30DaystoSyn (41 page)

He thought he heard her say something and
wearily lifted his head. “What?” he asked.

She stared up into his face for what seemed
like an eternity then shook her head. “Nothing,” she said. “I didn’t say
anything.”

He knew she was lying. What he thought he
had heard were three simple little words that rocked his world. That she would
not own up to saying them puzzled him.

But it hurt him more.

If she had thought the jet was something,
the yacht was something else entirely. One hundred and sixty-nine feet of
aluminum hull and dark teak decking lazed in the water. Above it was yards and
yards of pitch-black canvas.

“It looks like a pirate ship,” she said,
trying to wrap her mind around the gleaming ship. The figurehead on the prow
was that of a woman with long, flowing dark hair chiseled in curling wooden
tresses that swept back to either side of the hull. The pale-gray gown which
clothed her stood out sharply against the dark bow.

“I’d fly a Jolly Roger if the Coast Guard
would allow it but they tend to frown on that sort of thing,” he said.

They were standing on the quay looking up
at the soaring masts—her with her arms crossed defensively across her chest.

“Have you ever been sailing?” he asked and
swiveled his head toward the darkest part of the bay. He’d seen the same flash
of lightning on the horizon that she had.

“No.” She was avoiding touching him again,
would not let him hold her hand as they stood there. “Are we in for bad
weather?”

“Capt. Fitzgerald doesn’t think so. The
storm is moving south of us. We might run into some brief showers,” he told
her. “But nothing to worry about.”

“So the dinner
will
be below decks,”
she said.

“That’s not a given,” he replied. “Dinner
isn’t until nine and the rain could have stopped long before then. It also
depends on how cold it is on deck.” He looked at his watch. “It’s only seven
now. A lot of weather can happen—or not happen—in that length of time. Come.
Let me show you the cabins.”

There were three cabins that held double
beds, two with single beds plus there were two additional berths. Even with a
crew of nine, the yacht could safely and comfortably accommodate twelve
passengers.

“I bring my mates down in August,” he said.
“Craigie’s wife doesn’t like to sail so she stays behind but Kit’s wife comes
with him. Jake brings a new woman every time and Jono and Spike come alone.”

“I wonder why?” she said with a sad smile.
She looked up at him. “You do know they’re a thing, don’t you?”

“Known it longer than I think they have,” he
admitted. “Sometimes I just want to take them by their necks and knock their
heads together and yell at them to get on with it!”

She laughed despite the fact her heart was
breaking and her body was numb. A sudden thought swept the laughter away.

“What about you?” she asked. “Do you bring
a different woman each time, too?”

“No,” he said. “I always come alone in
August.”

“Why?” she asked, fairly sure he was lying.

He shrugged. “I just prefer it that way. I
don’t have to dance attendance on someone. I can just lie on the deck, soak up
the rays and gather wool.”

The way he said it made her think he was
telling the truth this time. It would be like him to be that selfish and
self-absorbed.

His cabin was beautifully done in shades of
gray accented with black. A thick black fake-fur coverlet was thrown over the
bed. Piles of gray and gray-tone throw pillows were propped against tailored
red suede shams. The lampshades were black perched atop gleaming chrome
ginger-jar lamps. Two red scatter rugs covered the highly polished teak floor.
There was a built-in armoire, a desk with chair and a comfortable-looking
wingback that she thought might be the mate to the one in the Room. A
thirty-five-inch flat screen hung on one wall. Beside it was shelving
containing DVDs and CDs. A cursory glance at the titles on the CD jewel cases
revealed he had the exact same albums she did. The DVDs were mostly sci-fi and
fantasy with a few war movies thrown in for variety. Manly stuff, she thought.

“No porn?” she asked, twisting her head
around to look at him.

“Don’t need it,” he said. “I have a very
vivid imagination for when I need to take matters in hand.”

She had to know.

“What do you fantasize about?” she asked.

“Not what,” he said softly. “Who.”

“Angelina? Kiera? Kate B.?”

“You,” he said, holding her gaze. “I
fantasize about you.”

She pursed her lips and rolled her
eyes—pretending to be derisive of his admission when what she really wanted to
do was slap him as hard as she could for telling such a blatant lie.

A low roll of thunder made them both look
up.

“The captain may have been wrong about the
weather,” he said. “I’d better go have a talk with him and find out when dinner
will be served. I’m getting hungry. How ’bout you?”

She couldn’t have eaten a sliver of carrot
if her life depended on it. There was a hard lump in her throat and a rock
sitting in her belly. “I’m in no hurry,” she said.

“Well, I am,” he said, going to the door.
“You can stay here if you like. I won’t be gone long.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him
of course he was in a hurry. He was getting tired of the role he was playing,
the role into which he had thrust her, and wanted to bring down the curtain on
his sordid play.

He left the door open when he left and she
wandered about the cabin, seeing nothing personal belonging to him save the
DVDs and CDs. A glance into the armoire showed jeans and sweatshirts, cutoff
shorts and T-shirts, a few pair of jandals and some battered old sneakers. All
the clothing was well worn and faded. None of it looked expensive. As a matter
of fact, most of it looked as though it had come from a thrift store.

There wasn’t a single feminine item to be
found. In the small head, there were no feminine toiletries and only one
toothbrush, brush and comb. Glancing in the medicine chest and vanity drawers,
she found no condoms. Curious, she went to the built-in nightstands to either
side of the bed and did not find any there, either. Of course he’d had a
vasectomy and insisted on her using birth control to be on the safe side.
Perhaps that was all he needed though, but she thought the threat of
contracting an STD might ensure he had a supply of frenchies, as he called
them.

“It’s raining out there now,” he said,
appearing in the doorway. His hands were hooked over the top jamb as he stared
at her. “Whatcha looking for?”

So, he had caught her snooping.

“Signs of the women you’ve brought here,”
she admitted.

He frowned. “The only woman who spends any
time on board is Suzanne.”

“Who’s Suzanne?” she asked.

“The stewardess,” he said.

“Is she that pretty young woman with the
long dark hair?” she asked. “The one who looks a lot like me?”

“You saw her?” he asked, his brow furrowed.
“When?”

“No, I haven’t seen her,” she said. “Just a
lucky guess.”

Why, she thought, bring along a woman when
you already had one available who met the qualifications?

He let go of the overhead jamb and moved
into the room. “All right, Melina, I want to know what’s gotten under your
skin.”

“Is dinner ready?” she countered.

“They’re getting the table ready now,” he
said. “But we’re not going anywhere until you tell me what the hell is wrong.”

“I’ll tell you over dinner.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “You’ll
tell me now.”

“No,” she said, extending the word as
though she was talking to a mentally challenged man. “I’ll tell you at the
table.”

He stood there watching her then exhaled
loudly. “All right. Have it your way. You wanna go to the saloon now? We can
have a drink while we wait.”

“Yes,” she lied. She really wanted nothing
more than to put off ever seeing the dining table and what she knew would be on
it.

A small voice in the back of his head told
him not to take her to the saloon. It screamed at him to have the captain radio
the crewmen who handled the launch at his beach house and have him come pick
them up. He didn’t understand the warning signals going off inside his mind but
he couldn’t ignore them. As he led her to the saloon, he could feel her eyes
watching him and something did not seem quite right.

She
did not
seem quite right. Something was off. Something was building like the storm off
the starboard bow and it worried him like a man poking his tongue at a sore
tooth. He couldn’t let it rest no matter how much it hurt.

Why he felt as though he were walking to
his doom he didn’t know but that was exactly how he felt. It wasn’t a pleasant
feeling and it caused an ache in the vicinity of his heart.

“A long walk down a short plank,” he said
under his breath.

“Excuse me?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he replied. “Just me being me.”

As beautiful as the cabin of the jet had been,
the saloon of the sailing yacht was even more extravagant and beautiful. Done
in the same shades of gray and black—what was it with the Kiwi and those two
colors? she wondered—the wall over the banquette was solid pewter-veined black
glass that reflected the silver candlesticks that sat to either side of a huge
arrangement of gardenias.

Matter of fact, she realized, the entire
room was filled with gardenias in urns and vases and in bud vases. The room
smelled heavenly.

“You know how to make a girl feel special,
don’t you, Kiwi?” she asked.

“I wanted this night to be special,” he
said.

“I’m sure it will be one neither of us will
ever forget,” she said as she swept her gaze over the low couches that were
covered in a black-and-gray herringbone pattern with a touch of burgundy on the
cording running along the back, the cushions’ edges and the rolled arms. Four
deep-burgundy red leather wingback chairs sat off to one side of the couches
and in one corner was a piano.

“Do you play?” she asked, strolling over to
run her hand over the polished black finish of the instrument.

“Yes,” he said. “Did I not tell you that?”

She shook her head. “No, you didn’t.” She
looked around at him. “Do you play any other instruments?”

“The guitar.” He smiled ruefully.

“I’m impressed,” she told him.

“Want a drink?” he asked. He had moved to
the black lacquered bar at the end of the saloon—in front of which were six
burgundy-red leather barstools with polished chrome legs.

“No, thank you,” she said. “But you go
ahead.”

“I’ll wait,” he said.

The sound of movement behind her made her
turn. A stunning woman in a black jacket and long skirt, gray silk blouse and
six-inch gray heels came in with three stewards who were bringing the meal to
an intimate little table that had been placed in front of a bank of windows
overlooking the water. A very thick French braid of dark brown hair interwoven
with a burgundy ribbon hung down to her waist. She flashed her dark green eyes
to the piano then away.

“Your meal is ready, Mr. McGregor,” she
said then turned without acknowledging that anyone else was in the room with
him. When she passed him, she reached out to touch his arm.

“Thank you, Suzi,” he said.

“Always my pleasure to serve you, sir,” she
said in a deep, sensuous voice.

She and the stewards left the saloon as
quietly as they had entered. The woman closed the door behind their departure.

“Shall we?” he asked.

Another conquest, she thought as she stared
at the door. Another pretty woman with long, dark hair and green eyes. She
wondered if he knew he was bedding women who reminded him of his mother. If he
did, he was more damaged than she realized.

“Melina?” he asked.

She mentally shook herself and looked over
at him. Her gaze went past him to the table. The aromas coming from the chafing
dishes were enticing but she had no appetite. A glance at the clock on the wall
over the seating area reminded her she had a little less than two hours before
he tossed her aside and she never saw him again.

The very thought of that hurt so badly she
could barely put one foot ahead of the other as she crossed the room. He was
standing behind one of the chairs at the elegantly appointed table. A dark-gray
silk tablecloth covered the round table and the chairs were upholstered in
black suede. The china was pale gray, rimmed in burgundy and in the center was
the MI logo in silver. The flatware was pewter and the stemware a rich,
smoky-black shade.

“Beautifully set table,” she said, staring
at the china. Beside her plate was the envelope about which Jake had warned
her.

He pulled the chair out for her. “Suzi is
very good at what she does,” he said. “She takes very good care of me.”

That had been the wrong thing for him to
say. Anger, jealousy and overwhelming hurt washed over her like molten lava.
For the first time in her life she understood what it meant to be so furious
you saw red for her vision was tinged with that color.

She didn’t sit down. Instead, she reached
for the envelope, snatched it up.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his brow
furrowed.

“Would you ask the captain to take us back,
now, please?” she asked. She folded the envelope and stuffed it into the back
pocket of her jeans. “I see no need to drag this out. You’ve already fucked me
so that’s our session for the night.”

He literally took a step back from her.
“What?” he asked.

“We fucked, Kiwi. For the last time.”

“I don’t understand,” he said.

“What is there to understand?” she
challenged. “I have fulfilled my part of the deal as I told you I would. You’ve
paid me and now we’re done.”