Читать книгу Two Weeks in the Magnate's Bed - Nicola Marsh - Страница 8

CHAPTER THREE

WHILE Zac had impressed her with his sensitivity during dance class yesterday, he had ruined it by slipping into full flirting mode over dinner last night. Her fledgling confidence hadn’t lasted and she’d clammed up, grunted monosyllabic answers, and done her best to ignore the persistent attentions of a suave sailor boy with smooth moves and slick words.

She hated the fact it was a game to him, a response to the challenge she’d thrown down in a fit of pique. Her inherent shyness was a bane she lived with every day, it affected her professionally, socially and romantically, yet he seemed to view it as something she could shrug off if he teased her enough.

He was really starting to get to her, but thankfully the ship had docked at Noumea today, and she wouldn’t waste another minute thinking about him. Instead, she explored the French-inspired capital of New Caledonia, with its tree-lined boulevards flanked by trendy boutiques and cafés, enjoying every minute.

She savoured the aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafting on the light tropical breeze, she scoffed melt-in-the-mouth flaky croissants, and she scoured the shops—something she never did back home. When she shopped it was for necessity rather than a burning need for retail therapy—no matter how many times Beth dragged her from one boutique to another trying to make her see otherwise.

Yet here, with the balmy breeze ruffling her ponytail and the tempting shopfronts laid out like bright, sparkling jewels in the sun, she couldn’t help but browse.

Entering a small boutique, she meandered through aisles crammed with enough hangers and clothes to outfit the entire cast of South Pacific. Her hands drifted over soft silky sarongs, short strappy summer dresses, before lingering over the swimwear. The only bathers she’d brought on this trip were an old black one-piece cut high in the front—the ones she used if she swam at home as part of a workout.

So why was she picking up a cerise bikini, its hot pink colour the exact shade her cheeks would be if she ever had the guts to wear something so revealing?

She put it down and trailed her hand over some straw hats, before her gaze settled on the bikini again, drawn to it, mesmerised by its newness, its brightness and its blinding contrast to everything else in her wardrobe.

Glancing down at her worn black flip-flops, khaki Bermuda shorts and well-washed grey T-shirt, she hovered over the bikini, sorely tempted. Just looking at it gave her the same buzz she’d had when floating around the dance floor in Zac’s arms—the feeling she could be more assertive if she set her mind to it.

Spurred on by an eagerness to recreate that feeling, she snatched it up and headed for the counter before she changed her mind.

After thrusting the bikini at the young Melanesian guy behind the counter, she ducked her head on the pretext of searching for her purse in her straw carryall, hating how her cheeks burned when making what was a simple, everyday purchase for most women.

She rummaged around, waiting for him to ring it up, and was unprepared for the small puff of perfume in the vicinity of her right ear.

‘This fragrance will be perfect for mademoiselle.’

She shook her head, ready to tell him she wasn’t interested, when an intoxicating blend of light floral tones mingling with subtle vanilla drifted over her. She inhaled, savouring the heady scent, feeling surprisingly feminine after one small squirt.

She never wore perfume, had never owned a bottle in her life, but when the young guy stared at her with soulful chocolate-brown eyes and insisted again that it was perfect for her, in a divine French accent, she found herself handing over her credit card and being handed back a duty-free bag with two purchases she’d never dreamed of making, let alone using.

But for those few minutes when she’d watched him wrap the bikini and the perfume she’d stood a little taller, felt a little braver—as if she could be the type of woman who wasn’t passed over for an amazing trip to Egypt as the museum’s spokesperson just because she wasn’t articulate or outgoing enough.

However, her flash of spirit didn’t last as she strolled back to the ship. The perfume box banged against her leg, a constant reminder of its presence, and she couldn’t help but feel a fool.

Since when did she wear perfume? Let alone go for something so…so…out there? Seductive, feminine items were for girls not short on confidence—girls who’d have the guts to live up to the perfume’s promise; girls who’d have the spirit to match wits with sailor boys. Girls absolutely nothing like her.

Impulse buying a stupid perfume with a naughty name wouldn’t give her the confidence boost she needed. Nothing would. And she’d be better off remembering that rather than entertaining foolish dreams of showing everyone, Zac included, that she wasn’t the shy nerd they’d labelled her.

When she got back to her cabin, she flung the duty-free bag into the wardrobe and slammed the door shut.

Ruing the waste of money—as if she’d ever have the chutzpah to wear that bikini—she wriggled into her trusty one-piece and headed for the Dolphin Deck pool. She dumped her towel and sarong on a deckchair before plunging into the water, eager to wash away memories of her recent foolishness.

Closing her eyes, she flipped over, floating blissfully until a dark shadow passed over her. When it didn’t move, she opened her eyes.

And promptly sank.

Torn between the natural urge to fight her way to the surface for air or stay submerged, safely away from charming sailor boys, she eventually floundered her way to the surface, spluttering and coughing and ruining her Esther Williams impersonation.

‘Need a hand?’

She glared at his outstretched hand and shook her head, deriving some satisfaction as water droplets sprayed his immaculate uniform.

‘No, thanks.’

His lips curved into a deliciously tempting smile. ‘You sure? Not tempted to try and pull me in?’

The thought hadn’t crossed her mind, but now he mentioned it maybe a good dunking would cool him off.

‘Not really. And I’m quite capable of hoisting myself out of the pool—if you’d move out of my way?’

‘I like a strong woman.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘You like women, period.’

‘What’s wrong with that? I’m a healthy red-blooded male.’

Her gaze drifted across his broad shoulders of its own volition, and lower, before snapping back to meet his all too sure of himself stare.

‘I’ll take your word for it.’

She pushed away from the side of the pool, treading water, floundering out of her depth physically and literally. Ever since she’d been silly enough to dare him that first night he’d been teasing her, pushing her for a reaction.

‘As much as I’m enjoying your mermaid impersonation, why don’t you come a little closer so we can have a proper chat?’

‘About…?’

‘Tonight. You and me.’

How did he do that? Infuse every word with mystery and mayhem and untold promise? As if his sexy smile and come-get-me eyes weren’t enough.

For the second time in as many minutes she went under, cursing her inability to be anything other than clumsy and inept in his presence. He unnerved her to the point of bumbling, and it was high time she got over this funk he had her in with his constant teasing. Either that or jump ship.

She breaststroked underwater to the side, and hauled herself up the pool ladder. ‘Don’t say a word. Just hand me that towel, please.’

He was smart as well as good-looking, for he didn’t speak as he passed her the towel. Then again, he didn’t need to. His smug smile said it all.

He had her squirming, wanting to match wits with him, wishing she could, but scared of the consequences. Her heart was slamming against her ribcage at the thought of what they might entail.

For some strange reason he’d fixated his charms on her this cruise. Her—the last woman who’d reciprocate, the last woman to put up with his nonsense, the last woman to dally with if that was his intention.

She wasn’t a dallying type of girl, yet with him staring at her with a twinkle in those deep blue eyes it was hard not to wish she was.

‘Aren’t you at all interested to hear what I have in mind for you and me tonight?’

Oh, she was interested all right—interested to the point she’d almost drowned when he’d strung the words you, me and tonight into the same sentence.

Tying her sarong around her waist, having quickly patted herself dry, she aimed for casual. ‘I’m sure you’ll tell me.’

He chuckled. ‘Nice to see you this wound up. It must mean I’m getting somewhere in my quest to prove how much I like you.’

‘I’m not wound up.’

She finished tying the knot at her waist with an extra hard yank, almost cutting off her circulation in the process.

‘No?’

He sent a pointed stare at the twisted mess she’d made of her sarong, and she stopped fiddling with it, crossing her arms instead.

Bad move, considering the wicked gleam in his eyes as he dragged them away from her cleavage.

‘I just wanted to make sure you’re coming to the Island Banquet. You won’t want to miss it.’

‘That good, huh?’

‘Better.’

His lowered tone indicated he wasn’t just talking about the banquet. See, this was where she struggled. She had no idea if he was being clever or flirty or deliberately naughty—no idea how to respond without sounding repressed and uptight or foolishly naïve.

‘Well, then, I look forward to seeing your prowess at organising events.’

‘I’m sure you won’t be disappointed with my prowess.’

He took a step towards her and ran his hand lightly down her arm. She shivered, tiny goosebumps crawling across her skin as she belatedly realised she’d given him the upper hand yet again.

‘That’s a promise.’

Oh, he was good—too good. She should just hoist her white flag up the main pole now in surrender.

He’d won. He’d bombarded her with enough smooth moves and clever words to prove he liked her. Though it was just a game to him, and she knew it. Then why the urge to ignore her head, the logical part of her that she always listened to, the part telling her to jump ship now before she was sucked into believing any of this was real?

‘See you tonight.’ His husky tone washed over her like a warm wave, soft, soothing, seductive, and he grazed her arm in a fleeting touch before walking away, leaving her helpless and yearning and cursing her inexperience with men more than ever.

Lana needed a shot of confidence, and in the absence of a ballroom dancing class she settled for a squirt of that frivolous perfume.

Considering her hand still shook as she pulled a brush through her hair it hadn’t worked and she contemplated staying in and ordering Room Service rather than face another inevitable encounter with Zac.

Her nerves were shredded. She couldn’t pretend to be someone she wasn’t, and standing up to his incessant beguiling barrage could wear her down eventually. She couldn’t handle that.

As she strolled towards the huge marquee about a mile from the ship, where the banquet was being held, the warm trade winds ruffled the hair at the nape of her neck. She knew wearing a new perfume and hoping it would give her poise while under duress was wishful thinking.

Fear settled in the pit of her stomach. Pep-talks to herself, telling her to stay cool and not let him rattle her, were fine in the confines of her cabin, but how would she stand up under pressure from his persistent charm?

Smoothing her old formal dress with nervous hands, she entered the marquee, where suspended fairy lights created a magical effect as they reflected in the water. Tables lined the outskirts, heavily laden with local seafood delicacies, salads and decadent desserts, and she tried not to drool. Easy, considering a certain sailor boy was nowhere in sight.

Mavis, resplendent in a floral dress with an orange hibiscus tucked behind her right ear, sidled up to her, beaming as usual. ‘Aloha, dear.’

Lana didn’t have the heart to tell her the Hawaiian greeting wasn’t used here. ‘You’re looking very tropical.’

‘Yes, well, we’ve got to get into the island spirit, haven’t we? By the way, where’s your beau? I haven’t seen him.’

‘My beau?’

Mavis tut-tutted. ‘Don’t play coy with me, my girl. I saw the way that sailor looked at you yesterday in dance class. I may be old, but I’m far from senile, and if my eyes didn’t deceive me I think you liked the attention.’

‘No way—’

‘Why don’t you live a little? Have some fun, dear. You’re only young once. Now, in order to do that you need to keep mingling and stop wasting your time talking to an old chook like me.’ She patted Lana’s cheek. ‘Say hello to that gorgeous boy for me,’ she said and waddled away, chuckling under her breath

Have some fun. You’re only young once.

She wanted to, she really did, but ignoring the habits of a lifetime was tough. Even if she knew how to flirt, would Zac be satisfied with that? She doubted it. If she responded he’d take it as a signal that she was interested in more, would probably expect more, and she couldn’t give it to him.

She was anti-casual-sex for a reason, a damn good one, and casting off her inhibitions along with her reservations would be near impossible.

Unless she had great motivation?

Maybe she did—all wrapped up in six-foot-plus of sexy sailor. Was Zac incentive enough for her to drop her guard and see where it led?

The thought had her bolting from the marquee for the safety of the deserted beach, where she could quash daft thoughts like that before they blossomed and encouraged her to indulge in all kinds of crazy, uncharacteristic actions.

Zac made small talk with a couple from Alabama while his gaze was riveted on Lana as she left the marquee.

He was an expert at multi-tasking—his job, his real job, demanded it—so he had no trouble nodding and laughing and responding even while hiding a grimace at yet another hideous dress, this one in a drab brown, and at the way it hid her curves.

And she had them—man, did she have them. He’d seen them on full display this afternoon, despite that neck-to-knee ensemble. Okay, it hadn’t been that bad, but those boring bathers were gruesome just the same, and she noto-knee doubt thought they hid the curves that could give a guy ideas of how far he’d like to push this challenge, despite his every intention not to.