by Kylie Brant
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ALIAS SMITH AND JONES
Kylie Brant
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Contents:
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14
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Chapter 1
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Analiese Tremaine didn't go around seducing men. If asked, the available men in Tangipohoa Parish could attest that even thinking of Analiese in a sexual way would be tantamount to signing a death warrant. Her three older brothers were as protective of her as a pack of wild dogs, and since the Tremaines owned just about everything round those parts, a fella could be dead and buried and no one would dare question the disappearance. The talk hadn't hurt Analiese's brothers' reputations a whit, but neither had it done anything interesting for her social life.
She'd never had more reason to regret her dearth of experience. The man she'd traveled a thousand miles to hire was scowling down at her. His face, which might have been handsome without the day's growth of beard, was a mask of impatience. At a time like this a woman could use a bit more exposure to the art of flirtation and seduction. As it was, she could only chalk up one more grievance against her brothers and hope that the smile she aimed at the man looked more confident than desperate.
"Listen, Mr.—"
"Jones. No 'mister.' Just Jones."
The fact that he gave no first name made her pause. There'd been no mention of one in her brother's files, either. Just Jones, and a private number she'd traced, with no little difficulty, to this island. To this half-naked man.
He either hadn't bothered with a shirt that day or had dispensed with it as the temperature soared. His brown hair was clubbed back into a short ponytail, and the sun had streaked it tawny. His lashes, absurdly long for a man, were tipped with the same color. But there was nothing warm about his expression. Most people would have quailed beneath the menacing look in his narrowed gray gaze, but Analiese considered herself something of an expert in dealing with short-tempered males.
"I'll double your normal fee."
"I said no, lady. I meant it."
He turned and began striding down the dock. Hurrying after him, she divided her attention between her words and her footing. Huge cords of rope lay in jumbles on the dock, a treacherous obstacle course for the unwary. "Do you really think that's wise? You're turning down quite a bit of money. A man who makes his living as you do can't afford to be picky, can he?"
Her remark brought him around, but because her gaze was on her feet, she rammed into him with enough force to jolt her teeth together. Two hard hands clamped around her forearms and set her away, but not before she'd felt for herself the steely muscles beneath that burnished skin. Smelled the mingled scents of sun, sea, sweat. Scents that shouldn't have been so appealing.
"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"
Analiese preferred to blame her breathlessness on the force of the recent impact rather than her proximity to his rock hard body. "I'm … um…" Since the sight of his tanned muscled torso seemed to have stricken her dumb, she averted her gaze from the distraction in question and gathered her scattered thoughts. "I meant your occupation, of course. It's dependent on tourists and weather, isn't it?"
When she chanced another look at him, his expression had eased infinitesimally, but was no more welcoming. "Listen, lady…"
"Smith." Raising her Ray Bans with one hand, Analiese offered him the other, along with the phony name on her passport. "Ann Smith."
He ignored both her hand and the introduction. "Like I said, I've got a three-day fishing party to take out at dawn tomorrow. Try one of the other charter services I told you about. I'm booked."
"Are they as good as you are?"
"No one's as good as I am." His well-formed mouth didn't even quiver with a hint of humor. It was a simple statement of fact from a man who lacked an ounce of humility. "But I'm not available." He turned around again, clearly believing the matter closed.
She trotted after him. "Your party could be sent to one of the other services. They wouldn't have to be inconvenienced at all."
"They won't be. Because they've already got me."
"I'll give you two and a half times your regular fee." Desperation sounded in Ana's voice, and she made a conscious effort to smooth it. It wouldn't do to let this man suspect how badly she needed him. Or why.
"Nope." Nimbly he leaped from the dock to the deck of the gleaming white ship with Nefarious emblazoned on its bow.
She took a moment to wonder if the ship had been named when he'd bought it or if he'd christened it himself. And if he had, what the name symbolized. But frustration edged out curiosity. "Would you mind telling me why?"
He sent a glance her way, then bent forward to more tightly secure the ship's mooring. "No, I don't mind." His sudden verbosity should have warned her. He'd been maddeningly reticent up to now. "Number one—I gave the other party my word. That might not mean much to folks like you, but it does to me. And two…" He looked at her then, really looked at her. An insolently thorough once-over that left her flesh tingling as though he'd stroked her skin with one callused palm. "…you look like trouble. I don't like trouble."
There was a definite glimmer of satisfaction in his pale gray eyes as he took in her gaping jaw, before he turned his back on her.
When she found her tongue again, she managed, "Trouble? What kind of trouble could I possibly cause?"
"You're a woman, aren't you?"
Her answer, if she'd been able to form one, would have fallen on deaf ears. He'd gone below deck and left her, jaw hanging open and temper on the rise, to bake in the tropical sunshine.
Well, damn. Crossing her arms over her less-than-ample chest, Analiese snapped her mouth shut and fumed. Of all the possible scenarios she'd imagined, somehow this one had failed to occur. Belatedly aware of the interested stares from people on ships docked nearby, she turned, raised her chin and stalked away. The man was being a bit more recalcitrant than she'd anticipated, so she'd have to go back to the motel. Regroup. Form a new strategy. She had until dawn tomorrow to do so.
Because none of the other charter services would do, of course. It had to be Jones. Just Jones.
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A cool shower and a complimentary rum punch in the hotel bar did wonders for Ana's optimism, and she got down to the Machiavellian task of changing Jones's mind. Staring blindly at the useless paper parasol adorning her drink, she gave the matter careful consideration. Thwarting bullheaded men was an area in which she did have a great deal of experience—again, thanks to her three older brothers, who, without frequent reminders, were apt to treat her as though she were a rather dim house pet. But Jones had already proved immune to her famed perseverance. Which meant that the situation called for a bit more creativity.
Idly she watched the area fill up with people, as many locals as tourists. The tiny South Pacific island country of Bontilla was, according to the travel agent, a little-known gem of a tropical paradise with a budding tourism trade. This hotel was the only decent one on the island. Staring through the open-air walls toward the shattering blue of the ocean beyond, Ana couldn't help but think it would be a shame to see its beauty marred in a few years with hordes of stressed-out stockbrokers and their discontented wives.
A loud burst of laughter interrupted her thoughts, and she looked up at the group of half a dozen men sitting nearby. No one would mistake them for locals. Each sported painfully sunburned faces and loose shirts with loud prints. Their conversation centered on their drinking prowess and fishing. Wrinkling her nose, Ana turned away.
She brought the glass to her lips and considered moving to another table as another loud bout of laughter assailed her.
"Wanna lay a lit
tle bet on that, Stevo?"
She barely noted the words. There was a small table for two open near the railing, so she started to rise, intent on changing places.
"We'll see who's the master fisherman tomorrow when we board Nefarious. You'll be begging me to share my secrets then."
Ana stopped and turned back to eye the men speculatively. One of them noted her interest and nudged the one nearest him, and their words tapered off as each turned to look at her. She had only a split second to plan before she smiled brilliantly, moved toward them. "You fellas aren't planning on going out with Jones tomorrow, are you?" At their agreement, she reached for a chair and pulled it up to their table. "Mind if I join you for a few moments?"
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With six beers under his belt and a hot, willing woman on his lap, Jones's mood was still on the surly side. Losing a three-grand charter fee was enough to sour the most affable of temperaments, something he couldn't claim at the best of times. Business, which had already been slow, had recently gotten slower. Steve Fisher, the spokesman of the group, had been vague about the details, but the message had been clear enough. They'd canceled the fishing trip they'd booked with him.
Lexie, the bar's full-time waitress and his part-time bed partner, whispered a suggestive remark in his ear. Ordinarily it would have earned her a laugh and a lusty hug, but only garnered a half smile. The beer had done little to soothe his resentment. Some checking had shown that Fisher and the others had chosen to forfeit their deposit in order to go with Ranachek, another service on the island. And although he knew there was little that Emil Ranachek wouldn't do for a fee, Jones still couldn't figure out what he could have promised the men to convince them to make the switch.
Lexie leaned over him, providing him a view of her impressive bosom. "Maybe I can help chase that mood of yours away," she whispered suggestively. Her fingers stroked over the jaw he hadn't bothered to shave that day. "I get off in an hour. And I can get you off about fifteen minutes after that."
"In an hour I plan to be drunk."
Her laugh was low and sultry. "Lover, that's never stopped us before."
As if he needed a reminder, she planted a long wet kiss on him, one that caused definite signs of interest to stir in his groin, despite his mood. Since it seemed a shame not to show his appreciation, he cupped her breast and nipped at her neck. "See you in an hour."
With visible reluctance Lexie got up, smoothed her short skirt and gave a toss of her long, dark hair. With one last, smoldering look, she swayed back in the direction of the bar, leaving Jones to his beer, his temper and what must certainly be an alcohol-induced hallucination.
He lowered the bottle, squinted across the smoke-hazed space. If he hadn't been the wrong side of sober he'd have sworn the woman sitting near the entrance was the same one who'd spent the better part of an hour today pestering him about a charter. Which was ridiculous, of course. Because there was no way a lady like that belonged in a place like this.
The tavern he occupied didn't even have a name. It was little more than an open-air shanty with a couple of beer signs flickering on the walls. It damn sure wasn't frequented by tourists, which was one of the reasons he preferred it. After hours or days onboard with paying customers, he liked to spend his free time as far away from their type as possible.
He watched the woman toy with the straw in her drink, while she looked around interestedly. Damned if it wasn't the woman from this afternoon. What had her name been? Something ordinary. Johnson. Smith. Yeah, that was it. He ran his thumbnail under the label of his bottle, his attention riveted on the female several yards away. Ann Smith, with the wispy blond hair that was shorter than his own by several inches, and the big innocent blue eyes.
His mouth curled derisively. It had been a long time since he'd believed in innocence, especially when it came to women. So it must be sheer stupidity that had led her here, far enough off the beaten path to spell risk for a single woman on her own.
Ignoring the smile she aimed in his direction, he lifted the bottle to his lips. Whatever her reasons, it was none of his business. He wasn't the type to play white knight, and any chivalrous instincts he'd ever possessed had been ground out of him years ago.
But the woman couldn't have looked more out of place in the seedy tavern if she'd worn feathers and a top hat. Her white dress had straps instead of sleeves with a row of black buttons marching down its front. Giving a quick look around at his neighbors, Jones was certain that he wasn't the only one wondering what he'd find beneath if he unfastened them one by one. Which is why, when she left her table and came to stand before his, he kept his attention trained on the bottle in his hand.
"I just wanted to tell you that my offer still stands, if you should change your mind."
Her words abruptly yanked him back to the reason for his presence here tonight, and the memory still had a bite. Deliberately he let out a long, satisfying belch and scratched his jaw. "And what offer might that be?"
Her expression left no doubt about her reaction to his behavior. That dainty little nose of hers wrinkled up, and she looked at him as if he'd just crawled out from beneath a rock. "The charter."
He blinked for a moment, a thought forming, too nebulous to register immediately. And then it bloomed, fertilized by distrust. "It was you, wasn't it?" That innocent look on her face only cemented his suspicion. "You screwed up tomorrow's charter for me."
Her chin angled, and she met him glare for glare. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Alcohol hadn't totally fogged his senses. He was on to something, and he knew it. Straightening in his chair, an act that seemed to require more agility than usual, he fixed her with a jaundiced eye. "My fishing party canceled tonight. Went with someone else. And then you just happened to show up here, after being quite persistent earlier today, and offer again to hire me. Kind of a coincidence, wouldn't you say? I've never cared much for coincidences."
"Well, let me just make a note of that." With a dramatic flourish she pulled a small black leather notebook from her purse, dug for a pen and opened the pad to a blank page. "Not only does Mr. Jones not … like … trouble—" she spoke the words as she jotted them down "—he doesn't … care … for coincidences." When she caught the tip of her tongue between her perfectly even teeth, she gave the impression of a woman diligently documenting research for future use.
She also gave a damn good impression of a smart-ass. He scowled. "I told you before…"
Without glancing up, she completed his sentence for him. "Not 'mister.' Just Jones. Gotcha. And while I'm at it, I'm just gonna make a note of that, too."
Because it seemed more judicious than strangling her, he lifted his beer to his lips and drained it.
With an audible click, she replaced the cap on her pen and gave him a careless smile. "I can't guess why your group canceled—" she gave his empty bottle a meaningful glance "—but since you still aren't interested I'll ask around tomorrow for another service."
He let her get about four feet away before financial reality took precedence over gut instinct. "I didn't say I wasn't interested."
She looked over her shoulder, and he definitely didn't trust that glint in her eye. "You've changed your mind?"
Not really. Not at all. He wasn't convinced she'd had nothing to do with him losing that fishing group, but try as he might, he couldn't figure a reason for her scuttling his schedule. Maybe the alcohol was fogging his normal common sense, but what was clear in his mind was the looming payment due on his ship. "Exactly what is it that you have planned? I can't see you as the deep-sea fishing type."
"Actually, I was just looking for a relaxing way to spend a few days traveling around the local islands, soaking up some sun. I've been under a lot of stress lately, and I thought a little island hopping might be a great way to unwind."
He rolled his eyes, uncaring that she would see the gesture. Yeah, she looked like she knew a lot about stress, all right. The kind that came from not finding the right shade of
fingernail polish or maybe not getting a date with the captain of the football team. He'd bet a dollar she'd been a cheerleader. There was just something so damn … perky about her.
The last inner warning voice was silenced. The woman was probably just a flat-headed college girl with easy access to her daddy's money. And with the notable exception of her very excellent ass, she was exactly like dozens of other women who found their way down here looking for a cure to their boredom.
His decision made, he said, "There are tons of islands around here, most too small to be inhabited, but if you're looking for little-known beaches, I can show you a few really great ones that haven't been discovered yet."
"That sounds like exactly what I have in mind." She shot him a dazzling smile. "I'm supposed to meet a couple friends the day after tomorrow on Laconos. We can go there first."
"Laconos?" He looked toward the bar, noticed the dark look Lexie was regarding him with. As long as he had the woman's attention, he lifted his empty bottle toward her in a silent request for another, before shifting his attention back to his potential client. "I'm not sure that's such a great idea. The government hasn't been exactly stable there."
She waved away his concern. "That trouble six months ago? They've got a new government in place now, don't they? As a matter of fact, I heard it's jockeying for position in the Global Trade Organization. Sounds pretty stable to me."
Her knowledge of the island's recent history surprised him. Maybe she wasn't as empty-headed as he'd thought. With a mental shrug, he dropped the argument. The ports were open at Laconos, and their beaches were remarkable enough to impress Ms. Smith. No doubt, once she'd roamed them for a day or so her attention would shift elsewhere. "Just how long a trip did you have in mind?"
Her voice was vague, "Oh, I don't know. Four or five days. Can we leave it open-ended?"
Open-ended. Sweet Jesus. Jones picked up the beer that Lexie slammed down in front of him, ran a discreet hand along her bare thigh and squeezed lightly. The waitress's expression lightened a bit, fortunately. Despite their casual relationship, she had a jealous streak that required careful handling.