by Dana James
He stood up, looking down at her with eyes like splintered ice. ‘Seawitch sails for Athens first thing in the morning. Either you sail with me or I withdraw bail.’
Polly leapt to her feet. ‘You’d leave me here?’ she choked as her gaze flew round the shabby, spartan room.
‘This is an interview-room,’ he reminded her. ‘I doubt that a cell would be as comfortable.’
‘Th-that’s b-blackmail,’ she spluttered.
‘It’s your choice,’ he retorted flatly, and looked at his watch. ‘You’d better make up your mind.’
Polly turned away from him, collapsing on to her chair once more. What was she to do? How could she tell him she had never done any ocean sailing before? Clive had said it didn’t matter. They had plenty of time and, with the auto-helm, he could manage the boat alone. All she had to do was provide three good meals a day.
But everything was different now. With the meeting re-scheduled a week earlier a fast passage was vital. And that meant hard sailing, long hours, and working as a team. With Nathan Bryce? A man whose idea of democracy was everyone agreeing with what he had already decided?
Besides, how could she crew efficiently when she didn’t have the faintest idea of what she was supposed to do?
The alternative, spending the time until her trial in gaol, made her feel queasy just thinking about it. It could be weeks. She would have to let her parents know, and her father would insist on paying her bail, which would certainly wreck their holiday plans. She couldn’t do that. The debt was hers, and she had to pay it.
It couldn’t be that difficult to sail a boat. She was strong, nimble, and a quick learner. She could handle that. But could she handle Nathan Bryce?
What was there to handle? He was a hard-nosed, tunnel-visioned businessman, concerned only with getting to his precious meeting on time. As far as he was concerned she was nothing more than a time-and-labour-saving device required for the voyage. When she considered the alternatives there was no choice.
Sucking in a shaky breath, aware she was taking the greatest gamble of her life, she returned to face him. ‘You have yourself a crew, Mr Bryce.’
CHAPTER THREE
While Nathan completed the paperwork with the police and Customs officers, Polly excused herself and found the toilet.
After rinsing her face and hands under the cold running water, she dried them on a couple of paper towels. A few swift strokes of the comb smoothed her bubbly curls into soft wings which lay neatly against her well-shaped head and feathered down the nape of her neck.
Her hands dropped to her sides as she gazed into the cracked mirror. The face staring back at her was wide-eyed and nervous. That wouldn’t do at all. She had to project confidence. If she looked as though she knew what she was doing, she might just be able to bluff her way through.
One thing was certain—she wasn’t staying in this building one instant longer than she had to.
Snatching up her bag and cardigan, she returned to the Enquiry office. Nathan glanced round and strode forward to meet her.
‘Ready?’
‘Need you ask?’ Polly murmured, inclining her head with frosty politeness towards the men whose expressions reflected varying degrees of speculation. Colour surged to her cheeks. She dug her nails into her palm. What had he told them? She took a grip on herself. What did it matter? She had far more important things to think about, like how she was going to survive the next four weeks alone with a man whose quiet voice and manner hid a ruthlessness and determination that made steel look limp by comparison.
As they walked out on to the street Polly took in a lungful of crisp cool air, savouring her freedom. Then she shivered.
Immediately Nathan pulled her cardigan from over her arm and draped it around her shoulders. His hands lingered for a moment, his fingers hinting at a strength that made her throat tighten. She swallowed involuntarily.
‘The season is still young,’ he warned. ‘Though the days are getting warmer, spring nights can be surprisingly cold.’
‘So I’m beginning to realise,’ Polly replied, clenching her teeth to stop them chattering. He was still without a sweater over his lemon T-shirt, but the drop in temperature didn’t seem to be bothering him. It wouldn’t dare, she thought wryly.
He looked down at her. ‘I know what you want,’ he said in that soft deep voice that made her think of a silk-sheathed scalpel.
She moistened lips suddenly and inexplicably dry. ‘I think that’s most unlikely, Mr Bryce.’
His dark brows rose, his eyes gleaming in the reflected light. Polly felt the fine hair on her arms stand up, and apprehension danced like static electricity over her skin as he bent his head, his breath warm against her ear. ‘Come on, own up—you’d kill for a good meal, a hot bath, and a soft bed. Will you settle for two out of three?’
Which two? Polly wondered instantly, and clamped her lips together so the words didn’t spill out.
He led her to a waiting taxi and, as he held the door for her, for a brief instant their eyes met.
She knew he was laughing at her. A man of sophistication and wide experience, he recognised her lack of both and was teasing her like a cat playing with a mouse.
Somehow containing her fury, she flashed him a smile that would have made a lesser man shrivel. ‘How thoughtful.’ She climbed in.
‘Not at all,’ he demurred. After telling the driver to take them to the marina, he climbed in beside her. ‘We have a demanding trip ahead of us, Miss Levington, and I have a lot of money invested in you.’
The thought of the twenty-five thousand pounds he had pledged in the belief that he was getting a skilled crew left her too daunted to frame a suitably crushing reply. So she remained silent as the taxi carried them towards the restaurants and bars that nestled beneath blocks of luxury flats overlooking the marina.
She felt like a tightrope walker suffering an attack of vertigo, terrified she was going to topple.
The taxi pulled up and they got out. After paying off the driver Nathan steered her into a busy, softly lit restaurant, and she had to admit he had guessed correctly that a meal did indeed top her list of priorities.
The rich, mouthwatering aroma of freshly cooked food made her stomach gurgle in anticipation. The sounds of animated conversation and laughter, the pop of wine corks and the chink of cutlery all combined to lift her spirits. She was free and among people again, people who were enjoying themselves.
As the shirt-sleeved waiter preceded them across the crowded room, Polly was startled when people began calling out to Nathan. He nodded and smiled, but he kept moving. Polly’s cheeks grew warm, then hot, as she became aware of frankly appraising stares from both men and women.
‘Fame must be such a bore,’ she quipped, determined to show him how unimpressed she was by the eyelash-fluttering of the women and the hearty handshakes of their escorts as they traded banter and insults with him.
‘If you can’t stand the heat . . .’ he shrugged. ‘It has its uses.’
‘So I see,’ she muttered, waiting while he gently removed from his neck the clinging arms of a laughing woman who had plastered herself to his front.
‘Getting a table in a crowded restaurant, for example.’ The dry look he threw her over his shoulder as they followed the waiter to a small table in the corner stung her cheeks with colour.
Nathan nodded his thanks as the waiter presented each of them with a leather-bound menu. ‘Gibraltar is a popular stop-over for boats heading for races off Greece, Yugoslavia and Turkey. Being in the same business, it’s inevitable that we bump into each other all over the world. Crews and sponsors tend to frequent the same restaurants, pubs and hotels. We’re a bit like fish,’ he said drily. ‘We move from place to place in shoals.’
Polly glanced round. ‘Are all these people involved in ocean-racing, then?’
‘Most of them. Then there are the usual bunch of hangers-on.’
‘Who are they?’ His scathing tone had fanned her curiosity.
‘Yes, apart from them.’ Her reply was crisp and she held his gaze, letting him see her anger. How dared he imagine she had anything in common with those girls?
‘People who call themselves financial advisers, yacht brokers, design consultants, even journalists. But whose real job is picking up information.’
Polly blinked, not quite sure if he was serious. ‘You mean . . . spies?
Nathan nodded, and this time there wasn’t a glimmer of laughter in his flinty gaze.
‘What sort of information?’ she whispered over her open menu, fascinated yet uneasy at this glimpse into a world she had thought existed only in books or TV movies.
Nathan shrugged. ‘It could be anything from a new sail shape or keel design to gossip about a skipper’s sexual preferences.’
Polly’s involuntary blush infuriated her. ‘I don’t see how that—’
He sighed impatiently. ‘Do I have to spell it out? Ocean racing is big business involving vast amounts of money. Once a rumour starts to spread it affects concentration, not to mention morale. And that gives opposing teams an edge.’
‘But if it isn’t true—’
He shrugged. ‘So what?’
Polly was appalled. ‘Whatever happened to sport?’
Nathan’s mouth quirked in a mirthless, sardonic smile. ‘What a naïve little thing you are. Shall we order?’
Remembering just in time that this heartless cynic was responsible for getting her out of the clutches of the Gibraltar Police and Customs Service, Polly managed to bite back the caustic retort trembling on the tip of her tongue and stared blankly at the vast selection of starters and main courses.
Nathan closed the folder and laid it on the starched tablecloth. ‘Might I suggest Brie fritters, followed by baked fish, with shredded lettuce, lemon slices, and rice flavoured with fresh herbs?’
Polly looked up. The waiter had returned, and was hovering respectfully as he waited to take their order. She closed her own menu. This was not the moment to make a stand for independence. There would be plenty of time for that. Besides, he had chosen a tasty nourishing meal which would not lie too heavily on her achingly empty stomach. She nodded her agreement. ‘That sounds delicious.’
But when he ordered a bottle of chilled white wine she said quickly, ‘Not for me.’
His face hardening, Nathan nodded briefly at the waiter. When the man had gone he rested his folded arms on the table. Polly was acutely aware of the contrast between his bronzed skin and the spotless white linen.
‘Miss Levington,’ his soft drawl had a brutal edge, ‘as this is a business trip, not a pleasure cruise, I intend to spend my nights sleeping. I find a glass or two of wine aids the digestion and makes an excellent nightcap. However, it’s not compulsory.’ His smile was pleasant, but his gaze held contempt. ‘I hope I make myself clear?’
Furious that she had no control over the scarlet tide that flooded her face at his insinuation, Polly clasped her hands tightly under the table. If he had written it in letters of fire he couldn’t have made it plainer. He was not trying to get her tight. He didn’t find her remotely attractive, and the meal and wine were simply fuel to replenish spent energy, not a prelude to seduction.
‘I understand perfectly, Mr Bryce.’ Polly’s smile was glacial. ‘However, your vanity has made a fool of you. I don’t drink because alcohol gives me a headache. I sleep like a log and never get indigestion. Other people’s methods of handling those problems, or any others they may have, for that matter, are of no interest to me whatever. I hope I make myself clear?’
His surprise was fleeting but unmistakable. But Polly’s pleasure at having scored a valuable point was tempered by fury. Who the hell did he think he was? How dared he assume her refusal of wine was in any way connected with him? He was, without doubt, the most arrogant, self-opinionated man it had ever been her misfortune to meet.
As he opened his mouth to reply he was interrupted by a polite cough. They both looked up to see a short, wiry little man who had been table-hopping beaming down at them. He had carefully groomed silver hair and skin like seamed leather. His lizard eyes, as they flicked from Nathan to Polly and back again, were alight with curiosity, yet there was no warmth in them.
‘Nathan, my dear friend, how are you?’ he gushed. ‘I must admit I’m surprised to see you here.’ He glanced at Polly again. ‘Especially in the circumstances.’
Though he rose to his feet, Nathan did not shake hands with the newcomer. ‘Hello, Louis.’ He made no move to introduce Polly. ‘And what circumstances are those?’
The little man made a production out of glancing round to see if anyone was listening. ‘The problem you’re having with the new keel, of course.’ His smile was as smooth and glossy as patent leather.
After a split-second’s hesitation Nathan sighed. ‘Well, if you’ve heard I guess everyone knows.’
‘I imagine so,’ the little man nodded, his sympathy transparently false. ‘It’s always the bad news which travels fastest. And for all of us there’s so much at stake.’
Nathan sighed again. ‘If we can’t get it sorted I may have to pull out.’
The little man’s face was avid, glee battling with commiseration. ‘Surely not? After all your successes? That would be such a shame.’
Nathan spread his hands. ‘You can’t win ’em all.’
‘No, no, indeed. It is, as the saying goes, an ill wind. Perhaps the time has come for another name to be engraved on the trophies. Your attitude does you credit. But then,’ Louis flashed another glossy smile as he delivered the final stab, ‘the British are such good losers. Enjoy your meal.’ He was already moving away. ‘So glad to have seen you.’
‘I bet you are,’ Nathan muttered drily as he sat down again.
‘I’m sorry,’ Polly said quietly. ‘I had no idea. What rotten luck. It must be an awful strain.’
He looked mildly startled. ‘I beg your pardon?’
She leaned closer. ‘This business about the keel,’ she whispered.
Their heads were only inches apart. Nathan’s eyes were unreadable as they looked deep into hers. Then, before she could move or speak, his hand cupped her head and he pulled her forward, covering her mouth with his in a swift bruising kiss.
Frozen with shock, she stared at him as he leaned back in his chair. Her whole body was aflame, with rage, embarrassment, and beneath them something else, an elemental thrill that terrified her. It wasn’t so much what he had done, though it was the very last thing she had expected, it was the way it had felt, like a high-voltage jolt of electricity. It left her dry-mouthed with excitement, yet she didn’t even like him.
Nathan smiled at her. ‘There isn’t any problem with the keel.’
She stared at him, stunned. ‘What?’
‘But I was touched by your sympathy.’
The arrival of the waiter with their fritters jerked her back to full awareness of her surroundings. Glancing surreptitiously around, she glimpsed knowing smiles and heads drawn close as people whispered.
Polly bent her head, masking her burning face with a trembling hand as she smoothed the feathery curls on the nape of her neck.
Nathan shook out his napkin. ‘Louis probably started that rumour himself.’
She rubbed her temples. ‘I don’t understand. Why would he do that?’ And why had Nathan Bryce kissed her? He had made a public spectacle of them both. There were times and places for behaviour like that, and this was neither. Even if they were fond of each other, which they most definitely weren’t. So why had he done it?
‘Louis is a financial freebooter,’ Nathan said quietly. ‘A wheeler-dealer with fingers in a number of pies, some of them very shady. His syndicate is new to ocean racing. He’s trying to buy respectability. No doubt it’s also a tax dodge. But tha’
s not enough for Louis. The boat bearing his name and company logo has to win, and he’ll use every trick in the book to boost his chances.’
The waiter reappeared with the bottle of wine Nathan had ordered. Polly poured herself some water from the carafe on the table.
Nathan tasted the wine and, as the waiter left after filling his glass, he raised it. ‘I won’t ask if I can tempt you.’
Despite his deadpan expression, Polly sensed he was not referring solely to the wine.
A pang of yearning stabbed her, but she banished it at once. Was she mad? The wounds Giles had inflicted were only just beginning to heal. Had she ever really meant anything to him? Or had all his compliments and charm, so convincing at the time, been just a charade to get him what he wanted? ‘If you really loved me you would . . .’
Had she learned nothing? Did she want to be just one more notch on Nathan Bryce’s bedpost? Because that was all she ever would be to a man like him.
‘Very wise,’ she agreed tartly. ‘A refusal often offends. Male egos are so fragile.’
He lifted his glass higher in a silent mocking salute.
Despite a flaring anger at this impertinence her eyes were drawn to the strong column of his throat as he swallowed. Then she realised he was watching her, his heavy-lidded eyes gleaming with amusement and speculation.
Feeling the blush mount in her cheeks, she looked down quickly and, picking up her knife and fork, forced herself to start eating.
After the first melting mouthful reminded her how hungry she was, it was much easier to push disturbing visions and hurt-filled memories to one side and devote her attention to the food.
‘Aren’t you going to ask why?’ Nathan drawled.
Polly’s head came up sharply. But she was learning fast. ‘Perhaps you’d better tell me what you’re referring to,’ she replied warily.
‘Not introducing you to Louis.’