over his belt. She crinkled her nose.
Gossip traveled quickly in the small world of Sydney’s sailing circle, and rumor surrounded Zane Peterson like a shroud. He was a notorious playboy with a taste for young brunettes and wild parties and threw his money around like it was nothing. Whatever he wanted, he got, thanks to his enormous wealth and tenacious determination. People never said no to him. He hated to lose. Ali had heard it murmured more than once that he was into drugs—both selling and using—although she’d never seen him less than fully in-control. At times, he surrounded himself with bodyguards, which she thought a tad over-the-top. She clearly remembered her father not liking him much.
Ever since she started racing for him, he’d become overly…friendly, suggesting dinner at his house or aboard his luxurious motorboat more than once, somehow always finding a reason to come aboard Wind Seeker while she was tying up. The latest line of attack was a suggestion she skipper a three-week charter to the Solomon Islands. He’d pay big, very big, but it’d just be the two of them. “I’m thinking of buying a cruising yacht.” His smile had been as slick as his hair when he’d made the suggestion two weeks ago. “Being with you on Wind Seeker would let me know if it’s as pleasurable as I imagine.”
Ali shuddered at the idea. Three weeks alone with Peterson aboard the restraining quarters of her yacht? She’d probably jump overboard before the end of the first day. He’d never said anything outright, but she wasn’t a naïve fool. She knew by the way his gaze scorched a trail over her body, from breasts to thighs and back to breasts, what he’d want on the trip. And it had little to do with sailing.
A disgusted snort sounded at the back of her throat. There was nothing that could convince her to accept help from Zane Peterson. She was desperate, but not that desperate. She still had two large charters on the books for the coming months—a honeymooning couple and a two-week trip up the coastline with a boatload of corporate executives. Both would provide a well-needed boost. The extra month she now had from Jack would give her the chance to cash in on those two bookings. Word of mouth was one of the best ways to gain new business, and she was determined both charters would be so amazing that word would spread like fire. End of financial trouble. Hopefully.
A small smile of positive hope pulling at her lips, Ali rounded the corner into her street and froze.
A sleek, ridiculously shiny red Ferrari was parked before her unit.
You’re kidding.
She swallowed a sudden lump in her throat.
Jack.
The driver’s-side door swung open and out he stepped, dominating the very space around him. He pushed the car door closed, his shoulders impossibly broad in a snug black T-shirt, his dark blonde hair tousled to a sexy mess. Black steel-rimmed sunglasses had replaced his normal gold-framed ones, but the concealing lenses did nothing to lessen the pinning impact of his gaze as it landed on her. “Ali.”
Ali ground her teeth. How did he do that? How did he manage to twist her insides into knots, flood her very being with wet heat just by saying her name?
Forcing her feet to move, she walked closer to him, even as she fought the urge to sprint back down the street. A sweltering summer’s day was nothing compared to the molten heat now throbbing through her body, between her thighs, and she was too damn emotionally wrung-out to battle with her own foolish weakness.
“What do you want, Jack?” she threw over her shoulder, walking past him to her front door. “Unless you plan to renege on our deal, I have nothing to say to you for thirty days.”
A low chuckle caressed her senses and Ali knew, without needing to look, that he’d followed her to the door. “I’m not here to renege on anything, Ali.”
Fumbling with the key, she clenched her teeth tighter. The smooth, deep tones of his voice played with
Gossip traveled quickly in the small world of Sydney’s sailing circle, and rumor surrounded Zane Peterson like a shroud. He was a notorious playboy with a taste for young brunettes and wild parties and threw his money around like it was nothing. Whatever he wanted, he got, thanks to his enormous wealth and tenacious determination. People never said no to him. He hated to lose. Ali had heard it murmured more than once that he was into drugs—both selling and using—although she’d never seen him less than fully in-control. At times, he surrounded himself with bodyguards, which she thought a tad over-the-top. She clearly remembered her father not liking him much.
Ever since she started racing for him, he’d become overly…friendly, suggesting dinner at his house or aboard his luxurious motorboat more than once, somehow always finding a reason to come aboard Wind Seeker while she was tying up. The latest line of attack was a suggestion she skipper a three-week charter to the Solomon Islands. He’d pay big, very big, but it’d just be the two of them. “I’m thinking of buying a cruising yacht.” His smile had been as slick as his hair when he’d made the suggestion two weeks ago. “Being with you on Wind Seeker would let me know if it’s as pleasurable as I imagine.”
Ali shuddered at the idea. Three weeks alone with Peterson aboard the restraining quarters of her yacht? She’d probably jump overboard before the end of the first day. He’d never said anything outright, but she wasn’t a naïve fool. She knew by the way his gaze scorched a trail over her body, from breasts to thighs and back to breasts, what he’d want on the trip. And it had little to do with sailing.
A disgusted snort sounded at the back of her throat. There was nothing that could convince her to accept help from Zane Peterson. She was desperate, but not that desperate. She still had two large charters on the books for the coming months—a honeymooning couple and a two-week trip up the coastline with a boatload of corporate executives. Both would provide a well-needed boost. The extra month she now had from Jack would give her the chance to cash in on those two bookings. Word of mouth was one of the best ways to gain new business, and she was determined both charters would be so amazing that word would spread like fire. End of financial trouble. Hopefully.
A small smile of positive hope pulling at her lips, Ali rounded the corner into her street and froze.
A sleek, ridiculously shiny red Ferrari was parked before her unit.
You’re kidding.
She swallowed a sudden lump in her throat.
Jack.
The driver’s-side door swung open and out he stepped, dominating the very space around him. He pushed the car door closed, his shoulders impossibly broad in a snug black T-shirt, his dark blonde hair tousled to a sexy mess. Black steel-rimmed sunglasses had replaced his normal gold-framed ones, but the concealing lenses did nothing to lessen the pinning impact of his gaze as it landed on her. “Ali.”
Ali ground her teeth. How did he do that? How did he manage to twist her insides into knots, flood her very being with wet heat just by saying her name?
Forcing her feet to move, she walked closer to him, even as she fought the urge to sprint back down the street. A sweltering summer’s day was nothing compared to the molten heat now throbbing through her body, between her thighs, and she was too damn emotionally wrung-out to battle with her own foolish weakness.
“What do you want, Jack?” she threw over her shoulder, walking past him to her front door. “Unless you plan to renege on our deal, I have nothing to say to you for thirty days.”
A low chuckle caressed her senses and Ali knew, without needing to look, that he’d followed her to the door. “I’m not here to renege on anything, Ali.”
Fumbling with the key, she clenched her teeth tighter. The smooth, deep tones of his voice played with
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