Her mother’s tone softened and Lara had to strain to hear her against the wind. “I understand better than you think. I know only too well what it’s like to be constantly in the public eye. Your father and I have granted your wish to attend boarding school and University in Australia—”
“I know.” She broke in having heard her mother’s lecture many times before.
“But, it has always been on the proviso you will come home and take up your royal duties along side of your brother,” her mother continued hardly missing a beat.
“I appreciate everything, Mummy.”
“So, have your days of freedom if you must, with your father and my blessing and love. I will arrange for your detective to be informed, and I will expect to hear from you in a few days.”
“Thank you. I love you both.”
The phone call ended, and Lara’s spirits soared. Her mother understood. Her eyes welled with tears as she thought of her parents and her brother Carl, the Crown Prince. She was fortunate in so many ways to be part of a monarchy with centuries of history, which could still allow her the freedom of this modern world. Sure, she’d worked hard to persuade her parents that she should be educated in Australia and enjoy the comparative privacy in the cosmopolitan nation. But always there was a detective lurking in the background on constant alert for any dangers, any sign of kidnapping, or worse.
Even her best friends, Jade and Kate, had been startled at what they considered her strange need for isolation. She smiled as she thought of them. Friends since boarding school and then at University, they called themselves the three princesses with Jade and Kate teasing Lara, who was the only one of them with royal blood. But they had all felt like princesses and had given each other their love and loyalty through good and bad times as they had often struggled with studies and personal dilemmas. Now, sadly, they had parted, each to face the world in their own way but with promises to keep in contact no matter what.
Only it was Lara who wasn’t prepared for the future. She was the one who hesitated knowing a life lay before her as Princess Lara Antoinette Rosalina of Challoner. A life of royal protocols and the expectation to marry a man of acceptable standing and breeding. Her mother had already suggested that on her return she consider marriage to Prince Michael, a distant relative and long-time suitor.
Leaning against the rail, she watched as they came close to a small island. It was covered with trees and dense foliage and lay in the azure sea like a sparkling jewel. Surely this wasn’t Seagull Island? She couldn’t see any houses or signs of life.
Jezebel’s engine popped and snorted, then died, and the boat gradually came to a stop. Except for the sound of the waves slapping against the bow, there was silence.
“What’s happened?” she called, making her way toward the front of the boat as Jack loosened a huge chain allowing the anchor to roll with a splash into the water.
“Jezebel’s conked out. She does it sometimes,” he replied.
“But…but, what are we going to do? Can you mend it?”
“I’ll try but the sun’s beginning to go down and it’ll be dark soon.”
“We can’t stay out here all night. You must do something.”
~ * ~
“I’ll have a look to see if I can fix it. Why don’t you make us a cup of coffee?” he suggested, a look of innocence on his face as he took control of this outspoken young woman.
“I’m not going into that dirty kitchen. It’s disgusting.”
“It’s called a galley, and I’m sure you can overcome your sensitivities if you want me to get Jezebel going again.”
She glared at him and disappeared into the galley.
He grinned. Jezebel had chosen to break down right opposite his island as if she knew she was home. He tried to start the engine a couple of times, but she refused to cooperate and was obviously in need of some serious nurturing. Shrugging, Jack made a quick call on the ship radio connecting with his mate on the shore, Dave Shelton, and explained what had happened.
“Dave, can you ring Seagull Island and tell them the lady with the rental won’t be there tonight?” He heard Dave’s agreement before the radio gave an ominous crackle and went dead.
Well, that was that. Jack sat on his favorite chair and propped his feet on the rail. He guessed it wouldn’t hurt for Miss High and Mighty to rough it for a night. “Good girl, Jezebel,” he mouthed, as the clatter of pots and pans resounded from below deck.
It was a good twenty minutes before he heard Lara’s feet on the stairs, and he quickly stood pretending to wipe his brow with a towel in mock exasperation. She emerged carrying a steaming mug of coffee which she pushed unceremoniously into Jack’s waiting hands.
“Any luck?”
“Nope.”
“Can you radio for help?”
“That’s conked out as well.”
“You can use my cell phone.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why not? You’re welcome to use it.” She pulled it from her pocket then gaped at it. “There’s no signal.”
“I know. We’re just out of range. You won’t be able to use your phone from now on.”
His heart softened at the stricken expression on her face and he realized she was frightened. Of course she would be. Stuck out here with a strange man who might take advantage of her.
He took a sip of coffee. “Look, it will be dusk in about an hour. Here’s what I suggest we do.” He nodded toward the island. “I’ve got a holiday home over there. We can row over in the dinghy and stay there for the night. At least, we can have a shower and there are beds to sleep in. Then in the morning, I’ll get Jezebel started and we’ll be on our way.”
“Are there other houses on the island—other people?”
“No. But I have provisions that I keep there. Also, there will be hot water and cool drinks as soon as I get the generator going.”
He held her gaze as her green eyes probed his in the fading light. He knew she was considering whether she could trust him. He wondered if he could trust himself. She was gorgeous, her hair a blonde cloud around her heart-shaped face and her eyes huge as she studied him.
“All right,” she agreed. “There doesn’t seem much else we can do. I’ll pay you extra money for the use of your home.”
Jack didn’t answer as he threw the dregs of his coffee overboard. Did everything have to come down to money with this woman? It was getting under his skin.
He gathered some items of clothing and toiletries from the cabin and, glancing at the galley, was surprised to find it spotless with all of the dishes and pans washed and neatly stacked on the shelves. Impressive. He had never seen Jezebel’s galley so clean.
Lowering the dinghy into the water, he loaded one of Lara’s cases after she had checked and repacked what she needed. He then rowed them effortlessly across the short stretch of water to the shore.
Carrying her case, he led the way from the beach, through some trees then stood back. With a dramatic wave of his arm, he indicated the cottage in the clearing wondering what her reaction would be.
“There you go, Lara. Welcome to my luxurious holiday home.”
Two
She was stunned into silence as she gaped at the ramshackle house before her. Although it was a reasonable size and made of sturdy wooden planks fastened together in a haphazard way, the cottage tilted oddly and appeared about to fall over. A rickety veranda surrounded three sides, and there was even a chimney, also leaning to one side at a precarious angle. It was as if she had walked into the middle of a Grimm’s fairy tale. Did a witch live there? A tiny, overgrown garden lay in the front with the remainder of the house closed in by native shrubs and trees.
“This is my home-away-from-home. I built it with my own hands,” Jack said, a ring of pride in his voice as, lifting Lara’s case, he walked toward the entrance.
She trailed uncertainly behind him and climbed the few uneven steps to the porch as he swung the door open almost causing it to fall from its h
inges.
“There you go.” Once again he flung out his arm in a dramatic gesture as she peeped cautiously inside the dimly lit room. The last of the sun’s rays emphasized the layers of dust as it slanted across the fireplace and sparsely furnished living room. At the end of the room was a dining table and chairs and beyond that, a small kitchen with a heavy iron stove and antiquated fridge.
Without stopping, he led the way along a short, narrow passage and into a bedroom containing a double bed and mattress. He placed Lara’s case on the bed. She flinched as a large and very startled spider scurried across the mattress and disappeared.
“You can have this room, seeing you’re the paying guest.” He turned to her with a dazzling smile, his teeth brilliant white in his tanned face. “There’s a smaller bedroom across the passage, which I can use.” With an innocent expression he added, “It’s quite big inside, isn’t it?”
At last, she found her voice. “I can’t stay here. It’s filthy. You’re crazy to suggest it.” She knew her face had to express a look of horror as she placed a finger into the dust on the tiny dressing table.
“Oh, I know it’s not up to the standard of your posh rental and it needs a bit of a clean but that won’t take you long. Just flap a duster around, or whatever you women do, and it’ll look beautiful, I’m sure. While you’re doing that, I’ll start up the generator so we can have some light and use the fridge. Then I’ll catch us a couple of fish for supper.”
He turned away but Lara caught his arm. “Just a minute. Do you really expect me to clean the mess in here?” she asked, aware as she was speaking of the hard, rippling muscles flexing beneath her hand.
He faced her with a polite, but puzzled look. “Well, it’s not usually this messy, but I haven’t been here for a while,” he explained in a matter-of-fact kind of way. “But, it comes up well with a bit of spit and polish.”
She watched as he wiped a loving hand over the dusty headboard. Was this man mad or what? She hesitated realizing she had really got herself into a jam. After her big, brave statement to her mother about wanting time alone without being protected by detectives and companions, the first thing she had done was to trap herself on an island with a mad man, or even worse, a rapist and murderer.
But she wasn’t going to show she was afraid—that was the worst thing she could do. She decided attack was the best form of defense. Lifting her chin, she put on what she considered to be her most haughty and fierce expression.
“Now listen, Jack. I do not intend to clean your dirty house or do any of the other chores you may like to allocate to me. I shall sleep on the beach tonight, and if you as much as come within ten yards of me then I’ll…I’ll kill you.” She held up a bunched fist in the most aggressive pose she could remember from her self-defense classes.
“Does this mean you won’t want any supper?”
She snorted in a very unlady like fashion. This guy was crazy.
“Of course, if I can’t get Jezebel started, we could be here tomorrow night as well, and even the next night, so I could do with your help. Just to cook and clean up, you know, while I work on the boat. Not much to ask really,” he continued.
Lara stiffened as she saw his mouth twitch with amusement. “The people at the resort will be expecting me and when I don’t turn up, they will send out a search party.” Her stance was even more defiant.
“No. They won’t.”
“What do you mean? Of course they will.”
“When Jezebel broke down, I radioed a mate and he’s going to contact the resort and explain what’s happened.”
“What? But you said the radio had broken.” For the first time a shiver of fear ran through her.
“It has. It broke just after I’d sent the message but it’s okay—they know you’re safe with me.”
~ * ~
He touched her arm in what was meant to be a comforting gesture but she jumped back. I’ve taken this joke too far, he thought. Idiot. He decided to move into damage control—quickly.
“You don’t need to be nervous. I won’t hurt you.”
“How do I know that?”
“Look, you stay in the house tonight and I’ll sleep on Jezebel. I promise you will be safe.”
“No. How do I know you won’t get that stupid boat going and drive away leaving me shipwrecked here…forever?”
Jack, once again, contained his amusement. “You sail a boat, not drive,” he automatically corrected her. “And you haven’t been shipwrecked.”
She shoved a fist into his chest and his heart pounded as he controlled the desire to hold and caress that small hand.
“It’s a ship and as far as I can see, it’s a wreck.” Her voice rose. “And I am still sleeping on the beach.”
“It could get cold in the night. You had better take a couple of blankets with you.” He reached into a drawer and pulled out two rugs making the mistake of patting them which caused a cloud of dust to billow and envelop them both.
“Oh,” Lara exploded with exasperation as she made her way to the door, case in hand. “You are impossible.”
“Lara?” He opened another of the drawers. “There’s an old lavatory at the back of the house. If you have to go, you will need this.” He tossed a toilet roll through the air, which she managed to catch with her free hand.
“And if you want a shower, there’s one outside. It’s a bit primitive, I’m afraid.” He tried to sound apologetic. “Only cold water.”
The front door slammed behind her, once again almost falling from its hinges.
“Whoops. My lady is not pleased.” He grinned as he bounced gently on the bed. Then as he thought about the expression on her face as she had rushed out of the door, his grin faded. Enough was enough. He’d had his little joke and it hadn’t worked too well. She was still acting the high and mighty but underneath she was scared, and that wasn’t his scene, to scare young women.
He looked around the bedroom and getting up, walked into the living area studying it analytically in the dim light. Yeah. Who could blame a lovely girl like Lara for being cranky? The place was a dump. He mentally calculated the last time he was here and realized it was over a year ago—a wonderful hot summer, like now, when he had managed to escape from his busy life to come here to his special, lovely place. His island, where he could fish and swim and generally laze around, a world away from his usual frantic work life. And that was all Lara had wanted to do, for whatever reasons she might have, except she had chosen the popular tourist resort of Seagull Island with its up-market holiday homes and expensive souvenir shops.
Jack frowned as he drew his fingers through the dust spelling the word I D I O T. Idiot, that’s what he was. He had acted on an impulse in bringing her here, although Jezebel had quite legitimately broken down, and he couldn’t help that. However, they could have stayed on the boat, even if it was uncomfortable. He had made things worse. He loved this old place—his special island, but how could he expect this classy lady to be at ease?
He had to admit he was physically attracted to Lara with her perfect features and beautiful body. Her demanding attitude had annoyed him at first, but now he found he was enjoying the challenge she presented with her sharp, rapier-like tongue arguing with him at every turn. It was a while since he’d met such a woman. Except, he was here alone and she had decided to give him the cold shoulder completely and sleep on the beach, for Chrisssake.
Still, he could make it up to her and if she insisted on sleeping there, he would make sure she was warm and well fed. That was the least he could do. Tomorrow, he would coax Jezebel into life and take Lara to Seagull Island, which was only thirty minutes away. He would never see her again—no harm done.
He reached for the heavy duty flashlight he always carried in his knapsack and made his way to the rear of the house to start up the generator.
~ * ~
The sunset was the most beautiful Lara had ever seen. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from the glorious, changing colors as the sun’s red
orb gradually slipped behind the horizon. She rested her chin on her knees as she sat on the soft, warm sand. This is what she craved, the beauty and isolation with no one in the world knowing where she was. Well, except him.
She knew he had been quietly making fun of her since she first insisted he take her on board. She, like a stuck up snob, had fallen hook, line and sinker for every teasing situation he’d set up. She smiled at her own turn of phrase. Very apt considering the tall, dark fisherman.
It had been quite a day. This reminded her that she hadn’t written in her journal today and soon it would be too dark to see. Hastily opening her case, she pulled out her precious diary hugging it closely to her for a few moments. Her secret world lay between these pages, her private thoughts that she couldn’t, and wouldn’t, share with anyone. It had become an obsession to write her innermost thoughts in her journal. She believed it kept her sane in this mad world, particularly when faced with what lay ahead when she returned to her own country.
Unfastening the gold pen from its holder, she turned to the next blank page and began writing in the half-light.
Dear Diary,
You wouldn’t believe where I am. On an island, a beautiful island, but it isn’t what I’d planned. Don’t know what to think of fisherman Jack. I was so dumb to insist he take me to the resort. His boat is called Jezebel and she’s an old junket but I can see he loves her. He’ll get her going tomorrow and my little adventure will be over.
Lara hesitated, her pen poised over the paper as she experienced a lurch of excitement writing about Jack. She continued, gripping the pen hard.
I’m not really afraid being here with him. I don’t think he would hurt me. He’s bossy but funny too. Younger than I first thought, perhaps in his early thirties, and handsome in a swarthy, dirty, fishy sort of way. His eyes are so blue. Hope he showers occasionally. Probably not.
There’s a dreadful shower here with a big bucket that pours water over you when you pull on a piece of rope. There’s no cubicle or shower curtain. It’s open for everyone to see. If Jack thinks I’m going to shower with him perving at me, he’s mistaken. The seawater looks great so I’m going for a swim and get clean that way.
Falling For Jack Page 2
