Mistresses: Bound with Gold / Bought with Emeralds. Sandra MartonЧитать онлайн книгу.
gold-plated fixtures and fittings and coordinated furniture and fabrics.
Beneath their feet was an almost imperceptible vibration as a powerful engine purred into life, and when she murmured something about conspicuous consumption Joshua said, ‘We bought it from an American billionaire who fell on hard times. We use it mainly for corporate entertaining, here and overseas—for events like the America’s Cup—or charter it to visiting business-people who don’t like to stay in hotels.’
Following him back up the companionway, Regan guessed that the weekly charter fees would cost more than the average New Zealander earned in a year!
While they’d been below the boat had left the slips, and as they stepped onto the aft deck Regan could see the marina terraces recede behind a forest of masts as they cruised around the first curve in the broad canal. But it was what she didn’t see that concerned her. ‘Where are the others?’
‘Others?’ Joshua leaned sideways on the brass rail, plucking a pair of sunglasses from the breast pocket of his shirt and sliding them on his face.
‘You said, “We’re going on a short cruise—”’
‘And so we are. Grey has had some minor adjustments done on the satellite navigation system and he just wanted to give her a brief shake-down run—’
‘But you mentioned Carolyn, and I assumed…’ She trailed off at his sardonic smile. He hitched up the knee of his black trousers and rested his foot on the lower rail.
‘I’ve told you about the danger of making assumptions where I’m concerned.’
‘You deliberately led me to think that you were taking a bunch of people out,’ she accused huskily.
He turned aside the challenge with a lazy smile. ‘You seem to be rather stressed-out lately. I thought you might appreciate the chance to get away from all the cares of the world for an hour or two.’
Since he was a major source of her stress, that seemed unlikely. ‘What if I want to go back?’
‘We can’t ever turn back the clock…so forward seems the only logical place for us to go.’ He shifted his stance, casually crossing his long legs at the ankle as he rested his elbow on the rail. ‘What were you and my son talking so earnestly about when I found you?’
She stiffened. She couldn’t see his eyes, but the stillness of his face suggested a penetrating watchfulness. She moved up to press her stomach against the rail, using the excuse of leaning over to study the boats they were passing to show him a delicate, unrevealing profile.
Now was her chance to do the honourable thing. To forestall any future trouble for Ryan with a full and frank confession. She would have to trust to Joshua’s strong sense of justice, and the compassion she now knew he possessed, and hope that he would appreciate the honesty of her intentions…
‘He has a crush on you, you know.’
Her head whipped around, as he had known it would, the glossy hair flaring out from her skull in a blue-black spray.
‘Ryan? Don’t be ridiculous!’ spilled out of her lips.
‘The more attention you pay him, the more likely he is to presume that you mean something by it,’ he told her.
She lifted her chin. ‘I do: it means I like him.’
‘In spite of him being my son?’ he guessed, putting a finger on her dilemma.
‘He’s a very nice boy,’ she sniffed.
‘He wouldn’t thank you for calling him a boy. He’s a
young man, filled with a young man’s passions…’
And foolish ideals.
Regan bit her lip and he turned to join her at the rail, his shoulder brushing against her navy sleeve as he bent to lean on both elbows, looking down into their lightly churning wake. ‘Ryan loves complexity and finds any sort of mystery irresistible. You can’t blame him for being intrigued, you’re probably the most complex woman he’s ever encountered. Add big violet eyes and a sleek little body to the equation and you have a perfect recipe for infatuation. He may think his intellect will protect him from emotional harm, but he doesn’t realise that some emotions are not always answerable to reason…’
That was cutting too close to the bone. She looked at his bowed head, noting the way the breeze ruffled his hair, and the silky black growth on his muscled forearm. ‘I really think you’re overreacting—I’m just a novelty—’
‘He watches you when he thinks you aren’t looking…’
She tore her yearning gaze away from his averted head.
‘So? You have no idea what’s going on inside his brain.’
‘I know how males think. And I know Ryan better than most men know their sons.’
‘I just don’t think he thinks about me that way,’ she said feebly. ‘You make it sound as if I’m some kind of femme fatale…’
He straightened up, removing his sunglasses, and she immediately wished he would put them back on. His eyes made her stomach lurch. Then she realised there was a physical reason for her reaction; they were moving out of the mouth of the canal into the light chop of the channel which extended from a half-melon of sandy beach—dotted with family groups taking advantage of the school holidays—to the open gulf.
‘And you make it sound as if you don’t believe you’re innately attractive to men. That unless you set out to entice a man he’ll simply ignore your femininity. Why, I wonder?’
Regan’s fingers automatically moved to twist her absent wedding ring. ‘I’m not here for psychoanalysis,’ she rasped.
‘You sound a little dry,’ he said gently. ‘Would you like something to lubricate your throat while we argue the point?’ He signalled to someone out of Regan’s sight-line, and she completely lost her train of thought when she saw who it was bringing forward the silver tray.
‘Champagne cocktail or tropical crush, Mam’selle Eve?’
She blushed furiously at the sight of his ugly face, pruned into a wrinkled smile. ‘Hello, Pierre,’ she said faintly, grabbing the nearest drink without caring what it contained.
‘Actually, her name is Regan,’ Joshua told his man, accepting a stemmed glass of straw-coloured liquid containing a hulled strawberry. ‘She prefers to reserve Evangeline for those occasions when she’s incognito.’
Regan jerked around to remonstrate, and fruit juice spilled out of her glass down the lapel of her jacket.
‘Ah, Mam’selle, let me sponge that out for you before it stains.’ The glass was taken out of her hand and her jacket removed and borne away into the air-conditioned depths of the vessel before she could do much more than stutter a protest.
‘I think you might be safer with the champagne,’ said Joshua, handing her one of the tall cocktails, his eyes flicking over the white singlet top she had worn under her navy suit.
‘How did you find out my middle name?’ she demanded.
Joshua toasted her with his glass. ‘I asked around.’
She knew what that meant for a man of his wealth and power.
‘You mean you had me investigated,’ she snapped.
‘Do you blame me?’
No, that was the problem. It was what she would have done were their circumstances reversed.
‘I hope you got your money’s worth,’ she gritted.
The prow of the boat eased higher in the water as a low grumble signalled a surge of power from the throttle, and as Regan listed on the wooden decking in a belated attempt to find her sea legs Joshua reached out to steady her, his fingers firm on her waist.