Crossing her arms, she shook her head. “No.”
He gave her a lop-sided grin. “I promise I won’t mention the size of my shower. Well, no more than twice.”
Ali laughed. Genuinely laughed. The easy sound took her by surprise and she blinked. Who would have thought Jack McKenzie could make her laugh?
But he had, and it felt good. Like she’d suddenly stepped out of the shadows and into the sun. Her life was so devoid of humor at the moment, so grey and gloomy she hadn’t realized just how desperately miserable she was until that very instant. The moment he made her laugh.
Chewing on her lip one more time, she gave him a long, level look. “No mention of your shower and I’ll come.”
“Deal.” Snapping to his feet, Jack crossed the room to stand before her, his eyes suddenly dancing with mischief. “But just out of interest, have I told you how big my bath tub is?”
Driving through the busy Sydney inner-city streets, Jack allowed himself a quick glance at the woman sitting beside him. Was this still part of his desire for revenge on Peterson? Taking Ali out for dinner?
Raking his eyes over her supple sun-kissed limbs, the soft perfection of her curves so enticingly revealed by a sleeveless black dress, he knew it wasn’t. He was taking her out to dinner because he wanted to spend time with her. End of story.
So far the journey to the restaurant had been silent. A sizzling tension filled the air that Jack knew had nothing to do with charter businesses and yachts. He wanted her. Plain and simple. Wanted her more than life itself. His desire—born so long ago and realized that night aboard
Wind Seeker
—had burst into ravenous life again. Consuming him like a flame. Burning for more.
A sudden snugness in his tailored trousers caused Jack to scowl. Christ, he was so hard it was painful. He needed to get the evening back on track. He wanted to see Ali smile and relax. He couldn’t do that with carnal thoughts and scorching memories in his head. Or a raging erection the size of a yardarm in his pants. “How’s Jenny?” he asked, determined to deflect some of the tension strangling him. He risked another glance at her and for a heavy moment he completely lost focus on the road.
She was looking at him. Studying him with an intensity he hadn’t expected, a longing he couldn’t miss.
“I think the restaurant’s back there.” She pointed over her shoulder, a faint smile playing on her lips.
Jack shot a look in his mirrors. Damn it.
With a scowl and muttered curse, he flung the Ferrari into a sharp U-turn, Ali’s soft chuckles tickling his ears. There she goes again, Jack. Completely throwing you off-kilter.
The restaurant was quite busy by the time they’d entered, Ali’s lips still twitching with laughter at his expense. The desire to lean down and taste her happiness, even if it was at his foolishness was so strong he almost succumbed. His hand sat on the delicate dip of her back, lingering just above the curve of her bottom, her heat seeping into his palm is such a delicious way he could almost feel his blood sing.
Their eyes connected, her stare holding his and he dropped his head…just as the maître d’ arrived.
He bit back another curse. He had to get his act together. Tonight wasn’t about him. It was about Ali. About showing her he wasn’t the complete bastard she thought he was. Mauling her, kissing her every chance he got wasn’t going to do that.
They were waiting for their drinks to arrive before Jack realized she hadn’t answered his earlier question about her mother. “How is Jenny?” he asked again, enjoying the way she looked in the muted glow cast by the restaurant’s soft lighting. She was gorgeous. Stunning. Her eyes were intense pools of blue, the flame from the table’s candle dancing in their depths.
The slightest of pauses followed his query. “Fine,” she answered, before smiling up at the waiter arriving with their drinks. “How was Florida?”
He studied her over the rim of his glass. She was changing the subject. Turps had mentioned Jenny never came to the marina anymore, not since Andrew’s death, and speculated whether Ali and her mom no longer spoke. Was he right? They had been so close. How could it happen?
He suppressed a bitter sigh, just as their waiter returned to take their order. “I remember you liking seafood,” he said when Ali ordered a simple green salad.
A dry smile moved her lips. “I love it. My bank account doesn’t.”
“It’s my treat.”
Ali’s shoulders tensed, chin tilting slightly as she regarded him with unreadable eyes. “Thank you, but I think I already owe you enough.”
A brittle silence stretched between them, broken only by the arrival of Jack’s entrée and a tall glass of ice water for Ali.
“How did your studies go?” he finally asked, needing to get the evening back to plan. She’d been halfway into her second year of a Bachelor of Design degree at Sydney University when Andrew died, well on her way to becoming an industrial designer of incredible talent. Surely he couldn’t get himself into trouble asking about her degree?
Ali looked back at him, her brilliant blue eyes steady. “I withdrew. After Dad’s death it was impossible for me to study and run a charter business at the same time, and I just couldn’t afford the tuition fees.”
Jack groaned under his breath. So much for a trouble-free topic. “Ali, I’m sorry.”
She gave him a small shrug. “How could you have known? It’s not like we’ve spoken since Dad’s funeral.” She turned her head, studying the fluid movements of the waiters as they moved from table to table, offering pepper and removing used plates and cutlery. Jack ran his hands through his hair, a scowl pulling at his eyebrows.
This isn’t going well.
Ali’s soft laugh came from across the table and her lips curled into a gentle smile. “You know,” she turned back to him, “with the string of famous women you’ve dated, I always thought you’d be better at this.”
“Better at what?”
“This whole seduction thing.”
A sudden bolt of tight pleasure shot through Jack, straight into the pit of his stomach. “Is that what you want me to do? Seduce you?”
Her smile widened. “No. But isn’t that what you planned?”
Their meals arrived, saving Jack from fumbling through an answer. But the damage was done. Scenario after delicious scenario whipped through his head, each finishing with Ali crushed against his body, their limbs entwined, their skin slicked with perspiration.
“Seriously,” Ali interrupted the wild fantasies in his mind, “how was Florida?”
“Good,” he answered, glad for the diversion. His trousers were getting snug again and the room started to feel hot. Too hot. “There is a very large market for maxi yachts in the U.S.”
“What was your clientele like?”
“Mostly businessmen with more money than good sense, wanting to out-do their rivals.” Jack grinned. “A he-who-dies-with-the-most-toys-wins sort of thing. The irony is most of the buyers will never have the time to enjoy my work. The yacht will sit in a pen somewhere, lucky to be taken out for a motor every month or so.”
“Doesn’t that make you angry?” Ali herself looked quite irritated about the situation.
“It did for a while,” he admitted. “But every now and again I’d get a serious sailor commission a boat, someone who knew the difference between a gaff and a gudgeon, and I’d know that yacht at least would sail around the world. That it would fight it out in the Gerlache Strait or glide around the Greek Isles. My last job was for an oil tycoon wanting to beat the ‘round-the-world-solo record’.”
There was a brief pause as Ali moved her salad around with her fork. “Are you going back?”
“It depends.”
“On what?”
Jack fought to keep his voice calm. “On what happens here.”
Her gaze met his, her eyes more sapphire-blue than ever. “What do you want to happen here, Jack?”
Chest constricted and heavy, Jack studied her, completely uncertain about what to say. What did she want to hear?
What did he want to say?
There was no point in denying he wanted her. To say he was sexually attracted to her was like saying hell was hot—an accurate statement, but a ridiculous understatement as well. Every fiber in his body hungered for her. Every second, his mind replayed the amazing bliss of their kisses, their lovemaking. But where would that take them?
Had he unconsciously come back hoping to begin a life with her? The life he’d fooled himself into believing he hadn’t craved for all these years?
She regarded him from across the table, the wry smile back on her lips as she waited for his response. “Is it that hard a question?”
He gave a short snort. “Yes.”
“Would you like to phone a friend?”
Jack laughed. “That depends on your definition of
friend
. If I phone Turps, I’d get a completely different answer than if I phoned you.”
“Ahh.” She raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure if you’re allowed to call me friend yet. I think you’re still in the sin-bin.”
“So I guess if I called you, you wouldn’t give me the million-dollar answer then?”
“Probably not.”
Jack raised his glass. “Better call Turps, then.”
Ali’s soft laugh played like liquid heat over his senses, making his blood run hot. Damn, he was in deep.
“So tell me about your latest design,” she said, eyes shining with mirth as she changed the subject.
Jack’s heart thumped hard, his head suddenly filling with a thoroughly distracting image of Ali lying completely naked across his drawing table, her intoxicating body mapped out and labeled in blue, indelible ink for his creative inspection.
He squirmed a little in his seat, clearing his throat. “I’m working on the MK-III, a maxi-class racer that will outclass every other round-the-world-yacht currently available.” A self-deprecating snort escaped him. “Even if I do say so myself.”
“I’d love to sail around the world.” Ali sighed, her eyes becoming dreamy. “Just take off for twelve months, living each day for the day. Nothing to worry about except where to put port to buy the sunblock.”
Jack sucked in a swift breath. What would it be like to spend day after day, night after night with Ali aboard
Suspicious Ways
? Just the two of them? Rediscovering each other’s bodies in the intimate confines of his yacht…smoothing lotion into her sun-kissed limbs, his hands roaming the dips and curves of her—
“So, is it good?”
“Huh?” Jack started, his mind jerked away from the intoxicating image reeling through it. Ali studied him, one dark eyebrow raised.
“The lobster? Is it good?”
He glanced at his barely touched plate. “It’s not too bad.”
“Dad loved lobster,” Ali’s voice softened. “It was his favorite dish.”
Jack laughed. “I remember. We’d sail to the Glebe fish markets every Wednesday evening after the harbor race, just so he could buy it fresh. He could devour a kilo of prawns in less than an hour.”
Her eyes became distant. Sad. “I miss him. Being on
Wind Seeker
hasn’t been the same since the funeral.” She flicked a look at Jack, silent for a long moment. “For more reasons than one.”
“Ali, I…” Jack stopped, the words locked in his throat. They had never spoken about what had happened aboard
Wind Seeker
the night of Andrew’s funeral. Even four years later, he wasn’t sure what had come over him that night.
What could he say now? That after he’d made love to her so fiercely, when she’d been so vulnerable, he couldn’t live with himself? That the self-disgust that had filled him when he thought about how he’d taken advantage of her made him physically sick? That he’d violated any trust Andrew Graham had in him?
That no matter what he did, where he moved to, who he slept with, he couldn’t get her out of his head?
“I can never forgive you for disappearing like you did after…after the funeral,” Ali whispered, her voice barely reaching his ears over the table. Her direct gaze held him. Accused him. “Even Mike seemed confused.”
“Fremantle was Australia’s sailing capital at the time,” he said, his mouth like dust. “My business—”
“Don’t give me that shit, Jack.” She cut him off, her eyes scornful. “Your yachts were selling faster than you could design them while you were here in Sydney. You didn’t need to move to Fremantle.”
Jack couldn’t take it anymore. He leant forward, fixing her with a serious stare. “Damn it, Ali, I made love to you the day of your father’s funeral. The day of. If I hadn’t left, I would have done so again. I wanted you so much it didn’t matter that only two hours earlier you’d scattered his ashes over Sydney Harbor. I was meant to be your friend, your father’s friend, but instead I took you in the yacht he’d built with his own hands.” He slumped back in his seat, raking his fingers through his hair. “And damn it, I wanted to again and again and again.”
Ali stared at him, silent. An emotion Jack couldn’t read shone in her eyes. Her lips parted.
“That’s why I moved to Fremantle,” he finished, his gut churning, his chest tight. “Because one taste of you wasn’t enough.”
“So why didn’t you stay for more?”
The question punched the wind from his lungs. He stared at her, unable to respond.