‘Right—we are coming,’ Rion said, and moved his hand from her arm to splay it across her back. He bent his head towards her as he led her outside. ‘Too late now to change, but be warned: I really missed you last night, and two can play your game,’ he murmured huskily, and let his fingers trail down her spine. He felt her quiver.
That Rion had admitted he had missed her shocked Selina into silence.
And she was having second thoughts about the dress as they stood at the top of the gangway to welcome their guests. Held close to Rion’s side, with his hand caressing her back, was a kind of torture and her breath hitched in her throat. She shot him a sidelong glance. ‘Stop it,’ she hissed.
‘Sexual attraction works both ways—painful, isn’t it?’ He grinned and straightened up. ‘Our guests have arrived.’ And thankfully for Selina his hand slid from her back and he took a step forward.
Her body still heated from his seductive touch. She glanced at the couple who had joined them on deck and then looked again, her amber eyes widening in horror. She froze, the blood turning to ice in her veins.
Selina concentrated on the woman. She was in her mid-forties, and very elegantly dressed. But all the time her mind was spinning, hoping she was wrong about the man …
She heard the man introduce his wife to Rion. Then Rion slipped his arm around her waist again, his fingers pressing her side, but she did not so much as flinch.
‘Selina, this is Justin Bratchet and his wife, Alice.’
Numb with shock, Selina shook hands with Alice first and tried to smile, spouting the social niceties, until finally she had no choice but to look at the man—Justin Bratchet.
She felt her flesh crawl as she shook hands with him, and forced a smile to her lips. ‘Nice to meet you,’ she lied, and pulled her hand free with indecent haste.
The dinner was informative, but also a living nightmare as far as Selina was concerned—from which she escaped as fast as she could.
Rion saw the couple ashore at the end of the evening and walked back on board. The evening had been a success, his meeting earlier had gone well, and the deal—after a bit of adjustment—looked like being a cinch. Though Selina’s behaviour had been a bit odd. He had sensed her tense the minute she’d met the couple, and he’d seen the look in her eyes as he introduced her to Justin. He had a gut feeling she knew the man. And she had excused herself from seeing the couple off the yacht with the plea that she needed the bathroom, which was odd.
Maybe Selina had bumped into Bratchet on her travels? This morning Rion had searched Selina’s name on the internet—something he had never done before. She’d taken some finding, but he’d been surprised at what he’d discovered. She was listed as a translator for a top international agency noted for its discretion and hired by governments and the like. There was a shot of her looking stunning but businesslike, standing at the side of an Arab sheikh at an international trade fair in China. Other delegates included a few heads of state. Selina was obviously at the top of her career ladder and had to be making a very comfortable living. Maybe he was wrong about her and she wasn’t a typical gold-digging female …
Reaching his cabin, he opened the door and saw at a glance she wasn’t there. Kicking off his shoes, he removed his jacket and tie and dropped them on the bed, flicking open the buttons of his shirt. He walked next door, contemplating removing that incredible gown with a smile on his face which broadened when he saw the view of Selina’s slender back. She had removed her shoes and was minus her stockings—lace-trimmed, he noted. Pity. He had wanted to peel them off.
His sensual smile vanished when he realised she was talking on her phone and that was the reason for her hasty retreat.
The click of the door opening alerted Selina, and abruptly she ended the conversation and rang off. She turned around. ‘Oh, it’s you,’ she said inanely.
Rion gazed straight back at her from below thick, curling lashes, his expression bland. ‘Obviously. Who did you want it to be? The man on the phone?’ he queried, and in two lithe strides he was towering over her.
‘It wasn’t a man—it was Aunt Peggy,’ Selina said, but could not look him in the eyes.
‘You called her at twelve at night?’ he prompted, and tipped up her chin with one long finger so she had no choice but to look at him.
‘Yes,’ she said thinking fast. ‘It is a little earlier in England.’
Rion raised a brow, dark eyes gleaming with suspicion. ‘I’ll believe you—but what else might I have got wrong, I wonder? I had the distinct feeling you had met Justin Bratchet before tonight. Have you?’
Shaking her head, she dislodged his finger and taking a step back, gave an emphatic ‘No!’ relieved she could tell the truth.
‘Yet you seemed to recognise him. Maybe from your travels? I looked you up on Google today and discovered you really are a high-flyer in your profession.’
‘You did what?’
‘You are listed on the website of the international agency you work for.’
‘Oh.’ She was glad she’d had the foresight to tell Beth not to list her on the charity’s website. She valued her career, and at least one of her previous employers would not be happy discovering what she did in her spare time. ‘Anyway, I don’t know and have never met Mr Bratchet before, and with luck I will never meet him again,’ she said adamantly.
‘You could have fooled me. I have met the man a few times in New York and I know he has a reputation of being a bit of a womaniser. You seemed to be encouraging him.’
She had, because she’d wanted to find out where he was going, and had succeeded. But she couldn’t tell Rion that.
‘When he asked you what you did you responded flightily—”As little as possible.” Which I know is a lie. Why?’
‘Because it is easier to tell that type of rich man who thinks he is God what he wants to hear—satisfied?’ she snapped. She had said more than she ought. Plus Rion, barefoot and with his shirt undone, was an endearing sight.
‘You really have it in for the poor man,’ Rion returned, studying her flushed face. ‘So he likes women and flirts? Hardly an offence.’
‘Yes, well, you would say that—given he is your friend. It is his wife I feel sorry for, poor woman.’
‘Your sympathy is wasted on Alice. She was a widow when she married Justin three years ago. He takes care of her and her daughter, and now her grandson. She has hit the jackpot; trust me, she will never leave him. I recognised the type the minute I met her.’
‘Okay—if you say so,’ she agreed. It was late and this conversation was going nowhere.
‘Is that another example of telling a man what he wants to hear?’ Rion asked sardonically and reached for her shoulders to draw her close. ‘Not that I mind in this instance,’ he mocked, and kissed her with a hungry thoroughness that left her breathless.
He pulled the shoulder straps of her dress down her arms and she helped, wanting to block the horrible evening from her mind and craving what she knew only Rion could give her. She gazed up into his lustrous dark eyes, shaded with passion, and her heart raced.
‘I knew you were braless,’ Rion groaned. ‘You have perfect breasts,’ he murmured, his dark gaze lingering on the creamy mounds for a moment before he lifted his eyes to hers. ‘You have no idea what you do to me, Selina. I have been aching to remove this dress from the second I saw you wearing it.’
‘I thought it would appeal to you,’ she replied.
Rion smiled and began removing his clothes. Breathless, she simply stared as he revealed his magnificent bronzed body to her avid gaze, and she reached for the dress at her waist, eager to wriggle out of it.
‘No, let me,’ Rion commanded. He picked her up and laid her down on the bed and stretched out beside her. ‘I want to take it off.’
He folded an arm around her and she was suddenly on her stomach. He trailed a string of kisses down her spine and slowly peeled her dress over her hips. Her whole body trembled as his clever fingers stroked and caressed while his lips cont
inued their devastating path down her thighs, the backs of her knees. With the dress finally removed he turned her over and kissed and caressed his way back up her body. Finally his mouth took hers in a deeply passionate kiss as he settled between her thighs.
Selina wrapped her arms around him as if he was the only solid matter in the universe, her hands caressing his satin-smooth skin, tracing the length of his spine as she planted frantic kisses on the broad chest, the dark male nipples. She heard his guttural growl as, lifting her hips, he surged into her willing body, and she cried out with the exquisite pleasure of his possession, the feeling intensifying with every powerful thrust, growing into a mindless, mutually ecstatic climax.
But later—much later—listening to the steady sound of Rion’s breathing, she realised that tonight even the oblivion of orgasmic sex was not going to help her sleep.
Luckily she had never told Rion about the rescue centre Beth and her husband ran in Cambodia for a children’s charity. Selina had helped to set it up and finance it.
She and Beth had spent their last summer vacation before finishing university travelling through Thailand and Cambodia. Beth had met Trevor, an American, and it had been love at first sight. It was Trevor who had shown them the horrific child sex trade in Cambodia and explained how unscrupulous dealers travelled the countryside, telling poor families who lived off the land that they had a job for their son or daughter in a big city hotel, as a maid or boot boy, and offering them money. Of course there was no hotel work—though the children were kept in a hotel of sorts, where they were abused and forced into the sex trade. The really tragic part for Selina was that the children, after having to suffer such vile abuse from adults every day of their young lives, were too ashamed to tell their parents what was really happening to them.
Planeloads of men flew into the capital regularly from Europe, Japan and the USA, on specially organised sex trips. A lot of them wanted children—the younger the better.
Trevor had explained that the reason he knew so much about the trade was because his father worked for the American government, and the USA was one of the few countries to have passed a law enabling them to extradite any American citizen arrested for paedophilia in Cambodia and take them back to the USA to stand trial. The sentences there were a lot harsher. It had been listening to his father talk about his work and seeing the damage done for himself that had made Trevor determined to set up a rescue centre.
Beth, always passionate about injustice, was his perfect partner, and during that holiday the idea for a rescue charity was born. Selina had never touched her divorce settlement because she’d still had her father’s trust fund. She’d left university the following summer and donated the money to help set up the charity. With the help of Beth’s father the legal technicalities had been dealt with, and property bought. It had been converted into a fifteen-bedroomed centre with schoolrooms, craft rooms—everything necessary to help the children to regain their self worth and equip them with the skills to earn a legitimate living.
Beth and Trevor had got married at Christmas. Selina had been a bridesmaid. The following year, the rescue centre had opened, and with the help of a Cambodian politician, a police inspector and a local lawyer, they’d taken in ten children. Selina had stayed for three months to help, then spent the next three months in Australia, working as a translator for a tourist firm on the Gold Coast that specialised in Chinese tourists, and taking her diving certificate in her spare time. Then she had signed on with the international agency she still worked with now.
To date the centre had rescued over forty children—some of them as young as six. All had been counselled and some had returned to their families. Some had learnt new skills and found legitimate work, others were still at the centre, and sadly a couple of the older girls—if you could call fourteen old—had gone back to the sex trade. They were already HIV-positive and sure that in their culture no man was ever going to marry them …
Accepting a glass of fresh orange juice from Louis, Selina refused any food. Cradling the glass in her hand, she crossed to the huge glass doors that opened out onto the deck and paused for a moment. The sun was hot in a cloudless sky, as it had been for the whole trip—which was now almost over. She felt her heart contract with the knowledge.
Rion was seated at the table, wearing the familiar khaki shorts. His tanned shoulders were slightly hunched as he forked scrambled egg into his mouth with one hand, his other tapping something into a laptop.
One more night with him and it would be over. They would reach Greece tomorrow, conclude their business deal and cut the last slender link that bound them. Never to meet again. She would have her inheritance—or to be precise, Anna and the Taylor Foundation would. A satisfactory outcome, she told herself. Rion would move on to another woman, and she … well, she would what?
‘Don’t just stand there—come and join me.’
Selina didn’t answer her own question. She looked at Rion’s smiling face and walked across to take the seat opposite. ‘You looked occupied,’ she said, glancing at his laptop and then up at him. ‘Do you ever stop working?’ she asked, and took a sip of her orange juice.
He reached across and took her free hand in his. Raising it to his mouth, he kissed her palm, sending an electric sensation up her arm. A knowing, intimate smile curved his lips as she eased her hand from his.
‘I am going to in about half an hour. I have a few things to check out on the Bratchet deal—it is looking good, if a little expensive.’
‘You are going into business with that man?’ she asked, carefully placing her glass on the table.
‘No—not into business with him.’ The relief she felt was quickly destroyed as Rion continued, ‘He wants to sell up and has offered me first refusal on buying him out. It is a good deal—not so much for the motor trade he runs but for the prime location of the property he owns in New York. Even in a recession you can never lose on owning land in one of the greatest cities in the world. Bratchet knows that, and I am surprised he wants to sell simply because he has finally married and wants to play happy families with Alice and his stepchildren. He is asking more than I want to pay, but everything in life is negotiable and I’ll get it for the right price in the end.’ He grinned.
‘Yes,’ Selina agreed numbly. The irony did not escape her that the only time Rion had ever discussed his work with her was now. She had a good idea why Bratchet was selling up. And she could not bear to think why he doted on his step-grandson …
‘Give me five minutes, and you will have my undivided attention for the rest of the day.’
‘Okay.’ She watched Rion turn back to his laptop and, deep in thought, sipped at her orange juice, oblivious to the beauty of the day.
The day before the opening of the rescue centre in Cambodia she had been sitting talking with Trevor’s father, Clint, in the foyer of his hotel. He had pointed Justin Bratchet out to her as the man walked across to the reception desk to check out. Bratchet was a regular visitor to Cambodia to indulge his preference for young boys, he’d told her. A police contact had told Clint just that morning that Bratchet had finally been arrested the day before, because an eight-year-old boy he had abused had ended up in hospital. But Bratchet was a very wealthy man and had obviously bribed the right people. The charges had been dropped.
Selina had been horrified, and asked why the Americans didn’t arrest him. Dryly Clint had told her they could not. They could only extradite the man to stand trial at home if the Cambodian authorities arrested him first, but they would get him eventually, Clint had said. Bratchet might have got a fright and would stay away for a while, but he would be back. His sort couldn’t help themselves.
At dinner last night Selina had managed to discover that Bratchet was going to the Far East on business the next day, while his wife was going back to America.
‘Right, Selina, no more work. How would you like to go scuba-diving off Gozo today?’
She swallowed the yes that rose in her throat and l
et her eyes rest on Rion. ‘I thought we were sailing for Greece this morning?’
‘I’m not in any rush. We can take a day or two longer if you like.’
If he had said that yesterday she might have agreed, but not now … Last night her call had not been to her Aunt Peggy but to Trevor. A quick call, to tell him she had seen Bratchet dining in Malta with his wife and learned that Bratchet was leaving tomorrow for the Far East without his wife. Maybe he was tired of matrimony. She’d told him to look out for the man and rung off with the excuse that her new friend was waiting for her—which, in a way, had been true …
‘What about your business deal with Bratchet? You said it was expensive—are you still going to pursue it?’ She wanted Rion to say no.
‘Of course I am. What have you got against the man? The fact he flirted with you?’
‘No, I am far too mature for him anyway,’ Selina said, with a dry irony that was lost on Rion. ‘I just think there is something a bit sleazy about him.’ She wanted to tell Rion the truth, but she wasn’t sure she could trust him.
Rion got to his feet and came round to her. Taking her hand in his, he drew her up. He looked down into her lovely but serious face.
‘When a good deal is to be made the man offering it could be a serial killer for all I care. As long as it is legitimate, business is business.’ He should have known better than to try and talk business with a woman. ‘Now, do you want to go to Gozo or not?’
‘Not,’ Selina said, resignation filling her, and, pulling her hands from his, she took a step back. There was no future for them anyway—why prolong the agony by another day?
After what Rion had said she knew she could not tell him about Bratchet. She had trusted Rion once with her heart and he had broken it. Much as she still loved him she did not dare trust him again—not when other people, children, were involved.
If her hunch was right and Bratchet was on his way to Cambodia she knew Rion well enough to know he would tell the man. Maybe not in the pursuit of business, but out of genuine disgust at what the man was. But either way Bratchet would be warned.
Return of the Moralis Wife Page 12