by Heidi Rice
‘My father called you a wharf rat because he was an unconscionable snob, Dane. It had nothing to do with you.’ That much at least she could tell him.
‘He loved you, Xan, and he wanted to protect you. There’s nothing wrong with that,’ he said with a weary resignation. ‘If I could have...’ His gaze strayed to her belly and the thin white scar left behind by the surgeon’s incision. ‘I would have protected our baby the same way.’
The admission cut through her, and emotions that were already far too close to the surface threatened to spill over.
God, how could she have accused him of not caring about their child when it was obvious now that he might have cared too much? Enough to blame himself for the things that her father—both their fathers—had done.
She bit down on the feelings threatening to choke her.
‘That’s where you’re wrong. He didn’t love me. He thought of me as his property.’
How come she had never acknowledged that until now? All those years she’d worked her backside off to please her father, to get his approval, never once questioning what he had ever done to deserve it.
‘I was an investment. The daughter who was going to marry a man of his choosing who would take over Carmichael’s when he was gone. My falling in love...having a child by a man he disapproved of and who refused to bow down to the mighty Charles Carmichael...they were the real reasons he hated you.’
Dane cupped her cheek, the cool touch making her heart ache even more.
‘I guess we both got a raw deal when the good Lord gave out daddies.’
She let out a half laugh, and the tears that had refused to fall for so long threatened to cascade over her lids.
She settled back into his arms, so he wouldn’t see them. ‘The baby was a little boy,’ she said, determined to concentrate on their past and not on their future, because they didn’t have one.
‘For real?’
She heard awe as well as sadness in his tone.
‘I thought you should know.’
Their baby, after all, was the only thing that had brought them together. Surely this chance to say goodbye to him properly would finally allow them to part.
‘I’m glad you told me,’ he murmured, his fingers linking with hers, his thumb rubbing over her wrist where her pulse hammered.
She hiccupped, her breath hurting again, the tears flowing freely down her cheeks now.
‘Hell, Red, don’t cry,’ he said, kissing the top of her head and gathering her close. ‘It’s all over now.’
She splayed her fingers over the solid mass of his pectoral muscles, feeling exhausted and hollowed out. Because she knew it wasn’t over. Not for her. And she was becoming increasingly terrified that it never had been.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
XANTHE WOKE THE following morning feeling tired and confused.
Dane had woken her twice in the night. The skill and urgency of his lovemaking had been impossible to resist. He’d caught her unawares, that clever thumb stroking her to climax while she was still drifting on dreams... She stretched, feeling the aches and pains caused by the energy of their lovemaking.
Last night’s revelations had been painful for them both, but getting that glimpse of the boy she’d once known and finally knowing more of what had haunted him felt important.
The boat swayed and she heard a bump. Glancing out of the window, she could see the masts of another boat. They had arrived at the marina on Paradise Island.
Getting out of bed, she slung on capri pants and one of Dane’s T-shirts and poured herself a cup of coffee from the pot Dane had already brewed. As she loaded it up with cream and sugar she tried to deal with all the confusing emotions spiralling through her system.
She was in trouble. Big trouble. That much was obvious. And it wasn’t just a result of last night’s confidences, the hot sex, or even the tumultuous day spent battling the elements together. This problem went right back to her decision a week ago to bring Dane those divorce papers in person.
Every single decision she’d made since had proved one thing. However smart and focused and rational and sensible she thought she’d become in the last ten years, and however determined never to let any man have control over her life, one man always had. And she’d been in denial about it.
But she wasn’t that fanciful girl any more—that girl who had loved too easily and without discrimination. She was a grown woman who knew the score. She had to bring that maturity to bear now.
She poured the dregs of her barely touched coffee down the sink.
Taking a deep but unsteady breath, she headed up on deck. Dane stood on the dock, tall and indomitable and relaxed, talking to a younger man in board shorts and a bill cap. Her heart jolted as it had so often in the past, but this time she didn’t try to deny the profound effect he had on her.
He’d shaved, revealing the delicious dent in his chin which she could remember licking last night.
She shook off the erotic thought.
Not helping.
Dane spotted her standing on the deck and broke off his conversation. His hot gaze skimmed down her body as he walked towards her.
‘Morning,’ he said.
‘Hi.’
She stood her ground as he climbed onto the boat, the heat in his eyes sending her senses reeling.
‘I should head home today,’ she said, as casually as she could, and held her breath, waiting for any flicker of acknowledgement that what had happened last night was a big deal. ‘I thought I’d check out the flights from Nassau.’
She silently cursed the way her heart clenched at his patient perusal.
‘Why don’t you stay for one more night?’ he said at last. ‘I’ve got a suite booked at the Paradise Resort before I head back to Manhattan tomorrow.’
She sank her hands into the back pockets of her capri pants to stop them trembling and control the sweet hit of adrenaline kicking under her breastbone. What was making her so giddy? It was hardly a declaration of undying love.
‘Why would you want to do that?’ she asked, determined to accept the casual invitation in the spirit it was offered.
He gave her a long look, and for a terrible moment she thought he could see what she was trying so hard to hide—the panic, the longing, and all those foolish dreams which had failed to die.
But then his lips lifted in a sensual smile and heat fired down to her core. ‘Because we’ve both been through hell in the last couple of days and I figure we’ve earned a reward.’
He touched a knuckle to her cheek, skimmed it down to touch the throbbing pulse in her neck. The snap and crackle of sexual awareness went haywire.
‘I could show you the town,’ he added. ‘Nassau’s a cool city.’
‘But I don’t have anything to wear,’ she said, still trying to weigh her options.
This wasn’t a big deal. After the enforced intimacy of the boat, the intensity of emotion brought on by the storm, not to mention the lack of sleep and the stresses and strains of what had happened so long ago still hanging between them, why shouldn’t he suggest one more night of fun? After all, they’d had precious little fun in their acquaintance. She had to take this at face value. Not read more into it than was actually there.
‘You’re not going to need much,’ he said, his smile loaded with sensual promise. ‘I was kidding about showing you around. We probably won’t get out of the suite.’
She laughed, the wicked look in his eyes going some way to relieve the tension. ‘What happens to The Sea Witch once you’ve gone back to Manhattan?’ She glanced back at the boat, feeling a little melancholy at the thought of leaving it.
He nodded towards the young man still standing on the dock. ‘Joe’s my delivery skipper—he’ll take it back to Boston.’
His hand cupped the back of her neck, sending sensation zinging all over her body.
‘Now, quit stalling—do we have a deal or don’t we?’
She swallowed heavily, her heart thudding against her throat
. She could say no. She probably should say no. But having his gaze searching her face, his expression tense as he waited for her answer... She knew she didn’t want to say no.
The man was intoxicating...like a dangerously addictive drug. She needed to be careful—conscious of all the emotions that had tripped her up in the past—but she was a stronger, wiser woman now, not a seventeen-year-old girl. And while she was riding the high had there ever been anything more exhilarating?
He tugged her into his arms, his lips inches from hers, the fire in his eyes incendiary. ‘Say yes, Red. You know you want to.’
‘Yes,’ she whispered.
His lips covered hers and she let the leap of arousal mask the idiotic burst of optimism telling her that this might be more than she’d hoped it could be.
* * *
‘Slow down, Dane. I’m stuffed. I don’t want to burst the seams on this dress.’
Xanthe tried to sound stern as Dane clasped her hand and led her past the quaint, brightly coloured storefronts of Nassau’s downtown area. The colonnades and verandas announced the island city’s colonial heritage, while SUVs vied for space on the tourist-choked streets with horse-drawn carriages.
After four days on the yacht, the four-course meal in the luxurious surroundings of a Michelin-starred restaurant had been sensational, but the truth was she’d barely managed to swallow a bite. The potent hunger in his eyes every time he looked at her had turned her insides to mush.
She’d been riding a wave of endorphins since their bargain on the boat—but was determined not to let his invitation get the better of her. Then something had shifted when he had appeared in their enormous suite at the resort on Paradise Island looking breathtakingly handsome in a dark evening suit and told her he was taking her out on a date.
After all the sex they’d shared the suggestion shouldn’t have seemed so sweet. So intimate. So overwhelming. But somehow it had.
‘And you bursting out of your dress is supposed to be a problem?’
His eyes dipped to the hem of the designer dress she’d picked from the array of garments he’d had sent up to their suite. The incendiary gaze seared the skin of her thighs, already warmed by the Caribbean night.
‘It is on a public street,’ she shot back, struggling to quell the erratic beat of her heart.
The evening had been a revelation in some ways—Dane had played the gentleman with remarkable ease—but it had been only more disturbing in others.
Because getting a glimpse into his life now, and seeing the level of luxury he could afford, had only made her more aware of how far he’d come. He’d always been tenacious and determined, but she couldn’t help her fierce wave of pride at the thought of how hard he’d worked to leave that boy behind and escape the miserable poverty of his childhood.
She shouldn’t have been surprised by the exclusiveness of the five-star resort hotel on Paradise Island, or by the lavish bungalow that looked out onto a private white sand beach and the sleek black power boat he’d piloted to take them into Nassau—especially after seeing the penthouse apartment Dane owned in Manhattan—but, like Nassau itself, which was a heady mix of old world elegance, new world commerce and Caribbean laissez-faire, Dane seemed like a complex contradiction.
His animal magnetism was not dimmed in the slightest by this new layer of wealth and sophistication. Even in an elegant tuxedo, the raw, rugged masculinity of the man still shone through. The tailored jacket stretched tight over wide shoulders now, as he led her back towards the dock where the speedboat was moored.
‘I’ve always thought clothes are overrated,’ he teased, helping her into the boat. ‘Especially on you.’
He shrugged off the jacket and dumped it in the back of the boat, then tugged off the tie, too, and stuffed it into the pocket of his suit trousers.
‘I don’t care how damn fancy that restaurant is,’ he said, and the vehemence in his tone was surprising. ‘Nothing’s worth getting trussed-up like a chicken for.’
‘You didn’t like the food?’ she asked.
‘The food was great—but it was way too stuffy in there.’
He smiled at her, and the glint of white against his swarthy skin was a potent reminder of the boy. Wicked and reckless and hungry—for so much.
But was he hungry for her? In anything other than the most basic way?
He switched on the engine and the boat roared to life, kicking at the soft swell as he directed the boat away from the dock and into the water.
She glanced back at the fading lights of Bay Street, the wind pulling tendrils of hair out of her chignon as Dane handled the powerful boat with ease. And tried not to let the question torture her.
She mustn’t get ahead of herself—read too much into this night.
She was concentrating so hard on getting everything into perspective that she didn’t register that they weren’t returning to the resort until the boat slowed as it approached a beach on the opposite side of the bay. A cluster of fairy lights and the bass beat of music covered by the lilting rumble of laughter and conversation announced a bar in the distance.
Dane released the throttle and let the boat drift into a small wooden dock lit by torches. Jumping out, he secured the line.
‘Where are we?’ she asked accepting his outstretched hand as he hauled her off the boat.
‘An old hang-out of mine,’ he said as she stepped onto the worn uneven boards.
He tugged her into his arms. Awareness sizzled through her system, but alongside it was the brutal tug of something more. Something that made her feel young and carefree and cherished—something she had been certain she would never feel again.
‘I’m taking you dancing,’ he said.
‘You...? Really...?’ Her breath choked off in her throat, and the panicked leap of her heart was almost as scary as the thundering beat of her pulse.
Was this another coincidence? Like the name of the boat? Surely it had to be.
But the wonder of the only other time they’d been dancing echoed in her heart regardless. The dark shapes of the cars in the car park...the strains of a country and Western band coming from the bar where they’d been refused entry when they’d spotted Dane’s fake ID... Dane’s strong arms directing her movements as he’d shown her the intricate steps and counter-steps of a Texas line dance and they’d laughed together every time she stepped on his toes.
And the giddy rush of adoration as they eventually settled into a slow dance on the cracked asphalt.
She’d been so hopelessly in love with him then.
She tried to thrust the memory aside as he led her down the dock, and ignored the swoop of her heart as he swung her into his arms to cross the sand.
She let out a laugh, though, desperate to live in the moment. Was this fate, testing her resolve?
Surely it was just the Caribbean evening, the promise of dancing the night away with such a forceful, stimulating man again and all the hot sex that lay in their immediate future that was making her as giddy as a teenager.
Dane’s thoughts and feelings were still an enigma. And her thoughts and feelings had matured. She mustn’t invest too much until she knew more.
She clung on to her resolve as he held her close in the moonlight, igniting her senses as they bumped and ground together to the sound of the vintage reggae band.
But as he guided the boat back towards Paradise Island her heart battered her ribcage, and excitement burst inside her like a firework when he murmured, ‘I hope that made up for our wedding night.’
So he had remembered that treasured memory of dancing in the parking lot, too.
As they entered the suite he banded an arm round her waist and hauled her into his body.
‘That’s got to be the longest evening of my life.’
Breathing in the scent of salt and cedarwood soap which clung to him like a potent aphrodisiac, she spread her hands over his six-pack, felt his abs tense as arousal slammed into her system. The way it always did.
Everything s
eemed so right this time, so perfect.
‘I know,’ she said.
His nose touched hers. ‘I want to be inside you.’
The heat in his gaze burned away the last of her fears as her fingertips brushed the thick arousal already tenting the fabric of his trousers.
‘I know.’
Gripping her fingers, he headed towards the bedroom, hauling her behind him.
And she let her heart soar.
* * *
Dane didn’t question the frantic need driving him to claim her, possess her. Because he couldn’t. Not any more.
The sight of her in the designer dress, its sleek material sliding over slender curves, watching the sultry knowledge in her mermaid’s eyes, had been driving him wild all evening. And the last vestiges of the civilised, sensible guy he’d become had been blown to smithereens—the way they had been every day, one crucial piece at a time, ever since she’d marched into his office a week ago.
This hunger wasn’t just lust. He knew that—had known it for days, if he was honest with himself. And for that reason he should just let her go. But he couldn’t.
Because she was his—any way he could get her. And the desire to mark her as his, keep her near him, had become overwhelming.
He’d insisted on taking her out to dinner, then tortured them both with a slow dance at the Soca Shack to prove that he could hold it together. That this didn’t have to mean more than it should. But he’d felt as if he were holding a moonbeam in his arms as she moved against him—so bright, so beautiful, and still so far out of reach—and it had finally tipped him right over the edge of sanity.
He slammed open the first door he came to—the bathroom suite. Swinging her round, he pressed her up against the tiles, filled his hands with those lush breasts. He sucked her through the shimmering silk of her gown, groaning against the damp fabric when he found her braless.
She bucked against him, her response instant and oh-so-gratifying when he tugged the straps off her shoulders, freeing her full breasts.
He kicked off his shoes and pushed down his pants, his gaze fixed on the ripe peaks of her breasts, reddened from his mouth.
