Hawaiian Affair (Part 1 of 4) (Hawaiian Affair - 30 days to sign the deal - and stay out of love) (9 page)

He
shook his head, warning them off.

Sadie
saw none of it.

‘So
I was thinking,’ he said, as they both finished off their drinks and he grabbed
his jacket. ‘Ever seen inside a Superyacht?’

‘No.
Only a Sunseeker Cruiser…’

‘You’re
learning.’

‘I
was
wondering
if you’d be offering me a tour.’

‘Well
only if you think your sea-legs can stand it without throwing something else
overboard - I’ve had my swim for the day.’

‘I’d
say my legs are capable of lots of things…’ she replied, and then giggled realising
what she’d said. 

Mac
chivalrously picked up her jacket and as he placed it on her shoulders he saw
her bite her lip slightly.

 Sadie
continued, ‘I do have a busy day tomorrow.’

‘Well
I’ve got an early start too so no problem. A quick tour and a nightcap to round
the evening off?’

‘Walk
me outside and I’ll think about it.’

A
woman like this in my arms and I’m wanting a quick tour and an early night? I’m
losing my touch
,
thought Mac.

The
lights were twinkling in Port Hercule as they walked outside. The sky was clear
and the silence of the night air was broken periodically by a tinkling of
mismatched music as they passed the various bars in silence. From time to time,
Sadie glanced up at him, admiringly, then looked away quickly when he turned to
see what she was looking at. Finally they reached the quay.

‘Well,
are you coming back for a nightcap?’ he said, taking her in his arms, playing
with her hair and looking expectantly into her eyes.

Sadie
was thinking.

It’d
been a lovely night. 

Should
she risk ruining the magical memory by going further?

Or
risk ruining it by saying no?

Miss
out on a scintillating night of passion? Or miss out on a potential disaster. 
She shuddered, remembering the last one night stand she’d had.

It
was with a date she’d met on the internet. ‘Tragically funny’, was how she’d
described it. She’d vowed never to do that to herself again.
Not without
love
, she’d told herself. After all, being feisty with her clothes on was
one thing – keeping men at a distance was her specialty. But when it was all
stripped back – literally – the vulnerability scared her. So full of the
backchat, so lacking in confidence in her post-baby body. Yuk – tragically
funny all right. That’s why it had been easy to set up a five year exclusion
zone. Then when her business was sorted and the kids were grown up enough not
to need so much of her time – then she’d hit the gym and find a man.

But
looking up at Mac, she saw how different tonight had been – how easy he was in
her company, for one thing. And for another, how much she fancied him – totally
unlike the one night stand guy. Or Damian the big kid. Or Stuart the
domineering ex-husband. Mac was gorgeous and she could tell he was totally
attracted to her too.  She surprised herself – suddenly she was imagining the
look on Stuart’s face if she turned up with Mac by her side – and it was too
much. A pang of longing passed through her and she knew in a heartbeat there
could only be one possible answer.

Ten
minutes later Mac closed the stateroom door, not quite sure how he’d ended up
there - alone.

Alone.

He
took a deep breath. What was he doing?
Messed that one up completely.
And
what is this feeling? Fretting? Disappointment? Failure?
Surely not…

It
had all seemed so promising.

‘Thank
you for a lovely evening,’ she’d said. Then she’d kissed him with all the
passion and promise he usually received at the end of a successful date. But
then that was it. She’d gone off in a taxi, and he’d gone off to consult with
his old friend Mr J. Daniels. Mac swigged the whisky he’d poured himself and
grimaced at it –
nope not working
. Then he started undressing, removing
his belt, and throwing it onto the floor in frustration.

‘You
certainly didn’t see that one coming, Mac my boy’ he said to his reflection in
the mirror. 
First time for everything,
he thought.

Still
hot from his earlier encounters, he relived the scintillating kisses over and
over again and thrilled at the memory of her curves. Real curves. She’d
certainly left him shaken - and stirred.

But
something was niggling him.  And it wasn’t just being turned down for the first
time in years. It was his own behaviour, that’s what.

Mac
sat himself down on his bed and started untying his shoes. The more he thought
about it, the more he became wracked with guilt.

Why
did he let her think he was a deckhand?

He
paused and rasped his fingers across the stubble on his face.

Because
she joked about being into rich men?

Because
that’s when his alarm bell had rung, an alarm bell that chimed with the clang
of ancient history?

He
clinked more ice into his glass and it too, gave a clang.

He
downed it in one.
Go on, punish yourself and ruin your training tomorrow,
yeh, good move, loser.

Whatever,
it wouldn’t make any difference ‘cos now she was gone.  And whether he’d
intentionally lied or not, now he’d never be able to tell her the truth.

Which
was what? Exactly?

He
held his head in his hands and rubbed his temples.
Think.

Point
one,
‘Mac the
deckhand' wasn’t likely to be rich, but she’d agreed to meet him anyway.

Point
two
, even
she
had suggested it was going to be just a brief liaison, so don't stress about
it.

Point
three
, she seemed
keen on him too – she hadn’t pushed him away when he’d kissed her. In fact,
she’d kissed him back, hard and full.

But
even that on its own had particular significance. For most men, that would be quite
normal. But for Mac, a billionaire, it was rare to know for sure whether a
woman wanted him for himself – or for his wallet. No wonder he’d been too
easily tempted to play along. To react to him the way she did, even though she
thought he was mere crew - meant more to him than any of his usual encounters.   

No,
there had been something altogether more… primal… about this voluptuous woman
who’d called herself Sam. And he’d been curious, that’s all, to see what would
happen if he stayed incognito. Yes that was it. Curiosity. That was all it was.

Then
he realised
point four
- the most reassuring thought of all – a killer
fact: telling her he was rich at the end of the night - specifically to find
out if it would make her act differently – to even stoop as low as to see if it
would change her mind about coming on board – that would have been far, far
worse.

Lose
- lose.

It
didn’t matter now, she’d gone. But he couldn’t get her out of his mind.

He
rubbed his scarred face.
She didn’t even say anything about this.

What
a woman.

He
remembered the feel of her luscious lips and the press of her hips, and felt
the familiar stirring. Again.

God
she was sexy. He adjusted himself and picked up his shoes.

Obviously
had a good brain on her to match her generous curves, if she was here on business.
And he’d always had a weakness for intelligent women. And curves. Sadly that
combination was rare amongst the lettuce-munching Barbie dolls everyone
expected a billionaire like him to have on his arm.

Mac
stopped what he was doing and paused for one second to think about that
description. He stared into space like a statue, contemplating. Then threw his
shoes into the corner.

Billionaire.
On paper at least.

It
brought him happiness, it brought him trouble. He’d earned every penny of it
and nowadays he’d found ways of spending much of it, that resonated with whom
he’d become.

This
yacht had brought him the best kind of happiness – it had been a hard-won prize
– unique, admired – it made him feel part of the select group of people rich
enough to not only afford to buy it, but to run it, crew and all. A carefully
chosen crew, genial and full of camaraderie – some of whom had known him since
he was a rookie property developer and began taking weekend sailing courses. It
meant a lot that they treated him with no airs and graces – at least when no
outsiders were around.

Yes,
he could totally be himself here, cocooned away from the glare of publicity and
other people’s expectations, when it wasn’t being rented out. Which was of
course partly why he’d bought it.

Mac
took out his smartphone and checked through the calendar – hired out to
capacity and paid-for months in advance - no more nights for him here till the
end of the summer.
Dammit.
Sucks for him, but it’d be a busy season for
the crew. This year at least.

Mac
picked up the only photo frame on show in his elegant VIP state room.   Mac,
Captain James Wiltshire and financial advisor and old friend Simon Leadbetter,
at the helm of the
Nomad
, on the day he bought it, early the previous
year.

Touching
the photo frame, he smiled at the Captain’s burly chest puffed out so far, you
almost couldn’t see the slight, suited, serious figure of Simon, raising a
glass beside him. And Mac with his usual slicked back hair and designer shades.

Almost
as rewarding as owning the craft was seeing the Captain’s beaming face taking
the helm of the vessel - twice the size of Mac’s previous yacht.

Mac’s
mouth quirked into a wry smile, remembering whom he’d outbid. Arch rival Philip
Tremain’s face would have been a picture when he found out it was Mac who had
pipped him to the top of the waitlist, despite – or rather, because of –
Tremain’s foolish attempts to bribe the selling agent.
Stupid man,
thought
Mac. A great photograph. A great day. It had made him very, very happy.

Then
Mac frowned.

Sure,
that had been a good day. But sometimes a day starts off well, but ends badly. He
felt a pang of regret - he’d certainly had his fill of those types of days.
Hence avoiding commitment.

And
the biggest reminder of one of his worst mistakes was kept safely behind the
yacht photo, inside the frame. He turned it over, hesitated, but then went
ahead and flipped open the back of the frame and pulled out a small snapshot hidden
inside. He held it up and blinked at it.

He
was looking at himself - a few years ago, holding the hand of a small child.

Yes
it still hurt.

He
looked at it blankly. Pain coursed through his heart as it always did. A great
photograph, but that had ended up a really bad day.

But
it was also a watershed – it was the day he’d begun one of his most important
business rules. One he’d now become known for amongst his colleagues and
competitors – one that he now lived his life by, and based every decision on.

Never
mix business with pleasure – or children.

Fool
me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.

Mac’s
brow creased. How old would the boy be now? The whole experience had been
alien. He’d spent most of his life getting as far away from children as he
could. And then that happened, and reminded him why.  But it wasn’t the kid’s
fault.

He
slid the small photo back into the rear of the frame, and put it down.

End
of another era.

Still,
onwards and upwards. Suddenly he felt very weary.

Time
for a change – time for a new chapter.

Mac
picked up his belt and sneakers and entered his walk-in closet full of
expensive designer clothes, row after row of pristine jackets and trousers,
plus shoes, belts, ties, cufflinks. At the end, a dozen expensive suit bags
containing whole outfits - complete with little Polaroids stuck to the front of
each. Easier for Mac to choose the outfits for a valet to pack when he was in a
rush. The final photo made him stop in his tracks and laugh out loud. Instead
of a slick suit ensemble, someone had put a picture of some old, shabby tramp,
and stuck Mac’s face on it.
Banter, there was always banter.

He
reached below that suit bag to his favourite chest of old clothing and replaced
his worn belt inside it. He also replaced the shabby pair of loafers - his
first pair of Tods – a natural choice for tonight – a super-expensive brand but
with no obvious designer label on show. Tidying up the fifteen year old, frayed
laces, he felt the frisson of
first-date
excitement again – the one
she’d rekindled. The one he hadn’t felt in years. He stared at the shoes,
remembering.