His Suspicious Ways
by Lexxie Couper
Copyright © 2017 by Lexxie Couper. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Chapter One
“Goddamn it.” Ali Graham cried out, hopping up and down in awkward shuffles, her big toe a throbbing world of pain. She scowled at the heavy mainsail cleat that only a second ago had been in her hand but now was lying oh-so innocently on the deck of her yacht. Frustration and anger shot through her, rivaling the ache in her newly struck toe. “That hurts.”
She glared at the cleat some more, her toe throbbing in time with her pounding heart. Holy hell, did it hurt. That’s what she got for working on her boat without wearing shoes. She should have known better. “Bum poo crap,” she muttered, the childish outburst strangely satisfying as she crouched down to retrieve the heavy metal cleat. Thanks to her stupidity, she’d be walking with a limp for the rest of the—
“I have to say, that’s some colorful language you’ve got there, Ms Graham.”
Ali froze, cold terror slamming into her at the deep, smooth and entirely too-familiar male voice sounding behind her. Her heart smashed into her throat and she squeezed her eyes shut, terror turning to stunned disbelief. You’ve got to be kidding, she thought. He can’t be back in Australia. He can’t be.
Entirely uninvited, an image of the owner of the voice filled her head and her pulse quickened. She hadn’t seen Jackson McKenzie in four years, but that made little difference. His image was just as clear and sharp and vivid as if she’d only seen him an hour ago. And just like it had four years ago, her body was reacting as if she was a silly teenage girl with a sillier crush—her nipples pinching hard, her breath growing rapid and her mouth going dry.
Maybe that’s because four years ago you were a teenage girl. Well, three months out of being a teenage girl. Now, however, you’ve got no excuse. You’re twenty-four years old and—
“Are you going to turn around any time soon and say hello?”
The voice—his voice—caressed her senses some more, each word thrumming with sardonic humor. The same sardonic humor she’d loved so much back when she’d been a naïve idiot.
She ground her teeth and closed her fist tighter on the cleat. Am I going to turn around and say hello? How about I turn around and break your nose instead?
“Ali?”
She dropped her gaze to Wind Seeker’s deck, following its line to the bow. It was a beautiful boat, a majestic forty-five-foot sloop designed and built by her father ten years ago—a gift for her mother as a wedding-anniversary present. The yacht had been her father’s passion. Since his death, it had been her passion too. And her livelihood.
“Ali?”
He’s not going away. You know that, don’t you, Ali?
With a sharp sigh and a muttered “shit”, Ali turned, directing her churlish glare away from her still-throbbing toe to the tall man standing on the jetty beside her boat. She jutted out her chin, letting him see her contempt. “What the hell are you doing here, Jack?”
Jackson McKenzie, her father’s best friend and once business partner, cocked a thick golden-honey eyebrow. “That’s an interesting way to greet your old sailing buddy.” Sea-green eyes pinned her from behind thin gold-framed glasses and a small grin played over lips that were entirely too kissable. He chuckled. “Anyone would think you haven’t missed me.”
Ali scowled. “You were my father’s sailing buddy, Jack. Not mine. And I haven’t missed you. Not in the slightest.”
Jack’s chuckle met her ears again, the relaxed, somehow far-too knowing sound igniting a flare of anger in her chest and—God help her—a blossom of heat deep between her thighs. His grin stretched wider, flashing white even teeth at her. “Liar.”
Ali bit back a scream. “What are you doing here, Jack?” she repeated, fighting like hell to ignore the unnerving sensation stirring in the pit of her belly. He didn’t turn her on any more. He didn’t. “And don’t tell me it’s a social visit, because I’m not that gullible anymore.”
The corners of his mouth twitched. “It’s been a while, Ali.” He ignored her question—again. “You’ve grown up.”
She gave him a flat look. “You’re right. It has been awhile. Four years in fact. My father’s funeral. I wore black, remember?”
As if she hadn’t mentioned the horrible day, Jack’s mouth played with a smile some more. “Are you going to invite me aboard?”
Ali raised her eyebrows, crossing her arms across her breasts. “Hmmm, let me think… No.”
Jack’s smile turned mocking and he shook his head, those green eyes of his never leaving her face. “Still the spoilt teenager, I see.”
Renewed frustration and anger rolled through Ali. She jutted out her chin some more. If she wasn’t careful, the way she was carrying on she’d put her neck out. “I’m twenty four, thank you very much,” she snapped. “Not a teenager.” Damn him, why did he make her so flustered so fast?
Jack suppressed a laugh. “And yet so easily provoked. Nothing has changed.”
Ali’s breath caught in her throat. Goddamn it, Ali Graham. She gave herself a savage mental rap. Get a grip. Do you want him to see you like this? Do you want to give him the satisfaction?
With forced bravado, she turned her back on him, her heart a wild trip-hammer slamming against her breastbone. “I’ve work to do,” she flung over her shoulder, determined to sound indifferent as she pulled on the boom’s rigging. “It was…nice…to see you.”
There was a moment of silence long enough for Ali to decide he’d left. She let out a soft sigh. Oh man, why did she wish he’d stayed? Why did she wish he’d ignored her and climbed aboard her boat? Why did she wish he’d slid his arms around her waist and drew her close to his body like he had all those years ago?
Damn it. He still did it to her. Still messed her up even after what he’d done.
“Two missed payments, Ali?”
A chill cut straight to Ali’s heart at Jack’s soft question. She tightened her fists on the rigging, the steel rope biting into her flesh.
Damn it. He knows. He knows about the loan.
Of course he knew. Why else did she think he was there? To say sorry for four years ago? To beg her forgiveness? To make love to her again?
Staring at Wind Seeker’s deck, Ali let out another long, soft sigh. No, it wouldn’t be to say sorry. It was to look her in the face when he knew that she’d failed. That was why he was here. Any other hoping and wishing was just that, hoping and wishing. And hopes and wishes got you diddly-squat. She’d learnt that the second she’d taken over running With the Wind Charters.
Running a sailing charter business on Sydney Harbor was never going to be easy. It was a cutthroat world dominated by men and money. It didn’t help that she was an American, not a born-and-bred Australian. Nor did it help most of Sydney’s sailing world held her responsible for her father’s death, a man embraced by his adopted countrymen with open arms. “An upstart Yank” she’d heard herself described by some of the old salts around the yacht club, “a silly little girl too big for her boots” was another phrase she’d heard, a “know-it-all American” another, and worst of all “foolish and dangerous”.
She wasn’t any of those things. She loved Australia and gladly called the country she’d lived in since she was seventeen home. She knew she still had so much to learn about the sailing world and the rhythm of Sydney Harbor and was willing to do so. She wasn’t a little girl anymore, and she’d never been silly, even when she was one. And she wasn’t dangerous or foolish. But she’d promised her dad at his funeral she wouldn’t let his dream—his business—die, and damn it, she wouldn’t.
Despite the hostility from her father’s mourning peers, despite her age, despite her nationality, she’d refused to give in. She’d done everything she could to keep With the Wind Charters afloat. Everything humanly possible. Yet here was Jackson McKenzie, her father’s sailing partner and closest friend. He would only be here if the bank had contacted him about her missed payments. Which meant he now knew, as guarantor, that she’d failed in everything she’d endeavored to achieve.
A hot prickling along her spine, like a thousand fire-ants on her flesh, told her Jack was watching her. Waiting. “Want to tell me what’s going on, Ali?”
“No.” She turned back to him, chin lifted, jaw clenched. “I don’t.”
Jack held her gaze, an unreadable light glinting in the green depths of his eyes. “According to Greg Matthews you’ve been struggling to make the monthly payments for some time now.” He cocked a dark-honey eyebrow. “Not really the right way to pay off a loan.”
Ali took a silent breath. Her bank manager hadn’t wasted any time calling Jack. He must have been on the phone the second she’d missed that last payment. Anger rolled through her. At herself and the whole terrible, messy situation. “Not that it’s any of your business,” she said, exaggerating her tone to the point of childish sarcasm, “but a four-week charter cancelled on short notice. It left my funds a little out of balance.” She crossed her arms, trying for total confidence. She couldn’t let him see how rattled she was. She wouldn’t. If she did, he’d use it to his advantage and she’d be damned if she’d give him any further advantage over her. “It won’t happen again,” she continued. “In fact, the upcoming months couldn’t look better. I’ve quite a few bookings already, two of which will pay exceptionally well, and there is the possibility of a three-week charter to the Solomon Islands.”
Jack’s eyes seemed to bore into her soul. A slight frown creased his forehead. “Now you see, Ali, we’ve a bit of a problem here. As of this afternoon it is my business. I’m taking over your loan.”
Ali’s mouth fell open. “You’re what?”
“Taking over your loan. And your business.”
Shocked anger smashed through her. “Says who?”
“The loan agreement. If you default on more than one payment, the guarantor—me—takes responsibility for the loan. Your bank manager contacted me when you missed the second payment and we began the necessary procedures. I called him late this afternoon and arranged to finalize the payment.”
Ali stood, numb. “I don’t believe you. Why would…?”
His smooth, deep voice sliced across her disbelief like a blade. “It’s simple. You can’t afford to pay off the loan. I can.”
She stared at him, a deep chill seeping into her body despite the baking heat of the afternoon sun. “Why would you do that?”
Isn’t it obvious? Because he never thought you capable of keeping With the Wind Charters alive. Because he still believes you’re an overconfident, spoiled little girl long overdue for a lesson. Because he still holds you responsible for his best friend’s death.
A hideous memory washed over her, unwanted and haunting, bringing with it a thick lump to her throat—her father sinking below wild, black waves, her trembling, desperate hands reaching for him, the life buoy slipping from her rain-slicked grasp, salt water and blood stinging her eyes, lightning cutting the angry-storm sky…
“Why, Jack?” The question fell from her lips with barely a breath, the pain of her father’s death stealing her voice. “Why?”
Jack looked at her over Wind Seeker’s bow, his green eyes completely unreadable. “I have my reasons.” He paused. “There is potential in the business…in the right hands, and Wind Seeker is a beautiful yacht.”
Ali sucked in a sharp breath. Did she hear him correctly? Surely not. “You’re going to take my father’s yacht? No. You can’t. He built it for my—”
“It’s part of the loan agreement,” he cut her off, calm and totally in control. “Your father used Wind Seeker as collateral to establish the business. You know that. And since you took over, you’ve had to sell the other two yachts he’d bought to grow the fleet. Wind Seeker is the last boat, and you know what that means.”
“This is ridiculous.” She stamped her foot on Wind Seeker’s deck, shaking her head. “You already own the best yacht in Australia. Damn you, Jack, you already own the best freaking yacht in the world. Why the hell do you want my yacht too?”
Jack took a step closer to the edge of the jetty, his gaze unreadable. “If I don’t take over the loan,” he said, watching her over Wind Seeker’s bow, “the bank will declare you bankrupt.”
“So?” She planted her fists on her hips and glared at him. “Declare me bankrupt. Anything is better than you taking my yacht.”
“If you’re declared bankrupt, I still take responsibility of the loan. And you’ll be left with nothing.”
His eyes held hers through the rigging, and for the quickest moment, Ali thought she saw sympathy flash in their green depths. A silent sob choked her. “You can’t take my father’s boat.” But even to her own ears, her voice sounded broken. Defeated.
She turned from him, her throat thick. Her heart ached. Numb grief settled over her, a bitter blanket against her pain. After all these years, she’d lost. Her dad’s dream, his yacht, and, since his insurance money had run out a few months ago, the only way she had to pay for her mother’s Multiple Sclerosis treatment.
The thought of her mother’s debilitating disease sliced at Ali. Three months after her father’s death, the doctors had told Jenny Graham she had MS. Every night Ali thanked God the Australian healthcare system covered most of her mom’s treatment. Heaven knows, she couldn’t afford any of it if they were back in the States. But the prescribed medications were growing expensive, as was the nursing home her mother had been admitted to a year ago, the cost of which wasn’t covered by the government’s healthcare policies. What money Ali made from charters went to paying the bills.
Now, with Jack here, she’d lost any hope of keeping afloat.
She knew no other job. If she was lucky, she could find a job waiting tables, but she had no experience and few employers wanted to risk a first-timer in this day, especially one in her mid-twenties. Thanks to her dad’s love of sailing and his willingness to indulge her own love for it, all she knew was sailing. Apart from the piffling she made captaining Zane Peterson’s harbor racing crew, With the Wind Charters was her only source of income, and it seemed even that was being taken from her.
Opening her eyes, she stared at her yacht’s aft. What was going to happen next?
A bone-aching weariness settled over her. Once, a lifetime ago, Jackson McKenzie had stolen her heart and her dignity. Now he planned to take everything else.
“Ali.” Jack’s deep voice was like salt on a raw wound. “Let me come aboard. We need to—”
Fighting hot tears of frustration and anger, Ali shook her head. “Go away, Jack. We don’t need to anything.” She moved toward the cockpit, her pulse pounding in her ears. Think. She needed to think. She needed to come up with a plan to get her yacht back. The Solomon Island charter might do it? What if she finally said yes to Zane Peterson’s job offer? She didn’t really want to sail to the Solomons with him. Just captaining the sleazy billionaire’s weekend racing crew was almost too much interaction for Ali to stomach, what with his barely concealed sexual suggestions, but maybe she couldn’t say no anymore. How much could she charge Peterson to—
Wind Seeker dipped gently to port and Ali’s already thumping heart leapt into frantic life. Oh God, he was on board. Jack was on board, coming after her. She reached for the cabin-door handle, the sound of Jack moving into the cockpit sending a forbidden thrill through her. Heart thumping hard, she pulled at the small door and yanked it open a second before a firm hand reached over her shoulder and pushed it closed again.
“Goddamn it, Ali.” Jack’s lips brushed the sensitive skin behind her ear, his breath warm on her flesh. “Don’t walk away from me.”
A rain of burning needles swept over her, and all too easily it came back to her—what his arms felt like around her body, what his tongue felt like in her mouth. What his body felt like buried deep in hers.
“Why not?” she shot back, trying like hell to ignore the seductive heat of his body as she stared at the cockpit door. “You walked away from me.”
“Ali.” Her name was a whisper on her neck. “Don’t.”
“You’ve got what you wanted, Jack,” she ground out, tingling all over as his heat seeped into her flesh. “You’ve proved your point. You’re better than me, smarter than me. You can go back to Florida or Fremantle or wherever the hell you live now.”
She tried to open the door again, but Jack held it shut with one hand, the other pressing against the headboard. Trapping her.
The subtle smell of soap and aftershave filled her breath, his smell, the one she’d never forgotten. A squirming sense of anticipation rolled through the junction of her thighs and she bit back a groan. God, how could he still do this to her?
His warm breath tickling the fine wisps of hair at her temple, he dropped his head closer to hers. “Florida,” he murmured. “I’ve been in Florida for the past two years. The two years before that, Fremantle. Before Fremantle, Sydney.” He paused, brushing his lips over her earlobe with the softest of pressure. Ali’s heart leapt away in a frenzied beat, her skin prickling and her nipples pinching into aching peaks. “But you knew that already,” he went on, his body pressing against hers, sending her wild pulse wilder. “Don’t try and pretend otherwise.”
Disgusted indignation roared through her. She turned on her heel, giving him an angry glare. “Huh. Talk about being conceited.”
Jack shook his head, his forehead almost touching hers. “No. Just truthful.”
For a frozen moment, he didn’t move, just gazed at her, his breath a soft caress on her lips. And then his mouth crushed hers, demanding and forceful. She struggled, but only for a second. He lashed his tongue at her lips before plunging into the wet depth of her mouth. He gripped her butt with strong fingers, squeezing and fondling her cheeks through the coarse denim of her shorts. A moan filled the air, low and raw, and it was only when Jack yanked her hips hard against his and groaned in return that Ali realized the sound had come from her. Fire licked through her body, scorching a line from her mouth to her breasts to the very core of her being. She tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling him harder into the kiss, opening her mouth wider to his invading tongue. Their teeth clicked together and another groan slipped from Jack’s throat as she nipped at his bottom lip with a force she knew was not gentle. The sound was like a naked flame, igniting the want she’d tried to ignore for the last four years. Her body smoldered, the muscles of her sex contracted, grew wet with need.
Jack dragged his mouth from hers, his chest heaving. The heat from his body pervaded hers, licking over her flesh like a lover’s kiss, sending waves of squirming tension into the pit of her stomach. She caught the soft whimper in her throat before it could slip past her lips. Even now, when he’d come back to destroy her life for a second time, she hungered for him. Craved his touch. Even now, with the stinging memory of their last meeting in her mind—tangled sheets, tears, pain, his disgust and her shame—she wanted him.
Intense green eyes roamed her face, lingering on her lips as he pulled a long, ragged breath. “I knew your surrender would be like this.”
Ali’s breath caught in her throat. Surrender?
Self-disgust flooded through her. God, she was an idiot. He’d played her like a damn fool. Like a giddy little teenager with a crush. She shrank as far from him as possible and pushed her back to the cabin door. No matter what her body was screaming for her to do, she had to get away from him. Now.
Before she made a fool of herself again.
Jaw clenched, she gave him a look of loathing. “Go away, Jack.”
A flicker of annoyance crossed his face, dark and impatient. “Ali, you’re being childish. We have to talk. I want to explain—”
Cold anger crashed over her. Powerful and consuming. “The last time we talked,” she snarled, squaring her shoulders and giving him an icy stare, “two things happened. You accused me of killing my father and we slept together.” Her voice turned flat and she shook her head. “Both were mistakes.”
Jack looked down at her, his face expressionless. For a second, she thought he was going to say something. But he didn’t. Instead, he dropped his arms and stepped away.
Ali glared at him again, the sinful taste of his lips like taunting honey on her own. “I know how little you think of me, Jackson McKenzie, but I never thought you’d take my father’s yacht from me.” She opened the cabin door and stepped down into Wind Seeker’s hull, her heart threatening to explode. “I hate you, Jack,” she said, looking up at him from the galley. “I truly hate you.” And with that, she turned her back on him and crossed the galley.
Wind Seeker stood still for a moment, the soft beat of water lapping against its hull the only sign fate hadn’t frozen time. Ali held her breath. Would he come after her? Or would he…
The yacht pitched gently, followed by the sound of Jack’s feet landing on the jetty and walking away.
“Damn it,” Ali whispered, dropping onto the starboard lower bunk.
Four years ago, he’d called her a killer, taken her virginity, ripped her heart out and left her without a word. She should know better. But it seemed she didn’t. Because the throb between her thighs was growing stronger with every breath she pulled, and the aching want in her chest was growing hotter. She let out a long sigh, aching with want. He was gone. Again. Leaving her alone on her yacht and craving his touch, just like he had all those years ago.
A sickening knot twisted in Ai’s belly, self-contempt warring with traitorous need. His yacht, Ali. His yacht.
…
Jack sat in the cockpit of Suspicious Ways, watching as the late summer sun cast stretching shadows over the surrounding boats of the marina. The metallic clang and clink of masts and rigging disturbed by the gentle swell calmed him. To a degree. Two years had passed since he’d been aboard his personal yacht, a craft of such elegance and beauty it was held in the highest esteem throughout the sailing world. He should be grinning from ear to ear. Should be. Instead, he was aroused and angry and confused as hell.
He shook his head, gulping another mouthful of beer from the sweating bottle in his hand. Once again, Ali Graham had knocked him so far off-kilter he didn’t know which way was up. Dragging his free hand through the tousled mess of his hair, he looked over to Wind Seeker. Two hours ago, she’d stormed down the jetty, face set, jaw clenched. Her long smooth limbs—kissed golden by the warm setting sun—moved with an innate grace he’d always admired. She’d look glorious. Furious as a summer storm, but glorious.
Pulling in a steadying sigh, Jack turned his attention from Ali’s boat to the towering buildings hugging the harbor’s edge. Chest muscles tight, he watched a few scattered windows light up as dusk set in. Why did that woman disturb him so much? He was thirty-five years old, for Christ sake. The social circles he moved in placed him in contact with women far more sexually overt, more forward and experienced than Ali Graham, yet somehow his gut still knotted like a naïve schoolboy’s whenever he thought of her.
And he thought of her often.
Unbidden, an image of the slender woman filled his head, chin tilted in obstinate defiance, blue eyes flashing. Those eyes had captivated him the very second they’d first met, despite the fact she’d only been seventeen. A baby to his twenty-eight years. They’d filled his very dreams and fantasies every night, something that both unnerved and disturbed him. He remembered thinking even back then that a man could get lost in their depths if he wasn’t careful. He’d fought like hell to be careful. Christ, had he fought, if for no other reason than his friendship with her father.
He’d fought like hell to be careful today, but then he’d seen her, touched her, smelled her, and careful had gone to hell. Which was exactly where he should be now after what he’d done.
He’d been finishing his latest commission in the States when Ali’s bank manager had called to request a meeting as the loan guarantor. Jack had agreed straight away. For four years, he’d thought of Ali, no matter how hard he’d tried not to. He’d wondered how she was, what she was doing. For four years, he’d denied he still held dreams of a future with her. Coming back to Sydney was the perfect excuse to see her. Maybe take her to dinner, maybe hold her, say he was sorry. There’d been no plans to take possession of her business and yacht then, just a simple desire to see her, to find out why Andrew’s business was in trouble and to offer his help.
But then he’d learnt Ali was sailing for Zane Peterson. That Peterson was making noises at the yacht club about buying Ali’s business, letting it be known she was his, that their relationship was special.
In the space of a heartbeat Jack had changed his plans. Had gone from an altruistic motivation to a much darker one.
Thudding footsteps on the wooden jetty killed the bleak memory. A wiry man leapt into the cockpit, his tanned, leathery face split by a broad smile. “I’m guessin’ from the look on your face Ali Graham knows you’re back in town.”
Jack gave the new arrival a wry grin. “You could say that.”
The other man squinted at him with sharp brown eyes. “You did something’ stupid, didn’t you?”
A snort escaped Jack as he handed his ex-boss a cold beer. “Possibly.”
“Ah, shit, Jack.” Mike Turpin—the man who had taken a young, untested boat designer as an apprentice when no one else would—dropped onto the opposite bench seat. “What did you do?”
Jack didn’t answer.
Mike raised an eyebrow. “Is this mopin’ about over Zane Peterson? About what I told you drivin’ back from the airport? Or how you feel about Ali?”
Anger rolled over Jack, hot and raw and painful. He gave Mike a flat glare, his gut knotting. “Of course it’s about Peterson.”
The name tasted like bile on his tongue. Not a day passed when Zane Peterson didn’t enter his mind. Zane Peterson. Sydney’s most notorious entrepreneur. The man Jack hated with every molecule in his body.
That Ali was sailing for the evil bastard made Jack sick. If he’d known before now that Peterson was preying on her, he would have been back in the country in a heartbeat. Instead, he’d been farting around in Florida, pretending he wasn’t thinking about her, doing everything in his power to forget her. He’d left her defenseless to Sydney’s biggest predator, and the bastard had made his move. The first of many that would get Peterson exactly what he wanted. And according to Mike, exactly what he wanted currently was Ali.
Jack’s gut twisted at the thought.
“Listen, mate—” Mike rested his elbows on his knees, fixing Jack with a pinning stare, “—I don’t know what you did after I dropped you off at the bank, but be careful. Peterson turned up here about forty-five minutes ago lookin’ mighty pissed an’ askin’ if you were around.”
Jack narrowed his eyes. “You truly think I’m scared of Zane Peterson?”
“No, I don’t. But since you left, he’s got more contacts in his pocket than Rupert Murdoch, an’ he gets more powerful with every dollar he makes.”
The knot in Jack’s stomach tightened. “You don’t have to remind me who Peterson is, Mike. I know all about his contacts. It was my niece they found dead aboard his motorboat, remember.”
As always, the thought of his niece was like a knife sinking into his heart. He’d promised his sister he’d look after her only child when she’d come to study at Sydney University. Instead, Trudi had become Peterson’s plaything. And then…
Mike’s eyes grew worried. “What’s goin’ on, Jack? I saw Ali earlier and she didn’t look happy. Not at all. And now Peterson’s lookin’ the same and it’s your name he’s sayin’. What have you done to piss ’em off? What are you up to?”
Removing his glasses, Jack rubbed at his face, his gut tight.
Was what he’d done to Ali anything to do with his feelings for her? Or was it all just retaliation? Vengeance?
Or something as tortured as redemption?
Christ. Where the hell was his mind?
Lost. Somewhere in his jealousy, he guessed. He had no damn right being jealous anyway. Ali Graham meant nothing to him anymore. And she’d made it perfectly clear he meant nothing to her.
Except for the kiss. The kiss they’d shared on Wind Seeker that afternoon blew that theory right out of the water.
Lifting his head, he stared at the surrounding boats, seeing nothing but an image of Ali. Smiling, laughing, stubborn Ali. Gut twisting, he turned back to Mike. “Are they involved, Turps? Is Ali more than just on his sailing crew? Is she also in his—”
“I’ve told you already, Jack,” Mike cut him short. “I don’t know. Ali rarely talks to me anymore. Hell, she rarely talks to anyone.” He scratched at his whiskers. “Since Andrew’s funeral she’s changed. Too many idiots around her sayin’ idiotic things. She hardly mixes with anyone at the club, an’ the only time she’s down here now is when she’s on Wind Seeker.” He paused for a second, studying Jack with a wary frown. “Or on Peterson’s boat.”
Before he could stop it, an image of Ali and Zane Peterson flashed through Jack’s head, surreal in its vivid clarity. Peterson’s hairy, meaty arms wrapped around her slim waist, the flashy gold rings on his pudgy fingers glinting as they snaked over her sun-kissed flesh, roaming over her body, groping the sublime curves of her bare—
He shook the image out of his head, his chest unbearably tight. Replacing his glasses, he looked at his old friend. “You were right, mate, when you said her business was in trouble. She’s almost bankrupt.”
“Bankrupt? I didn’t know it was that bad. She’s copped a lot of unfair muck-slingin’ from the old blokes around here, I have to say. They still reckon she’s the upstart, brash American teenager they first met when the Grahams moved here, no matter how polite and courteous she in on the water. The fact she still has an accent doesn’t help her either. Not with the old salts and not with overseas visitors. Tourists sailin’ on Sydney Harbor don’t wanna hear a Yank talkin’, no matter how well she says g’day. But bankrupt? What happened to Andrew’s life insurance?”
Jack could only shake his head, a fact that angered him greatly. He should know. Andrew Graham had been his best mate, his sailing partner and his business partner. He shouldn’t have deserted his friend’s only child to life’s cruelties just because he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants. Couldn’t control the way he wanted—
“So why is Peterson pissed at you?” Mike asked, his stare steady. “What did you do since I left you at Ali’s bank?”
A dull pressure thumped in Jack’s temples. “Stopped him.”
Mike sat back. “Stopped him what?”
“From getting something he wanted. I paid out Andrew’s loan and sent Peterson a message telling him Ali’s business was no longer hers.” Jack’s stomach rolled, the heavy harbor air making him sick. “As of this afternoon I own Wind Seeker and With the Wind Charters, and he can’t get her.” He swallowed, the slip bitter on his tongue. “He can’t get it, I mean.”
Stunned disbelief wrinkled Mike’s weathered face. “You what? Jesus, Jack, you’re meant to be Ali’s friend, not the guy who takes everythin’ she—”
“I know what I am,” Jack cut him short. “But believe me, Ali wants as little to do with me as I do her.”
Mike snorted. “Bullshit. You forget who you’re talkin’ too, mate. I know exactly how you feel about Ali Graham an’ little has nothin’ to do with it. I think I’ve known longer than you have. An’ I can tell you the way you’re behavin’ now is not the way a man behaves towards the woman he—”
“It’s done, Mike. And I’m not changing my mind.”
“But—” Mike frowned, “—what about Ali? What about her business? Her father? Is this how you honor Andrew’s memory?”
Jack looked away, not wanting to meet the knowing look in his old friend’s eyes. Zane Peterson was a cancer. A cancer that devoured young women like Ali. The thought of Ali ending up like his niece—stretched cold and lifeless on the morgue’s metal slab—scared the shit out of him so much he broke out in an icy sweat. He’d do anything to prevent that from happening, whatever the costs. Even if it meant destroying any fragile remnants of a relationship he and Ali once had. “Peterson is evil, Turps,” he said, his voice close to a snarl. “You know that as well as I. I couldn’t stand back and let Ali become his next play thing.”
Mike gave him a long, serious look. “She may be already, mate. He’s the only bloke I’ve ever seen her with. And the way he looks at her, the way he talks about her…”
Jack shook his head. “No. I can’t believe that. She’s too strong willed. Too damn independent and stubborn.”
“Too spirited and too attractive,” Mike added. “Everything Zane Peterson finds irresistible in a woman.”
Jack’s gut twisted. Everything he found irresistible in a woman as well. No, not just any woman. Ali Graham. The only woman he’d ever found irresistible was Ali bloody Graham. So irresistible he’d run from her. Turned his back on her for his own sanity and hers. And now he was back and she hated him.
Christ, what the hell am I doing?
He scrubbed at his face with his hands. “I’ve spent years convincing myself I was over her.” He dragged his hands through his hair again, looking over to Ali’s empty yacht. “But God help me, Mike, all it’s taken is the mere thought of her in someone else’s arms for me to realize I’ve been deceiving myself all along.”
He let out a low sigh. Ali was completely and utterly under his skin.
And that was by far more dangerous than Zane Peterson could ever be.
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