Two Weeks in the Magnate's Bed

by Nicola Marsh

  She shoved her hair out of the way, dragged air into her lungs and stepped away, desperate for physical distance where a moment ago she couldn’t get close enough.

  His mouth kicked up into a rueful smile. ‘Guess that perfume almost lived up to its name.’

  Soft moonlight reflected in his eyes, and while she couldn’t fathom their expression, she knew hers was horrified.

  ‘In your dreams, lover-boy.’

  She blinked, wondering where that rapid retort had come from. The quick comeback had shocked her almost as much as her eager response to his kiss.

  To her amazement he chuckled—a deep, rich sound that had no right warming her. ‘I guess here’s where I should say it was my fault and that the kiss was way out of line.’

  Her head snapped up, her stare accusing.

  ‘You’re right on both counts—but you’re not going to apologise, are you? You’ve been charming the pants off me ever since I issued that stupid dare, so the way your warped mind works you probably think of it as all part of the game.’

  ‘Charming the pants off you, huh?’

  He dropped his gaze to her dress, and she blushed before jabbing a finger at him.

  ‘You’re incorrigible, you know that?’

  ‘So I’ve been told.’

  He grabbed her finger, lowered it, taking the opportunity to hold her hand, strumming the back of it with his thumb, soothing her anger just when she was getting worked up. Anger was good. Anger was distracting. Much better than focussing on the other emotions whirling through her: wonder and awe and a soul-deep yearning to feel half as good now as she had for those brief seconds in his arms.

  ‘What do you want to hear? That I’ve wanted to kiss you for days? Damn straight. Do I want a repeat? Hell, yeah.’

  A few of Jax’s parting shots echoed through her head: frigid, frosty, aloof, cold. How could she be any of those things when a kiss from Zac set her alight and he wanted a repeat performance?

  But it couldn’t happen again. Not when Jax’s other comments still resonated: how their relationship had been a bit of fun, nothing serious, a fling. She’d given him her heart; he’d given her a case of dating stage-fright for the next three years. There was no way she’d ever get involved with a guy again without having the relationship parameters spelled out at the start.

  As if a transient sailor boy who lived his life at sea would be interested in anything more than a fling.

  She yanked her hand out of his, folded her arms. ‘A repeat is not an option.’ She frowned for good measure, her old prickly exterior firmly back in place. ‘It was a mistake. Just forget it.’

  He shook his head, the hint of a smile curving those incredible lips she’d never forget. ‘Impossible.’

  Great. Was he referring to not repeating the kiss or forgetting it? No way was she asking for clarification.

  With her head a riotous confusion of thoughts and her heart a frightening jumble of emotions, she knew she had to escape. Fast.

  Her usual shyness wasn’t justification for this desperate need to run. This had more to do with the growing horror that she’d totally embarrassed herself by kissing him like a sex-starved Playboy Bunny, and the deep, unshakeable fear she’d like to do it again.

  ‘I have to go.’

  She didn’t wait for a response. Kicking off her shoes, scooping them up with trembling hands, she made a mad dash across the sand, wishing she could flee the memories of her insane response to his kiss as easily.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  LANA tossed and turned all night, haunted by a tall, dark sailor with piercing blue eyes who commanded her dreams in explicit erotic detail.

  Sleep-deprived and grumpy, she rolled out of bed at six, needing an aerobics class more than ever to work off some of her pent-up frustration. It worked back home, when she had to unwind after dealing with missing freight or junior staff with non-existent people skills, so why not here?

  Zac had kissed her.

  And she’d let him.

  Worse, she’d responded, lost control for an insane moment in time, dropping her guard for a pair of persuasive blue eyes and a dashing smile.

  She never dropped her guard—not since discovering Jax’s deception, not since he’d dumped her and trampled her hopes for a future in the process.

  It was why she didn’t go in for fancy clothes or makeup, or snazzy highlights in her hair. She was comfortable in her own skin, secure in using her bland appearance as a protective mechanism to ward off guys after more than she could give.

  But Zac didn’t seem to care. It was as if he saw past her dreary dresses and sloppy T-shirts, as if he saw the real her: a woman with needs, a woman who wanted to break free of her conservative mould but was too damn scared to try.

  How ironic. He’d caught her off-guard and she’d given in to temptation, her burgeoning confidence courtesy of the dance class and the perfume purchase retreating faster than the First Fleet under siege.

  Now she had to deal with the aftermath of that scorching kiss and her cringe-worthy sex-starved reaction. Ensure she forgot it and make damn sure it never happened again.

  Once dressed, she headed for the gym. Exercising was familiar, exercising was cathartic, and exercising would surely burn off the energy buzzing through her body since she’d lip-locked Zac McCoy.

  She needed to stop dwelling, stop replaying it in her head. It had happened; she couldn’t take it back. Now she needed to move on, protective armour firmly in place again.

  Determined to stop brooding, she strode into the small gym, crammed with about twenty ladies of varying shape, age and attire warming up on exercise bikes and treadmills.

  Some of her tension dissipated in an instant at the comforting familiarity, and she found a space, dropped her towel and started stretching. She was midway through a hamstring stretch, her leg resting on a bar with her head almost touching her knee, when the instructor entered.

  She froze, her hamstring giving a nasty twang as her leg slipped from the bar when Zac strode past, barely breaking stride.

  Oh, no. Seeing him now was too soon, too awkward, too much.

  He faced the room and twenty women sighed in unison. She didn’t—she was supposed to be forgetting last night—but she couldn’t blame them. Not with him standing there looking decidedly sigh-worthy in navy shorts, white polo shirt, his ever-present charming smile in place.

  ‘Good morning, ladies. I can see you’re all keen to start working out if you’re up this early. Unfortunately Shelley had an accident ashore last night, and has a severely sprained ankle. So I’m sorry, but these classes will be cancelled for the remainder of the cruise.’

  Loud groans echoed through the room as Lana bit back a grin. Sailor boy didn’t have a clue how desperate a bunch of women out for their daily endorphin fix could be, and if he thought a simple apology would cut it, he was in for a big surprise.

  Zac was speaking again. ‘However, she’ll be able to check your gym programs from tomorrow. She’ll be here between ten and three, though purely in a supervisory role. Thanks for your understanding.’

  His thanks were pre-emptive. No sooner had he finished speaking than angry women besieged him.

  ‘You’ve got to be joking. I’ve saved for five years to take this cruise and that’s it? No aerobic classes? I must do my classes every day.’

  ‘When I pay for service I damn well expect it!’

  ‘The ship’s company will be hearing about this when I get off this ship.’

  ‘Isn’t there anyone else to take over?’

  He held up his hands, the smile long gone in the face of this terry-towelling tirade. ‘Ladies, please. If you’ll give me a chance to—’

  ‘Now, listen here, mister. This is my tenth cruise, and I’ve cruised with different shipping lines all over the world. So far the service on this ship stinks.’

  A large woman crowbarred into a purple leotard stood toe to toe with Zac, hands planted on ample hips.

  ‘Ever since I set foot
on this tub things have gone wrong. The air-conditioning in my cabin didn’t work, the balcony door jammed, the incompetent waiters mixed up my dinner, the dance instructor was called away at the last minute only to be replaced by the likes of you, and now this. What next?’

  Another woman stepped forward, her rake-thin body clad in designer gear—the type you don’t sweat in—her coiffed blonde hair far too perfect for such an early hour of the morning.

  ‘I’m surprised, Mr McCoy. In my day a PR man knew how to handle life’s little dramas such as this. In fact, he was paid to promote the delights of cruising. You, on the other hand, don’t seem to be earning your wage at all. I would even say you’re rather incompetent.’

  Oh-oh. The situation had turned from tense to downright ugly in the space of two minutes, and Lana felt sorry for him, wanting to help but unwilling to interfere.

  Before he could utter a word, the designer dame jabbed an accusatory finger in his direction. ‘I presume you know who I am, Mr McCoy?’

  He nodded, his lips set in a grim line but his confident aura firmly in place. Lana had glimpsed the same unflappable Zac last night, after the kiss, when she’d slammed her barriers back in place and taken her anger out on him.

  ‘Not only do Mr Rock and I contribute handsomely to this particular shipping line, our personal recommendations go a long way to securing promotions for staff onboard. Personally, I’m having a hard time finding any worthy staff on this ship.’

  She punctuated the air with short, sharp jabs of her hand, lending weight to every word.

  ‘And, furthermore, I recommend you rectify this farce as soon as possible.’

  She spun around and sailed out of the room like the Queen Mary, majestic, impressive, unstoppable.

  Nobody deserved to be publicly berated like that and, taking in Zac’s tense posture and clenched jaw, Lana felt for him.

  She knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of criticism like that—had faced it eight weeks earlier, when she’d appealed to the museum’s CEO to let her be the spokesperson on the Egypt trip.

  The result? If her self-confidence hadn’t been much to start with, it had been non-existent after that meeting, when he’d told her in no uncertain terms she wasn’t ‘the face the museum is looking for’.

  Apparently she was too reserved, too serious, too conservative. All perfectly legitimate qualities in a head curator, but not good enough to front TV cameras and reporters at the digs of their newest discovery. That honour had gone to her trainee, a woman with a bigger mouth, bigger boobs and a bigger wardrobe than her.

  It had hurt. A lot. A whole damn lot.

  She was brilliant at her job; it was the one thing that made her feel good about herself. Little wonder her limited self-esteem had plummeted as a result, and she needed this trip to give it a boost in the right direction.

  Battling the sting of bitter tears threatening to complete her humiliation that day in the CEO’s office, she’d vowed to gain confidence and never be overlooked for a work opportunity again.

  After that kiss last night she’d taken a huge backward step, retreat being her best form of defence.

  But now she possessed skills to help Zac out. Maybe she could take another baby step forward? What better way than taking a class she’d been trained to do?

  She taught at the museum all the time, instructed students and peers alike, and it was the only time she never felt self-conscious in front of a group. She enjoyed teaching, enjoyed imparting skills to others, so why not here, now?

  Clenching and unclenching her hands several times, she shook them out, wishing she could shake off her nerves as easily.

  Tension clawed at her tumbling tummy, and she inhaled in and out, long, slow breaths, to clear her head and give her clarity of thought.

  Maybe not such a good idea, as the more she thought about it the more she wanted to bolt for the safety of her cabin. But hiding away wouldn’t improve her confidence.

  It was now or never.

  With a last deep indrawn breath, she marched towards Zac. ‘Could I have a word with you?’

  He rubbed at the bridge of his nose as a low rumbling resumed through the gym. It was the first time he’d appeared faintly rattled. ‘Now isn’t the time.’

  ‘I can help. I’m a qualified fitness instructor. I can take this class right now, if you want me to.’

  ‘You’re a fitness instructor?’

  He made it sound as if she was a space cadet, and his assessing gaze swept over her. Yeah, as if her outfit made any difference to her credentials.

  ‘You really want to do this?’

  ‘I wouldn’t have offered otherwise.’

  Relief eased the tension in his face, his lips kicking into a mischievous grin. ‘Does it mean I’ll owe you?’

  She almost ran at that point, the memory of that sexy smile seconds before he’d kissed her all too fresh as she focussed on his lips.

  ‘You won’t owe me a thing.’

  ‘Oh, but I will.’

  Heck, how had this turned from her doing him a favour to having him in her debt?

  With that beguiling smile and heat smouldering in his eyes, she was floundering out of her depth more than ever.

  ‘Look, just forget it—’

  ‘Go ahead and take the class. Once you’re done, drop by my office.’

  He straightened, brisk and businesslike, and she wondered if she’d imagined the loaded exchange a moment ago.

  ‘Okay.’

  As she turned away he laid a hand on her arm. Her skin burned despite the innocuous touch.

  ‘One more thing.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Just so you know—I always pay my debts.’ He paused, his disarming smile capable of tempting a saint. ‘And I fully intend making good with you.’

  While her tongue glued itself to the roof of her mouth, his eyes glittered with clear intent before he released her and walked away.

  Lana tucked strands of frizz into her bristling ponytail, all too aware she was fighting a losing battle as she stared at her flushed face covered in a perspiration sheen. The polished brass nameplate on the door to Zac’s office was as highly effective as a mirror—too effective—and she belatedly realised she should’ve ducked down to her cabin before presenting herself here.

  When he’d said he’d see her after the class he wouldn’t have anticipated a bedraggled, scraggly mess arriving at his office. Then again, it wasn’t as if she was trying to impress him. The opposite, in fact. The sooner he realised he couldn’t charm her like every other woman on the planet, the easier her life would be. Even if a small part of her would miss his banter.

  She knocked and waited for a ‘come in’ before pushing the door open. The sight that greeted her snatched the breath from her lungs.

  She’d seen his many faces—sailor Zac, resplendent in uniform, dancing Zac, dinner companion Zac—yet the sight of him behind a desk, scrawling across a daily planner with one hand, tapping a keyboard with the other, issuing instructions into a hands-free phone all the while, had her grabbing the door to steady her wobbly knees.

  Here was a guy in control—a guy who could do anything he set his mind to. He made multi-tasking look easy, and when he glanced up and smiled a welcome she had to steel her resolve, for executive Zac was as appealing as the rest. More so, considering she understood work, thrived on work, her life was all work.

  ‘I’ll get back to you. In the meantime, make sure those timetables are correct to within a second.’

  He stabbed at the disconnect button on the phone, threw his pen down and leaned back in his chair, hands clasped behind his head.

  ‘Well, well—if it isn’t our very own Jane Fonda.’

  With a shrug, she crossed the room and plopped into a chair opposite him. ‘Jane Fonda? Aren’t you showing your age? Her exercise videos are years old.’

  He laughed. ‘So how did it go? Bet those women didn’t give you a hard time.’

  ‘Why would they? Bes
ides, I think they took out all their frustrations on you.’

  ‘Did they ever.’

  He dropped his hands and stood, his sudden proximity making her rethink her choice of seat. The wide, stuffy leather chair in front of his desk had seemed perfect while he was seated, but now, with him towering over her, it wasn’t so appealing.

  ‘Thanks for stepping in and saving my butt.’

  Oh, no. She wouldn’t think about his butt…wouldn’t go there…wouldn’t remember how she’d made a grab for it last night in that fit of insanity.

  Grateful she could blame her flaming cheeks on exercise rather than embarrassment, she cleared her throat. ‘You’re welcome.’

  ‘Now that you’re here, it’s time we had a chat.’

  ‘About?’

  His eyes bored into hers, challenging, determined, as he gestured towards a document on his desk.

  ‘Your employment contract, of course.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ‘PARDON?’

  She tapped her ear, just to make sure she’d heard correctly.

  He picked up the document and offered it to her. ‘Take a look. It’s your employment contract.’

  ‘You’re kidding, right?’

  She stared at the document as if it was her marching orders to walk the plank. ‘I’m on holiday. A well-earned holiday, I might add. I helped you out of a tight spot back there, but that’s it.’

  He threw the contract back on the desk and perched on the desk in front of her—way too close for comfort.

  ‘I understand how you feel, but I need your help. You’d only have to take two classes a day. In return, you’ll be well paid, and it won’t interfere with your holiday at all. You love your job, don’t you?’

  ‘My job?’

  A puzzled frown knit his brow. ‘You said you’re a qualified fitness instructor?’

  ‘I am.’

  But that wasn’t her job. Her job entailed wearing boring business suits, cataloguing boring artefacts and devising boring staff rosters.

  Okay, so she did love her job, and it wasn’t always dull, but after she’d been passed over for the Egypt trip she’d started craving more, needing more, and—strangely—the opportunity now came from the most unlikely source. She stared straight at him.