Vows They Can't Escape

by Heidi Rice

  ‘I don’t know what you want from me, Dane. I’ve said I’m sorry for what my father did, for what happened. Obviously our break-up...’ She paused, clarified. ‘The way our break-up happened was regrettable. But I want to end this amicably. I can’t stay in New York any longer.’

  Because, however tempting it would be to indulge herself, let her body dictate her next move, she never wanted to be a slave to her libido again.

  ‘That’s why you came here? To end this amicably?’

  It was a leading question. And, while it hadn’t been the reason she’d boarded the plane yesterday morning at Heathrow, she felt an odd tightening in her chest at the thought of what they’d shared the day before and through the night. Stupid as it was, her heart skipped a beat.

  Had she been kidding herself all along? Despite the implications for Carmichael’s, she could have done this whole process by proxy. It would have been simpler...more efficient. But as soon as Bill had mentioned Dane’s name to her she’d been bound and determined to do it in person. And she suspected her reasons were much more complex than the ones she’d admitted to herself.

  How much had her coming here really had to do with the threat to Carmichael’s? And how much to do with that grief-stricken girl who had mourned the loss of him as much as she had mourned the loss of their baby?

  He had been the catalyst—the one who’d shown her she was more, could be more than her father had ever given her credit for. And, despite the shocks to her system in the last hours, she would always be grateful to have discovered that he hadn’t abandoned her the way her father had wanted her to believe.

  Placing the coffee mug back on the counter, she faced him fully. ‘Honestly? I think I needed to see you again. And, as difficult as this has been—I’m sure for both of us—I’m glad I did.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Yes.’ Why did he still sound so annoyed?

  ‘Nice speech. I guess that’s my cue to sign these?’ He scooped the divorce papers up from the table. ‘And then get out of your way?’

  ‘I suppose...’ she said, feeling oddly ambivalent about the papers, her pulse beginning to hammer at her collarbone.

  He didn’t just sound surly now. He sounded furious. And he wasn’t making much of an effort to hide it.

  ‘Tough, because that’s not gonna happen.’ He ripped the papers in two, then in two again, the tearing sound echoing around the room. Then he flung the pieces at her feet.

  ‘Why did you do that?’ She bent to pick them up, her heart hammering so hard now she thought it might burst.

  Grasping her arm, he hauled her upright. ‘Because I’m not as dumb as you think I am. I know what your phoney divorce papers are really for. To stop me claiming the fifty-five per cent of your old man’s company he left to your husband in his will.’

  ‘But...’ Her knees dissolved. The blow was made all the more devastating by the look of total disgust on his face.

  ‘You didn’t come here to end a damn thing amicably. You came here to play me.’

  ‘That’s not true.’

  But even as she said it she could feel the guilt starting to strangle her. Because when she’d come here that was exactly what she’d intended to do.

  ‘Well, it is partially true. But that was before I found out...’

  ‘You think you can lie and cheat and say and do whatever the hell you want to get your way? Just like your old man? Well, you’re gonna have to think again. Because no one screws with me any more.’

  There were a million things she could say in her defence. A million things she wanted to say. But her throat closed, trapping the denial inside her. She felt herself shutting down in the face of his anger. Wanting to crawl away and make herself small and invisible. The way she had whenever her father had shouted at her, had bullied and belittled her, had derided her for being too soft, too sentimental, too much of a girl.

  ‘I’ve got to hand it to you...the seduction was a nice touch.’

  Heat seared her to the core as his gaze raked over her, as hot as it was derisive.

  ‘You’ve certainly learned how to use that fit body to your advantage.’

  The contemptuous comment felt like a smack in the face. Releasing the anger which had lain dormant for far too long.

  ‘How dare you imply...?’

  Hauling herself out of his arms, she slapped him hard across the face, determined to erase that smug smile.

  His head snapped back on impact. And fire blazed in her palm.

  But her anger faded as quickly as it had come, the volcanic lava turning to ash as he lifted a hand to his cheek to cover the red stain spreading across the tanned skin. His eyes sparked with contempt, and his powerful body rippled with barely controlled fury.

  Shock reverberated through her.

  He manipulated his jaw, then licked his lip, gathering the tiny spot of blood at the corner of his mouth. The nonchalant way in which he had accepted the blow made her feel nauseous. How many other times had he been hit before?

  ‘So daddy’s little princess finally learned how to fight back,’ he said, the fury in his tone tempered by an odd note of regret.

  The shock disappeared, to be replaced with weariness and a terrible yearning to turn back the clock. What were they doing to each other? She couldn’t hate him any more—it hurt too much to go there again.

  But how could he have such contempt for her? Know so little about who she’d been then and who she was now?

  ‘Dane, I can explain. This isn’t what it looks like.’

  Except it was in some ways.

  She reached for him, needing to soothe the blotchy mark she’d caused. He jerked away and brushed past her, heading for the door.

  ‘It’s exactly what it looks like.’

  He opened the door, and part of her heart tore inside her chest. He was walking away from her again—the way he had once before. But she couldn’t find the words to stop him, all her protests lodged inside her.

  He paused at the door, fury still blazing in the ice-blue eyes. ‘I never wanted your old man’s money—or his crummy company. Which just makes it all the sweeter now that I can take a piece of it if I want to. Just for the hell of it. Don’t contact me again.’

  Xanthe collapsed onto the couch as the door slammed, her mind reeling and her whole body shaking.

  She wrapped her arms around her midriff, taking in the unmade bed, the torn pieces of document on the carpet, the unfinished mug of black coffee. A gaping wound opened up in her stomach and threw her back in time to that dingy motel room in Boston. Lost and alone and terrified.

  Tears squeezed past her eyelids as she sniffed back the choking sob that wanted to come out of her mouth.

  If Dane followed through with his threat she might very well lose everything she’d worked so hard for in the last ten years. Even the threat of legal action would be enough to destroy her position as CEO. If the board ever found out she’d mismanaged this situation so catastrophically they would surely withdraw their support.

  But far worse than the possibility of losing her job was that look of contempt as he’d accused her of being daddy’s little princess.

  Was that really what he’d thought of her all those years ago? That she was some spoilt little rich girl? Was that why he’d never trusted her with his secrets? Was that what he thought of her now, despite all she’d achieved?

  And why did it sting so much to know he’d always thought so little of her?

  She stood up and thrust shaky fingers through her hair, scrubbing away the tears on her cheeks.

  No. Not again. She was not going to fold in on herself. Or let his low opinion of her matter.

  Ten years ago stuff had happened that had been beyond their control. Her father’s interference... The miscarriage... But there had been so much more they could have controlled but hadn’t. And anyway the past was over now. Dane Redmond didn’t mean anything to her any more.

  Maybe she should have told him about the will as soon as she had disc
overed he hadn’t abandoned her. She could see now that hadn’t played well when he’d figured it out. But he was the one who had assumed she’d had an abortion, who had never trusted in her love, and he was the one who was threatening to take her company away from her. Why? Because she’d had the audacity to protect herself?

  This was all about his bull-headed macho pride. Dane, in his own way, was as stubborn and unyielding as her father.

  Well, she wasn’t that timid, fragile, easily seduced child any more. And she was not going to sit around and let him crucify her and ruin everything she’d worked for.

  She had the guts to stand up to him now. He was in for a shock if he thought this ‘princess’ wasn’t tough enough to get him to sign the damn divorce papers and eliminate any threat to her company—even if she had to scour Manhattan to find him.

  * * *

  Four hours later, after a frantic trip to his offices and a fruitless interrogation of his tight-lipped PA, she discovered it wasn’t going to be that easy.

  Sitting in the first-class departure lounge at JFK, en route to St George, Bermuda, she felt a knot of anxiety start to strangle her as she contemplated how she was going to stay strong and resolute and indomitable if she was forced to confront her taciturn and intractable ex-husband on a yacht in the middle of the Atlantic...

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  ‘THERE, ON THE HORIZON—that has to be it.’ Xanthe pointed at the yacht ahead of them and got a nod from the pilot boat operator she’d hired that afternoon at the Royal Naval Dockyard on Ireland Island, Bermuda. She pushed back the hair that had escaped her chignon and started to frizz in the island’s heat.

  The punch of adrenaline and purpose had dwindled considerably since her moment of truth at the hotel the day before—now the snarl of nerves was turning her stomach into a nest of vipers. The boat sped up, skipping over the swell. She held fast to the safety rail. The sea water sprinkling her face was nowhere near as refreshing as she needed it to be.

  At least her madcap chase to find Dane and confront him was finally at an end, after a two-hour flight from JFK, a sleepless night at an airport hotel in St George, scouring the internet for possible places he might have harboured his boat, and then a three-hour taxi journey criss-crossing Bermuda as she checked out every possible option.

  She’d arrived at the Royal Naval Dockyard on the opposite tip of the island, the very last place on her list, at midday, with her panic starting to eat a hole in her stomach. The discovery that Dane had been there and just left had brought with it anxiety as well as relief at the thought of confronting him.

  She gripped the rail until her knuckles whitened as the pilot boat pulled closer to the bobbing yacht.

  At least her frantic transatlantic call to London at four that morning had confirmed Dane had yet to start any legal proceedings against her. So there was still time—if she could talk sense into him.

  The gleam of steel stanchions and polished teak made the sleek vessel look magnificent as the blue-green of the water reflected off the fibreglass hull.

  Her heart stuttered as she read the name painted in swirling letters on the side.

  The Sea Witch.

  The teasing nickname whispered across her consciousness.

  ‘I’m under a spell...you’ve bewitched me, Red...you’re like a damn sea witch.’

  The muscles of her abdomen knotted as she tried to erase the memory of his finger circling her navel as he’d smiled one of his rare smiles while they’d lain on the beach at Vineyard Sound together, a lifetime ago, and he’d murmured the most—and probably the only—romantic thing he’d ever said to her.

  Beads of sweat popped out on her upper lip as she spotted Dane near the bow, busy readying the boat’s rigging. She’d caught him just in time. His head jerked round as the pilot boat’s rubber bumpers butted the yacht’s hull and the boat’s captain shouted to announce their arrival.

  She shook off the foolish memories and slung her briefcase over her shoulder. She had a short window of opportunity. She needed to get on board before Dane could object or the pilot boat’s captain would realise the story she’d spun him about being a guest who had missed the sailing was complete fiction.

  Grabbing hold of the yacht’s safety line, she clambered into the cockpit. She quickly unclasped her life jacket and flung it back to the pilot boat.

  ‘I can take it from here—thank you so much!’ she shouted down to the captain.

  The man glanced at Dane, who had finished with the rigging and was bearing down on her from the other end of the boat. ‘You sure, ma’am?’

  Not at all.

  ‘Positive,’ she said, flinching when Dane’s voice boomed behind her.

  ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

  She ignored the shout and kept her attention on the pilot boat’s captain. ‘I’ll be in touch in approximately twenty minutes. And I’ll double your fee if you leave us now.’

  Dane didn’t want her on board, which meant he would have to listen to reason. It wasn’t much of a bargaining chip, but it was the only one she had.

  ‘Okay, ma’am.’ The pilot boat captain tipped his hat as his nervous gaze flicked to Dane and back. ‘If you say so.’

  The boat’s engine roared to life. The captain had peeled the nimble vessel away from the yacht, obviously keen to avoid unnecessary confrontation, and was headed towards the marina when Dane reached her.

  ‘Where is he going?’

  She turned to face him. ‘He’s returning to the harbour and will come to pick me up once I give him the signal.’

  Her rioting heartbeat slammed into her throat.

  He looked furious, his face rigid with temper.

  ‘Is this some kind of joke? Get off my boat.’

  ‘No.’ She locked her knees, forcing her chin up. ‘Not until you sign the divorce papers.’ She dumped the briefcase at his feet. ‘I have a new set in there to replace the ones which fell victim to your temper tantrum at the hotel.’

  His scowl darkened at the patronising comment, and the punch of adrenaline she’d felt after he’d stormed out on her returned full force. Bolstering her courage.

  That’s right, you don’t have the tiniest notion who you’re dealing with now.

  The slap of the sea against the hull and the cry of a nearby seabird pierced the silence as the seconds ticked by—seeming to morph into hours—and the rigid fury rippling through him threatened to ignite. With his tall, muscular body towering over her, and the dark stubble covering his rigid jaw he looked more disreputable than a pirate and a lot more volatile.

  She forced herself to resist flinching under the contemptuous appraisal as his gaze scoured her skin. Okay, maybe she’d underestimated the extent of his anger. But showing him any weakness would be the height of folly, because Dane would exploit it. The way he had exploited it once before. When she’d been young and naive and completely besotted with him.

  His T-shirt was moulded to the wall of pecs in the breeze, the pushed-up sleeves revealing his tattoo, which bulged as he crossed his arms over his broad chest and stared her down. The sweet spot between Xanthe’s thighs hummed, the unwanted arousal tangling with the punch of adrenaline to make anxiety scream under her breastbone like a crouching tiger waiting to pounce.

  ‘What makes you think I won’t haul you overboard?’

  The ice-blue of his eyes made her brutally aware that this was no idle threat.

  ‘Go ahead and try it.’ She braced herself, prepared for the worse, bunching her hands into fists by her side. After the last twenty-four hours spent chasing him across the Atlantic she wasn’t going to give up without a fight.

  And, if the worst came to the worst, she could survive the two-mile swim back to the marina...

  If she absolutely had to.

  * * *

  What the ever-loving—?

  Dane cut off the profanity in his head, desire already pooling in his groin like liquid nitrogen.

  To say he was shocked to see Xanthe was a
n understatement of epic proportions. Maybe not as stunned as when she’d shown up in Manhattan to inform him they were still married. But close.

  She was the only woman, apart from his mother, who had ever managed to hurt him. And while he knew she couldn’t hurt him any more, because he was wise to her, he hadn’t planned to test the theory. Especially on the vacation he had been looking forward to for months. Hell, years.

  This was supposed to be a chance for him to get some much needed R & R. To enjoy the simplicity of being out on the water with nothing to worry about but keeping his course steady and the wind in his sails.

  But as she stood in front of him, her lush hair dancing around her head in a mass of fire and those feline eyes glittering with defiance, he couldn’t deny the leap of adrenaline.

  When was the last time a woman had challenged him or excited him this much? Xanthe was the only one who had ever come close. But the girl he’d married was a shadow of the woman she was now.

  They’d always been sexually compatible. But that firecracker temper of hers was something he’d only ever seen small glimpses of ten years ago—on those rare occasions when she’d stood up to him.

  Unfolding his arms, he cracked the rigid line of his shoulders in a shrug and headed back towards the bow.

  Big deal—she had more guts than he’d expected. He’d see how far that got her once she discovered he wasn’t going to play ball.

  Ducking under the mainsail, he set about untying the line he’d secured to the anchor chain and then pressed the button to activate the yacht’s windlass.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  The high-pitched squeak of distress from over his shoulder told him she’d followed him.

  ‘Weighing anchor,’ he said, stating the obvious as he lifted the anchor the rest of the way into the boat, then marched back past her. ‘You’ve got two minutes to call your guy before we head for open water.’

  She scrambled after him. ‘I’m not getting off this boat until you agree to sign those papers.’

  He swung round and she bumped into his chest. She stumbled back to land on the bench seat of the cockpit, her cheeks flushed with a captivating mix of shock and awareness.