Suspicious Ways (6 page)

She wanted him inside her. She wanted to take his strength into her. Be nourished by it.

His right hand left her buttocks, sliding over her hip and under her T-shirt. Over her bare rib cage. The contact of his palm on her flesh was a scalding brand, leaving her aquiver with want. When his fingers found her breast, her nipple, she moaned, the sound unlike any she’d heard from her own lips.

Heat pooled between her thighs, wet and exquisite. Jack dragged the pad of his thumb over the aching point of her nipple and shots of concentrated pleasure stabbed straight to her soul. She sucked in a sharp breath, pushing harder against the burning rod of his arousal. Damn it, she wanted more.

And so did Jack. With savage speed, he grabbed at the collar of her shirt with both fists and tore the thin cotton material apart.

His eyes feasted on her exposed breasts, a scalding inspection so potent it was almost a physical touch. Her nipples scratched against the lace of her bra with wicked friction and Ali’s heart leapt away from her. She stared up into his face, drowning in the unforgiving desire she saw in his gaze. It flooded her with new passion and her panties grew wet. Threading her fingers into Jack’s thick hair, she tugged gently on his head, arching her back to meet his lips.

His tongue found her nipple first, flicking at the aching nub through her bra before he closed his mouth around it entirely. Ali closed her eyes and dropped her head back, consumed by waves of liquid heat rolling through her core. She let Jack’s teeth and tongue take her to a place she remembered so thoroughly and longed for so completely.

Oh, Jack, yes…

Jack’s hands roamed her body, squeezing and cupping the curve of her buttocks through her shorts, even as his lips roamed her breasts. A growl low in his throat told her he was as impatient as she with the constricting material, and she wriggled her hips, giving his fingers access to her fly.

The sound of the short zip filled the room and her heart hammered faster.

The balmy night air kissed her newly exposed belly just as Jack continued to kiss the throbbing swell of her breast.
 

“Christ, Ali,” he murmured, dragging his lips up to her ear and nipping the lobe with his teeth. “If this is what I get when you lose, there’s not a hope in hell I’m gonna let you win.”

Ice filled Ali’s veins, freezing her heart and sucking the air from her lungs. “What?”

Jack raised his head, looking down at her with heavy-lidded eyes, his expression unreadable. “You won’t win.” He paused. “But you knew that all along.”

She stared with dawning horror at the man still holding her, his hands so intimately touching her. “Let me go.”

Lord, he was still squeezing her breast. He was still—

“Let me go, Jack.”

She shoved hard on his chest, stumbling backward a step when he suddenly released his embrace. Her breath strangled and she tugged at her shirt, yanking its torn neckline across her torso in an attempt to cover her straining breasts. Hands trembling, she shoved the shirt’s hemline into the waistband of her shorts and jerked up her fly.

Jack’s eyes narrowed. The muted-down lights of the room cast his face in soft shadows. “What’s going on, Ali?”

She lifted her chin, glaring at him. “Why do you think I came here?” She fought to keep her voice level. Her lips still throbbed from his kiss and she desperately wanted to press her fingers against them, to wipe away the memory of his lips. Of her response.

The shadows hooded his eyes. “I think that’s fairly obvious.”

“N-no.” She faltered, her face flaming. “I came here to challenge you to a race.”

“A race you know you can’t possibly win. Why else would you turn up here—” she felt his gaze roam over her, “—in those shorts?”

Hot anger speared into Ali’s chest. She drove her nails into her palms, ignoring the prickling heat forming between her thighs at his inspection. “This is so like you, Jackson McKenzie,” she shot back. “You’ve never thought I had what it takes. I can sail rings around you and you know it.”

“In another yacht maybe, a newer yacht,” Jack’s reply was matter-of-fact. “But there is no way
Wind Seeker
could beat
Suspicious Ways
, no matter who the sailor. Bloody hell, Ali, your father built it in his backyard.
Suspicious Ways
outclasses it in every way. It’s won more races and awards then you’ll ever see. Why do you think your father and I raced it and not
Wind Seeker
in the short-course events on the harbor?” His gaze travelled her again, slower this time, and he shook his head. “This bet is nothing more than an excuse for you to get exactly what you want without the burden of responsibility. As always.”

In two strides, he closed the distance between them again and pinned her to the spot with his smoldering stare. “It’s time you learnt a lesson, young lady. You know damn well what your offer is, and so do I. When I win, I get you. All of you. Your lips, your body, everything.”

Ali’s breath caught in her throat. Oh Lord.

Jack dipped his head closer to hers. “I accept your offer. And when I win—and I will win—we’ll just pick this evening up from where we left off. Your legs wrapped around my body, your sex pressed to mine.” He chuckled again, the sound low and somehow carnal. “I’ve told you before your overconfidence will get you into trouble, and once again, you prove me right. I’ll see you back here after the race, Ms. Graham.” His lips curled in that lazy, sardonic smile she loathed so much. “And don’t bother showering before you come. My shower is big enough for two.”

Ali lay on the tussled sheets of her bed staring at her dark ceiling. A crazy whirlwind of images sped through her mind, fighting with each other for the chance to send her mad. It wouldn’t be that hard. Nothing was making much sense to her.

Blowing at an errant lock of hair, she squeezed her eyes shut, hoping to send the invasive images away. It was futile, of course. There he still was, lips curling into a satisfied grin as he stole
Wind Seeker
from her on the jetty, emerald eyes glinting as he stole the kiss from her in his home.

Ali’s chest squeezed tight.
Huh. Who are you trying to kid, Ali? He didn’t steal that kiss from you. For Pete’s sake, you’re the one whose leg was wrapped around his hip. You practically forced his head to your breasts.

A fluttering of muscles low in her stomach caused her to groan. Flinging onto her belly, she tried to shove the traitorous, unwelcome response away. “God, Ali, wake up.”

Jackson McKenzie did not, repeat, did not do it for her any more. There was no way. Yes, once upon a time, they’d slept together. Once upon a time, he’d made her feel like liquid heat. But only once. Under no circumstances did the man who’d rejected her, accused her of killing her father and now had possession of her business affect her like this anymore. She wouldn’t let him.

She pushed her forehead into the tangle of sheets. “Not at all,” she mumbled into them.

So why had she kissed him back? Why had she let his tongue take control of her senses? Why had she—eagerly—given herself over to the exquisite tension that radiated from her core as his lips burned against her skin?

No answer came.

“No. No. No.” She drove her forehead against the sheets with each cry of dismay. She was not going to fall for Jackson McKenzie again. Only a masochist would do something so stupid, and she was not a masochist.

Rolling onto her back, Ali raked her hands through the tousled mess of her hair. She stared up at the dark ceiling again, an ache deep in her belly. Almost four years ago to the day, she’d said goodbye to her father. Four years without his love and guidance and support. Four years since she had allowed any man a place in her heart.

“And there’s no damn way Jackson McKenzie is going to change that.” she ground out.

Yeah
, a sarcastic little voice piped up in her head.
Right.

Chapter Three

Wind Seeker
cut through the water of Port Jackson, the deep thrumming of its spinnaker vibrating through Ali’s very being. The exhilaration of sailing was intoxicating, a drug on which she’d been hooked since her father first took her out on the Connecticut River at seven. When her father had been transferred to Australia for work, she’d been worried sailing would stop, but it hadn’t, and now it was such a part of her life she couldn’t imagine it any other way. Didn’t want it any other way. On land, she felt awkward, clumsy. On her yacht however…

She moved over
Wind Seeker
with complete confidence, tacking into the gusting southerly, aware of every tiny movement the yacht made, every little creak in its hull.

The harbor was alive today, boats of all shapes and sizes out on the water enjoying the magnificent summer’s day. A powerful motorboat roared by, the sun-baking owner giving Ali a wave from his place on the deck. Ali didn’t wave back. Zane Peterson may have more money than God, but that didn’t mean she found him any less repulsive. It still disturbed her that the small weekly sum he paid her to skipper his racing team was pretty much the only thing putting food on her table at the moment. Unless, that was, she wanted to accept his repeatedly made offer…

A cold shudder rippled through Ali and the back of her throat filled with sour bile. No. She wouldn’t let herself think of that offer again. She wasn’t that desperate.

Not yet. If she lost this race however…

Another boat came into her view, cutting across her starboard side, and for a brief moment, Ali lost focus on the race.

Seabird
.

The thirty-six footer was a craft of exceptional quality, a sloop designed with speed and comfort in mind, bought by her father as the second yacht in his growing charter fleet. But the rising cost of her mother’s treatment and a worrisome lack of clients had forced Ali to sell it only six months after his death. It had broken her heart signing it away. One day however, she’d get it back. She swore it every time she saw it.

A deep swell smacked into the stern, plunging
Wind Seeker
’s bow into the water, and Ali jerked herself out of her glum reverie. “Focus, Ali.” She gritted her teeth, fighting to correct the wayward helm. “Focus.”

Skipping over the companionway, she made a minor but crucial adjustment to the rigging, lifting to meet the breeze as
Wind Seeker
’s leeward side dug in. Another small adjustment evened the mainsail and the yacht stopped heeling and sliced back through the water to power onward.

Shooting a quick look at the tiny ribbons whipping from her bow, Ali set the wind at forty-five degrees. Her spinnaker filled to explosive capacity with a thundering boom, the solid noise sending a thrill through her whole body. It was a risky move but her only weapon against that damn rocket Jack had disguised as a yacht. If she lost the temperamental southerly wind now,
Suspicious Ways
would leave her behind and the race would be his. She’d engaged him in a tacking duel for most of the last leg and now sat just off his leeward side, but that damn boat of his was like a torpedo, cutting through the small waves with ease. It would take every trick in the book and all her skill to edge past him.

Ali threw a harried glance at
Suspicious Ways
as it sluiced through the chop. It seemed Jack
had
spent time in Florida racing solo. He was far more aggressive than she remembered, pelting across the water under full sail, forcing her into the cursed tacking duel she hadn’t expected. As good as he was, however, he was still cautious. And that gave her the edge she so desperately needed. Just.

Hauling on the gybe, she angled for more wind, urging
Wind Seeker
to move faster. Another gust smacked against her yacht, grabbing the sails and lurching it forward. She braced her legs apart and yanked farther towards the gushing summer breeze. There was no real time to think, but in a short-course harbor race there rarely was. It all came down to instincts, and Ali prided herself on hers being finely honed. So much depended on the outcome that she focused every fiber of her being on manipulating the southerly to drive her faster.

The dangerous move paid off and
Wind Seeker
blurred forward, screaming across the water like a bone-white bullet.

Past
Suspicious Ways
.

“Yes.” Her joyous cry was whipped away in the wind, the roar of her sails like thunder as she streaked past Jack. She had him. Another nautical mile and she’d cross the finish line. Just one nautical mile.

Gripping the helm tight, Ali kept her yacht on direction, despite the growing southerly battling to wrench control from her. She risked another hasty glance over her shoulder, grinning at the sight that greeted her. Jack was falling behind, the voluminous deep blue spinnaker of the superb yacht flapping as he lost the wind he’d been riding.

Ha.

The grin spread wider across her face and, in an act of sheer devilment, Ali took one wet hand from the helm and tipped him a quick wave. The ever-familiar scowl swiftly fell over his features, making Ali laugh before she returned her attention to the race, the swirling wind and the rapidly approaching finish line.

And then, whipping past the marker-buoy half a yacht length before
Suspicious Ways
, she was over it. Just like that.

“I did it. I did it.” Her laughter rose above the sound of the wind and the thrumming sails. The wetness on her cheeks was no longer just the splashing spray of the harbor. “I beat Jackson McKenzie.”