tendrils of smoke. “Still, I don’t have to eat alone do I?”
The unexpected dinner invitation threw her off-guard. As did the totally disarming grin that changed his face from smug to friendly.
“N-no,” Ali stumbled, her mouth suddenly dry. Could she survive any more time with Jackson McKenzie without throwing herself at his mercy?
Jack’s grin widened. “No, I don’t have to eat alone, or no, there’s not a chance in hell you’ll have dinner with me?”
Ali paused, another knot twisting tighter in her stomach. Jack’s eyes promised something she knew was delicious heaven to succumb to but hell to recover from. There would be no turning away the next time he placed those burning hands on her. No turning away and no turning back. But after it all he would only leave again. Of that she had no doubt. It was time she did the rejecting.
Forcing a small smile to her own lips, she looked up at him through lowered lashes and took a step backward.
“Not a chance in hell,” she said, before turning on her heel and walking away.
Jack watched her disappear along the jetty, pushing his hands into his pockets. He grinned broadly.
The race today had been vintage Ali Graham. She’d been aggressive, calculating and taken risks sane skippers wouldn’t. She’d used the weather in every way she could, and Jack had to admit that it almost hadn’t been necessary to throw the race.
Christ, it’d been hard though. Losing didn’t come easy to him, especially when the prize was something as sweet as Ali. As the finish line had drawn closer, a powerful desire had rolled through him—a purely male desire that reminded him just what would happen if he won. Yes, it had been hard to not allow Suspicious Ways to pass Wind Seeker . Bloody hard.
Chuckling, he turned back to his yacht.
Ali could have the extra month to gather her funds, she could keep Wind Seeker and Peterson couldn’t get her business. That’s what mattered. Now if only he could convince her to quit racing for the bastard. It was hard to protect her when she spent two afternoons a week on Peterson’s racing yacht.
The thought tempered his good humor with an icy sense of dread.
What if she didn’t want to be protected? According to Mike, Peterson acted like Ali was his personal property.
Jack shook his head, denying the cold pressure in his chest. No, it wasn’t possible. Not after last night. Not after the way Ali had responded to his kiss. He couldn’t believe she was involved with Peterson. Not after the way they had touched each other.
But he didn’t know either.
And it troubled the hell out of him.
Chapter Four
Ali jogged along the sand, her mind miles away from the crashing waves of Bondi Beach.
It had taken a mere two hours for the world to bring her crashing down from the euphoria of beating Jack. Two hours during which she’d sat with her mom, holding back tears of heartache as Jenny slurred her way through a simple conversation about the weather, stumbling around the communal kitchen of the nursing home where she lived, trying to make her daughter a cup of tea. Ali had almost called for the nurse then and there, but Jenny wouldn’t let her. “Don’t be silly, Alissa,” she’d insisted. “I’m fine.”
But Ali knew she wasn’t fine. Not at all. And her heart wept the tears her eyes couldn’t.
Turning from the view of sunset on Australia’s most famous beach, she ran for home, hoping the twenty-minute jog might miraculously provide an answer. The permanent-care bills were piling up, and Ali still had no idea where the money was coming from to pay them. Yes, Jack had given her a month’s grace, but that didn’t help with her mom’s medical expenses. Perhaps she should accept Zane Peterson’s proposition after all?
An image of the billionaire floated into Ali’s head, his steel grey hair slicked back from his over-tanned face, more gold chains than she could ever hope to own hanging around his neck, his paunch bulging
The unexpected dinner invitation threw her off-guard. As did the totally disarming grin that changed his face from smug to friendly.
“N-no,” Ali stumbled, her mouth suddenly dry. Could she survive any more time with Jackson McKenzie without throwing herself at his mercy?
Jack’s grin widened. “No, I don’t have to eat alone, or no, there’s not a chance in hell you’ll have dinner with me?”
Ali paused, another knot twisting tighter in her stomach. Jack’s eyes promised something she knew was delicious heaven to succumb to but hell to recover from. There would be no turning away the next time he placed those burning hands on her. No turning away and no turning back. But after it all he would only leave again. Of that she had no doubt. It was time she did the rejecting.
Forcing a small smile to her own lips, she looked up at him through lowered lashes and took a step backward.
“Not a chance in hell,” she said, before turning on her heel and walking away.
Jack watched her disappear along the jetty, pushing his hands into his pockets. He grinned broadly.
The race today had been vintage Ali Graham. She’d been aggressive, calculating and taken risks sane skippers wouldn’t. She’d used the weather in every way she could, and Jack had to admit that it almost hadn’t been necessary to throw the race.
Christ, it’d been hard though. Losing didn’t come easy to him, especially when the prize was something as sweet as Ali. As the finish line had drawn closer, a powerful desire had rolled through him—a purely male desire that reminded him just what would happen if he won. Yes, it had been hard to not allow Suspicious Ways to pass Wind Seeker . Bloody hard.
Chuckling, he turned back to his yacht.
Ali could have the extra month to gather her funds, she could keep Wind Seeker and Peterson couldn’t get her business. That’s what mattered. Now if only he could convince her to quit racing for the bastard. It was hard to protect her when she spent two afternoons a week on Peterson’s racing yacht.
The thought tempered his good humor with an icy sense of dread.
What if she didn’t want to be protected? According to Mike, Peterson acted like Ali was his personal property.
Jack shook his head, denying the cold pressure in his chest. No, it wasn’t possible. Not after last night. Not after the way Ali had responded to his kiss. He couldn’t believe she was involved with Peterson. Not after the way they had touched each other.
But he didn’t know either.
And it troubled the hell out of him.
Chapter Four
Ali jogged along the sand, her mind miles away from the crashing waves of Bondi Beach.
It had taken a mere two hours for the world to bring her crashing down from the euphoria of beating Jack. Two hours during which she’d sat with her mom, holding back tears of heartache as Jenny slurred her way through a simple conversation about the weather, stumbling around the communal kitchen of the nursing home where she lived, trying to make her daughter a cup of tea. Ali had almost called for the nurse then and there, but Jenny wouldn’t let her. “Don’t be silly, Alissa,” she’d insisted. “I’m fine.”
But Ali knew she wasn’t fine. Not at all. And her heart wept the tears her eyes couldn’t.
Turning from the view of sunset on Australia’s most famous beach, she ran for home, hoping the twenty-minute jog might miraculously provide an answer. The permanent-care bills were piling up, and Ali still had no idea where the money was coming from to pay them. Yes, Jack had given her a month’s grace, but that didn’t help with her mom’s medical expenses. Perhaps she should accept Zane Peterson’s proposition after all?
An image of the billionaire floated into Ali’s head, his steel grey hair slicked back from his over-tanned face, more gold chains than she could ever hope to own hanging around his neck, his paunch bulging
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