The Bedroom Barter (8 page)

Half an hour later, Ash came down the passageway and paused outside the stateroom door. He knocked lightly, and waited, but there was no reply, and after a moment he opened the door and went quietly in.

He trod silently over to the bed and stood looking down at its occupant, his brows drawn together in a frown. The bedside lamp was still on, so she must have fallen asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow.

She was lying motionless, her breathing soft and regular. Her cheek was cradled on her hand, and the strap of one of Julie's excuses for a nightgown had slipped down from her shoulder, giving her an air of curious vulnerability. Something glistened on her face and, as he bent closer to extinguish the lamp he realised that it was a solitary tear.

His hand lifted, obeying an involuntary impulse to wipe it away, but he managed to control it just in time.

He needed to get a grip, he adjured himself. Next thing he'd be hitching up that errant strap and smoothing those absurd spikes of black hair. Tucking her in for the night, for God's sake. And there was no room for that because, as they said, this was business—not personal.

He switched off the lamp and straightened, leaving just the moonlight flooding through the undrawn curtains.

Chellie stirred suddenly in her sleep, murmuring something, and Ash backed hastily away from the bed, feeling his foot catch against an object on the floor as he did so.

He glanced down and saw that it was her bag, and that the black dress she'd worn at the club was spilling out of it.

He paused, jolted by the sudden memory of how pale her skin had looked against it, and the smooth, supple movement of her body as she danced for him.

Remembered too that there'd been a moment when he'd let himself forget why he was there. When he'd longed, with an intensity of emotion that had twisted his guts into knots, to see her take it off. When every drop of blood had sung in his veins in anticipation of seeing her naked.

God, he thought with bitter self-derision, just like some adolescent, peeking at top-shelf magazines.

She wasn't the first girl he'd watched take off her clothes, for heaven's sake, but she was certainly the first not to go through with it, he thought, his mouth curling cynically.

And he wasn't the first man she'd stripped for either. He needed to remember that too.

It was no big deal for her, he told himself. It couldn't be, after the way she'd lived her life, so why, suddenly, the maidenly shrinking? Unless she'd balked at being paid to do it.

Whatever the reason, his instinct had told him with total certainty that it wasn't going to happen. And that the desire that pierced him would not be satisfied.

He drew a deep, sharp breath. That, he told himself, had been a moment of weakness that would not be repeated.

He had to ditch those memories—bury them deeply and permanently. Along with the moment when he'd pretended to kiss her, shielding her with his body, and felt her lips tremble under his.

She may be anybody's, he told himself, but she isn't yours. Don't lose sight of that ever again.

He went to the door and left as quietly as he had come.

Laurent was in the pilot house, humming quietly to himself. He looked round as Ash arrived, carrying a plate stacked with chicken sandwiches and two steaming mugs of coffee.

'She is asleep?'

'Out for the count,' Ash confirmed briefly, putting the food down.

'
La pauvre petite
. What an ordeal for her.'

Ash shrugged. 'A self-inflicted wound, but unlikely to leave permanent scarring. She's already showing signs of recovery.'

'You are hard on her, I think.' Laurent took a sandwich and bit into it appreciatively. 'Did you have many problems persuading her to go with you?'

'She was just about to be launched on a career as a lap dancer, and worse. Any alternative would have seemed good.'

'And they just let her go?'

'Not exactly.' Ash smiled thinly. 'There was one hitch, but it was dealt with.'

'I can imagine.' Laurent gave him a wry look. 'They came after you?'

'Oh, they were on our trail. But sadly it was the wrong one. I left an empty matchbook from the Hotel Margarita on the table for them to find, and they went scorching off to the other side of town to browbeat some unfortunate desk clerk.'

'So all is well.' Laurent nodded. 'Victor will be relieved. His faxes are becoming increasingly agitated.'

'Then I'd better put him out of his misery and tell him to keep quiet from now on. As far as the target's concerned, she's just getting a lift to St Hilaire. I don't want anything to arouse her suspicions that there could be more to it than that'

Laurent tutted in reproof. 'Target! Such a cold word to use about such a beautiful girl.'

Ash's mouth tightened. 'I just want it finished with. I need Daddy to hand over the money for his spoiled princess. One last smooth operation before I retire, and no hiccups.'

'The girl-you think she could make difficulties?'

Tonight she was so terrified she'd have grasped at any straw she was offered,' Ash said slowly. 'But tomorrow morning she's going to wake up rested and no longer scared stiff. And sooner or later she's going to start thinking, and wondering about things—like how I happened to turn up so conveniently to rescue her. She's going to ask questions."

'Then let us hope we reach St Hilaire before you have to provide any of the answers,' Laurent said cheerfully. 'Now, go and fax Victor. Reassure him that all has gone according to plan, and tell him to stay off your back.' He shot Ash a shrewd look. 'Then you should also get some sleep,
mon vieux
. Because, if you are right, you could need all your wits about you tomorrow.'

'Later. I'm not tired yet.' Ash took his coffee over to the leather bench and sat down, watching the silvery water rippling past the bows.

Although that wasn't strictly true, he thought. Now that the mission had been accomplished the tension was seeping out of him, leaving him almost boneless with weariness.

But he wasn't going to bed yet, he decided grimly. Not while there was a chance that he was going to lie awake in the moonlight, seeing a girl's dark head on a pillow and the trace of a tear on her cheek. Remembering the fragrance of her skin, and the sweetness of her mouth when he'd held her for that brief time.

He swore under his breath.

It's time you gave up this game, Brennan, he told himself. You're getting soft in your old age. And that won't do. Because it's not over yet, and the stakes are far too high.

And he sighed soundlessly.

Chellie opened heavy eyelids, blinking at the sunlight pouring into the stateroom. For a moment she felt totally disorientated, then as recollection slowly returned she sat up, stretching and running her fingers through her hair.

She was on
La Belle Rêve
, and Santo Martino with all its horrors was far behind her. And for that she was so thankful.

But it was the immediate future that had to concern her now. What would happen when they arrived at St Hilaire? Her options seemed few, and all equally unattractive.

And the last thing she wanted was to find herself stranded and broke all over again in some other remote spot.

She knelt up on the bed and looked out of the window. There was nothing outside but the vivid unbroken blue of the Caribbean as far as the eye could see.

She had no idea what time it was. Ramon had helped himself to her platinum watch along with everything else, and at the club day and night had seemed to merge into a blur. But the position of the sun told her that she had been asleep for a long time, and it was probably time she put in an appearance on deck.

It was so wonderful to have a proper shower again, she discovered gratefully. To feel the sheer bliss of warm water streaming over her hair and body, and to be able to cherish her skin with scented soap and lotions.

If she only had her own clothes to wear life would be almost perfect. As it was, she had no choice but to borrow once more from the owner's daughter.

I'll use the absolute minimum, she thought And replace every single item as soon as I get the opportunity.

Whenever that will be, she added, biting her lip.

She put on a pair of white cut-offs and a sleeveless jade-green top, thrusting her feet into her own sandals, then, with a certain reluctance, left the stateroom and climbed up the companionway.

She felt frankly awkward about confronting her saviour in the unrelenting light of day. However grateful she might feel, there were inherent difficulties in being under an obligation to a man about whom she knew so little. And to whom she'd found herself so instantly and unwillingly attracted.

Although why she should feel drawn to him she really didn't know. He might have come to her aid when she was in deep trouble, but he hadn't shown her any real sympathy or concern.

In fact, he'd hustled her almost curtly through the streets and on board this boat, as if he was already regretting the impulse which had led to her rescue.

If impulse was what it had been, she thought, and paused, Crowning, at the top of the companionway, aware of a sudden uneasiness.

'So there you are,' said Ash, appearing from nowhere. He was wearing a pair of elderly navy shorts and the rest of him was tanned skin, she realised with a totally unwelcome flicker of excitement.

'Good morning,' Chellie returned coolly. Excitement notwithstanding, he could do with a lesson in .politeness.

'Only just.' Unsmilingly he consulted his watch. 'And breakfast is well overdue.'

'I—lost my watch,' she said. 'And I overslept.'

'I'll give you an alarm clock.' He paused. 'You'll find ham in the fridge. We'll have it with scrambled eggs, toast and strong coffee. And sooner rather than later, if that's all right,' he added pointedly.

Oh, God, Chellie thought, her heart sinking. She'd forgotten this particular detail.

She said, 'Scrambled eggs?'

'That's what I said. Is there some problem?'

'Not at all.' Chellie lied in her teeth. She gave him a bright smile. 'Just checking.'

'There's a bell in the galley. Ring it when the food's ready.'

For whom the bell tolls, Chellie thought glumly as she made her way down to the galley and looked around her. There was an electric oven, with a hob, and—oh, joy—a toaster and a cafetieré waiting on the counter beside it So far, so good, she thought, opening cupboards and drawers and finding crockery and cutlery. At least that bit would be easy-peasy.

She knew the theory of scrambled eggs, of course. Butter and milk, she told herself, and a lot of stirring. And, in her experience, someone else to do it.

She laid one of the tables in the saloon, then spooned coffee into the pot, added boiling water, and carved some uneven slices off a loaf, slotting them with difficulty into the toaster.

She arranged the ham on plates, and began to beat up the eggs in a basin. The butter was beginning to turn brown in the pan as she added her mixture quickly and began to scrape at it with a fork, watching with dismay as it separated into long leathery strands.

At the same time a strong smell of scorching signalled that the bread was stuck in the toaster and needed to be poked out with a knife.

She felt like a wet rag as she finally rang the bell.

When Ash and Laurent arrived, she saw their brows lift as they inspected the plates she set in front of them. The ham, fortunately, was excellent, but no one lingered over their meal.

'This coffee's so weak I'm surprised it could crawl out of the pot,' Ash told her crushingly. 'You've cremated the toast. And as for this…' He stabbed at the rubbery mixture on his plate. 'I could use it to mend the tyres on a four-wheel drive. You said you could cook.'

'Or did you just make assumptions because of my gender?' Chellie shot back, furious at this condemnation of her efforts.

'Don't start that,' he advised brusquely. 'Preparing food is your job as part of the crew. The sole justification for your existence on this boat, as it happens, and gender doesn't feature in the equation. So make sure dinner is better.'

My God, did I really ever find him even remotely attractive? Chellie asked herself incredulously as he stalked out of the saloon and back up to the pilot house. It must have been temporary insanity brought on by stress.

Laurent accorded her a sympathetic smile. 'I bought some fresh beef in Santo Martino,' he told her. 'You can make a stew with it,
hein
?'

'No,' Chellie said in a hollow voice. 'I don't think I can, actually.'

Laurent sighed. 'I think maybe I should help,
cherie
, before Ash makes you walk the plank.'

Chellie stared at him. 'But he said you couldn't cook either.'

He shrugged. 'Maybe that was to arouse your sympathy,
cherie
, and make sure you sailed with us.' His eyes danced. 'After all, you are a very beautiful girl, and better to look at than the horizon all the time.'

She bit her lip, putting a self-conscious hand up to her hair. 'I'm a scarecrow.'

He patted her on the shoulder. 'It will grow,' he said gently.

He was brisk and competent as he supervised her cutting the meat into cubes and browning it in oil with garlic and onions. She cooked chopped vegetables in the oil too, then placed the whole concoction with red wine and vegetables, herbs and seasoning in a large electric crockpot which he produced from a cupboard.

'
C'est tout
' Laurent switched on the pot and adjusted the setting. 'Now it cooks slowly until we are ready for it this evening.' He grinned at her. 'And you have learned how to feed a hungry man.'

Most of the hungry men I know feed themselves, Chellie returned silently. Using their platinum cards.

'Any more little jobs our gallant captain would like me to do?' she asked with spurious sweetness. 'Like swabbing the decks with my toothbrush?'

Laurent's smile faded, and he gave her an old-fashioned look. 'You might be wiser not to suggest it,
mademoiselle
.' He paused. 'You would prefer, perhaps, to have remained in Santo Martino?'