by Joanna Rees
She glanced again at Alex and saw he was grinning openly too. He held her gaze for a long moment.
All the connection she’d felt with him in the gym was back. Just as strong. Just as real.
And she was about to be alone with him again! What did it mean? What would she say to him? What would he say to her? And what if the same thing happened again? No, no, it couldn’t. Not out here in the sea. Could it?
Alex broke eye contact, the smile still playing on his lips. Frankie’s mind fizzed with questions as she looked back at Pushkin growing smaller and smaller as they sped away. She thought about what Roz would be saying right now. With so many important guests on board, she’d upped the workload, and not having Frankie to do all the dirty work would just about send Roz over the edge. But Frankie didn’t care. She turned her face up towards the sun, grinning like a cat.
The Sardinian coastline was much more undeveloped than she’d imagined, with a mix of bays and promontories, high red rocks and white sandy beaches. Little islands rose from the clear crystal-blue water and Alex slowed down now, negotiating the tender around some rocks until they were completely out of sight of Pushkin.
‘Here, I think,’ Alex shouted, cutting the engine. He was addressing Dieter, who finally moved, dropping the anchor. Frankie could see the rocks below them. She’d never seen water so clear. Not even on the Great Barrier Reef, where she’d first learnt to dive.
The sudden silence shocked her, making the situation way more intimate. The waves lapped gently against the boat, rocking them.
‘Come on, then,’ Alex said, stepping towards Frankie, his balance perfect as he casually took off his T-shirt. Frankie saw the ripple of his stomach muscles as he stretched up, and something inside her flipped over with desire. Then he unzipped his shorts, revealing some tight blue swimming trunks underneath.
He was nearly naked!
And my God, what a body, Frankie thought, her eyes scanning greedily over his perfectly tanned flesh. It was all she could do not to reach out and touch him.
‘Dieter, chuck us the wetsuits,’ Alex said, his gaze unreadable. He caught the two wetsuits without looking up, handing one to Frankie. ‘Here you go,’ he said. And for the first time, his voice sounded like the Alex she remembered. Intimate and soft. And once again, she felt as if she’d been completely sucked into his world.
Frankie suddenly felt shy, but Alex must have sensed it, turning away as he pulled on his wetsuit.
Quickly, she scrambled out of her crew polo shirt and navy shorts. She was wearing her bikini underneath. It was a tatty stringy one that she’d had for ages, and she wished now that she’d splashed out on a designer one.
She yanked the wetsuit on quickly, over her hips before Alex saw her. She put her arms through the holes, wriggling the neoprene on to her shoulders.
‘Here, let me help you,’ Alex said. He was behind her and she felt him reach for the back zip. As he pulled it up, he let his finger gently slide up her spine and Frankie felt the whole of her body erupt into goosebumps. And there it was again: the same electricity she’d felt in his study. Like she was going to explode.
‘All set,’ he said. ‘Let’s get the tanks on and get going.’
She heaved on her diving bodice, with all its dials and weights and the oxygen tank on the back. Then they checked their air levels and went in backwards off the side of the boat.
Once they were a few metres from the boat’s shimmering hull – and Dieter’s watchful gaze – Alex held out his hand to her under the water. His eyes shone as he smiled at her through his mask.
As they sank deeper below the surface, Frankie watched his hair swishing in the current and the shafts of sunlight cutting through the water. She could hear her breath in a steady whoosh through her regulator, but her heart was thumping wildly as they held eye contact. Then, once they’d sunk ten metres, Alex pointed behind her and she turned and looked at the underwater scene below her.
It was stunning. The granite rocks were covered in bright yellow marine daisies and gently swaying red sea-fans, a giant shoal of Mediterranean barracudas darting in between them. A ray rose up from a sand rock pool and swam past them. Alex swam over and ran his hand through the gently swaying fronds of browny-gold seaweed. Bubbles rose above him to the surface shimmering like quicksilver.
As they swam along side by side through the warm water, their flippers kicking in unison, Frankie felt herself relax. Down here, Pushkin and all its petty politics and restrictions didn’t matter. They were together. Alone. And she saw now that she should have kept faith. She shouldn’t have doubted Alex, or her own feelings. Because here, right now, he’d proved to her that what had happened was special. Against all the odds, he’d achieved the impossible: he’d got her away from Pushkin, to a different world. And it felt amazing.
Alex squeezed her hand and pointed into the distance, towards a land mass – probably the larger island they’d seen from the boat – and she nodded.
Hand in hand again, they followed the line of the underwater granite edge. She could tell the water was getting shallower. Alex pointed to the surface and, pressing the yellow button attached to his dive jacket, increased his buoyancy so that he started rising slowly. Frankie did the same.
They both popped out into the sunshine at the same time. Sure enough, they were around the other side of the island, out of sight of Dieter.
Alex took out his regulator and lifted up his mask. Droplets of water landed on his long eyelashes, sparkling in the sun like diamonds.
For a moment, they just stared at each other. And their kiss in the office seemed as if it had happened only a moment ago. All the distance that Frankie had imagined between them simply wasn’t there. It was as if they were still connected.
‘I—’
‘I—’
They both spoke at the same time, and then laughed.
‘You first,’ she said.
‘Just . . .’ His grin was wide and his eyes shone at her. ‘At last! I finally get you to myself.’ He sounded as relieved as she felt. ‘I was beginning to wonder whether it was ever going to happen.’
Frankie smiled. ‘Tell me about it.’
‘You know . . . I didn’t want you to think that the other day . . . that it didn’t mean something. Because it did.’
She felt elation and relief flowing through her. And something else . . . that hot lava-flow of desire.
‘You weren’t offended, were you?’ he asked.
‘Offended?’ she gasped. ‘Of course I wasn’t offended. I thought it was the other way around. I thought you thought I was—’
‘I think you’re gorgeous,’ he said, smiling. ‘Come here.’ He pulled her into his arms and kissed her. He tasted of sunshine and salt water. And then he laughed and pulled her backwards into the water, hugging her.
‘Oh, Frankie,’ he sighed, wetting his hair and smoothing it down. ‘You have no idea how nice it is to be on our own.’
‘How was the party?’ She’d not meant to ask. She’d have been better off seeming uninterested. Like him being with all those models hadn’t mattered to her at all. But the words had just come out.
‘Hell. All I could think about was diving with you today.’
Again, she felt that wash of relief. He hadn’t even hesitated before answering. He must mean every word.
‘It’s so beautiful down there,’ she said. ‘Thank you for bringing me.’ She reached out and held his hands. It felt so easy, so natural, and so right to be this intimate with him.
‘I promised, didn’t I? It just took me a while to sort things out. The last thing I want is for you to be subjected to crew gossip. I know the score, Frankie. And believe me, whatever happens between us, I want it to be about us, no one else.’
What did he mean? she wondered. Was he laying out rules for them? That she was his onboard squeeze? His lover? Or something more?
‘And what is happening between us?’ she asked.
Alex smiled. ‘I don’t know . . . yet
.’ He drew her towards him and kissed her again. ‘But I’m itching to find out.’
She kissed him back, passionately this time, until she lost her balance in the water, and they both laughed.
‘Come on,’ he said, pulling her back with him. ‘Let’s see how you dance.’
Dance? What did he mean?
But she soon found out. Alex bit down on his regulator and she followed suit. Then they sank beneath the surface and Alex grabbed her, as if they were doing the tango, and led her around in a dance. She heard the squeak of her voice as she laughed into her regulator.
Then he took his regulator out of his mouth and gently did the same with hers. And he kissed her again.
It felt so strange, their mouths connecting underwater. But it was only for a second before they both put their regulators back in. She laughed again, seeing the bubbles cascade up between their faces.
They held hands, swimming side by side, pointing out the shoals of yellow and blue fish. It seemed only a moment later that their air was getting low and Alex pointed back towards the boat. Frankie wanted to scream. She wasn’t ready for their time together to be snatched away again. There was so much left to say.
Back on the surface, Alex grabbed her and kissed her as they trod water. Her eyes flashed towards Dieter in the boat.
‘Don’t worry about Dieter. He hardly speaks any English. And anyway, I pay him not to listen to any of my conversations,’ Alex said. ‘Or remember anything he sees.’
Just how many secrets did Alex have? Frankie wondered. And was that what she’d just become? Another secret? Another facet of the mystery that was Alexei Rodokov?
She felt her elation waver. She’d just had one of the best hours of her entire life, and yet she hardly knew this man at all. She shouldn’t be letting herself fall for him so hard, in case she got hurt.
But at the same time, she knew she couldn’t help herself. She was helplessly drawn to him. She couldn’t give him up, or even play hard to get. She had to know what made him tick. She had to be part of his life.
‘Why do you have a bodyguard all the time?’ she asked.
Alex shrugged. ‘To please Yuri, I guess. It was his idea. He insists Dieter comes with me. But sometimes I manage to get away.’
‘Yuri?’
‘I’ll tell you all about him in Marrakech. There’s no time now.’
‘Marrakech?’
Alex’s eyes sparkled. ‘Yes, Marrakech. I’ve got a plan. I told you I’d think of one.’
‘But . . .’
She could see Dieter standing up in the boat and waving to them.
‘I’ll arrange it as soon as I can, fake a phone call so you can make an excuse and leave the yacht,’ Alex said, his voice urgent. ‘Say you’ve had bad news – family problems. Dieter will take you to shore. I’ll arrange a net jet to be at the airport for you and fly you to the riad. And I’ll meet you there. We’ll keep it a secret. Just us. No one else need know.’
Frankie was stunned at his proposal. ‘But what about your guests?’
‘Oh, them,’ Alex said, waving his hand dismissively. ‘It’s nobody important. Anyway, what can they say if I get called away on urgent business?’
‘It’s really that simple?’
‘Sure. This is supposed to be my holiday. And now I’ve found the person I want to spend it with.’
Frankie could hardly look at him as they mounted the steps back into the boat and took off their equipment. What Alex had just proposed . . . it was beyond her wildest dreams.
She wanted to pinch herself. This was really happening. He really wanted her.
But as they approached Pushkin, Alex’s proposal seemed more outlandish than ever. There was no way she could leave to fly away to some exotic riad in Marrakech on a private jet. She was destined for scrubbing out toilets, surely? Did she really have the nerve to fake a family crisis and leave Pushkin? Just like that?
She felt giddy with nerves at the sheer thought.
But Alex obviously thought she could do it. He seemed to know instinctively that Frankie was, at heart, hopelessly impulsive. But hadn’t being impulsive got her into serious trouble before? And hadn’t she vowed to learn from her past mistakes?
But then she looked at Alex and he held her gaze, his eyes sparkling with promise. He meant it, she realized. And she saw, too, that he was trusting her. If he thought she had the balls to hoodwink Richard and carry out his plan, then she’d prove him right.
As if sensing her decision, Alex winked at her as the tender drew up alongside Pushkin. She glanced at Dieter and then up at Pushkin, feeling her heart race with panic. She needed more time. There was still so much to discuss. What if their plan went wrong?
But there was no more time. Alex was already throwing up the painter to Jeff. And as they boarded Pushkin he instantly transformed back into the big, scary businessman. His face was emotionless and gave absolutely nothing away. Their dive together might never have happened.
In contrast, Frankie felt as if their secret was written all over her face.
Richard was striding down the deck. He was clearly furious that Alex and Frankie had been out so long, but couldn’t say anything to Alex. Not unless he wanted to risk a public dressing-down himself in return.
‘You’re back. I was starting to get worried,’ he said to Alex.
‘Why? There was no need,’ Alex said, rubbing his wet hair with a towel and walking past him into the saloon.
Frankie watched him go. Imperious. In control. Capable of anything.
‘I’ll take breakfast now, thank you. Up at the top,’ he said to Richard, turning in the doorway to the lower saloon, before sliding shut the tinted glass doors. He didn’t so much as acknowledge Frankie’s presence.
Frankie went to move past Richard, but he grabbed her arm.
‘I don’t know whether there’s anything going on,’ he hissed. ‘But all I can tell you is that there better not be. If you’ve overstepped the line—’ he threatened.
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Frankie said, shaking him off.
‘Yes, you do. I’m watching you,’ he said. ‘I’m watching you very closely.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
In downtown Zurich, the distinctive blue trams rattled along under an even bluer sky as the chauffeur-driven Mercedes Emma and Julian had picked up at the airport pulled up outside the plush private bank. It was just one of the many grand fortresses lining the wide streets in the financial district and Emma wondered how many priceless artefacts and bars of gold bullion were stored in the vaults right below her feet.
Pigeons flew up from the pavement as the car stopped, flapping into the clear air. But the pavements remained spotless in their wake, Emma noticed, as if they’d been steam cleaned. The shiny black paint of the bank’s intricate cast-iron outer gates gleamed in the sunshine. She pulled out her new Dior sunglasses from her Todd’s leather handbag and put them on.
‘I guess Dimitry is already here,’ Julian said, pointing to the black BMW parked in front of them, by the kerb, its windows blacked out. ‘That’s his number plate.’
‘Dimitry? Why?’ Emma asked. She’d been surprised when Julian had announced this morning that they would be going on a detour to the bank. He’d only told her yesterday that he was bringing her here to Switzerland for a surprise weekend break. They’d caught an obscenely early flight this morning and Emma had been looking forward to collapsing in the hotel spa and booking in a few treatments. But instead there was yet more business to be done.
‘Because the cash from the AIM listing of Platinum Holdings went from the bank account in London via a clearing company in the Caribbean—’
‘What clearing company? Where in the Caribbean?’ Emma asked.
‘In Tortola. We called the company Platinum Reach. It was more tax efficient to transfer the money via there to Russia so the mining could begin. It was quick, too. Quicker than I thought. The mine is ready to go, which means Dimitry needs his commission earlier than I thoug
ht,’ he added, before telling the driver to wait, in perfect German.
Julian, who’d skied every year since he could walk, had the perfect knack of choosing the right language – French, Italian or German – whenever he was in Switzerland. Emma could tell that the chauffeur was charmed.
She watched the driver get out and walk jauntily round to the kerb in order to open the door for her. But Emma, in contrast, felt anything other than jaunty. Her mind was reeling from all this new information.
‘Commission? What commission?’ she asked.
‘Don’t be like that,’ Julian said.
‘Like what?’
‘Disapproving. It’s perfectly normal for someone who’s set a deal up like ours to get a commission. He found the land and presented us with an incredible opportunity. And that’s all on top of helping with the finances and the Caribbean arm of the deal. That he’s done for free.’
‘But . . .’
‘But what?’
‘I don’t know. You know better than me how these things work, but isn’t it all a bit irregular?’
‘Well, technically, yes. But nothing that our accountants won’t be able to clean up. That’s what we pay them for.’
Emma really didn’t like the sound of what Julian was saying, but it was clearly a fait accompli. She knew she had to back down. The last thing she wanted was a row. This was their last weekend together before Julian flew to Russia tomorrow for a month. She wanted it to be special.
But she kept picturing Dimitry Sergeyokov at her party and remembering the way he’d looked at her. The way he’d watched her, as if she was some kind of experiment. Or part of a puppet show with him pulling the strings. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong.
The chauffeur opened the door for Emma, and she slid along the leather seat and stood on the pavement. It was warmer than she’d thought, tugging at the neck of the cream cashmere polo-neck she’d worn under her camel trouser suit.
