“Ahh, that’s a secret,” Andrew had chuckled, grinning.
“Pelican,” Jack had tried out the nickname. “I like it.”
“Only my father calls me that,” Ali’s voice had floated to him from the bow, serious and final. “No one else.”
Jack stared at the necklace hanging from his fingers, his throat thick. The little gold pelican pendant spun slowly on the end of the chain, taunting him, a personal gift with intimate significance. What had once been an exclusive secret between father and daughter now seemed to be shared by another.
“Damn it.” He ground his teeth, all too aware of the cold hurt eating into his stomach. Icy rage threatened to engulf him, threatened to render his limbs useless. He wanted to wake Ali up, wanted to know why she had lied to him, but there was no point.
He knew why.
He’d taken
Wind Seeker
from her, the very thing she’d sacrificed her future to keep, the only thing that kept her connected to her dead father. Now, after her trip she not only had the means to take it back, she had the connection to keep it.
Peterson.
Because of Ali’s damn bet, because of the bloody race around the harbor that he’d
deliberately
thrown what felt like a lifetime ago, the paperwork giving him possession of her yacht and With the Wind Charters had been filed by Ali’s bank but not processed. The moment Ali skipped away from him after the race, a triumphant grin on her face, he’d called the bank manager and told him to keep the paperwork on hold until further notice. Now, with Peterson’s money, Ali could pay out the loan completely.
Wind Seeker
and With the Wind Charters would be hers once again. All financial ties with him, Jack, would be completely severed.
His blood roaring in his ears, he returned the necklace to its velvet-lined box and replaced the lid. Did Ali really think he wouldn’t discover what was going on?
So why had she slept with him?
Jack removed his glasses and scrubbed at his face. Either Ali was a brilliant, enthusiastic actress and everything they’d just shared was all an act—
No. I won’t believe that
—or she hadn’t expected him to follow her, and she’d done whatever she’d had to do on the way here to secure her business.
His stomach lurched and he grabbed the helm, for a horrible second sure he was going to throw up. He stared out at the marina, a detached part of his mind noting four of his own designs docked around him. Four yachts that spoke of his success. And yet it all seemed empty now. Now that Ali…
He swallowed and turned back to
Wind Seeker
. He didn’t know what was going on and he didn’t like that one little bit, but whatever the answer was, he was certain of two things. Ali hadn’t been truthful with him, and he now had
another
reason to destroy Zane Peterson.
Ali rolled over and opened her eyes. She blinked up at stateroom’s ceiling, the soft light streaming in through the portside window telling her she’d been asleep for at least an hour. A smile pulled at her lips and she let a thoroughly contented sigh escape her. A funny but entirely pleasurable sensation wiggled in her tummy, deep and low. She let her head drop to the side, wanting to see if Jack was also smiling.
The bed was empty.
A small frown creased her forehead for a moment as she wondered where he was. What she’d really wanted to do was smooth her hands over his chest and pull herself against his body, nibble on his ear a little and then kiss him senseless.
“Damn,” she whispered, a grin wrestling with her frown. She’d just have to go find him. If she were really lucky, he was waiting for her in the cockpit with a bottle of champagne and some cheese—not exactly the most nutritionally sound breakfast, but one quite suitable in light of the last few hours. She felt like celebrating. Her grin spread wider. She jumped out of bed, pulled the sheet from the floor and wrapped it around her body as she walked from the stateroom.
Reaching the companionway, Ali heard someone moving around on the deck. “Jack?” she called, tightening her grip on the makeshift toga as she stepped up into the cockpit. Footsteps thudded onto the jetty beside
Wind Seeker
, the yacht moving slightly under the force of someone leaping from the boat. “Jack?”
Squinting against the morning light, Ali peered over the deck, her smile returning at the sight of Jack standing on the jetty.
His torso was bare, bronzed skin slicked with the faintest sheen of perspiration. It emphasized the smooth strength of his body, and a little coiling sensation squirmed into eager life in the pit of Ali’s belly. Damn, he was perfect. She sighed again. Had she ever felt so wonderfully content?
But then she realized what he was doing and her emerging smile froze. “Jack, what are you doing?” she asked, watching him remove the main rope tethering
Wind Seeker
to its mooring. “I can’t go yet.”
Jack shot her a look over his shoulder and Ali shrank away from the icy contempt in his eyes. She frowned. “What’s wrong? What’s the problem?”
“We’re pulling out,” he stated, his voice utterly devoid of expression as he continued to remove the rope from its moorings. “Get some clothes on.”
“Excuse me? What’s going on?”
But Jack had turned his back on her, his shoulder muscles bunching as he coiled the rope around his arm.
“Jack?”
“There’s a package for you on the bench in the galley.” He didn’t turn to look at her. “And a message.”
A chill seeped into her bones. What was going on? What message?
“Jack?” She tried once more. “Are you okay?”
He didn’t answer.
Unsure what to do, she gave his back one last look and then stepped back down below. She was almost in the galley when she saw a small gold box sitting beside a folded piece of paper and her heart tried to leap up her throat.
Oh no.
There was only one person who’d send her a parcel in the Solomon Islands, especially one in such an ostentatious box. Only one person. She didn’t need to read the note to know who. “Peterson, you bastard. What have you done?”
She should have known the man wouldn’t just lie down and accept her rejection, not with the way he’d looked at her.
If he also knew Jack had arrived… She didn’t doubt Peterson would gain great pleasure in causing Jack pain.
A heavy, oppressive sensation settled in her stomach, suffocating and numbing at the same time. She didn’t have to be a genius to know Jack had read the note, or to guess at the innuendo contained in its words.
Lord, can things get anymore surreal?
Something snapped inside her. Something wounded and tormented. She was sick of it all. Sick of the suspicions, the mistrust, sick of the way fate tossed her about like she was some old chew-toy for a dog.
She snatched up the note and read it, each and every word, anger giving way to stunned, sickened disbelief. Ignoring the gold box, she spun on her heel and stormed up to the cockpit, her grip on the bed sheet tighter than ever as she fought with her fury. She glared at Jack across the cockpit, Peterson’s note a crumbled sheet in her fist. “Do you really think I’d have made love to you if I was sleeping with Peterson?”
Jack looked at her, his face an expressionless mask. “I told you to get dressed.”
“And
I
told you Peterson meant nothing to me. But you obviously didn’t listen
then
, so now we’re even.”
Jack’s eyes narrowed and he stopped coiling the rope. “Well, you obviously mean something to
him
.”
“I don’t give a rat’s ass what I mean to him,” Ali snarled. “It’s what I mean to
you
that matters. Although with the total and utter lack of trust you’ve shown me I’m beginning to wonder why.”
“Why should I trust you, Ali?” Jack dropped the rope, stepping forward until he was but a meter from her on the edge of the jetty. “You haven’t told me what happened on the trip here. If nothing’s going on between you and Peterson, why the hell do you have a love bite on the side of your neck?”
Ali’s hand flew to the offending bruise and a horrible sense of fatality threatened to engulf her. Oh Lord, why hadn’t she told Jack what happened? How was she to expect him to believe her now?
“You know what, Ali?” A chilling, emotionless tone filled Jack’s voice again. “I don’t want to know. Because I’ve got eleven days to get you out of my system. Eleven days to use you like you used me. When we get back to Sydney, Peterson can have you. I’ll have had my fill by then.”
A searing pain slashed across Ali’s chest, Jack’s cruel words cutting her like no physical wound ever could. She stared at him, her eyes wide, her breath caught painfully in her throat.
Jack studied her, his face completely unreadable. “I tell you what, Ali. I’ve changed my mind. Don’t get dressed. Just wait for me on the bed. I’ll be there in a while.”
She stared back, only moving when she felt the hot sting of tears like acid in her eyes. She’d be damned if she was going to let him see her cry. Be damned if she was going to let him see how much he’d hurt her. Flinging herself from the cockpit, she stormed across the cabin into the stateroom, snatched a pair of shorts and tank top from a storage compartment and yanked them on. She grabbed her bag and Peterson’s gift, stalked back up into the cockpit and climbed over
Wind Seeker’s
rails onto the jetty, completely ignoring Jack fixing the mooring line to the jetty as she made her way towards the clubhouse.
“Where the hell are you going?” he snarled, catching up with her and grabbing one of her arms.
Ali spun to face him, cocking her head to the side as she jutted out her hip. “Gee, I don’t know. To find another man? God knows, I couldn’t possibly be satisfied with two.”
Jack’s nostrils flared. “Stop being childish.”
“Don’t accuse me of being childish, Jackson McKenzie.” Ali snatched her arm out of his grip. “Take a good hard look at yourself before you start making
that
kind of accusation.”
“Get back in the yacht. This is not the time.”
“When is the time? After we’ve just had sex? After you once more accuse me of whoring myself to Peterson? It’s interesting that you accuse
me
of keeping secrets, yet you tell me nothing of this
unfinished business
between you and the man.” Ali glared at him, gratified to see him flinch. Her head was roaring like the inside of a jet engine and her whole body felt like it was about to explode. She had never been so angry. Or hurt.
“I’ll tell you where I’m going. I’m going up to the hotel where Peterson is staying. I’m going to go to his room, ram his gift down his throat and then drag his fat, flabby ass down here so he can tell you that I haven’t slept with him. And then, just to add to the joy of the day, I’ll let him tell you how he attacked me on
Wind Seeker
. How’s that sound? How he bit me on the neck so hard I almost blacked out. How he tried to rape me against my own yacht’s helm—sorry,
your
yacht’s helm. And then you and I can return to Sydney.”
Jack stared at her, his whole body still. “Ali—”
“See that knife in the galley?” Ali pointed toward
Wind Seeker’s
cabin, refusing to let Jack interrupt. “That’s what I would have used on Peterson if he’d tried to touch me again. It’s amazing how far a girl can be pushed before she can’t take it anymore. Oh, and, Jack?” She lowered her voice, leaning towards him as though to share a secret. “A little fact you should know…you’ll
never
have your fill of me, regardless of how long the return trip takes. Because you’ll
never
touch me again. Ever.”
Jack stood frozen. He watched Ali go, the churning sensation in his stomach growing with each step she took away from him as the words she’d uttered sank into his stunned mind.
Peterson had tried to rape her?
Murderous rage engulfed him. Cold and absolute.
Jack was going to kill him.
He leapt off
Wind Seeker
and ran after Ali. But in the time it had taken his stupor to vanish, she was gone, lost to the crowded marina and the tourists swelling around the waterside.
It didn’t matter. Not at the moment. He knew where she was going.
Increasing his pace, he ran for Peterson’s hotel. The bastard’s money wasn’t going to save him this time. Nor his contacts. This time Jack was going to do what he should have done the day Trudi’s body had been found on Peterson’s boat. He was going rip the bastard’s throat out.
Five minutes later, Jack stood at the reception desk, his breath shallow, his knuckles white, staring hard at the man behind the counter who’d the audacity to say the words, “Mr. Peterson is no longer staying with us”.
Jack’s rage roared in his head, through his body. He clenched his jaw. “When did he check out?”
The man shifted on his feet, a nervous expression flickering over his face. “Last night, sir. He left a message to tell anyone who asked for him that he was flying back to Sydney.”
Numb pressure squeezed Jack’s chest and he drove his nails into his palms. Goddamn it, Peterson had escaped him again.
Turning from the reception desk, he stared at the opulent foyer. Christ, Peterson had attacked Ali when she was at her most defenseless—on blue water, with no one there to help. And she’d been on blue water with Peterson because of Jack. Because he hadn’t listened to her. Hadn’t trusted her.