Suspicious Ways

by Lexxie Couper

  “You’re a jerk, Jackson McKenzie,” Ali snapped at his back. “Dad was so wrong about you.”

  With frightening speed, Jack spun to glare at her. “Andrew was wrong about you. He always said you were intelligent. Thank God, he’s not here to see how you’re running his business. And who you choose to do business with.” He curled his lip. “He’d be sick to the stomach to know his little girl’s become the property of scum like Zane Peterson.”

  Ali rammed her fists on her hips. “What do you mean by that?”

  Jack’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve made your bed, Ali. And now I know who will be lying in it with you. And it isn’t me.”

  Ali’s mouth fell open. “You bastard. How could I have been such an idiot about you?” She went to turn away but Jack grabbed her arms, holding her still.

  “I’m the idiot here, Ali,” he snarled. “I’m the one that’s been played the fool.”

  Ali squirmed in his grip, but Jack held her tight, strong fingers digging into her flesh. His stare bored into her soul. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  This far from the clubhouse, the marina was shrouded in darkness, the ankle-level lights of the jetty barely illuminated the walkway, but Ali couldn’t miss the contempt and anger in Jack’s eyes. Her throat constricted in fear and, mouth suddenly dry, she nervously licked her lips. “Let me go,” she demanded. God, could this be happening?

  Jack drew in a harsh breath. “Tell me, Ali,” he whispered, his voice raw. “Does Peterson kiss you like this?”

  With a savage yank, he pulled her to his body and his mouth captured hers. He drove his tongue into her mouth, demanding. Conquering. She began to struggle, to resist, but he slipped his hands from her arms and dragged them down the length of her back to squeeze her bottom, to hold her hips against his.

  It was an invasion. A domination of her body. The sane part of Ali’s mind knew exactly what Jack was doing. Wanted to fight against it. But she was already burning. Searing heat pulsed through her, flooded her sex, swelling in her breasts. Her hands gripped his shoulders and she clung on, wanting the fire to consume her.

  Jack’s mouth continued to take from hers, his teeth nipping on the delicate flesh of her bottom lip, his tongue meeting hers in fevered battle again.

  Rational thought deserted her. Mindless of where they were, she twisted her fingers through his hair, dragging his head down the column of her neck, wanting his lips to burn a path to the sensitive hollow of her collarbone. He complied willingly, teeth and tongue razing her flesh, sending shots of exquisite pleasure deep into her body.

  A small moan sounded in her throat, a tiny gasp parting her lips.

  Jack raised his head, his breath ragged and shaky, his nostrils flaring. He stared down at her, his face shrouded in shadows. “Remember this when Peterson next touches you.” The words were a low growl. “Remember how I made you feel.”

  Ali blinked, liquid fire still licking through her veins. “Wh-what?”

  He let her go, so abruptly she stumbled back a step.

  “I’ll send someone to collect the keys for Wind Seeker tomorrow. Don’t be foolish and take it anywhere. It’s no longer your property remember.” He gave her a silent look and then turned away, disappearing down the dark jetty, the black night devouring him in an instant.

  Cold reality punched Ali. Hard. A powerful blow that filled her with shock and disgust and shame.

  He’s done it to you again.

  She bit back a chocked sob. The last time she’d felt this way—bruised, wounded and confused, like she’d survived a war but one without reason—Jack had been responsible. She’d sworn never to let it happen again and yet here she stood.

  “No more,” she whispered, balling her fists. “No more.” She needed to sever all ties with Jackson McKenzie. There could be no reason, ever, for him to speak to her again. She would remove him from her life. Completely.

  Icy resolve chilling her heart, she hurried towards the yacht club. She hoped Zane Peterson was still there. If not, she’d go to his house. A knot of dread twisted in her gut, but she ignored it. She was taking back her life. She was taking back her business. And she was taking back her boat.

  And damn Jackson McKenzie to hell.

  Chapter Six

  “What’s up?”

  The unexpected question made Jack start. He looked over his shoulder, squinting into the morning sun as Mike came up behind him on the jetty. “The bastard’s got her,” he stated flatly, turning back to the empty pen.

  “I assume the bastard’s Peterson.” Mike stopped beside him, looking at the vacant space where Wind Seeker should have been. “And because we’re standing at Ali’s pen, I’m guessin’ she’s her.”

  Jack shook his head, thrusting his hands deep into the pockets of his shorts. “I’ve been such an idiot, Turps.”

  “Because?”

  “I practically gave her to him.” Jack looked away from the empty pen, his gaze finding Mako I immediately on the other side of the marina. “Just like I gave Trudi to him.”

  “Jack—” Mike’s voice scratched at Jack’s numb pain, “—far be it for me to point out the bleedin’ obvious, but you are being an idiot. What happened to Trudi wasn’t your fault.”

  Jack stared at Peterson’s motorboat, his jaw clenched. “She was meant to be in my care, Turps. Christ, I was her uncle and she was living under my roof. I promised Kate I’d look after her. Do you know how hard it is for me to look my sister in the eye?”

  “Kate doesn’t blame you,” Mike interrupted. “No one blames you but yourself.”

  Jack shook his head. “If it weren’t for me, Trudi would have gone to college in Armidale, not here. I convinced her parents it would be good for Trudi to come to the city. That she would never reach her full potential staying in the country. I promised them she would be fine staying with me.” He stopped, dragging in a breath as he stared at Wind Seeker’s empty pen. “I shouldn’t have left Sydney. Not after the way Peterson looked at Trudi. I should have done more.”

  “What?” Mike’s wiry eyebrows shot up his wrinkled forehead. “Locked her in your house? Jack, Trudi was almost nineteen when she died. She wasn’t a little girl anymore.”

  “No, she wasn’t, but she was still young enough to be impressed by Peterson’s money, his lifestyle. Kate and Richard aren’t millionaires, Mike. They’ve done it tough their whole life. How was their daughter to resist what Peterson offered?”

  “Jack,” Mike’s voice was serious. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  Jack turned back to his old boss and mentor. “I left her alone, Mike. I was thinking of myself when I should have been thinking of her, and Peterson swept on in. She was sweet and innocent until he got his hands on her. And then she died of an overdose.” Dull, cold rage throbbed through him and he balled his fists in his pockets until his knuckles ached. “Who do you supposed introduced her to drugs? Because it sure as hell wasn’t me.”

  There was no need for Mike to respond. They both knew the answer. “And now Ali is with Peterson?” he asked instead. Soft. Almost resigned.

  Jack took his hands from his pockets and dragged them through his hair. “Yeah. I found them together two nights ago when she was meant to be with me. I said some stupid, hurtful things. This morning, this arrived.” Removing a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket, Jack passed it to his friend.

  Silence stretched for a moment as Mike read the note, the clank and chink of rigging the only sound to be heard. Jack stared at Wind Seeker’s empty pen, oblivious to everything but the pain in his heart.

  Mike looked up, worry etched on his face. “This could be a sick joke. You know what Peterson is like.”

  Jack shook his head. “It’s not. The Commodore was here about twenty minutes ago. He made an off-handed comment about Peterson dropping everything to head off with that pretty Graham girl to the Solomon Islands.” He ground his teeth together, holding back a sigh. “She’s gone off with the devil, Turps, and it’s all my fault. Again.”
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  Mike looked at him for a still moment. “Are you sure? I don’t want to make you feel worse, mate, but have you actually asked Ali if she’s involved with the man?” Jack turned his head and met Mike’s eyes. “Have you?”

  The nor’wester ocean wind tugged gently at Ali’s hair, tossing her ponytail playfully over her shoulder. She reached up and readjusted her cap, leaning her thighs against the helm for the brief moment it took.

  “What a beautiful sight,” an appreciative voice murmured behind her, low, smooth and lecherous.

  Ali wrinkled her nose, trying like hell to ignore Zane Peterson as he stepped closer to her. His hot breath fanned the side of her throat, his sweaty fingers lightly brushing her bare arm before tracing down the line of her spine.

  She jerked away, fixing him with a cold glare over her shoulder. “I’ve told you not to do that,” she said, clenching the helm tightly to stay her hands. The next time he touched her she would hit him. God, it had been a tiring one and a half weeks.

  Almost every hour for the last nine days, she’d reminded herself that this charter was paying off her loan—that after she returned to Sydney she would owe nothing to Jack McKenzie, and therefore the job of fending off Peterson’s advances were worth it.

  It was hard work.

  Ali shot the entrepreneur a quick glance. He’d perched himself halfway along the deck, watching her. Designer sunglasses covered his eyes, but Ali knew they were on her. She could feel their insidious inspection, could feel their weight as they crawled over her flesh. A shudder rippled through her.

  “Cold?” Peterson called.

  “No.”

  “Good.”

  Ali gritted her teeth. She’d made the rules and conditions of this charter very clear—no touching, no holding and definitely no sex. He was chartering her boat and she was the captain. That was it. He’d promptly agreed, but the way he’d studied her as she was loading Wind Seeker the morning they’d left had told her the rules weren’t part of his plans. She’d wanted to tell him to stick his charter in his ear then and there, but Jack’s cruel words were still ringing in her ears, and the thought of him taking her boat strengthened her resolve. Nine days of being undressed with his eyes however, were beginning to grate.

  Thank God her mother didn’t know whom she was sailing with. Not after Jenny had made her feelings on Zane Peterson clear.

  A thick lump filled Ali’s throat at the thought of her mom.

  There’d been a warm understanding in Jenny’s eyes when Ali had explained a large charter would take her away for a few weeks. They’d been sitting together in the hospital, Jenny’s hand in Ali’s, her mom’s smile soft. “You should have told me the money was gone,” she’d whispered. Ali had started, stunned into silence. Jenny had chuckled, a weak sound that made Ali’s stomach twist. “My mind may be a bit wobbly nowadays,” Jenny had continued, squeezing Ali’s fingers with gentle pressure. “But I can still read my daughter like a book. It’s okay, honey, I understand. Do what you have to do.”

  Her mother’s surprise knowledge had given her the strength for the trip. She could do this. She had to do this. That grim resolve had still been with her when, at seven am the following morning, she and Peterson had slipped out of Sydney Harbor abroad Wind Seeker.

  Yet now, under the man’s constant leering inspection, Ali was struggling to find that resolve, that strength. She felt completely exposed. Exposed and vulnerable.

  “That’s another reason to loathe Jack McKenzie,” she grumbled under her breath, adjusting the helm slightly. “If it weren’t for him I wouldn’t be in this mess.”

  Peterson continued to watch her, his perfect white teeth gleaming in the sun.

  A cold southerly gust smacked against them, heeling Wind Seeker slightly and Ali quickly trimmed the sails, trying to ignore the chill that rippled her flesh into goose bumps. Peterson would notice immediately if her nipples pinched into tight peaks under her T-shirt, and goddamn it, that was the last thing she wanted. It was bad enough she was here in the first place, she didn’t need the weather conspiring against her as well.

  “It was fortunate I could procure a docking booth for when we arrive at the yacht club.” Peterson’s voice floated back to her from the deck, overriding the snapping boom of the sails. “Otherwise we’d have been forced to use the dingy.”

  There was a pause, as if he waited for her to say thank you. Ali ground her teeth. How he had managed to get a pen at the small but busy Point Cruz Yacht Club on such short notice was totally beyond her, but she guessed it had something to do with money. Lots of money. When you were as rich as Peterson, you could pretty much buy anything. She flicked a quick glance at the man, the hungry expression on his face not escaping her. Almost anything.

  “I’d like to re-address our deal,” he suddenly said, as if he’d read her mind. “Make some changes.”

  Ali’s pulse tripled. “Not possible.”

  “I think you’ll like this.” He moved back into the cockpit, sliding between her and the stern, his large, sweaty body brushing the length of hers. “It’s beneficial for both of us.”

  “Mr. Peterson—”

  “Hush,” he cut her off, his breath hot on her neck. Heavy hands clamped over her shoulders, fingers pressing against the line of her collarbone before slipping lower. To the swell of her breasts.

  Ali snapped straight. “Mr. Peterson. Take your hands off me.”

  “Oh, sugarpie,” he purred in her ear, fingers skimming the curve of her breasts. “Don’t be childish. Did you really think I was prepared to spend three weeks in your company, spend this much money on you and not get something in return?” He gave his hips a sharp shove, ramming his stiff erection against her butt. “Tsk tsk.”

  Cold fear burst into horrible life in Ali’s stomach. “Get your hands off me,” she demanded, trying to twist free. “Now.”

  In response, Peterson grabbed at her breasts, hard fingers sinking into her flesh as he smashed her back into his body. “You’ll enjoy it, Ali.” His wet breath panted in her ear. “Trust me.”

  One savage hand dragged down her ribcage, plunging past the waistband of her shorts so quickly his fingers tangled in her soft pubic hair before Ali could react. She bucked, her hip smacking against the helm with a crack. “Get the hell off me.”

  “That’s it,” Peterson panted, “fight me.”

  Ali writhed against him, her body trapped between his sweaty bulk and the helm. “Get off me!”

  Peterson laughed, his hands assaulting her body, his erection grinding at the small of her back.

  Oh, Jack. Help me.

  The tortured cry filled Ali’s head, a second before hot, wet lips latched onto her neck and Peterson sucked on her flesh. Ali screamed, black stars exploding in her head. She bucked again, again, lashing out. Struggling to get away. “Get off!”

  But he had her pinned. Brutal fingers were pushing to the very centre of her heat, seeking the folds of her sex. Her shorts were too snug however, stopping the hideous invasion from going further. Snarling in frustration, Peterson jerked his hand from her waistband, pushed her away and for one glorious moment Ali was free.

  And then he lunged at her, driving her against the starboard bench seat.

  Her head smacked the bench, fresh pain erupting in her head as Peterson landed on her, his cruel fingers snatching at her flailing wrists. He snared them, a wet grunt of triumph heating her face. Jerking her arms behind her back, he rammed his hips into hers, a ramrod shaft of savage steel grinding against her crotch.

  “C’mon, Ali,” he panted, thrusting into her even as he fought to hold her down. “You knew all along this is what I wanted.” Her shoulders screamed as he jerked her arms farther behind her back, his fingers scraping at her wrists until he gripped both with one hand. Blazing eyes drilled into hers, a triumphant grin stretching his lips. “What I will have.”

  “No.” Ali screamed, bucking and jerking.

  But it was no use. He was too big. Too heavy.
r />   Too determined.

  Eyes wild, he shoved his bulk harder, harder between the junction of her thighs, grunting with each thrust. Only the denim of her shorts kept him from invading her…

  And then, with a laugh and a shove, his free hand yanked open her fly.

  Cold terror crashed through her. Oh, Jack.

  Peterson bared his teeth in a hideous smirk. “Ready or not, here I come.”

  He raised up his hips, cool air pressing on her fevered flesh as he fumbled with the drawstring of his Speedo.

  It was her chance.

  With a strength born of petrified desperation, Ali bucked, knocking him backward just enough to thrust her knees up and drive him back farther.

  He stumbled, bouncing off the helm. But his stare never left hers, his eyes feverish. Insane with lust. “Oh, I knew you’d be worth it.” He chuckled, regaining his balance as Ali struggled to get to her feet. “So worth it.”

  He lunged again.

  At the very second Ali kicked out her legs, her heels smashing into his crotch with brutal accuracy.

  Peterson squealed. Grabbing his testicles, he crumbled to the cockpit floor, his head striking the helm as he fell.

  Ali leapt to her feet, her pulse roaring in her ears. She scrambled away from him, watching blood pool beneath his head as he curled into a groaning, sobbing ball.

  Anger and fear surged through her, like molten fire and chilling ice. Oh God, he’d just—

  She cut the hideous thought dead. Going there wouldn’t help her now. Sucking ragged breaths in through her nose, she climbed up onto the seat, refusing to tear her stare from the sobbing man on the floor. No way was she taking her eyes off the sick bastard until they were on dry land, quite possibly not even then.

  An icy southerly gust picked that exact moment to hammer against Wind Seeker, making the boom flay erratically. The helm spun, uninhibited by any hand, and Ali grabbed at it, saving the yacht from heeling to port in a sickening dip.

  She wrenched back control, swiftly adjusting the rigging. Hot tears filled her eyes, already stinging from sea spray, but she blinked them away. If only she could wrench back control of her life as easy as she did her yacht.