His Rags-to-Riches Bride. Susan Stephens
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he was a good-looking example of the blond, curly haired, rugged corner of the market, and charming with it—on the surface at least—so he probably hadn’t had too many rejections in his life. No doubt he’d believed that proximity would do its work, and that he’d persuade her round to his way of thinking in due course.
Well, she thought with a swift shiver, at least I was spared that. The money was all he got from me.
He’d totally underestimated her indifference to him sexually, just as she’d completely missed the signs that beneath the charismatic son-of-the-sea pose was a common swindler.
A brilliant fisherman, of course, in every way. Bait the hook, she thought bitterly, and reel ‘em in.
But they’d had a good business going there, she reflected with regret. Their clientele had registered few complaints, and an abundance of compliments, especially about the good food she’d managed to produce in a galley that just bordered on the adequate, and money had been there to be made. But she could see now that, outside the thrill and glamour of the chase for the big game fish, it had all been too much like hard work for Andy. He wanted easy pickings, and no slog over bookkeeping or maintenance.
In retrospect, she could see she should have been warned that all might not be as it seemed. Except that she hadn’t allowed herself time to think—or to wonder what she might be getting into.
Oh, his proposition that she should invest in his business had come at exactly the right moment, she thought, her mouth twisting in self-derision. And when you’re thrown a lifeline, you don’t always check the rope for durability. You’re just too thankful to be rescued.
Dear God—some rescue! As she’d come back to the boat that day, weary and disheartened by lack of success in finding their business the new shore premises it needed, she had already known that persuading Andy to sit down and talk through their current difficulties would present a mammoth problem.
So, she’d not anticipated an easy time. She had, however, expected that he’d be there. Not that she’d find the revolting Dirk Clemmens waiting for her down in the saloon, a bottle of bourbon open on the table in front of him beside a sheaf of papers.
Of all their clients, this wealthy South African had been her least favourite. She’d loathed the way he made any excuse to touch her, brushing past her unnecessarily close. Making sure their hands met when she passed him a drink or served food. She didn’t like the friends he brought with him either, overweight and loud-mouthed. Or the girls who lay around sun-bathing, wearing only thongs when not completely naked.
Andy’s mouth had curled, however, when she’d complained about Clemmens and his groping. ‘Why should you care?’ he’d demanded sullenly. ‘We both know he’s on a hiding to nothing with you, sweetheart.’
And, suddenly, inexplicably, the burly South African had been right there, back on the boat, and she’d seemed to be alone with him, which had bewildered her as well as filling her with an odd sense of foreboding. But she’d hidden it well, keeping her voice cool. ‘Where’s Andy?’
‘Oh, he’s gone.’ He sounded almost casual. ‘We did a deal, chickie, and I’m now the new owner—in full possession.’ He had soft pink lips that always looked wet, and he stretched them now in an ingratiating smile. ‘Welcome back.’
Laine had stayed very still. She said quietly, ‘There must be some mistake. Andy and I were partners.’
‘Yeah, he told me. Sleeping partners.’ He gave a lascivious chuckle. ‘Which suits me just fine—so let’s keep the arrangement going, shall we?’ He pushed a glass towards her. ‘Sit down, honey. Have a drink while we discuss your—duties, eh?’
She said desperately, ‘But surely he must have left me a message of some kind?’
‘Yeah, he did. Now, how did he put it?’ He pretended to think for a moment. ‘Oh, I remember. He said to tell you, “So long, honey, and don’t think it wasn’t nice.”’
The shock of what he was saying brought bile into her throat, but it seemed wiser to take a seat while she tried to assimilate the full horror of Andy’s defection, and this resultant change in her circumstances.
She poured some whisky into her glass, and took a minimal sip as she waited for her mind to stop reeling.
Andy, she thought. Andy—whom she’d trusted—had done this to her. Had cheated her, stolen from her, and left her to this creature, whom he knew she hated. Was this his idea of revenge for turning him down—to abandon her to the mercies of a man whom she knew wouldn’t take no for an answer?
Was every man she came across going to betray her in some way?
Her stomach churned as she tried to think what to do next. Her instinct was screaming to her to make a dash for it, but, although Clemmens was a big man, he was light on his feet, and she wasn’t sure she could out-run him. And the thought of being caught by him—subdued—was terrifying.
No she would have to be more clever than that. Besides, she couldn’t simply leave empty-handed. Her wallet, with what ready money she possessed, was with her in her shoulder bag, but her passport was in her cabin with the rest of her things, and she needed it.
However, he’d clearly been celebrating his purchase, and this could work in her favour. She’d seen him drink before and, despite appearances and his own bragging, he didn’t have the hardest head in Miami.
She waited until he started shuffling through the papers, muttering with satisfaction, then swiftly tipped her drink down her skirt. It felt horribly clammy, and she immediately stank of spirits, but she could only hope Clemmens had imbibed enough himself not to notice that.
She poured another modest amount for herself, then refilled his glass, pushing it within easy reach. His fingers closed round it, and he drank.
He wiped his mouth with his fist, belched, and looked at her. ‘Andy tells me that once you’re in the sack you’re not nearly as prim and proper as you make out, sweetie.’ He laughed again. ‘I sure hope that’s true, because I pay by results.’
She smiled at him. Raised her glass in a semi-toast. ‘Then I trust you’re prepared to be generous, Mr Clemmens.’
Andy, you total bastard! Whatever you’ve done with the money, you could have spared me this—animal.
She sipped, then sent the rest over her skirt, as he splashed more bourbon into his glass, spattering his papers in the process.
He swore. ‘Get a cloth.’
She obeyed reluctantly, hoping he wouldn’t notice her damp skirt. But he simply grabbed the cloth from her hand, and began to dab clumsily at the top document.
‘God, it’s hot in here.’ He ran a finger round the collar of his polo shirt. ‘Isn’t there a fan or something?’
‘There used to be.’ She shrugged. ‘Maybe Andy took it with him.’
‘No, he took nothing but the asking price. I saw to that.’
Her heart skipped a beat, but her tone held nothing but indifference. ‘Then it’ll be somewhere in the guest quarters.’
‘Well, don’t just sit there.’ He leaned back against the cushioned seat, closing his eyes. ‘Get it.’
Laine rose and picked up her bag from the side of her chair. Was it really going to be this easy?
She went straight to the tiny space she’d occupied since she came on board, and changed swiftly out of her ruined skirt into a pair of white jeans.
She retrieved her passport, and thrust as much as she could carry into the smaller of her two travel bags, knowing that she needed to travel light.
Then, soft-footed, she went up on deck. She’d just stepped on to the gangplank when Dirk Clemmens’ voice sounded just behind her. ‘Where d’you think you’re going, chickie? You come here, now, like a good girl.’