A fluttering of muscles low in her stomach caused her to groan. Flinging onto her belly, she tried to shove the traitorous, unwelcome response away. “God, Ali, wake up.”
Jackson McKenzie did not, repeat, did not do it for her any more. There was no way. Yes, once upon a time, they’d slept together. Once upon a time, he’d made her feel like liquid heat. But only once. Under no circumstances did the man who’d rejected her, accused her of killing her father and now had possession of her business affect her like this anymore. She wouldn’t let him.
She pushed her forehead into the tangle of sheets. “Not at all,” she mumbled into them.
So why had she kissed him back? Why had she let his tongue take control of her senses? Why had she—eagerly—given herself over to the exquisite tension that radiated from her core as his lips burned against her skin?
No answer came.
“No. No. No.” She drove her forehead against the sheets with each cry of dismay. She was not going to fall for Jackson McKenzie again. Only a masochist would do something so stupid, and she was not a masochist.
Rolling onto her back, Ali raked her hands through the tousled mess of her hair. She stared up at the dark ceiling again, an ache deep in her belly. Almost four years ago to the day, she’d said goodbye to her father. Four years without his love and guidance and support. Four years since she had allowed any man a place in her heart.
“And there’s no damn way Jackson McKenzie is going to change that.” she ground out.
Yeah, a sarcastic little voice piped up in her head. Right.
Chapter Three
Wind Seeker cut through the water of Port Jackson, the deep thrumming of its spinnaker vibrating through Ali’s very being. The exhilaration of sailing was intoxicating, a drug on which she’d been hooked since her father first took her out on the Connecticut River at seven. When her father had been transferred to Australia for work, she’d been worried sailing would stop, but it hadn’t, and now it was such a part of her life she couldn’t imagine it any other way. Didn’t want it any other way. On land, she felt awkward, clumsy. On her yacht however…
She moved over Wind Seeker with complete confidence, tacking into the gusting southerly, aware of every tiny movement the yacht made, every little creak in its hull.
The harbor was alive today, boats of all shapes and sizes out on the water enjoying the magnificent summer’s day. A powerful motorboat roared by, the sun-baking owner giving Ali a wave from his place on the deck. Ali didn’t wave back. Zane Peterson may have more money than God, but that didn’t mean she found him any less repulsive. It still disturbed her that the small weekly sum he paid her to skipper his racing team was pretty much the only thing putting food on her table at the moment. Unless, that was, she wanted to accept his repeatedly made offer…
A cold shudder rippled through Ali and the back of her throat filled with sour bile. No. She wouldn’t let herself think of that offer again. She wasn’t that desperate.
Not yet. If she lost this race however…
Another boat came into her view, cutting across her starboard side, and for a brief moment, Ali lost focus on the race.
Seabird.
The thirty-six footer was a craft of exceptional quality, a sloop designed with speed and comfort in mind, bought by her father as the second yacht in his growing charter fleet. But the rising cost of her mother’s treatment and a worrisome lack of clients had forced Ali to sell it only six months after his death. It had broken her heart signing it away. One day however, she’d get it back. She swore it every time she saw it.
A deep swell smacked into the stern, plunging Wind Seeker’s bow into the water, and Ali jerked herself out of her glum reverie. “Focus, Ali.” She gritted her teeth, fighting to correct the wayward helm. “Focus.”
Skipping over the companionway, she made a minor but crucial adjustment to the rigging, lifting to meet the breeze as Wind Seeker’s leeward side dug in. Another small adjustment evened the mainsail and the yacht stopped heeling and sliced back through the water to power onward.
Shooting a quick look at the tiny ribbons whipping from her bow, Ali set the wind at forty-five degrees. Her spinnaker filled to explosive capacity with a thundering boom, the solid noise sending a thrill through her whole body. It was a risky move but her only weapon against that damn rocket Jack had disguised as a yacht. If she lost the temperamental southerly wind now, Suspicious Ways would leave her behind and the race would be his. She’d engaged him in a tacking duel for most of the last leg and now sat just off his leeward side, but that damn boat of his was like a torpedo, cutting through the small waves with ease. It would take every trick in the book and all her skill to edge past him.
Ali threw a harried glance at Suspicious Ways as it sluiced through the chop. It seemed Jack had spent time in Florida racing solo. He was far more aggressive than she remembered, pelting across the water under full sail, forcing her into the cursed tacking duel she hadn’t expected. As good as he was, however, he was still cautious. And that gave her the edge she so desperately needed. Just.
Hauling on the gybe, she angled for more wind, urging Wind Seeker to move faster. Another gust smacked against her yacht, grabbing the sails and lurching it forward. She braced her legs apart and yanked farther towards the gushing summer breeze. There was no real time to think, but in a short-course harbor race there rarely was. It all came down to instincts, and Ali prided herself on hers being finely honed. So much depended on the outcome that she focused every fiber of her being on manipulating the southerly to drive her faster.
The dangerous move paid off and Wind Seeker blurred forward, screaming across the water like a bone-white bullet.
Past Suspicious Ways.
“Yes.” Her joyous cry was whipped away in the wind, the roar of her sails like thunder as she streaked past Jack. She had him. Another nautical mile and she’d cross the finish line. Just one nautical mile.
Gripping the helm tight, Ali kept her yacht on direction, despite the growing southerly battling to wrench control from her. She risked another hasty glance over her shoulder, grinning at the sight that greeted her. Jack was falling behind, the voluminous deep blue spinnaker of the superb yacht flapping as he lost the wind he’d been riding.
Ha.
The grin spread wider across her face and, in an act of sheer devilment, Ali took one wet hand from the helm and tipped him a quick wave. The ever-familiar scowl swiftly fell over his features, making Ali laugh before she returned her attention to the race, the swirling wind and the rapidly approaching finish line.
And then, whipping past the marker-buoy half a yacht length before Suspicious Ways, she was over it. Just like that.
“I did it. I did it.” Her laughter rose above the sound of the wind and the thrumming sails. The wetness on her cheeks was no longer just the splashing spray of the harbor. “I beat Jackson McKenzie.”
“Have you come to gloat?”
Jack’s low voice stopped Ali at the edge of the jetty and her pulse pounded at the ambiguous calm of each word. She looked at him over the bow of his yacht, unable to stop her lips twitching with a smile. It had taken her a record fifteen minutes to tie-down Wind Seeker. Fifteen minutes reliving her win over and over in her mind. “Yes,” she answered truthfully. “Why else would I be here?”
Jack removed his sunglass and a shiver ran down Ali’s spine, sending her skin into a mass of goose flesh and making her nipples pucker to hard tips. Why else would she be there indeed? To feel his gaze on her body again perhaps? To drown in his devouring green eyes?
Jack’s mouth curled into that familiar smug grin. “Congratulations, Ali. You sailed a great race today. I’d forgotten just how…vicious…you are on the water.”
“Thank you,” she replied, giving him a small sideward smirk. “I think.”
“Looks like you have another month.”
“Yes, it does.”
Emerald fire roamed over her and a knot tightened in Ali’s stomach. She was all
too aware of the traitorous part of her that wished she had lost, that longed for Jack’s strong arms to wrap around her again as his lips burned a trail over her bare flesh. It kept her standing there, staring into eyes that consumed her, when she should have turned and run as far away from the man as possible.
He cocked a dark blond eyebrow. “Looks like I’m showering alone.”
“Yes, it does,” Ali repeated, her heart pounding in her ears. God, he unnerved her.
“Pity,” he said, before climbing out of the cockpit onto the wooden jetty. In two steps, he was before her, the heat from his body wrapping around her like tendrils of smoke. “Still, I don’t have to eat alone do I?”
The unexpected dinner invitation threw her off-guard. As did the totally disarming grin that changed his face from smug to friendly.
“N-no,” Ali stumbled, her mouth suddenly dry. Could she survive any more time with Jackson McKenzie without throwing herself at his mercy?
Jack’s grin widened. “No, I don’t have to eat alone, or no, there’s not a chance in hell you’ll have dinner with me?”
Ali paused, another knot twisting tighter in her stomach. Jack’s eyes promised something she knew was delicious heaven to succumb to but hell to recover from. There would be no turning away the next time he placed those burning hands on her. No turning away and no turning back. But after it all he would only leave again. Of that she had no doubt. It was time she did the rejecting.
Forcing a small smile to her own lips, she looked up at him through lowered lashes and took a step backward.
“Not a chance in hell,” she said, before turning on her heel and walking away.
Jack watched her disappear along the jetty, pushing his hands into his pockets. He grinned broadly.
The race today had been vintage Ali Graham. She’d been aggressive, calculating and taken risks sane skippers wouldn’t. She’d used the weather in every way she could, and Jack had to admit that it almost hadn’t been necessary to throw the race.
Christ, it’d been hard though. Losing didn’t come easy to him, especially when the prize was something as sweet as Ali. As the finish line had drawn closer, a powerful desire had rolled through him—a purely male desire that reminded him just what would happen if he won. Yes, it had been hard to not allow Suspicious Ways to pass Wind Seeker. Bloody hard.
Chuckling, he turned back to his yacht.
Ali could have the extra month to gather her funds, she could keep Wind Seeker and Peterson couldn’t get her business. That’s what mattered. Now if only he could convince her to quit racing for the bastard. It was hard to protect her when she spent two afternoons a week on Peterson’s racing yacht.
The thought tempered his good humor with an icy sense of dread.
What if she didn’t want to be protected? According to Mike, Peterson acted like Ali was his personal property.
Jack shook his head, denying the cold pressure in his chest. No, it wasn’t possible. Not after last night. Not after the way Ali had responded to his kiss. He couldn’t believe she was involved with Peterson. Not after the way they had touched each other.
But he didn’t know either.
And it troubled the hell out of him.
Chapter Four
Ali jogged along the sand, her mind miles away from the crashing waves of Bondi Beach.
It had taken a mere two hours for the world to bring her crashing down from the euphoria of beating Jack. Two hours during which she’d sat with her mom, holding back tears of heartache as Jenny slurred her way through a simple conversation about the weather, stumbling around the communal kitchen of the nursing home where she lived, trying to make her daughter a cup of tea. Ali had almost called for the nurse then and there, but Jenny wouldn’t let her. “Don’t be silly, Alissa,” she’d insisted. “I’m fine.”
But Ali knew she wasn’t fine. Not at all. And her heart wept the tears her eyes couldn’t.
Turning from the view of sunset on Australia’s most famous beach, she ran for home, hoping the twenty-minute jog might miraculously provide an answer. The permanent-care bills were piling up, and Ali still had no idea where the money was coming from to pay them. Yes, Jack had given her a month’s grace, but that didn’t help with her mom’s medical expenses. Perhaps she should accept Zane Peterson’s proposition after all?
An image of the billionaire floated into Ali’s head, his steel grey hair slicked back from his over-tanned face, more gold chains than she could ever hope to own hanging around his neck, his paunch bulging over his belt. She crinkled her nose.
Gossip traveled quickly in the small world of Sydney’s sailing circle, and rumor surrounded Zane Peterson like a shroud. He was a notorious playboy with a taste for young brunettes and wild parties and threw his money around like it was nothing. Whatever he wanted, he got, thanks to his enormous wealth and tenacious determination. People never said no to him. He hated to lose. Ali had heard it murmured more than once that he was into drugs—both selling and using—although she’d never seen him less than fully in-control. At times, he surrounded himself with bodyguards, which she thought a tad over-the-top. She clearly remembered her father not liking him much.
Ever since she started racing for him, he’d become overly…friendly, suggesting dinner at his house or aboard his luxurious motorboat more than once, somehow always finding a reason to come aboard Wind Seeker while she was tying up. The latest line of attack was a suggestion she skipper a three-week charter to the Solomon Islands. He’d pay big, very big, but it’d just be the two of them. “I’m thinking of buying a cruising yacht.” His smile had been as slick as his hair when he’d made the suggestion two weeks ago. “Being with you on Wind Seeker would let me know if it’s as pleasurable as I imagine.”
Ali shuddered at the idea. Three weeks alone with Peterson aboard the restraining quarters of her yacht? She’d probably jump overboard before the end of the first day. He’d never said anything outright, but she wasn’t a naïve fool. She knew by the way his gaze scorched a trail over her body, from breasts to thighs and back to breasts, what he’d want on the trip. And it had little to do with sailing.
A disgusted snort sounded at the back of her throat. There was nothing that could convince her to accept help from Zane Peterson. She was desperate, but not that desperate. She still had two large charters on the books for the coming months—a honeymooning couple and a two-week trip up the coastline with a boatload of corporate executives. Both would provide a well-needed boost. The extra month she now had from Jack would give her the chance to cash in on those two bookings. Word of mouth was one of the best ways to gain new business, and she was determined both charters would be so amazing that word would spread like fire. End of financial trouble. Hopefully.
A small smile of positive hope pulling at her lips, Ali rounded the corner into her street and froze.
A sleek, ridiculously shiny red Ferrari was parked before her unit.
You’re kidding.
She swallowed a sudden lump in her throat.
Jack.
The driver’s-side door swung open and out he stepped, dominating the very space around him. He pushed the car door closed, his shoulders impossibly broad in a snug black T-shirt, his dark blonde hair tousled to a sexy mess. Black steel-rimmed sunglasses had replaced his normal gold-framed ones, but the concealing lenses did nothing to lessen the pinning impact of his gaze as it landed on her. “Ali.”
Ali ground her teeth. How did he do that? How did he manage to twist her insides into knots, flood her very being with wet heat just by saying her name?
Forcing her feet to move, she walked closer to him, even as she fought the urge to sprint back down the street. A sweltering summer’s day was nothing compared to the molten heat now throbbing through her body, between her thighs, and she was too damn emotionally wrung-out to battle with her own foolish weakness.
“What do you want, Jack?” she threw over her shoulder, walking past him to her front door. “Unless you plan to renege on our d
eal, I have nothing to say to you for thirty days.”
A low chuckle caressed her senses and Ali knew, without needing to look, that he’d followed her to the door. “I’m not here to renege on anything, Ali.”
Fumbling with the key, she clenched her teeth tighter. The smooth, deep tones of his voice played with her pulse, sending it off on a beat more frantic than her run ever could. With a silent snarl, she pushed open the door and walked into the living room of her small unit, throwing her keys onto the low coffee table before turning to face him. “Well, I’d like to have a shower, so if you don’t mind…”
He flashed her a wicked grin. “Not at all.”
“You can just leave,” she finished, crossing her arms.
“I’ll wait,” he said. And with that, he dropped onto her old paisley sofa and spread his arms along the back.
Ali gave him a cold glare. There was no way she was taking a shower with him in her home. The thought of Jack only a room away while she stood naked, water licking over her body…
A wanton shiver rippled through her, pinching her nipples into hard peaks. Good God, girl. Control yourself.
He removed his sunglasses, his gaze slowly taking in her old running shorts and sweat-soaked singlet.
“We have reservations for eight. There’s no rush though. Your current attire is quite fetching.”
Ali glared at him again. “I see you haven’t changed. Still expecting people to do exactly what you say.”
“And I see you haven’t changed. Still determined not to listen to what it is I say.”
“As far as I’m concerned, you never say anything worth listening to. My father was the one who thought the sun shone out of your—” Ali stopped the insult before it could finish passing her lips.
Jack’s easy laugh surprised her. “Well, Andrew always did know good advice when he heard it.”
Suspicious Ways Page 5
