Suspicious Ways

by Lexxie Couper

  Fear and fury coated her mouth like bitter slime, choking and suffocating. She pressed her hand against her throat, dismayed at how it trembled. She needed to get herself under control. He could come at her again.

  Swallowing, she moved her fingers tentatively to the throbbing bite just below her ear, bile filling her mouth at the slimy residue of saliva her fingertips encountered. Peterson’s saliva.

  Oh God.

  It was almost too much. A raw sob choked her, and for a dangerous moment the sky spun, her knees threatening to lose all strength.

  Get a grip, Alissa. Now!

  Cold dread flooded through her. If Peterson saw her flounder he’d be on her just as quick, just as hard. She had to stay on her feet. She had to stay strong. Dragging in a ragged breath, she forced aside her fear. It would not help her. Not at all.

  A dull moan came from her feet and, with instant ice, terror tried to engulf her. Peterson was moving. She stared at him, ready to lash out, ready to break his neck if he reached for her. But he didn’t. All he did was crawl on his belly down into the cabin and across the floor into the stateroom, leaving a thin trail of blood and a pool of urine on the cockpit floor. Ali wiped at her mouth, her stomach lurching. The sick prick had peed himself. He’d tried to rape her and then peed himself all over her clean cockpit floor.

  Oh, Jack. Oh God, Jack—

  Moving to the companionway, Ali studied him lying in a ball on the bed. He didn’t move, just lay there groaning, his hands pressed to his groin, his face distorted in pain. When she was totally convinced he wasn’t going to move from that spot, that he wasn’t trying to lull her into a false sense of security, she stepped into the cabin. Her diver’s knife was on the shelf below the nav station and she damn well wanted it. Still keeping her stare on Peterson, she pulled the knife from the shelf and unsheathed it. It felt solid and real in her hand, far more real than the nightmare she’d just experienced. More real than the situation still to come.

  Holding her knife in a death grip with her right hand, she retrieved Wind Seeker’s master key set from its hook, her stare remaining locked on Peterson as she did so. Her belly twisted, her pulse thumping. A prickling wave of icy heat crawled over her flesh and she swallowed, stealing herself for what she was going to do next.

  Just do it, Ali. Don’t hesitate.

  She stared hard at Peterson, her eyes burning as she walked toward the stateroom, each step drawing her closer to her attacker.

  Her heart hammered. Her breath refused to leave her body.

  She was one step away from the stateroom when Peterson lifted his head and looked at her, the side of his face smeared with blood and tears. “Ali,” he rasped, “I’m hurt.”

  Ali clenched her jaw. “I don’t care.”

  Before he could respond, she reached into the stateroom, wrapped her fingers around the door handle and pulled the door closed. She heard Peterson groan something through the polished mahogany, something that sounded like sorry. It made no difference. With a quick flick of her wrist, Ali locked the door.

  She returned to the helm in six quick steps, her body a mass of aches and pains. Tucking her diver’s knife into the waistband of her shorts, she quickly corrected Wind Seeker’s course. It was only a day and a night to the Solomon Islands and she wasn’t going to rest until she moored at the yacht club and had Peterson off her boat. Even if he was locked in the stateroom, she wasn’t going to rest. And she sure as hell wasn’t going to sleep.

  Reefing on the sails, she steered towards land. She would do everything she could to get to her destination as quickly as possible, even if she had to defy physics and the laws of sailing. She would get to the Solomons ASAP, she would get Peterson off her yacht and she would turn around and sail home. And under no circumstances would she allow herself to acknowledge the fact how deeply, utterly and profoundly she longed for Jack McKenzie to be there with her. Not for protection. Not for help.

  But just because.

  The plane touched down on the runway, tires squealing on the tarmac like a banshee on death row.

  Jack looked out the window, his throat tight and his chest heavy. Honiara. The Solomon Islands’ capital. Ali was here—or would be any day now. He was going to find her, wring her pretty, devious little neck and then drag her back to Australia. What happened after that, he didn’t know.

  Returning his attention to the piece of paper in his hand, he read the words scrawled there once again. It was the same piece of paper he’d given to Mike to read eleven days ago. The same piece of paper that had tortured him every one of those days since.

  You seem to be making a habit of losing your women to me. My thanks. Z.P.

  Clenching his jaw, Jack crumpled the paper into a small ball.

  Accompanying the note had been a check signed by Zane Peterson for fifty-five-thousand dollars, a check now folded in Jack’s wallet. When he next saw the bastard he was going to stick the small, folded piece of paper where the sun never shone.

  He pulled in a slow breath, struggling to keep his relaxed composure. Eleven days ago he’d been close to going mad, consumed by guilt and fury and jealousy. Pride had stopped him from jumping on Suspicious Ways the day he’d discovered them gone and sailing after them. Stupid pride. But if he’d been able to get his hands on Ali or Peterson that day he’d most likely be locked away now, charged with murder. It had taken another day for him to realize, no matter how angry he was, he was also petrified. For Ali’s safety. Pride was all well and good, but it wouldn’t keep him sane. He’d arranged a one-way flight to Honiara straight away. Ali may have sailed to her destination with Peterson, but she was returning to Sydney with Jack. Even if he had to tie her to the mast and helm of Wind Seeker himself.

  Three days later, almost out of his mind waiting until he would fly out, he’d gone to visit Jenny, hoping she had heard from her daughter. Talking to Jenny may also give him some kind of insight into Ali’s relationship with Peterson. However, after ringing the doorbell so many times he’d lost count, he’d finally accepted that Ali’s mother wasn’t home. It wasn’t until a car drove into the driveway and a family of four alighted that he’d learnt Jenny hadn’t lived there for over a year. It also explained why she never answered her phone. For whatever reason, she was as unreachable as her daughter.

  Now here he was on the Solomons, still as frustrated as ever.

  Stepping out of the airport and flagging down a taxi, Jack ignored the stunning tropical location and the suffocating humidity folding around him. The sooner he tracked Ali down the better.

  Waiting this long before finding her had been hell. He’d barely slept since their confrontation at the marina and the knowledge he couldn’t see her until she docked here today had only made it worse. His mind had offered too many scenarios to consider, too many scenarios where Peterson made love to Ali, where Ali moaned the fat prick’s name as orgasm after orgasm consumed her. Scenarios that tortured him as much as Peterson’s taunting note. Still, Jack was here now and he knew when he saw her, when he could hold her and talk to her, sanity would return. He hoped.

  He hadn’t allowed himself the luxury of examining his feelings. He was angry with Ali, furious in fact, but was it because she’d stood him up or because he’d discovered her with Peterson? The fact she’d taken Wind Seeker—technically his yacht—was just the icing on the cake. Yet, beneath his fury something else nagged at him. Something he didn’t want to acknowledge yet.

  If Ali was with Peterson romantically, how was he to live without her? How was he to spend the rest of his life knowing the woman he loved was with someone else? A lackey for a drug-dealing asshole?

  He couldn’t. Plain and simple.

  Checking into the nearest hotel, he proceeded to call the Point Cruz Yacht Club. The club’s commodore would know of any incoming vessel, its time of arrival and the pen in which it would berth. Every detail he needed to find her. Find her and bring her home. To his house. Where she was meant to be.

  Five minutes later ho
wever, he disconnected the call, his chest so tight he could barely draw breath.

  Wind Seeker was due to arrive in approximately three hours, Wind Seeker’s captain already arranging accommodation at the Honiara Hotel. One solitary room. The executive suite.

  Cold rage laced through his blood. Cold rage and burning jealousy. He crossed his hotel room and stared out the window at the endless expanse of ocean beyond, his knuckles cracking as he clenched his fists. One solitary fucking room.

  He was going to kill her.

  Kill them both.

  Point Cruz Yacht Club was busy. Luxury motorboats and sleek yachts constantly moved in and out of its clear waters as Ali motored through the marina traffic. She’d had never been so happy to be somewhere she didn’t fit it. Maneuvering into the empty pen assigned to Wind Seeker, she shot Peterson a furtive look. She’d unlocked his door an hour ago and thirty minutes after that he’d emerged. He hadn’t said a word. The blood was gone from his face, his clothes were fresh, his expression composed. And yet, he still watched her. Still studied her with greedy eyes. It was enough to make Ali sick, but at least he hadn’t come near her. She hated the constant scrutiny, the mental undressing, but as long as he kept his distance she wouldn’t do anything.

  As soon as she was on dry land she was informing him he would need to find other means of returning to Australia. There wasn’t a hope in hell he was traveling with her.

  Tying up Wind Seeker in double time, she didn’t look at him as she climbed off her yacht and onto the jetty. A potent wave of freedom rolled over her, followed immediately by agitated anger. She bit back a growl. Damn Peterson. Never would she have imagined a time in her life when she’d feel freer on land than aboard her yacht. Damn him to hell.

  She shot the man an angry glare, only to find him watching her from the end of the jetty, a small but thoroughly unnerving smile pulling at his mouth. “Would you like your luggage taken to the hotel?”

  His slick question made her blink. “Are you serious?”

  He took a step towards her. “Ali, please don’t let my…” he cleared his throat, “…desire for you ruin our relationship. I am sorry for my behavior. Truly. I thought you were aware how much I…how attractive I find you. Please stay at the hotel with me. In your own room of course.” He held out a hand. “Perhaps now you know how much I want…how I feel for you we could discuss a new direction in our relationship. I have much to offer—”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Peterson.” Ali shook her head, her face on fire. “But I think you’ve demonstrated quite clearly the direction you want our relationship to go.” She ground her teeth, her stomach churning. “I shall be staying aboard Wind Seeker.”

  The man closed the distance between them, his eyes hard chips of angry ice. “You should reconsider.”

  Ali stiffened. People never said no to Zane Peterson. His gaze flicked over her face, coming to rest briefly on her mouth before returning to her eyes, the cold anger filling them only seconds ago had been replaced with an all too familiar hunger. “Please, reconsider,” he murmured, smoothing his palms up the length of her arms.

  She slipped away from his touch with a step, her flesh crawling. “Not a hope in hell.”

  Climbing back aboard Wind Seeker, she turned to make sure he hadn’t followed. He hadn’t. Instead he stood on the jetty watching her, that disquieting smile on his lips once more.

  A ripple of disgust snaked up her spine and she turned her back on him to tend to her yacht. A prickling sensation scored her back, causing the small hairs at her nape to stand on end. Eyes were on her. She could feel them. Traveling the length of her legs, following the line of her spine. Cold anger sheared into her fraying control. Why didn’t he just leave? For Pete’s sake, the man was a billionaire. Surely that meant he had some brains in his head? How many times did he want her to say no?

  But as you just pointed out, no one says no to Zane Peterson. Do you think he gives up that easy?

  “For the love of god,” she snarled, spinning to face him, “why don’t you just fuck…” The words died in her throat, her heart stopping at the sight of Jack standing by Wind Seeker’s stern.

  “Can I accept the invitation?” he drawled, his voice cold and flat. “Or am I not rich enough for your tastes?”

  Ali couldn’t move.

  He was there. He’d come for her.

  She opened her mouth, wanting to say something—anything—but nothing came to mind.

  Go to him, Ali. It doesn’t matter why he’s here. He just is.

  She almost took a step. She could already feel Jack’s arms around her, his hands smoothing over her skin, his fingers threading through her hair. Making her feel warm and safe. Taking away her pain. She almost took a step.

  But didn’t.

  His eyes stopped her, their green depths cold. And angry.

  “Why are you…” She stopped, unable to finish the question.

  Jack cocked an eyebrow, his face as cold as his eyes. “Why am I here? Really, Ali, you didn’t think I’d let a little girl leave the country with my property and not come after her, did you? Besides, I have something to return to your lover.”

  Ali blinked. “My what?”

  “Shall I accompany you to your hotel room? Or will that cramp your romantic style?”

  “My lover?” Ali blinked again, trying to clear her head. What the hell was Jack talking about?

  Jack regarded her for a still moment. “Peterson. The man you stood me up for eleven days ago. The man you fled the country with. In my yacht. The man I just watched touching you so—” He broke off. Pulling in a deep breath, he dragged his hands through his hair.

  Ali’s stomach rolled. He thought… Jack thought she and Zane… Oh Lord, no. “Jack, I’m not—”

  “Why, Ali?” He cut her off, his low voice cut with anguish. “Is it his money?”

  “Peterson is not my lover, Jack. For Pete’s sake, I can’t stand the guy. I race for him, that’s it.” Ali’s hand stole to her neck, the repulsive bite-mark left by Peterson’s attack hidden by her hair. She swallowed at the painful memory. “And this was only a charter.”

  Tell him. Tell him what happened.

  “Just a charter?” Jack’s laugh was more a contemptuous bark. “Do all your clients touch you like that?”

  Ali froze. How did he know?

  And then it dawned on her. He was referring to Peterson’s unwanted touch on the jetty only moments ago, not his brutal assault on Wind Seeker. She opened her mouth. To set him straight. To explain everything. But Jack didn’t let her speak.

  “I’m rich, Ali. You know that. Not as rich as Peterson, to be sure, but still rolling in money. What can he give you I can’t?” He shook his head with a disgusted snort. “God, how clichéd. See what you do to me? I thought…we were…things were going…” He sighed and shook his head again.

  “Jack.” Ali stepped from the deck into the cockpit. “Listen to me.” Her heart was in her throat, stealing her breath. “Peterson is nothing to me. Nothing.” Her fingers lingered over the bruise for a moment. Should she tell Jack about it? What would he do if she told him Peterson had tried to…

  No, it was best she didn’t. She remembered all too well the murderous hate in Jack’s eyes when he spoke to Peterson back in Sydney. What was it he’d said in the clubhouse? They had unfinished business. What business?

  Did it matter? The important thing, what really mattered, was that Jack was here. Now.

  With her.

  Everything else was ancient history.

  “Peterson is nothing to me,” she repeated, letting her pain and hope fill her voice.

  Jack studied her. Silent. His expression unreadable.

  Ali waited in the cockpit, wanting nothing more than to go to him. But she couldn’t. Jack would have to come to her. She needed that.

  The moment stretched on, unbearable. People walked past the jetty, casting them curious looks, but Ali didn’t care. Her throat tightened and her pulse pounded. He had to believe
her. He had to.

  “Tell me you’re not lying, Ali.” The command was a raw plea, Jack’s eyes haunted.

  She shook her head. “I’m n—”

  Before she could finish, Jack crossed the bulwarks, climbed into the cockpit and took her into his arms. He kissed her, his lips almost hesitant on hers. His tongue traced the inner line of her bottom lip and then flicked lightly at her teeth, a request to explore her mouth more. She complied, a heat radiating through her body as she opened her mouth under the expert touch of his lips. She met his tongue with hers, enjoying the sheer adulation that reverberated through her at the intimate contact.

  This was how she was meant to feel. Blissfully happy. Vibrantly alive. This man made her feel this way. Jack had always been the one to make her swell with life. With burning pleasure.

  He was the only one.

  Her hands found their way to his hair, tangling in the silky blonde strands at his nape. She craved his kiss, needed it. She wanted to be branded by his lips. By his body. She moaned, soft and low in her throat. He’d come. Not to reclaim his yacht, but to reclaim her.

  And she was his. Blissfully, utterly and completely his.

  Another raw moan fell from her lips and she pushed her hips harder to Jack’s, feeling the burning length of his rigid desire against her belly. It was undeniable and it made her whimper.

  His own hands raked her back. He slipped them past the waistline of her shorts to cup the cheeks of her butt, his strong fingers kneading her flesh with such fierce hunger Ali felt like she was turning into liquid. Hot, smoldering liquid.

  Jack moved his lips to her jaw, teeth nipping a line along the sensitive bone structure until his tongue flicked at her earlobe, sending wave after thrilling wave of squirming pleasure into the pit of her stomach. Pooling heat in the crux of her thighs. She dropped her head, wallowing in the sensations overtaking her senses. God, how did he do it to her? “Jack.” His name left her lips in a breath. “Please…”