Give a Man a Bad Name

by Roberta Leigh

  ‘And you deserve an A plus for resistance!’

  They had now returned to the spot where their towels lay, and they relaxed in the warmth for an hour and then rowed back to the boat, both absorbed in their thoughts and content to remain silent. It had been a perfect day, Marly conceded, and was reluctant for it to end, wishing to hold on to the idyll for as long as possible.

  Knowing what was going to happen, and worried she might not be able to play the innocent, she busied herself in the galley making coffee while Alex went off to start the engine. It roared into life and then frustratingly died—not surprising given that she had earlier ensured that the engine’s vibration would loosen one of the main leads sufficiently to cause a fuse when the engine was stopped and then restarted. It was easy enough to repair, but even if Alex was a whiz with engines he would take some time to locate the fault, and by then it would be dark and inadvisable to attempt the return journey.

  After she had heard him make several unsuccessful attempts to fire the motor, she decided it might seem odd if she didn’t show some curiosity, and she hurried on deck to join him.

  ‘Anything wrong?’ she cooed.

  ‘Yes, but I’m damned if I can see what it is.’

  Watching him tug at wires, test screws, and tinker around with a spanner, it was clear to Marly, who had a good knowledge of engines, that in spite of looking as if he knew what he was doing Alex knew very little.

  ‘Don’t tell me we’ve run out of fuel?’ she asked straight-faced as he wiped his grease-stained fingers on an oily rag.

  ‘I won’t—because we haven’t,’ he stated edgily.

  ‘Can it be the fan belt, then?’

  ‘You’ll be asking about the exhaust next,’ he muttered. ‘This isn’t a car, you know!’

  ‘Sorry. I was only trying to help.’

  ‘Then see if you can find the instruction manual. I noticed it below somewhere.’

  She found it on top of some books in the main cabin, and pretending not to notice it was printed in Japanese, solemnly handed it to him.

  Alex riffled through the pages and swore softly under his breath, though sufficient words were audible to bring the colour to her cheeks, a fact he noticed immediately.

  ‘Forgive me, Marly, but this is absolutely useless. Unless you speak Japanese?’

  ‘Fluently,’ she said drily. ‘Toyota, Mitsubishi, Honda, Sony—’

  ‘Very funny,’ he cut in. ‘But this is no joking matter. I’ll have to radio for help, though I doubt if the coastguard will launch a rescue this late in the day, as we aren’t in any danger.’

  ‘Why are you so certain you can’t fix it?’ she asked, putting deep suspicion into her voice. ‘You told me you knew about boats.’

  ‘I know about cars too, but that doesn’t mean I’m an expert. There’s obviously a serious fault and it will take a professional to repair it.’

  ‘You said your friend just had the boat checked and that it was as safe as a Rolls-Royce,’ she accused.

  ‘Clearly he was wrong.’

  ‘It isn’t clear to me,’ she sniffed indignantly. ‘Are you sure you didn’t tamper with the engine so we’d be stuck here for the night?’

  Alex straightened, his features rigid with controlled anger. ‘I’m not some sex-starved youth who needs to trick a girl into spending the night with him. If you don’t believe me, I suggest you take a look at the engine and see if you can see what’s wrong with it.’

  ‘You’re on safe ground there. I wouldn’t know what’s wrong if the fault were painted striped pink and green!’ she lied.

  ‘Then I suggest you resign yourself to spending the night here with me,’ he said in clipped tones, and disappeared to radio for help.

  Stifling her laughter, Marly wandered across to the rail. It was a clear and beautiful night, the dark sky peppered with stars, a full moon casting a silver stairway across the sea. If only this night were for real, and Alex a man she could believe in and love, not someone who took what he could and then moved on to pastures new.

  ‘It’s as I assumed,’ his deep voice said from behind her, and she tensed but did not move as he joined her at the rail. ‘Once the coastguard ascertained we weren’t in danger, they said we’d have to wait till morning.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Don’t be upset, Marly. We may get hungry but—’

  ‘We won’t. There’s plenty of food left,’ she said, having planned it that way.

  ‘Good. And we can wash it down with champagne. I found some in a locker and put it in the fridge.’

  ‘While it’s cooling, I’ll have a shower,’ she said.

  ‘So will I—after you, of course!’

  Standing in the tiny shower cubicle, Marly congratulated herself on how well everything had gone so far. But the most difficult part was to come. Alone with a man to whom she was strongly attracted on a physical level—and when he was not behaving like a chauvinist pig, on a cerebral one too—she planned to let him make love to her and then halt the proceedings mid-track. Just far enough, in fact, to show him the delights available to him if he married her. It was a trick as old as the hills and he might be wise to it, but given that she could not think of anything better, it was a gamble worth taking, for if he did finally propose, her revenge would be even sweeter than she had anticipated.

  Slipping on silk panties and not bothering with a bra, she donned the white silk cheong-sam she had brought with her in her beach bag. The top was cut tight—as it always was—and showed a tantalising expanse of silky skin from just under her breasts to her waist, and the skirt clung lovingly to the rounded curves of her hips, a long slit in the side parting as she moved, to show a tantalising length of shapely leg.

  Content with her image, she liberally sprayed herself with Giorgio. This should make Alex’s temperature rise. She only hoped she had the strength of mind to lower it before it rocketed out of control and sent her soaring with him!

  Perspiration dampened her brow at the very notion, and she pushed her hair away from her face. Brushed until it shone, it tumbled like a sheet of satin over her shoulders. Totally without conceit, she knew she had never looked lovelier or more desirable. Her slight tan enhanced the pure white of her cheong-sam, and today’s surfeit of sun had heightened the colour in her cheeks, giving them a rosy glow.

  Alex, who was waiting outside, towel in hand, stared at her transfixed, and she heard the catch of his breath.

  ‘You’re exquisite,’ he said huskily, stepping into the shower-room. ‘Don’t grow wings and fly away.’

  ‘Chance would be a fine thing!’

  His chuckle followed her as she went up on deck. He had found a couple of deckchairs, and on the slatted table that they had used for their lunch he had set out the food for their dinner, covering it with a fine lawn cloth to keep it fresh. She pulled a face. He might not be husband material, but he was definitely house-trained! Was that because of his hotel experience or because he frequently had live-in lovers? Nervousness assailed her and she fought it down, aware that if she didn’t, Alex’s antenna was well tuned enough to sense it.

  His step sounded behind her and she swung round to see him walking towards her, a champagne bottle in one hand, corkscrew and two fluted glasses in the other. In brief shorts and matching Gucci cotton sports shirt the colour of freshly churned butter, he was every girl’s idea of Prince Charming.

  ‘It’s the real thing,’ he smiled, holding up the bottle for her to see it was vintage Krug. Setting it on the table, he deftly uncorked it, filled the two glasses and handed her a foaming one. ‘To us,’ he toasted. ‘May this night together be the first of many.’

  Refusing to acknowledge the implication behind the seemingly innocent words, she touched her glass to his. ‘May we sleep in our beds tomorrow!’

  Alex’s lips were curled into a smile as he raised the glass rim to his mouth and drank, and with a shiver of apprehension Marly knew that the task she had set herself was fraught with danger.

&nb
sp; ‘Delicious champagne,’ she observed.

  ‘For a delicious woman. “Here’s looking at you shweetheart,”’ he added in a fair imitation of Humphrey Bogart’s famous line in Casablanca.

  ‘You’ve missed your vocation,’ she smiled.

  ‘I doubt that. My only other recognisable impersonation is Donald Duck!’

  They exchanged glances of amusement, and their eyes met and held; hers nut-brown and wary; his silver-grey and getting darker as they ranged over the smooth oval of her face, slender neck, and small, full breasts.

  ‘Do I take it you’re a movie buff?’ she asked, anxious to keep the conversation on an impersonal level for as long as possible.

  ‘Not especially. I prefer the theatre.’

  ‘So do I.’

  ‘What’s it like in Thailand?’

  She was momentarily flummoxed. Not having been, she had absolutely no idea. ‘Not in the same class as London or New York,’ she cleverly parried, then hurriedly switched the discussion to music.

  In this, his taste was similar to hers, and they debated the merits of jazz and blues, rock and rap, and musicals. Only when it came to opera and classical music did their tastes diverge, for he liked ultra-modern composers and she preferred Mozart, Brahms, and Verdi. But again she deferred to him, nodding sagely when he expounded on the merits of an avant-garde composer she found particularly atonal.

  ‘Don’t you find the Second Movement of his Fourth Symphony brilliant?’ Alex questioned.

  ‘Brilliant,’ she echoed.

  ‘Liar.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I said liar,’ Alex answered pleasantly. ‘There isn’t a Second Movement because there isn’t a Fourth Symphony. He’s only written three!’

  Furious with herself for falling into such a simple trap, Marly lowered her head. ‘I’m sorry, Alex. I didn’t like to admit my ignorance.’

  ‘You mean you didn’t want to admit you don’t like modern composers. Why not, for heaven’s sake?’

  ‘It’s a matter of taste, I suppose.’

  ‘That’s obvious,’ he said tersely, ‘but it isn’t what I meant! I’m just curious to know why you wouldn’t disagree with me.’

  ‘It isn’t seemly.’

  Alex visibly swallowed a retort and Marly awarded herself full marks for riling him the way she had. Not so many weeks ago he had professed himself delighted with her amiable disposition, but now he was beginning to see how irritating a ‘yes-woman’ could be. By the time she finished with him, he would make sure that his next love-affair was with a rampant feminist!

  Deciding to change the subject, she began removing the covers from the food. ‘I don’t know about you, but I could eat a horse.’

  ‘I’d rather ride them,’ he said with a return to good humour. ‘But I wouldn’t refuse a little something else.’

  In the event he ate a big something else, tucking into his food with gusto. ‘There’s nothing nicer than dining at sea with a beautiful woman,’ he sighed contentedly. ‘Even Anton Mosiman couldn’t have bettered it!’

  ‘Anton Mosiman?’ She feigned ignorance.

  ‘He’s one of the finest chefs I know. He runs his own restaurant in London. I’d like to take you there some time.’

  She restrained the urge to tell him she occasionally dined there. ‘I have no plans to visit your country.’

  ‘Who knows what the future may hold?’ he said softly.

  She waited for him to elaborate, and when he didn’t, knew he was mouthing words without meaning them. Typical of a man on the make!

  ‘I shouldn’t imagine you’re very domesticated,’ he went on unexpectedly.

  ‘I happen to be a good cook—and tidy with it!’

  A tawny eyebrow rose. ‘From the little I’ve learned of Thai society, I was under the impression that most well-to-do families had domestic help.’

  This was true, and too late Marly realised she had answered his question as herself, and not in the role she was portraying. Luckily it wasn’t too late to retrieve the situation.

  ‘You’re right, Alex. None of my friends sets foot in her kitchen, but since I love food and am curious by nature, I took some cookery lessons.’

  ‘When may I sample your efforts?’

  ‘When my parents return and I move back home.’

  There was a lengthy silence which Marly had no intention of breaking, and when she saw Alex didn’t intend to do so either, she stacked the dirty dishes and glasses on a tray.

  ‘Coffee?’ she enquired, one foot on the rung of the steps leading to the galley.

  ‘Please.’

  The kettle was still boiling when Alex loomed large beside her. ‘Anything I can do for you?’

  If she was correctly interpreting the vibes he was emanating, coffee was the last thing he had in mind.

  ‘How kind of you to ask,’ she flattered.

  ‘I can be kind in other ways too,’ he answered throatily, and coming closer wound his fingers in her silky black hair, tilted her face up to his and laid claim to her mouth.

  The insistent pressure of his lips forced hers apart, and instantly his tongue, hot and demanding, probed the inner softness, crashing through her defences and leaving her open to his demands. Again and again he drank deep of her, and unable—nay, unwilling—to resist him, she responded with all the ardour of which she was capable.

  Alex was the first to draw back, stroking her cheek with a hand that trembled. ‘You’ve cast a spell on me, darling,’ he murmured. ‘You’ve cast a spell on me and there’s only one way to break it!’

  Once more his mouth found hers and she made a show of attempting to break free, but even had she genuinely wished to do so it would have been useless, for his grip was like iron though his lips were velvet-soft as they traced tiny kisses down her throat to the soft curve of her breasts, the outline of her taut nipples clearly visible beneath the white silk cheong-sam.

  Desire shot through her, piercing as a knife, and with a gasp she pushed against him, her palms flat upon his shoulders. This was Act One, and she had to play her part carefully.

  ‘Please, Alex, let me go.’

  Slowly he stepped back but kept his arms lightly around her. ‘Why, my darling? You want me as much as I want you. We both knew it the moment we met, so why keep fighting it?’

  Little did he know she had no intention of fighting it. No, sir, the name of the game was to drive him wild with longing and then pretend she was holding out for marriage.

  Keeping her eyes downcast to hide the resolution in them, she put a tremor in her voice as she spoke. ‘You know why I won’t, Alex, and nothing has changed.’

  ‘It has, darling. You love me. I’ve seen it in your look, heard it in your voice, felt it in your touch. Are you denying it?’

  Cupping her face in his hands, he forced her eyes to meet his, and for what seemed an eternity they stared at one another. In the subdued lighting she saw the naked passion in his eyes and felt she was drowning in their depths, losing her sense of control.

  ‘I can’t deny it,’ she answered shakily, and realising it was true, despised herself for it.

  ‘Thank God you’ve finally admitted it!’ Drawing her close, he stroked her shoulders and hips with practised ease, moulding his hands round the curve of her buttocks to press the lower part of her body upon the burgeoning swell of his arousal. ‘I love you too,’ he whispered against her throat. ‘That’s what makes it perfect.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ve said that to other women.’

  ‘You’re wrong. I’ve teased and flattered and I’ve made love, but I haven’t been in love. This is the first time and you are the first woman to whom I’ve said it.’

  As the lies tripped from his tongue, the love within her dried up, and though it was painful to admit how unscrupulous he was, it made it easier for her to carry on with her plan.

  ‘Alex, no!’ she cried as he led her out of the galley. ‘I can’t. I’ll regret it afterwards.’

  ‘You won’t, I
promise you.’ His head lowered to hers and his breath was warm as a summer breeze on her lips. ‘I won’t do anything to hurt you. Surely you know that?’

  As one hackneyed phrase followed another, Marly’s fury rose. Any moment now and he was going to come out with the old chestnut about stopping whenever she gave the word!

  ‘You do trust me?’ he asked thickly.

  ‘Completely.’

  It was all he needed, and lifting her into his arms he carried her effortlessly up to the deck.

  Hardly had she time to absorb that while she had been in the galley preparing coffee he had rearranged the reclining-chair cushions into a bed than she felt herself placed upon it and he was deftly undoing the tiny front buttons of her cheong-sam.

  ‘You’re perfect,’ he whispered, releasing her breasts from the flimsy material and burying his face in the warm hollow between them. His tongue moved from one to the other, caressing the soft fullness before taking a hardened nipple in his mouth and sucking it.

  A shaft of pure desire shot through her and every nerve in her body throbbed with ecstasy. Only then did her fear increase as she admitted that what he had said a moment ago was true: she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

  But she dared not give in to him. To do so would send her into the same pit into which he had cast Andrea. She tried to pull away from him, but his hands held her prisoner as his lips parted hers, and her mouth gave up its moist sweetness to his marauding tongue. Feverishly she found herself responding to him, fatalistically accepting the inevitable as he familiarised himself with every part of her naked body: rubbing, nibbling, stroking, sucking. The ache between her thighs was unbearable, and more than anything else in the world she longed for his swollen hardness inside her. Now was the time to stop but her good intentions drowned in her need of him, and her legs parted spontaneously, telling him without words that only the ultimate act would satisfy her.

  ‘Are you sure?’ he muttered into her ear, momentarily easing his chest away from her breasts.

  Surprised by his question, she wondered if he was playing Mr Nice Guy so that the onus for her seduction was firmly placed on her, rather than him. But even as she hesitated, lost in a moral dilemma and not certain which road to take, she heard the throb of an engine close by.