A Bride For The Maverick Millionaire (Journey Through The Outback #2)

by Marion Lennox

  It was not a scoundrel sort of kiss.

  But she needed to remember the scoundrel, she told herself firmly, and tossed in bed and wondered if she could get to sleep again. She knew she couldn’t.

  Her hip ached.

  It always ached. Ignore it.

  Something else was superimposing itself on her thoughts.

  The Kimberley Temptress wasn’t big enough for a swimming pool. What it had was a spa pool, set into the deck on the boat’s highest level. With such a limited adult-only passenger list—and because it was only four feet deep—there was no need for supervision or time restrictions. The pool was filled during the day with passengers soaking aching joints after strenuous shore excursions, but at night it lay deserted, a gleaming oasis in the moonlight.

  The night sky would be awesome up there, Rachel thought. And the sun-warmed water on her aching hip would be even more awesome.

  She and Maud had separate cabins. She wouldn’t disturb anyone if she slipped upstairs and counted stars.

  So... Enough of the lying here wallowing in the past. She was in one of the most magical places in the world. Get out there and enjoy it.

  * * *

  Finn was far back in the shadows of the top deck. The deckchairs had been cleared to make room for passengers to gather for cocktails at sunset. At dawn they’d be set up again, but for now they made a deep shadowed recess of stacked wood.

  Stacks could be manoeuvred, just slightly, so that a passenger could set up one chair behind, far into the shadows, and doze and watch what went on around the ship in the small hours.

  He was on this ship incognito because he suspected his crew was drug-running. Simple as that. Said out loud, it sounded appalling. It was appalling. He didn’t want to believe it but, the more he saw, the more he thought he was right.

  Each time he’d taken this cruise before, the crew was flawless. The cruise was flawless. Since then there’d been a gradual attrition of staff. This crew, this cruise, was less than flawless.

  During last night’s delay the Temptress had veered slightly off course. He’d dozed at the wrong time but had woken just as a small dinghy pushed away from the side.

  He wasn’t very good at this spy stuff. A real spy would never have dozed, but he was figuring things out.

  Indonesia was close. The Temptress never left Australian waters so was never searched by customs officials. Drug transfer would be all too easy.

  By his boat and his crew. The thought made him feel ill.

  He would not go to sleep tonight.

  And then she came.

  Rachel.

  There was one light up here, for safety’s sake, forward of the spa pool. He watched through the mass of folded deckchairs as she slipped off her bathrobe, revealing her swimming costume. He watched as she slid into the water, and he heard her murmur of pleasure as the warm water enfolded her.

  She lay back on the padded cushions at the side and gazed up at the night sky and he glanced up, too, and saw the Milky Way as one never saw it on land, as one could only ever see it where there was no one, nothing for miles.

  As they were now. No civilisation for a thousand miles. The ends of the earth.

  He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be watching. He was starting to feel as if he was invading her space, her privacy.

  So stand up and say hi? He’d scare the daylights out of her.

  ‘Who’s there?’

  He froze. What the...? He was tucked right in behind the stacked chairs. There was no way she could see him. Was there someone else coming up to join her?

  He could see out through the gaps in the stacks of seats, but that was only because she was in a pool of light. Surely she couldn’t see in. Not when he was so shadowed.

  ‘Who is it?’ She was suddenly nervous, gripping the edge and starting to pull herself out.

  It must be him. She’d sensed his presence and he was frightening her. No...

  ‘Rachel, it’s Finn,’ he called. Whatever illegal things were happening, nothing seemed to be taking place tonight. Hopefully, no one below deck could hear.

  ‘F...Finn?’ She was half in and half out of the water, peering into the shadows. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Meditating,’ he said, making his voice firm, abandoning his hiding place, strolling out as if it were the most natural thing in the world that he’d been sitting behind a stack of deckchairs in the small hours.

  If the people he was watching had this woman’s intuition...

  ‘How did you know I was there?’ he asked, trying to make his voice casual.

  ‘My grandma was Koori,’ she said, still sounding nervous. ‘She was sensitive at the best of times, and when she was older she lost her sight. She reckoned if she had to learn to make her way by sound, we should, too. She’d take us out to the park at night, turn off the torch and make us tell her what was happening. And then she’d tell us whether we were right. Your chair scraped a bit—and then I thought I heard you breathing.’

  ‘That’s creepy.’

  ‘Not as creepy as you hiding behind deckchairs,’ she retorted, reaching for her bathrobe.

  ‘Don’t get out,’ he told her quickly, but not moving any further forward. He desperately did not want to frighten this woman. ‘I didn’t mean to invade your privacy. I’ve had my quiet time now. I’ll go.’

  She slid down into the water again, neck deep, and watched him. She’d tied her hair up, knotting it on top so it wouldn’t get wet. She looked...stunning. A nymph in the moonlight.

  Her fear was fading. Speculation took its place. ‘Meditating,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘Like in Zen?’

  ‘Yoni Mudra,’ he said promptly. Back in his boat-building days, he’d built a boat for one interesting lady. Maud-ish, but with kaftans and cowbells. The entire time he’d built, she’d tried to convert him to whatever it was she followed.

  He still wasn’t sure what it was, but he’d enjoyed it.

  And, to his astonishment, Rachel knew it.

  ‘I’ve heard of Yoni,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘That’s where you block your ears, cover your eyes, pinch your nostril and press your lips together with whatever fingers are left. Breathing’s optional.’

  ‘When I’m deep in meditation, that’s a worry,’ he said, starting to smile. She really was one amazing woman. ‘I can go ten minutes without remembering to breathe.’

  She chuckled, but then she said, ‘You’re lying.’

  ‘How can you doubt me?’ he demanded, wounded. ‘I prefer mantra meditation, but humming my Oms would wake the boat.’

  She chuckled, but then her smile faded and she looked at him directly. She was floating forward on the cushioned pads at the side, her chin resting on her arms. Her attention was all on him.

  ‘So you were hiding behind the deckchairs—why?’

  ‘There’s a good one set up at the back. It’s comfy.’

  ‘It would have been comfier if you’d set it up in the front.’

  ‘I might have scared any chance wanderers with my weird breathing.’

  She thought about that. ‘How many chance wanderers have been up here?’

  ‘None,’ he admitted.

  ‘But you were expecting some?’

  ‘I was right to expect,’ he said. ‘Here you come, wanting to gossip...’

  ‘Right,’ she said dryly. ‘Go back to your Yonis. I won’t bother you.’

  ‘I’m done with Yoni. My chakras have been wakened and they can’t go back to sleep. So...’ He surveyed her with care. He had frightened her, he thought. He should leave, but he had the feeling that she’d no longer feel safe here. He’d spoiled her night.

  She didn’t believe him about the meditation. Why should she? It was a crazy story.

  He couldn’t tell her the
truth, but maybe he could make it normal. He could make her relax and then leave.

  Leave?

  What he’d really like to do—really like to do—was move closer, maybe even slip into the spa.

  Right. Strange guy, hiding in the shadows and then jumping into the spa... She’d be justified in screaming the ship down.

  ‘You can’t sleep?’ he asked, and she shook her head.

  ‘Nope.’ Nothing forthcoming there.

  ‘It’s the best time,’ he said easily, shoving his hands deep in his pockets and lounging back against the ship’s railing. Giving her space. Acting as if this were midday rather than the small hours. ‘When I was a kid I used to escape at night,’ he told her. ‘My grandparents went to bed at eight o’clock. By nine they were asleep and I’d climb the tree under my window and head off for a night’s adventures.’

  ‘You lived with your grandparents, too?’

  ‘My mother died when I was five,’ he said briefly. ‘She had what my grandma called spongy lungs. Bronchiectasis. I can barely remember her.’

  ‘Our parents dumped Amy and me with Grandma when we were toddlers,’ she told him. ‘They were tired of playing families. Thank heaven for grandmas.’

  ‘I’d say that, too,’ he said. ‘Grandparents rock. As do dogs. Gran and Pop were too old to keep me company, so I got my first dog when I was six. Wolf even climbed the tree with me.’

  ‘Wolf?’

  He grinned at that. ‘He was a bitser,’ he admitted. ‘Contrary to his name, he’d lick you to death before he’d bite, but he gave me courage. Kid roaming the night with Wolf...cool. I’d never have had the same street cred with a dog called Fluffy.’

  ‘I called my dog Buster,’ she said, smiling back at him. Finally relaxing. ‘Maybe naming him Wolf would have been better—but I suspect people would have laughed. It’s too late now.’

  ‘You only had the one?’

  ‘I only have the one. Buster’s staying with Amy during this cruise.’

  ‘How old is he?’ he asked, startled.

  ‘Ancient. I didn’t get him until I reached my teens and I’ve had him ever since. And yes, he’s been my only one. When Grandma was alive we lived in apartments, no dogs allowed. When I found Buster we were with foster parents, and Amy and I had a heck of a job to persuade them to let us keep him.’

  Foster parents...

  Uh oh. The word made Finn take a mental step back. Warning bells were ringing. Petite and vulnerable...

  But maybe vulnerable wasn’t the right word.

  ‘But, despite no Wolf, we learned martial arts,’ she continued, reflective now, looking back. ‘Amy and I are both black belt. That’s served the same purpose as your Wolf, I reckon. You needed Wolf for protection, but we’re fine with Buster. Amy and I can take on guys twice our size and win.’

  ‘That would explain the kick,’ he said faintly.

  ‘I guess it would.’ She eyed him with speculative enjoyment. ‘If I’d really needed to get free... We can throw men bigger than us. Do you want a demonstration?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Pussycat.’

  ‘I’m only a he-man when I have Wolf,’ he admitted, growing more and more fascinated. The thought of Rachel climbing out of the pool and trying to throw him...

  He could let her try.

  Dripping wet woman. Body contact. Darkness.

  Not a good idea, no matter how tempting—but heaven only knew the effort it cost to refuse.

  She was still watching him with eyes that saw too much. He had to say something. Something that didn’t evoke the image of Rachel in her swimming costume, trying to throw him...

  ‘Wolf...Wolf died when I was fifteen,’ he managed, moving right on. Or trying to move on. ‘After Wolf came Fang—he was a Labrador who could leap tall buildings if a sausage was at stake. Now Connie has a cat called Flea.’

  ‘Flea,’ she said faintly. ‘That’s a horrible name.’

  ‘The fleas were horrible, too,’ he admitted, settling a little. Starting to enjoy himself. Starting to enjoy her. ‘He was a stray who came with attachments. But we’ve conquered Flea’s fleas.’

  ‘I’m glad.’ She gave a decisive nod, tucked her chin further down onto her folded arms, then proceeded to survey him with concentration. Her concentration was unsettling. He was developing an unnerving feeling that he wasn’t able to hide from what she was seeing.

  How much had her Koori grandma taught her? How to see past a man’s defences? How to read lies?

  Like who were these kids he talked of?

  Don’t ask, he pleaded silently, wishing suddenly that he hadn’t mentioned Flea, a cat who led to his siblings.

  ‘The kids...’ she said.

  He’d asked for this. ‘Yes?’

  But his tone must have instinctively said Don’t go there, and she got it. She looked at him for a long moment and said, ‘You don’t want to talk about them?’

  ‘I don’t.’

  When had that ever stopped a woman asking more? he thought. But, to his surprise, she nodded and obliged. With only the one sideways question.

  ‘You’ll go home to them when this cruise finishes?’

  ‘I will.’ He could answer that without lying.

  Implying they were his had been stupid, he conceded, but his reasons for the defence they gave him still stood. And explaining now was unnecessary.

  She had no need to know, and she’d moved on. ‘Fair enough,’ she said, and turned her attention upward. ‘Do you know the southern sky?’

  That unsettled him again.

  This woman was a geologist. She knew the forms of meditation. She knew stars as well?

  ‘Am I about to learn?’ he asked dubiously.

  She chuckled. ‘This is no dinner date,’ she assured him. ‘So no lectures. And actually I’m not all that honed up on the constellations. The Southern Cross is pretty cool, though, isn’t it?’

  ‘It is.’ It was. He’d been staring out into the darkness for the last few hours. The Milky Way was spread across the vast night sky and from here he could pick out thousands of individual stars; dot points of light that combined were a mass to take a man’s breath away.

  As was the woman smiling up at him.

  The desire to slide into the pool with her was almost overwhelming.

  He was fully clothed. He was sensible.

  A sensible man should leave.

  He couldn’t. He physically couldn’t.

  Maybe he could compromise. He slipped off his shoes, rolled up his trousers and slid down to sit on the edge. Not so close to be intimate. Close enough to be companionable.

  She looked up at him and she raised an eyebrow. ‘Not coming all the way in?’

  ‘Your Maud should take better care of you,’ he growled. ‘I warned you. What are you doing, cavorting in spa pools...?’

  ‘With honourable scoundrels...’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘That’s what Maud and I have decided you are,’ she said blithely. ‘We’re not sure whether we believe you or not, but we’re giving you the benefit of the doubt.’

  To say he was disconcerted would be too light a description.

  Producing Richard and Connie to divert Maud’s matchmaking plans had been a spur of the moment decision, made almost light-heartedly. Rachel’s description of him as an ‘honourable scoundrel’ was similarly light-hearted, but there was a major part of him that was saying he didn’t want to be categorised by this woman.

  He’d done it to himself.

  ‘Do you play Scrabble?’ she asked, which disconcerted him all over again.

  ‘Scrabble?’ he managed blankly, and she stared up at him as if he’d arrived from another planet.

  ‘You haven’t heard of Scrabble in the US?
’

  ‘I...yes.’ His grandparents used to play. A lot.

  ‘Well, here’s an invitation no playboy can resist. Every day after lunch, when everyone else is supposed to be taking a nap and recuperating for our next adventure, Maud and I play Scrabble in the rear lounge. If you feel like a challenge, you’re very welcome. Mind, we take no American spellings—and we take no prisoners.’

  Scrabble...

  With Maud.

  And Rachel.

  He thought back to this morning, to his idea that this woman could be a friend. Here she was, offering friendship.

  She was lying in the spa bath in the moonlight looking so lovely she took his breath away.

  She was smiling at him quizzically, and he thought of her black belt in martial arts. He’d produced Connie and Richard to protect her as much as to protect himself—and suddenly he knew this lady needed no such protection.

  She wasn’t interested; it was as plain as that.

  She was offering him friendship.

  And suddenly, irrationally, he was looking at her and wanting more.

  No. He was here as a loner, an undercover boss, here to find out what was messing with his business. He had neither the time nor the inclination for any relationship.

  Except Rachel was here and he definitely had an inclination for a relationship.

  It couldn’t happen. Not here. Not now. Maybe later, when they were safely on shore, he thought, when Rachel was on her own ground, when he’d cleared up this mess and was able to tell her the truth.

  Meanwhile...Scrabble or nothing.

  ‘Done,’ he said weakly.

  ‘We’re good,’ she warned him.

  ‘So am I.’

  She eyed him speculatively in the dim light. It was the weirdest feeling. This was a romance setting to end all romance settings. Moonlight on the top deck of a luxury cruise ship. Calm waters, a warm, gentle breeze, the moonlight a ribbon of silver across the water. A heroine in the spa pool, lazing back in her swimming costume, her hero beside her, not in the water but close enough to touch.

  This was doing his head in.

  ‘I’m used to winning,’ he managed and she grinned.

  ‘Excellent. I do love to see a man brought down to his proper place in the scheme of things. I should get out now and go back to bed. I’ve no intention of playing to-the-death Scrabble on too little sleep.’