there's the small question of cost,' he went on remorselessly. 'You've no real cash, so are you really prepared to pay the alternative price you might be charged? If so, you could find it a very long voyage.'
'You're vile.' She choked out the words.
'I'm a realist,' he returned implacably. 'Whereas you…' He gave a derisive laugh. 'In spite of everything that's happened, you still haven't learned a bloody thing, have you, sweetheart?'
She said in a stifled voice, 'Please—please let go of me.'
'Afraid I might want to teach you a valuable lesson?' He shook his head derisively. 'Not a chance, sweetheart. You're not my type.'
But he made no attempt to release her, and Chellie, trapped between the hard male warmth of his body and the wall of rough planking behind her, felt herself begin to tremble inside.
Suddenly the world had shrunk to this dark corner, and the paler oval of his face looking down at her. The sheer physical nearness of him.
She was dimly aware of other things too. Men's voices shouting angrily and the loud blare of a vehicle horn. But all that seemed to be happening in another world—another universe that had no relevance to her or the quiver of need that was growing and intensifying within her.
She saw his head turn sharply, heard him swear quietly and succinctly under his breath, then, before she could even contemplate resistance, he swooped down on her, and for one startled, breathless moment her mouth was crushed under his.
But not in anything that could be recognised as a kiss. That was the real shock of it all. Because the tight-lipped pressure of his mouth on hers was simply that—physical contact without an atom of desire or sensuality.
A harsh, untender parody of a caress.
And one that was over almost as soon as it had begun.
Chellie leaned back against the wall, her legs barely able to support her, looking up at him, trying and failing to read his face.
She said in a voice she barely recognised, 'What was—
that
about?'
He said, '
That
was Manuel in a Jeep, with another guy driving him.' He paused. 'Bald, built like a bull. Do you know him?'
'Rico. He's a bouncer at the club.' Chellie spoke numbly, trying to drag together the remnants of her composure without success. 'Did they see us?'
'I think they might have stopped if so,' he said drily. 'Besides, I made sure you were well hidden.'
'Yes,' she said. And, again, 'Yes.'
So that was why
… She shivered.
He took her hand again. 'Come on.'
She hung back, staring up at him, her eyes blank with fright. 'What are we going to do now?' Her voice was barely more than a whisper.
He shrugged. 'We go down to the marina and get aboard the boat, as planned. What else?'
'But—everything's changed.' Her voice was a little wail of protest. 'They'll be there first—waiting for us.'
'Then we'll make damned sure they don't see us.' He sounded appallingly calm. 'But I'd bet any money that they're not going anywhere near the marina. Trust me on that, if nothing else.'
He put his arm round her and set off down the quay again at a brisker pace. 'On the other hand, I'd prefer us not to be loitering around on their return journey. Going on a wild goose chase often brings out the worst in people,' he added wryly.
Chellie went with him mechanically, her thoughts in turmoil. But it wasn't simply the threat of discovery that plagued her. Because, to her own amazement, that no longer seemed to be her first priority.
Instead, she found she was reliving the moment when she'd stood with him in the darkness with his mouth on hers. Examining—analysing every trembling second of it.
And realising, to her horror, that she'd wanted more. That she'd needed him to recognise that she was female to his male. That she—wanted him.
The breath caught in her throat.
My God, she thought, with a touch of hysteria. It's completely crazy. How can I be feeling like this? I—I don't even know his name.
Nevertheless, that was the shaming truth she had to face—to