A Dangerous Arrangement (14 page)

He took his arm from around her waist and brushed her hair away from her face. ‘You'd be better off in bed.'

‘No. I might be sick again.'

Needing to help her in some way, he folded a towel and put it under her head. ‘I've sent for something. Hang on.'

He was washing his hands with soap and hot water when Alain came in. He glanced at his first mate in the mirror. ‘Antiseptic swab and one of the ready-prepared syringes.'

As Dean dried his hands, Alain squatted on the floor, opened the kit and took out the items.

‘Captain?' Alain held them up.

‘Put them in the lid. Get some iceblocks from the galley and put them by the bed. She's dehydrated.'

Alain left with a curt nod and Dean knelt on the floor beside Marina. ‘Don't move, sweetheart.' He tore open the packet containing the antiseptic swab. ‘You'll feel a whole lot better in about five minutes.'

She was lying partly on her side and partly on her stomach, so it was easy for him to pull down her knickers and rub the antiseptic pad over one nicely rounded buttock.

If he wasn't so worried he might have smiled.

He took out the syringe, prepared it as he had many times before, and with one well-practised movement slid it into her creamy skin. He pumped in the anti-nausea drug and withdrew the needle, unsure if she even knew what was happening.

If she did, she was too ill to care.

‘There you go.' He pulled up her purple knickers and put the used syringe into the lid. Then he stretched out his legs and sat with his back to the wall. As gently as he could, he slid his hands under her arms and pulled her into his lap. She groaned, shuddered, her body rigid and tense.

‘Come on, sweetheart. You're over the worst of it now.' He murmured the words in her ear and guided her head onto his shoulder. ‘I'll keep you warm and safe and tomorrow you'll be as good as new.'

He leaned over and dragged a fluffy white bath sheet off the rack. With her body resting against him, he was aware of her cold hands, the moist hair stuck to her forehead, the gentle moan. He covered her with the soft towel and wrapped his arms around her.

He was holding her wrist, counting along with her pulse when Alain returned with a pewter ice bucket.

Alain glanced at Marina. ‘Coming good?'

‘She will.' Dean tightened his hold on her. ‘Pass me one of those iceblocks and tell Rask I'll be down here for a while.'

‘Yes, sir.'

As Alain departed, Dean put his lips close to her ear. ‘The stabilisers are out. We're not moving. Just try and relax.'

She gave a soft moan and turned her face into his neck.

He gave her a gentle squeeze and studied her hand, the one he held, the one causing her all the trouble. It was small compared to his, almost childlike, the skin softer, whiter. Her fingers were long though—slender, unadorned, the nails filed short, no polish. He ran the pad of his thumb along her fingertips, smiling a little when he felt the calluses where she pressed down on the violin strings.

A woman who worked with her hands.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there, waiting for the drug to take effect, but bit by bit her body warmed. Then her hand moved beneath the towel.

Dean swallowed, his mouth turning dry. She was lying half on top of him, soft breasts pressed into his side, her hand on his chest. She fit snugly against him, and in different circumstances he could have stayed like that for hours. But right now he wanted her fit and well for both their sakes.

He tipped his head so he could see her face, brought the iceblock up and touched it to her lips. ‘Here.'

She jerked back, but when he touched it to her lips a second time she parted them. He rested the iceblock on her lower lip and waited. After a moment the pink tip of her tongue appeared, and like a cat lapping up cream she licked at the flavoured water. Then she ran her tongue around the curved end and swallowed.

‘More?'

She nodded and opened her mouth wider.

Something tightened inside Dean.

He guided the iceblock in, and she latched on, closing her mouth around it and sucking hard. Her hand snaked out from under the towel, closed over his where he held onto the stick. Then she pushed herself up a little so she could slide it deeper into her mouth.

Fuck!

Desire streaked through Dean's body, turning him rock hard in his pants. He moved his legs to the side, hoping she wouldn't notice as he watched her lick and suck every bit of fluid out of the popsicle.

His breathing turned heavy, and he closed his eyes and tried shutting down his overactive imagination. He'd seen dozens of seasick men do the same thing, crusty old blokes with leathery skin from a lifetime spent at sea. But when Marina closed those luscious lips around that popsicle—sick or not—he was thinking of one thing, and one thing only.

Jesus!

He was the sick one!

He opened his eyes to find her watching him. She slid the iceblock from her mouth and took an unsteady breath, as though weakened from the effort. Red flavouring stained her mouth like badly applied lipstick, a slash of red in her otherwise pale face.

She blinked. ‘I feel better now.'

Thank Christ one of them did!

He doubted he could stand.

She sat up and the towel slipped off her shoulders. She frowned as she looked down at herself, at her bare skin. He held his breath as her beautiful eyes travelled over his body, and when her gaze collided with his …

Words failed him.

‘What did you give me?'

He swallowed, trying to get the moisture back into his mouth. ‘An injection for nausea, vomiting and motion sickness. It's also a sedative. You're going to be feeling very sleepy very soon.'

‘Thank you.' She looked around for the towel. ‘I wanted to die.'

‘You wouldn't be the first one. Here.' He reached behind her and pulled the towel around her shoulders so he wouldn't be taunted by those pretty breasts in the purple lace bra. ‘Let me get up first, and then I'll help you.'

‘I'm so sorry,' she said, watching on as he struggled to his feet.

Christ
! He was stiff as a board and his balls ached something fierce. Leaning down, he supported her as she got to her feet, closing his hands over her shoulders when she wobbled a bit.

‘Easy. Let me help you into bed.'

She blushed the colour of blended wine. ‘I'd like to wash up first.'

Dean frowned. He didn't want her in the bathroom alone, but he couldn't insist on staying, especially after what had just happened. But as the owner of the yacht, he owed her a duty of care. Maybe he should call Danika.

She laid a hand on his arm. ‘I won't be long.'

He nodded and turned to leave. ‘Don't lock the door. Call out if you need me.'

Moments later he heard the shower running and the simultaneous sound of her brushing her teeth. He smiled a little. She
was
being quick and a hot shower would warm her up even more.

As for him, he could do with an ice-cold dip in the ocean.

Five minutes later she came out, flushed, fragrant and wrapped in a guest bathrobe with
Orion
embroidered on the breast pocket.

‘Okay?'

She blinked heavy lids at him. ‘I'm having trouble staying awake.'

‘Get into bed. If you fall over and hit your head, you could really hurt yourself.'

He went to the bedside table and unscrewed the bottle of water Alain had left with the iceblocks. He poured her a glass, watching as she crawled onto the king-sized bed and pulled the covers over her.

‘Drink this, and then try and drink another one.'

Like an obedient child, she took the glass and drank half of it. Then she finished it off and handed him the empty glass. She slid down in the bed and closed her eyes, her hair a dark storm cloud on the white pillow. ‘I can't drink another one.'

He smiled. ‘It'll only make you get up during the night, and I think you need your sleep more.'

On the control panel near the bed, he dimmed the lights as low as they could go and stood looking down at her heart-shaped face, waiting for her to fall into a deep sleep.

She half-opened her eyes and reached for his hand. ‘Dean?'

‘Hmm?'

‘Can you stay for a while?'

Ah, hell!

She slipped her long, slender fingers through his and he gazed down at her left wrist, slightly bruised from where he'd grabbed her earlier and hauled her off Rask. The demure musician he'd met in the gondola had a world-class temper on her, but she was also beautiful, smart and gifted, unlike anyone he'd ever met before.

Ignoring his racing heart, he gave her fingers a gentle squeeze and sat on the side of the bed. ‘Are you frightened down here?'

‘Yes.' She was almost asleep now, her words soft, slurred, a little incoherent from the sedative. ‘It's the water.'

Dean frowned, taken aback by her admission. He stared down at their entwined hands and pondered what she'd said. Did she have a fear of the ocean, of being surrounded by water? If so, being on the best yacht in the world wouldn't make the slightest difference, just as a Lear Jet wouldn't reassure someone who was afraid of flying.

He thought back to the gondola ride, how anxious she'd been. He couldn't leave her, not if she were frightened of anything. And she had a lot to be afraid of. Victor Yu, the RSI, the loss of an incredibly prestigious position. And she'd already been through a stressful time, keeping the cruise a secret, and then he'd all but accused her of colluding with Yu.

He sighed. Her anxiety must be cranked to the limit, and that would have contributed to her nausea.

If she woke up even slightly disoriented …

With care, he extricated his fingers and laid her hand on the bed. She gave a soft moan and turned over, sliding one arm beneath the European pillow.

Treading lightly, he went into the bathroom and called Rask on the internal phone. ‘She's better, but I'm staying down here. She's very dehydrated and I'd like her to drink more water when she wakes up. If you need me, the door's unlocked. Don't ring—she needs to sleep.'

‘Very good, boss.'

‘And Rask? Tell Alain he can resume the course into Portofino now she's settled. Cruising speed this time.'

He hung up and went back into the stateroom. Marina's rhythmic breathing told him she was likely to be out for hours.

He kicked off his shoes and lay down on the bed.

Fully clothed.

On top of the covers.

Chapter Seventeen

At five-thirty the next morning Marina sat on the side of the bed and gazed at her spacious surroundings. Clean lines and plentiful light gave the stateroom a bright, contemporary feel, the cream walls and blue accents a perfect contrast to the richness of the highly polished cherry wood furniture and Italian marble tiles.

She picked up a blue velvet scatter cushion, sown with Swarovski crystals, and gazed at the indentation in the pillow on the other side of the bed.

She'd woken once during her marathon fourteen-hour sleep, and sensed Dean lying beside her. Longing to study his face in the shadowed darkness, she'd fought the drug in her system and tried to turn over. But her limbs were heavy, as if weights were attached to her ankles, her arms devoid of all strength. In the end, she'd given up her struggle and waited for the sedative to drag her back under, comforted by his low, even breathing.

She sighed and set the cushion aside. It was natural for him to be concerned about the health of an onboard guest, but he'd held her intimately in the bathroom, comforting her the way a man would comfort a lover, or a small child.

Like it was no problem.

Like he almost enjoyed it.

Marina shook her head and stood up. She was crazy to think that, and a naïve fool if she read too much into it. So what if they'd shared a kiss in Taormina? It didn't mean he wanted to take things further, and they were hardly in a healthy situation—forced into closeness by the corrupt actions of Victor Yu.

She'd been bordering on delirium last night, and Dean could simply be up for something casual.

And yet, she couldn't forget the feel of his hands; the palms a little rough from years of sailing, but so gentle when he stroked her back and brushed her hair away from her face. Like he cared … like he really cared.

She scooped up the room key Danika had given her yesterday and left the stateroom. It would be interesting to see how he reacted to her today—seeing she'd already given him the thing he wanted most.

The files.

Turning right, she headed towards the stern, knowing exactly where she was going. Earlier, she'd switched on the flat screen TV and taken a virtual tour of the yacht. She was in the master guest stateroom, one of four staterooms on the middle deck. Had she turned left, she would have come to the bow, which housed a ten-person jacuzzi and six double sunbeds. Dean's suite, the Captain's suite, was on the deck above, along with the bridge, lounge, saloon and helipad. The engine room, galley and staff quarters were on the lower deck.

She hurried past the elevator and took the spiral staircase to the lower level. The long rest had invigorated her, and at daybreak she'd sighted land off the port side. Santa Margherita, according to the information monitor. That had raised her spirits even higher.

At the bottom, she paused for a moment to listen to the soft hum of the engines then continued on towards the galley. It was almost twenty hours since her last meal and her stomach grumbled loudly. Hopefully, she'd be able to grab something quick before Danika came on duty for breakfast.

Light spilled into the hallway through a glass panel in the galley door and voices drifted towards her. Marina hesitated, unsure if she should retrace her steps and order room service from her stateroom.

Then she heard Danika's voice. ‘I disagreed with you at the time, you know that.'