The clutch of recent paperback thrillers was no great surprise to her. Nor were the textbooks on engineering, navigation, physics, and design technology. They went with the notebooks and perspex box containing drawing instruments and a slide rule sitting in the open top of the bedside locker.
But she certainly hadn’t expected to see a selection of Penguin Classics. Or the works of Charles Dickens sandwiched between a well-thumbed leather-bound edition of the Romantic poets and three volumes of philosophy.
Polly rubbed the back of her neck, hoping to soothe away the tightness before it became a headache. Something didn’t add up. If this was a true reflection of Nathan Bryce’s personality and taste, how had he acquired such a totally different public image?
Like the rest of the boat, the cabin had been fitted out to a high standard using top-quality materia
ls. But there was certainly no overt luxury. It was basic and functional rather than hedonistic.
True, the mattress was much larger than hers. But then it would need to be for a man of his size to stretch out in comfort. With someone else?
Polly tried to tell herself it was none of her business. Though it would certainly be in keeping with his media image if he were to use Seawitch for what the tabloids liked to call a ‘love nest’.
Yet he had made no secret of his opinion that women and boats were about as compatible as oil and water. And the cabin’s ambience reinforced that view. In fact there was something almost monastic about it: as if it were a retreat for much needed solitude and quiet study.
Not at all the kind of surroundings in which she would have expected to find the high-profile, socially-very-much-in-demand Nathan Bryce. But he had designed and built it for himself.
Confusion was tightening the band around Polly’s head. How many more facets were there to this complex man? Which was the real Nathan Bryce?
‘I want you in bed,’ he’d said. He was a powerful, virile man, and she had been left in no doubt as to the physical effect she had on him. She had given herself totally to the frighteningly wonderful feelings he aroused in her. Only now did it occur to her how easily he could have taken advantage of the situation.
Compared with his, her physical strength was laughable. Like one of the marauding buccaneers who used to terrorise the Mediterranean coasts, he could have taken her there and then, and she could have done little to stop him. But he hadn’t.
Polly felt a strange tension deep inside her. She couldn’t help thinking how different he was from Giles, who had never missed an opportunity to pressure her, using compliments and charm like velvet hammers in an effort to get him what he wanted.
Despite the turmoil within her a small ironic smile lifted the corners of her mouth. She’d never have to worry about Nathan Bryce trying to overwhelm her with charm. Ordinary civility was an uphill battle for him.
Laying one hand on the pale blue cotton lining of his sleeping-bag, she stroked it. Her eyes lost their focus and she sighed softly.
