by Heidi Rice
Gosh, she’d missed this. Despite having the fellow traveller from hell on board, maybe this trip wouldn’t be a complete nightmare. But as she reached to swing herself up onto the main deck, a bulky life jacket smacked onto the floor of the cockpit in front of her.
‘No sunbathing, princess, until you put that on and clip yourself to the safety line.’
She swung round. ‘I’m not going to fall off. I’m not an amateur.’
‘How long since you’ve been on a boat?’
‘Not that long,’ she lied.
She didn’t want him to know she hadn’t been sailing since they’d parted. He might think her enforced abstinence had something to do with him.
‘Uh-huh? How long is “not that long”? Less than ten years?’
She sent him her best death stare. But the hotspots on her cheeks were a dead giveaway.
‘Yeah, I thought so,’ he said, doing his infuriating mind reading thing again. ‘Now, put on the PFD or get below.’
‘No. There’s barely a ripple on the water. I don’t need to wear one.’ He was just doing this out of some warped desire to show her who was boss. ‘If it gets at all choppy I’ll put it on straight away,’ she added. ‘I’m not an idiot. I have no desire to end up floating around in the middle of the Atlantic.’
Especially as she wasn’t convinced he’d bother to pick her up. But she refused to be bullied into doing something completely unnecessary just so he could feel superior.
Instead of answering her, he clicked a few switches on the wheel’s autopilot and headed towards her.
She pressed against the hatch to avoid coming into contact with that immovable chest again as he reached past her for the jacket. She got a lungful of his scent. The clean smell was now tinged with the fresh hint of sea air.
Hooking the jacket with his index finger, he dangled it in front of her face.
‘Put it on. Now.’
Her jaw tightened. ‘No, I will not. You’re not wearing one.’
‘This isn’t a negotiation. Do as you’re told.’
Temper swept through her at his dictatorial tone.
‘Stop behaving like a caveman.’ She planted her feet, all her good intentions to rise above his goading flying off into the wild blue Caribbean yonder.
Once upon a time she would have been only too willing to do anything he said, because his certainty, his dominance had been so seductive. Not any more.
The backs of her knees bumped against the seat of the cockpit as he loomed over her. Traitorous heat blossomed between her legs as she got another lungful of his exquisite scent. Fresh and salty and far too enticing.
‘The hard way it is, then,’ he announced, flinging the jacket down.
Realising his intention, she tried to dodge round him—but he simply ducked down and hiked her over his shoulder.
She yelped. Dangling upside down, eyeballing tight male buns in form-fitting shorts, as she rode his shoulder blade.
Finally getting over her shock enough to fight back, she punched his broad back with her fists as he ducked under the boom and hefted her towards the hatch.
‘Put me down this instant!’
He banded an arm across her legs to stop her kicking. ‘Keep it up, princess, and I’m tossing you overboard.’
She stopped struggling, not entirely sure he wouldn’t carry out his threat, and deeply disturbed by the shocking reaction to his easy strength and the delicious scent of soap and man and sea.
Damn him and his intoxicating pheromones.
He swung her round to take the steps. ‘Mind your head.’
When he finally dumped her in the salon she scrambled back, her cheeks aflame with outrage.
The tight smile did nothing to disguise the muscle jumping in his jaw and the flush of colour hitting tanned cheeks. She wasn’t the only one far too affected by their wrestling match.
‘Are you completely finished treating me like a two-year-old?’
She absorbed the spike of adrenaline when his nostrils flared.
‘You don’t want to be treated like a toddler?’ His voice rose to match hers. ‘Then don’t act like one. You want to go on deck, you wear the jacket.’
‘Being stronger and bigger than me does not make you right,’ she said, her voice gratifyingly steely...or steely enough, despite the riot of sensations running through her. ‘Until you give me a valid reason I’m not wearing it. You’ll just have to keep carrying me down here.’ Even if having his hands on her again was going to increase the torment. ‘Let’s see how long it takes for that to get really old.’
She stood her ground, refusing to be cowed. This stand-off was symptomatic of everything that had been wrong with their relationship the first time around. She’d given in too easily to every demand, had never stuck up for herself. Never made him explain himself about anything—which was exactly how they’d ended up being so easily separated by her father’s lies and half-truths.
Dane had threatened her company and refused to listen to reason, all to teach her a lesson about honesty and integrity—well, she had a few lessons to teach him. About respect and self-determination and the fine art of communication.
She wasn’t a doormat any more. She was his equal.
‘If you want me to wear it, you’re going to have to explain to me why I need to when you don’t. And then I’ll decide if I’m going to put it on.’
He cursed under his breath and ran his hand over his hair, frustration emanating from him.
Just as she was about to congratulate herself for calling him on his Neanderthal behaviour, he replied.
‘We’re sailing against the prevailing winds, which means the swell can be unpredictable. I know when to brace because I can see what’s coming. Without a jacket on you could go under before I could get to you.’
‘But...that’s...’ She opened her mouth, then closed it again. ‘Why didn’t you just say that to start with?’ she finally managed, past the obstruction in her throat.
He looked away, that muscle still working overtime in his jaw.
And the melting sensation in her chest, the sharp stab of vulnerability, gave way to temper and dismay. Why had it always been so hard for him to give her even the smallest sign that he cared? It was a question that had haunted her throughout their relationship ten years ago. It was upsetting to realise it haunted her still.
‘You know why.’
His eyes met hers, the hot gaze dipping to brand the glimpse of cleavage above the scooped neck of her T-shirt. Heat rushed through her torso, darting down to make her sex ache.
He cupped her cheek, his thumb skimming over her bottom lip, the light in his eyes now feral and hungry. ‘Because when I’m with you not a lot of thinking goes on.’
‘Don’t...’ She jerked away from his touch, desperate to dispel the sensual fog. But it was too late. His compelling scent was engulfing her, saturating her senses and sending pheromones firing through her bloodstream.
Her breathing became ragged, her chest painfully tight, as arousal surged through her system.
‘Quit pretending you don’t want it, too,’ he said as he watched her, the lust-blown pupils darkening the bright blue of his irises to black.
‘I...I don’t.’ She cleared her throat, disgusted when her voice broke on the lie. ‘We’re not doing this again. That’s not why I’m here.’
If they made love she was scared it would mean more than it should. To her, at least. And she couldn’t risk that.
‘Then stay out of my way,’ he said. ‘Or I’m going to test that theory.’
He walked away, heading back on deck.
‘I’m not staying below decks for three days!’ she shouted after him, gathering the courage that had been in such short supply ten years ago.
So what if she still wanted him? She couldn’t let him control the terms of this negotiation. If she didn’t speak out now she’d be no better than the girl she’d been then, ready to accept the meagre scraps he’d been willing to throw her way.
‘I came here to save my company,’ she added as he mounted the steps, still ignoring her. ‘If you think I’m going to sit meekly by while you attempt to steal fifty-five per cent of it, you can forget it.’
His head jerked round, the scowl on his face going from annoyed to furious in a heartbeat, but underneath it she could see the shadow of hurt.
‘I didn’t want a cent from your old man when I was dead broke. Why the hell would I want a part of his company now?’ he said as he headed back towards her.
She’d struck a nerve—a nerve she hadn’t even realised was still there.
‘Then why did you threaten to sue for a share of it?’ she fired back, determined not to care about his hurt pride.
She had nothing to feel ashamed of. She wasn’t the one who had stormed out of their hotel room claiming he was going to sue her just for the hell of it.
‘I never said I was going to sue for anything,’ he added. ‘You made that assumption all on your own.’
‘You mean...’ Her mouth dropped open. Was he saying she’d come all this way and got stuck on a yacht with him for no reason? ‘You mean you’re not planning to take legal action?’
‘What do you think?’
The concession should have been a relief, but it wasn’t, the prickle of shame becoming a definite yank. She’d always known how touchy he was about her father’s money, but how could she have forgotten exactly how important it had always been to him never to take anything he hadn’t earned?
‘Then why wouldn’t you sign the divorce papers?’ she asked, trying to stay focused and absolve her guilt.
How could she have known that his insecurities about money ran so deep when he’d never once confided in her about where they came from? If he’d simply signed the papers in Manhattan, instead of going ballistic, she never would have made the assumption that he intended to sue for the shares in the first place.
‘And why won’t you sign them now?’
‘Your phoney divorce papers, you mean?’
‘They’re not phoney. They’re just a guarantee that—’
‘Forget it.’
He cut off her explanation, the scowl on his face disappearing to be replaced with something else—something that made no sense. He didn’t care about her, he never really had, so what was there to regret?
‘I’m not signing any papers that state I can’t claim those shares if I want to.’
‘But that’s just being contrary. Why wouldn’t you sign them if you don’t want the shares?’ she blurted out.
‘I don’t know,’ he said, his tone mocking and thick with resentment. ‘Why don’t you try figuring it out?’
She didn’t have to figure it out, though. Because it suddenly all became painfully obvious.
He expected her to trust him. In a way he’d never trusted her.
The searing irony made her want to shout her frustration at him, but she bit her lip to stop the brutal accusation coming out of her mouth.
Because it would make her sound pathetic. And it might lead to her having to ask herself again the heartbreaking question that had once nearly destroyed her.
Why had he never been able to believe her when she’d told him she loved him?
She refused to butt her head against that brick wall again—the brick wall he had always kept around his emotions—especially as it was far too late to matter now.
But then he touched her hair, letting a single tendril curl round his forefinger. The gentleness of the gesture made her heart contract in her chest, and the combination of pain and longing horrified her.
He gave a tug, making the punch of her pulse accelerate. And the yearning to have his mouth on hers became almost more than she could bear.
‘Dane, stop,’ she said, but the demand sounded like a plea.
She placed her palms on his waist, brutally torn as she absorbed the ripple of sensation when his abdominal muscles tensed under her hands.
‘Don’t push me, Red,’ he murmured, his lips so close she could almost taste them. ‘Or I’m gonna make you prove exactly how much you don’t want me.’
For tantalising seconds she stood with desire and longing threatening to tear her apart. She should push him away. Why couldn’t she?
But then he took the choice away from her.
Cursing softly, he let her go.
She watched him leave, feeling dazed and shaky. She’d fallen under Dane’s sensual spell once before and it had come close to destroying her...because he’d always refused to let her in.
But until this moment she’d had no idea exactly how much danger she was in of falling under it again. Or that all those tangled needs and desires to understand him, to know the reasons why he couldn’t love her or trust her, had never truly died.
* * *
Dane yanked the sail line harder than was strictly necessary and tied it off, his heart pumping hard enough to blow a gasket.
He reprogrammed the autopilot. The maritime weather report had said they were in for a quiet day of smooth sailing.
Smooth sailing, my butt.
Not likely with Xanthe on board.
He’d wanted to bring the princess down a peg or two when she’d shown up on deck looking slim and beautiful and superior. He sure as hell wasn’t going to let her sunbathe in front of him while he took the wheel like a lackey. Or that’s how it had started. But the truth was he’d wanted her to wear the PFD, had decided to insist upon it, because he’d been unable to control the dumb urge to make sure she was safe.
And as soon as he’d had her in his arms again, yelling and punching as he carted her below deck, the desire to have her again had all but overwhelmed him too... Then he’d lost it entirely when she’d made that crack about him wanting a piece of her precious company.
He hated that feeling—hated knowing she could still get to him. Knowing that there was something about Xanthe that could slip under his guard and make him care about her opinion when it shouldn’t matter to him any more.
Resentment sat like a lead weight in his stomach.
From now on there was going to be no more sparring and no more conversations about their past. He wasn’t going to get hung up on why she hadn’t been sailing for ten years, even though she’d once been addicted to the rush. Or waste one more iota of his time getting mad about the fact she didn’t trust him.
Their marriage was over—had been over for a long time—and it wasn’t as if he wanted to resurrect it.
Arousal pulsed in his crotch, adding to his aggravation.
He usually averaged five hours’ sleep a night when he was sailing solo, despite the need to wake up every twenty minutes and check the watch. Last night he hadn’t managed more than two. Because he’d spent hours watching the stars wink in the darkness, thinking about all the stuff that might have been, while waiting for the night air to cool the heat powering through his body.
The only connection between them now was sexual, pure and simple—an animal attraction that had never died. Complicating that by sifting through all the baggage that had gone before would be a mistake.
So keeping Xanthe at arm’s length for a little while made sense—until he knew for sure that he could control all those wayward emotions she seemed able to provoke without even trying.
He doubted they’d be able to keep their hands off each other for the three days they had left together on the boat—but he could handle the heat until she got one thing straight.
Sex was the only thing he had to offer.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
‘DANE, IS EVERYTHING OKAY?’ Xanthe yelled above the whistling wind as she clambered on deck and clipped her safety harness to an anchor point.
The yacht mounted another five-foot wave as water washed over the bow and the rain lashed her face.
Their argument over the life jacket yesterday seemed like a distant memory now.
‘Get below, damn it, and stay there!’ he shouted back, wrestling with the wheel to avoid a breaking wave—which brought
with it the danger of capsizing.
The squall had hit with less than an hour’s warning that morning. Dane had woken her up from a fitful sleep to issue some curt instructions about how to prepare the belowdecks, given her a quick drill on the emergency procedures if they had to use the life raft, insisted she take some seasickness pills and then ordered her to stay below.
After yesterday’s argument and the evening that had followed—with the tension between them stretching tight as they both avoided each other as best they could—the rough weather and their clearly defined roles this morning had actually come as a relief.
So she’d obeyed his terse commands without question, even while smarting at his obvious determination not to give her anything remotely strenuous to do. When it came to skippering the boat, he was in charge. It would be foolish to dispute that, or distract him, when all his attention needed to be on keeping them afloat.
Correcting his ‘princess’ assumptions could wait until they got through this.
But as the hours had rolled by and the storm had got progressively worse she’d become increasingly concerned and frustrated by his dogged refusal to let her help. Thunder and lightning had been added to the hazards aboard as the squall had moved from a force-four to something closer to a force-eight by the afternoon, but through it all Dane had continued to insist she stay below.
Rather than have a full-blown argument, which would only make things more treacherous with the visibility at almost zero, she’d kept busy manning the bilge pump, rigging safety lines in the cabin and locking down the chart table when the contents had threatened to spill out. All the while trying to stay calm and focused and zone out the heaving noise outside.
They’d come through the worst of it an hour ago. The torrential rain was still flattening the seas, but the winds were dying down at least a little bit. But two seconds ago she’d heard a solid crash and she’d rushed up on deck, no longer prepared to follow orders.
