The figure froze. “Sorry, sir. Wrong boat. Guess I’ve had too much to drink.”
The accent was indistinct, making the words floating to Jack from the dark hard to understand, but he still made out their meaning. “How long have you been on there?” he demanded, blocking the man’s path back down the jetty. Whoever he was, he wasn’t going anywhere. Not unless he took a running jump into the water.
The low lights of the jetty barely illuminated the passageway, let alone the man’s face, but Jack strained to make out his features. They were non-descript, dark eyebrows over dark eyes that shifted from side to side, and a clean-shaven jaw. Jack sniffed and the unmistakable bite of scotch filled his nostrils. Well, one thing was for certain, the guy hadn’t been lying about the drinking. “How long have you been on board?” he repeated, staring hard at the inebriated man.
“S’okay, sir. Sorry. Not long, okay.” The words slurred together and Jack couldn’t miss the distinct lean to his stance.
And yet, something didn’t feel right.
Jack narrowed his eyes. Perhaps, but nevertheless he had a nagging doubt, like an itch between his shoulder blades.
“S’okay, sir. I didn’t take nuthin’”
“What boat are you from?”
“The Easy Fling. Must be on the next jetty. I’m a bit pissed.”
The slur was still there, but Jack had the feeling it was more conscious now, more studied. He didn’t like it. Not one little bit. “What’s your name, mate?”
“Jack?”
The sound of Ali’s voice—soft but unmistakable—cut Jack short. He spun to face her, an overwhelming sense of relief flooding through him.
She’d come back.
“What’s going on?” She stood too far away from him to see her clearly, but the very fact she was here made him smile. The strange man he’d caught climbing from Wind Seeker was forgotten.
“Ali.” He closed the distance she’d left between them, slipped his arms around her and held her close, the heat of her soft body reassuring. She really was here. “Where have you been?” He tightened his arms around her, palms smoothing over her back, and breathed in deeply, filling his senses with her delicate scent. The pressure of her body against his was so intoxicating it took him a moment to realize she wasn’t holding him back, that her arms were hanging by her side rather than wrapped around him.
He straightened slightly, seeking her eyes in the oppressive shadows of the night as his arms slipped from her. “Ali?”
“I’d like to pull out at first light tomorrow if that’s okay.” Her voice completely lacked emotion.
Jack stepped back, wishing he could see her better. She stood before him, what looked like a large straw hat in her right hand. There was a tilt to her chin he’d seen before once before—on the night he’d accused her of causing her father’s death.
Guilt and pain stabbed at him. “Ali, I need to explain—”
“There’s nothing to explain. You’ve made your self perfectly clear. I must have been a fool to believe you could think anything positive about me. When I was a teenager, I was irresponsible and over-confident. Now that I’m an adult, I’m untrustworthy, deceptive and a slut.” The last word cracked slightly. “So that’s fine. You know what, Jack? I don’t care anymore. I don’t need you.”
“Ali, please—” He took a step towards her, grief falling like a weight in his stomach when she took an equal step away from him, keeping the distance between them.
“I just want to go home,” she said. “I want to see my mom. If it’s okay with you, I’d like to leave tomorrow at tide’s change.”
She stepped past him, towards Wind Seeker. He turned to watch her, a detached part of his mind noticing they were now alone. The stranger he’d caught on Wind Seeker had taken advantage of Ali’s arrival and slipped away. It didn’t matter to Jack though. Not now. “Ali, let me explain.”
She turned, her face completely hidden by the night. “I’m going to sleep, Jack. I’d rather you stay at a hotel, but if you don’t, I can’t stop you.” There was a pause. “She’s your yacht after all. I’ll be sleeping in one of the bunks anyway. Goodnight.” Another heavy pause filled the night air and Jack felt his chest twisting into a knot.
Jack watched her climb onto Wind Seeker, the deep shadows of the night eating her up. He wanted to go after her, wanted to make her listen and understand, but he didn’t. She hated him at the moment, of that there was no doubt. No matter what he said to her, she wouldn’t be listening. He’d known Ali since she was a teenager, the steely stubborn streak that ran through her veins couldn’t be dissolved. Trying to do so would only make the matter worse.
It was several long minutes before Wind Seeker was silent. The muted light above the portside bunk finally switched off to plunge the yacht into blackness again. Even then, Jack didn’t move. He waited for that moment when he felt he could climb aboard. When he eventually settled down on the starboard bench, movements slow and silent, his headache had blossomed into a drilling migraine, sharp and numbing at the same time. He dropped his head back and looked up at the stars, a distant part of him welcoming the pain.
You deserve more, Jack. You know that, don’t you?
“Yeah.” The word was barely a whisper. Closing his eyes, he pulled in a deep breath.
He’d attempt to talk to her again when she woke. And if she didn’t want him to, he’d wait until they were out to sea. At least she couldn’t run away from him then. Not unless she jumped into the Pacific. Jack suppressed a wry chuckle. Knowing Ali, that was a distinct possibility.
He’d really fucked things up. Now all he could do was pray he could make amends.
The rich smell of strong coffee woke him from his shallow sleep only hours later. He sat and squinted against the breaking dawn sun peeking over the eastern horizon. Rolling his head a few times in a futile attempt to work out the kinks in his neck, he turned in the direction of the wafting smell of coffee.
There was a mug sitting on the opposite bench, steam curling from the rich brown surface, beside which sat his glasses, neatly folded. Resting his elbows on his knees, he leaned forward and peered below deck. The stateroom door was open, the bed flawlessly made, but there was no signs of Ali.
“Ali?”
Nothing. Not even the sounds of the yacht’s small shower running.
He reached out, retrieved his glasses and the mug and then carefully sat straight so as not to spill any coffee on his legs. There would be a perverse irony in causing himself pain with the drink Ali made for him. At least he assumed it was Ali. He frowned for a second, taking stock of his situation. Christ, what he must look like, sprawled across the bench seat in the cockpit, wearing a crumpled shirt and creased shorts and what would have to be a pretty stubbly growth on his chin? Perhaps some other yachtie had taken pity on him and placed it on the seat. It was entirely possible.
He rubbed at his eyes with his free hand, returned his glasses to their place on his face, and then took a cautious sip of the hot beverage from the mug. If it wasn’t Ali, then his mysterious friend knew exactly how he took his coffee, the sweetness of the drink only possible after two sugars.
A momentary burst of warm hope filled his chest. If Ali had made the coffee, perhaps she was ready to listen to him.
“Okay then. So where is she?”
He took another quick look into the cabin, this time noticing everything was packed up and stowed away. Wherever she was, she’d been up for at least twenty minutes. Long enough to get Wind Seeker ready for departure before disappearing.
“She’s making a habit out of this.” He shook his head, surprised at the slight grin that pulled at his lips. The idea of wearing a smile had seemed highly unlikely last night, but in the light of a new day, with the warmth of the coffee working its way through his body, Jack could almost believe smiling was possible.
Getting up was more painful than he thought, and his back joined in the complaints started by his cricked neck. He ignored the desire to s
it again and instead began preparing Wind Seeker’s topside for departure. Once complete, and still with no sign of Ali, Jack took his empty mug down into the galley and rinsed it, trying not to think about her continued absence.
And failing miserably.
“Screw this.” He threw the washcloth beside the sink, ignoring the flurry of doubt in his gut. “I’m having a shower.”
Standing under the cold spray, Jack leant his hands against the tiny cubicle’s wall and let the refreshing water run over his head and neck. Damn it, he was on edge again. Snapping off the stream of water, he reached out and grabbed the towel he’d left waiting, drying himself with savage swipes. “Bloody hell, Ali,” he muttered under his breath, stepping from the cubicle with the towel wrapped around his hips. “What are you out doing?”
“Calling my mom, if you must know. Is that okay with you?”
She stood at the foot of the companionway, regarding him from behind dark sunglasses that hid her eyes.
Jack forced himself to stand motionless. She was still angry. He could feel it emanating from her in cold waves. “I’ve been worried.”
“I’m touched by your concern, but there was no need. As I’m sure you already know, my so-called lover has already left the island.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Isn’t it?” He saw her eyebrows rise behind the sunglasses in mock surprise. “How out of character.”
“Ali, I made a mistake—”
“We both made a mistake, Jack. Your mistake was not believing me when I told you Peterson meant nothing to me. My mistake was believing in you. Period.” She looked away from him for a moment and Jack could see the muscles in her jaw working. “I want to go home. I want to see my mother as soon as I can. I’d fly, but we both know I can’t afford the ticket. Not until Peterson pays me for the trip here at least, so that leaves me stuck on your boat.”
She faced him, silent.
Jack studied her. He wanted to talk, to set things straight, but not while he was only covered by a towel. After they’d put to sea and were in blue water, then he’d sit her down. And not let her up until he’d made her understand. He looked at her across the cabin, wishing she’d take those damn sunglasses off so he could see her eyes.
But she didn’t. Instead, she dumped the canvas bag on the bottom starboard bunk and then disappeared up the companionway. There was nothing to be done above until they pulled out, everything was ready to go, but he knew she hadn’t gone up on deck to prepare.
A short sigh left him. She’d gone up there to get away. From him.
You know, this is partly your fault. You should have told him the moment you saw him.
Ali ignored the insidious little voice mocking her. She moved over the deck towards the bow, checking the sails and rigging as she went.
Aren’t you being a bit unfair?
“No.” She shook her head, running her hand over the boom vang. “He shouldn’t have leapt to conclusions.”
Didn’t give him much of an option though, did you? What else was he to think, finding a hickey on your neck after you’ve spent eleven days at sea with another man?
“Oh, be quiet,” she ground out, shutting the annoying little voice off. Arriving at the foredeck, she glanced down at the hatch and the sound of Jack moving around below floated up to her. She leant her shoulder against the mast and pulled in a deep breath, looking out at the vast expanse of blue water waiting for her.
When she’d come down into the cabin to see Jack standing there, hard, lean body bare except for a small towel wrapped around his hips, her heart had leapt straight into her throat. Frantic and furious, like some hot, internal triphammer. God, he was gorgeous. Her insides had turned to a quivering jelly mass, her mouth growing drier than the desert. Only twenty-four hours ago, she’d been kissing and biting that body. Had been pressed under it, straddled over it. Had run her hands over its smooth, hard curves, teasing and tantalizing. God help her if she didn’t want to do it all again. All it would have taken was for one step toward her, just one. She had no doubt where they’d be right now if Jack had taken that step. And damn it, she’d wanted him to. She really had.
But he hadn’t, and that was a good thing. If she were to fall into his arms right at this minute she’d hate herself for the rest of her life. She loved him completely and irrevocably, but not unconditionally. She needed him to trust her, and he didn’t.
Perhaps couldn’t.
The thought was depressing.
And what if he could? He’d basically called her Zane Peterson’s whore. Twice. Could she ever forgive him for that?
Ali stared out at the blue Pacific. She didn’t know. When all was said and done, Jack had been the cause of so much pain and hurt in her life she didn’t know if she could handle any more.
Ahh, but think of how you felt in his arms, that little voice piped up, obviously fed up with keeping quiet any longer. Think about how happy you were. Jack was responsible for that happiness too.
“Shut up,” Ali mumbled again. She straightened from the mast and moved to the pulpit extending over the bow and rested her elbows on the metal framework.
Two nights ago, she’d been fantasizing about the rest of her life, blissfully wrapped in Jack’s arms, so sure, so positive he’d be an integral part of her future. Now she was wondering how she could survive the next eleven days in his company.
“Just get home and get him out of your life. It’ll only hurt for a while.”
Or forever. But forever couldn’t be that long. Surely?
Chapter Ten
The Pacific was on its best behavior—a gently rolling, deep blue carpet that Wind Seeker sliced through with ease.
Ali stood at the helm, hands rested lightly on the circle of wood, its texture smooth and worn to a dull polish under her fingers. She pulled in a long sigh. The trip to the Solomon Islands had been a nightmare, despite the perfect sailing conditions, and now here she was headed back to Australia with even better conditions, and she was utterly miserable.
What a complete disaster. What a waste.
Well, maybe not a complete waste. At least she’d discovered what Jack truly thought of her.
A scowl knotted her eyebrows as she shot a look below. She and Jack had done a remarkably successful job of staying away from each other considering the confined space of her yacht. They’d not only avoided all eye contact, they’d hardly spoken more than five words to each other since Jack had asked for a chance to explain two hours after leaving the yacht club. A chance Ali had refused.
After that, they’d fallen into a stiff, silent routine. Every day she took her place at the helm, while Jack stayed below at the nav station. Occasionally, he would come up on to the deck to wordlessly help with the sails. At night, their location on the yacht swapped—Jack taking the helm and Ali pretending to sleep in one of the bunks.
She sighed again, pulling at her bottom lip with her teeth. It was tiring work giving Jack the silent treatment and, she had to admit, just a touch childish. She was still angry with him, was still in love with him, but knew there was no future for them. That fantasy had died four days ago. But they had another five before reaching Australian waters, three after that before sailing into Sydney Harbor. If this nerve-wracking tension continued any longer, she’d throw herself overboard and take her chances with the sharks.
She gnawed on her lip some more. The next time he looked at her she would say something—about the sails, the weather, hell, anything neutral and impersonal. As long as it broke the silence. If they couldn’t be friends or lovers, they could at least be civil to each other.
At least until they reached Sydney.
What she was going to do after that, she still had no idea. No yacht, no charter business, no job, no money.
No Jack.
“Life just keeps getting better and better,” she muttered, before steering Wind Seeker sharper into the rising southerly. If nothing else, she should enjoy sailing while she had the chance. Who kne
w what she would be doing for a living after putting into Sydney.
Jack stepped up through the companionway, looking for Ali without appearing to. She wasn’t at the helm, but he didn’t think she’d reached the point where she’d prefer to swim home, so that meant she was toward the bow.
Standing in the cockpit, he ran a quick eye over the rigging before turning to the horizon. An uneasy tension curled through his chest. Damn it, he didn’t like what he saw there.
The sky sweeping above them was blue and cloudless, yet on the razors-edge where the sky and ocean met was a dark smudge. Like a growing bruise.
A storm. Coming their way.
“Shit.” He kept the curse low. What should he do?
Dropping back below, he quickly scanned the charts. If they couldn’t out-run it, and he doubted they could, the storm would hit them hard while it was Ali’s turn at the helm. Did he dare let her keep control?
And if he didn’t, how the hell was he to tell her?
He took off his glasses and dropped them onto the charts before rubbing at his face.
He’d made a fine bloody mess of his relationship with Ali—had, in fact, completely screwed it up. But he hadn’t given up on it. He loved her, with every fiber of his being, and he truly believed she still loved him. If it wasn’t for his own stupidity and suspicions, they’d be enjoying a wonderful return trip to Australia with an amazing future ahead of them.
Instead, they were avoiding each other like the plague, and Ali thought he was an untrusting bastard. He gave a deprecating snort. “Well, she wasn’t wrong.”
So what was he meant to do now? The rolling of Wind Seeker told him the southerly had picked up, that the storm was barreling at them. But if he went above and told Ali the helm was his, he was basically telling her he didn’t trust her skills or ability to get them through it.
He rubbed at his face again. The problem was, he didn’t know if he did trust her ability.
She was a good—no, a great—sailor, and she’d obviously improved in the time he’d been away, but he’d asked around since returning to Sydney and she hadn’t been out in a storm since the night of her father’s accident.
Suspicious Ways Page 14
