Suspicious Ways

by Lexxie Couper

  “Ali,” Jack began.

  But she cut him off, anger beginning to heat her blood. “I’d wanted you since the day Dad first invited you aboard Wind Seeker. I dreamed of you every night, and cursed myself for being a stupid girl.” A wry laugh slipped past her lips and she shook her head. “You were so horrible to me at first. Do you remember? Mocking me, teasing me. Telling Dad I needed to be taken down a peg or two. But it made little difference. Every time I closed my eyes, there you were, grinning at me in that lazy sarcastic way.”

  “Ali—”

  “When we made love that night, you not only took the pain of losing Dad away, you fulfilled every dream and desire and hope I’d held since meeting you. You made me feel…” Her throat constricted and she stopped, needing to drag in a breath. “You made me feel whole. Complete. I could handle the agony of Dad because you were with me. And then you weren’t. You were meant to stay beside me forever, but you didn’t. You just left.”

  Jack opened his mouth, green eyes stunned, but before he spoke a word their waiter appeared, asking if they wanted to see the dessert menu as he collected their plates.

  Ali shook her head, turning from Jack for the barest second. Her heart pounded in her chest so hard she was surprised the restaurant wasn’t shaking. Surely everyone could hear it? But with the exception of a little girl dressed like a fairy, no one paid her any heed.

  “Ali—” Jack tried again, but she interrupted him.

  “I think it’s time you take me home, Jack.” She managed a wan smile. “We’ve talked enough about mainsails and reef knots.”

  She thought he would argue. Jack McKenzie never let her have the last word. Instead, he signaled for the check, his face as tumultuous as a summer storm.

  The trip back to her unit was silent. Jack drove wordlessly through the busy Sydney streets, never taking his eyes from the road, his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel. When he pulled into the curb at her home, Ali opened the door before he could cut the engine. She climbed from the car and walked to the door of her apartment, keys in hand. Ready to go.

  The low thrumming of the Ferrari’s motor died behind her and her throat slammed shut. He was coming after her. A bolt of hot anticipation shot straight to the pit of her stomach. God, he was coming after her.

  Fighting to slide her key into the lock, Ali muttered a curse under her breath. She had too much to think about to talk anymore tonight.

  Talk?

  Another squirming bolt hit her. Lower. Wetter. If she didn’t get him to leave talk would be the least of her problems.

  “Ali.” Warm hands curled around her hips. Her name was a murmured whisper in her ear. “Don’t ask me to leave.” He smoothed a slow path along her arms, halting her desperate battle with the door lock. She could feel his heat wrap around her, enveloping her. Caressing her. His warm lips touched the sensitive curve of her neck, soft yet firm. A shot of burning mercury ripped through her veins, pooling between her thighs in a throbbing blossom of heat. She pulled a shaky breath, skin flushed with an elemental need.

  “We’ve wasted four years, Ali.” Jack’s lips brushed her ear. “Yet we’ve lived this moment every night in our dreams.”

  Sure fingers traced a delicate line along her bare arms before slipping to her waist, holding her still. Ribbons of pure pleasure rippled through her and she closed her eyes, wanting nothing more than to lose herself in the moment. In his exquisite heat. When Jack’s teeth nipped lightly on her ear lobe, she pulled in a silent breath. God, did she want to lose herself. Over and over and over again.

  “Don’t tell me to leave,” Jack murmured, sliding his hands over her ribcage, fingertips brushing ever so lightly against the swell of her breasts. Her nipples stiffened, straining against the material of her dress, aching little tips of hunger. Jack traced his thumb over one tiny peak, slow, reverent, and Ali gasped, bolts of sheer bliss shooting through her.

  “Christ,” he ground out, his voice raw. “Don’t tell me to leave tonight.”

  “Jack,” she moaned, trying like hell to ignore the messages her body screamed. “Please…don’t…”

  The tip of his tongue touched her temple. “Why not, Ali? Why do we deny ourselves what we both want so much?”

  A blazing heat radiated from her breasts, devouring her resistance. There’d never been any one else since Jack. And her body was starved for his touch.

  His hands roamed her, traveling the dips and curves of her body with heavenly purpose. Ali pressed back against him, a burning, rigid strength against her butt testament to the effect she had on him. She pushed against it, feeling its length brand the cheeks of her butt through her dress, wanting to feel it without the barrier of material.

  Nothing had felt like the touch of Jack’s flesh on hers. The memory of that night aboard Wind Seeker tortured her. Yet is also fed her. Nourished her. When her hands roamed her own body, deep in the middle of the night, it was Jack’s she imagined. Jack’s hands, Jack’s fingers. Delving into the tight folds of her being. The damp creaminess of her sex. Bringing her to a release that was both bitter and bliss. What would it be like to not have to imagine, to not pretend anymore?

  Rapture.

  Hot, sure lips followed the line of her jaw, down her neck. She dropped her head, resting it on Jack’s shoulder as he flicked and teased the pulse under her ear with his tongue. Each little contact sent flutters of wet tension squirming through her, stabbing into the very centre of her existence. She wanted more. She wanted his flesh on hers. Heat threaded through her, consuming and demanding. Every time his lips seared her skin, she was marked. His and his alone. Every time the tip of his tongue touched her bare flesh, she lost another heartbeat to him.

  “Oh, Jack,” she moaned, pushing harder into his body. God help her, she was drowning.

  “I’m here, Ali,” he murmured, pressing back. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Reality called her from the shore.

  She couldn’t let this happen. There was still too much to work out. As long as With the Wind Charters was Jack’s, she could not do this. It would be too easy—in the dead of the night when her doubts and fears stalked her—for her mind to insist she’d made love to him to get her yacht back.

  That he’d slept with her to guarantee control of her business.

  And don’t forget, a cold voice whispered in her mind, he still blames you for your dad’s death. He’s never taken that back. Or apologised.

  A chill stripped through her. She needed to get inside. Alone.

  His mouth found her ear again, teeth nipping on her lobe.

  “Jack.” Oh God. “Jack, I have to go.” She pulled away and turned to face him, her breath short in her throat.

  Nostrils flaring, he looked down at her. “Why?”

  Ali pressed her back to the door, her body crying out in protest. “I need time to think. And so do you.”

  Trusting Jack wouldn’t reach for her again, she turned, unlocked the door, slipped inside before her traitorous body could take over, and pulled the door closed behind her. Leaning against the cool wood, she waited, her blood roaring in her ears, heart hammering in her chest.

  Long moments passed before she heard the Ferrari’s powerful engine start up. Torturous moments of denied desire and painful longing, knowing Jack had stood on the other side of the door the whole time. Wanting her. In the very way she wanted him.

  And her body ached.

  Chapter Five

  The late afternoon sun bounced off the water like a rippling blanket of glittering sequins as Jack, a lazy smile on his face, navigated Suspicious Ways through the channels of the marina.

  Three days had passed since he’d taken Ali to dinner. Three days and three sleepless nights spent staring at his ceiling, thinking of her.

  She’d let him take her to dinner twice more, and each time they had talked about mainsails and reef knots and which GPS units they preferred. Ali’s face shone when she spoke of sailing, filling with infectious excitement, her
accent growing more pronounced, her clear blue eyes sparkling with joy. He’d been completely caught up in her enthusiasm, laughing often as she told him of some of her more adventurous charters, enjoying her laughter as he shared some of his American sailing tales.

  Yet at the end of each night, his heart tightened. Not just because he knew she would send him on his way after only one kiss at her door, no matter how explosive that kiss was. Not because she continued to deny the longing that tore at them both, but because excruciating hours would pass before he’d see her again. Before he could hear her voice and see the light in her eyes as she smiled.

  Before he could just be with her.

  Not once had she let him raise the topic of their relationship or her business. No matter how he approached it, she always changed the subject, expression either stiff and formal or closed and unreadable.

  Tonight however, that was going to change.

  Steering his yacht into the marina’s far arm, Jack’s smile stretched wider. Ali had spent the morning attending to business—a sailing lesson for a family from Ryde followed by a tour of the harbor for an elderly couple from the country, and he had missed her like crazy. If it weren’t for the fact he was seeing her tonight, he didn’t think he’d have survived the day. Every time his thoughts turned to her—which they did almost every hour—he found himself smiling goofily. Tonight, he was cooking dinner for her and they would eat on his deck overlooking the harbor and the Opera House with the late summer breezes playing off the water to keep them cool. The perfect setting for the perfect evening.

  Tonight, he planned to give her back With the Wind Charters and Wind Seeker. It served no purpose waiting another twenty-seven days when he knew damn well that’s what he was going to do anyway.

  “I forgot just how fast this bloody thing of yours is.” A gravelly voice called from the bow, jerking Jack’s attention back to where he was.

  Mike Turpin stood on the foredeck, organizing the collapsed spinnaker, the smirk on his weathered face almost hidden by the worn baseball cap on his head. “Tell me again how Ali Graham beat you in that race?”

  “Shut up, Turps.” Jack grinned, turning the helm to direct Suspicious Ways into her pen.

  “Speaking of Ali…” Mike nodded toward the far jetty.

  Jack followed his friend’s gaze, that goofy smile spreading over his face as his gaze fell on Ali heading towards the clubhouse.

  Long bare legs moved with graceful purpose as she strode along the wooden boards, familiar cut-off shorts hugging her butt to perfection. A small gust of wind rippled the loose white shirt she wore, pulling it from her shoulders to reveal a smooth, flat stomach and a midnight-black bikini top.

  A surge of heat crashed through him and he swallowed hard, barely aware of Mike directing him into the pen. Christ, she was gorgeous. The stuff of wild fantasies. As soon as he tied his boat down, he was heading after her. He didn’t care if it was the middle of the day, he needed to feel her,

  Then a man walked up behind her, slid a possessive arm around her hip. A man Jack knew all too well.

  Zane Peterson.

  Blood turning to ice in his veins, Jack watched as his worst nightmare came to life on the other side of the marina.

  The man walked beside Ali, gold rings gleaming in the sun as the tips of his fingers slid over her hip to disappear under her cotton shirt.

  Sound disappeared. All Jack could hear was the blood roaring in his ears and his pulse pounding at his temple. The bastard was touching her. Right there on the jetty. For everyone to see. And Ali hadn’t done a thing to—

  “Hey!” Mike’s shout punched at Jack. “Hey, Jack! Watch out!”

  A scraping thud rocked through Jack’s numb brain, jerking him back from the brink of madness. Awful vibrations shuddered through Suspicious Ways and, down at the bow, Mike was yelling at him.

  “Mate, what the bloody hell are you doin’?” The older man gave him a stunned look. “You almost took out the jetty. Cut the engine.”

  A grinding noise whined in Jack’s head and it took him a second to realise Suspicious Ways was rammed against the immoveable jetty, still trying to shift forward. Leaping into the cabin, he killed the engine, the stench of diesel heavy in the air. For a surreal moment, he stood there, staring blankly at the nav station.

  What had he just seen?

  Steel bands clamped around his chest, cold and constricting, yet his heart continued to hammer, each beat an explosion of confused pain.

  Above him, in another world, he heard Mike moving over the deck, beginning the process of tie-down.

  What the fuck had he just seen?

  Jack sprang up onto the deck, his head narrowly missing the boom, his gut churning. He squinted into the glaring sun, searching the surrounding jetties for Ali.

  “You okay, mate?” Mike’s voice seemed to come from far away. “Jack? What’s up?”

  He couldn’t see her. Where was she?

  Stare jumping frantically around the busy marina, he sought her out, his heart a frozen mass of dread.

  Nowhere.

  Feeling at the mercy of some malicious force hell-bent on sending him mad, Jack swung his gaze over to the motorboat pens.

  To Mako II.

  Zane Peterson’s book mocked him, an opulent testament to just how much money its owner had. It was the largest and newest boat in the marina, an Azimut Grande 120SL that cost in excess of twenty million to buy. Pristine white and blood red with black-tinted windows, the multi-leveled boat oozed indulgent extravagance and conceited arrogance. Yachtsmen rarely had time for powerboat owners and vice-versa, but at that very second Jack was utterly focused on the sleek motorboat. Because standing at the door to the lower cabin, looking at him across the distance with an oily smile on his suntanned face, was Zane Peterson.

  Jack stared at the man, hatred and anger crashing through him.

  Smile turning into a knowing leer, Peterson raised a half-filled martini glass. A silent toast across the water.

  “Jack?”

  With a smug wave, a large gold pinkie ring glinting in the sun, Peterson turned his back on Jack, entered the cabin and closed the door behind him.

  “Jack?”

  Blood pounded in Jack’s ears. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Mako II. From that closed door. Who was on the other side? Who was in there with Zane Peterson?

  “Jack, you look like you’re about to kill someone.”

  Numb, Jack jerked his eyes back to his friend.

  It hadn’t happened, he told himself. He was seeing things. The sun had obviously blinded him, tricked him. Perhaps he was suffering from sunstroke? Tonight, when he told Ali about it they’d laugh together. Peterson had a thing for brunettes and, with how much money the prick made every minute, there was always one hanging off him, hoping to cash in a little on the man’s indulgent appetites. The woman Jack had just watched him fondle could have been anyone.

  But it wasn’t.

  What was going on? Why had Ali been with Peterson when she was meant to be on a charter? Why had she let him touch her? Jack rubbed at his eyes, knocking his glasses from his face. He felt like he was on the precipice of insanity.

  He’d never mentioned Peterson to Ali. His emotions ran too close to the surface to risk them escaping, and he wasn’t ready to share the guilt he felt over Trudi’s death with anyone.

  No one, not even Mike, knew how much he blamed himself for what happened to his niece.

  But every day he wondered what was between Ali and Peterson. His heart told him their relationship was purely professional. She was a part of his racing team—that was all. She was a brilliant sailor and Peterson only ever played to win. Jack’s hate however, tried to tell him it was something entirely different. Something insidious. Something that would give Jack another reason to destroy the man.

  “Bloody hell, mate. What the hell are you doin’?”

  Jack shook his head, ignoring Mike’s question. It wasn’t possible. It wasn’t possible he’d just
watched the man maul Ali. It wasn’t possible because Zane Peterson was a perverted sleaze bag who preyed on women and there was no way the Ali Jack knew, the Ali that occupied his thoughts day and night, would be prey for Peterson. She was too stubborn, too independent.

  But she’s also too broke, a cold whisper in his head reminded. She’d rather die than lose her yacht, her business. And Peterson has so much money.

  No. He clenched his jaw, shutting out that evil, vicious voice. Ali wouldn’t do that. Her pride was too strong. It was one of the reasons he—

  Jack stopped, a sudden pressure smashing against his chest.

  “Loved her.” His voice shook as he said the words aloud.

  He loved her. Completely and utterly and irrevocably.

  “Jack, are you gonna tell me what’s up or not?” Mike appeared before him, and even without his glasses on, Jack could make out the worried frown on his friend’s face.

  “I’m fine.” He retrieved his glasses from the deck’s passageway. He wasn’t fine. Not by a long shot. His feelings for Ali had been so powerful, so intangible for so long, now he’d finally realized what they were, he didn’t know what to do.

  “Well, you don’t look bloody fine.” Mike declared. “One minute you’re tryin’ to ram your boat through the jetty, the next you’re standin’ like a stuffed idiot about to explode. And now you’re slumped on the deck with a glazed look on your face.” Mike squinted at him. “Don’t tell me you’re seasick?”

  Jack shook his head. “Listen, Turps, I’ve just remembered something I have to do. Can I leave you to pack up?” Not waiting for a reply, he leapt onto the jetty and walked towards the marina’s car park, fighting the urge to head in the direction of the motorboats. To Mako II.

  Ali wasn’t there. He knew it. Now all he had to do was find her.

  “This is the third day in a row you’ve visited me with a smile on your face,” Jenny Graham said as Ali kissed her soft cheek. “Can I thank Jackson McKenzie for this sudden change in my daughter?”