Never Mine by Clare Connelly
Chapter 9
HE WAS APOPLECTIC. Beneath the veneer he kept in place for Max’s benefit was a wild beast so angry he could throttle someone, so angry he wanted to kick himself. He’d dropped the ball. Just like he’d feared, he’d become so captivated by Max he’d been more obsessed with watching her than watching what was going on around her and somehow he’d missed something or someone: a clue, a sign.
He flew by memory, the path to Bordeaux well-worn in his mind, bringing the helicopter down close to midnight. Max hadn’t spoken the entire way, but at least she was no longer crying.
“Where are we?”
“France.”
“France?” She turned back to him, obviously surprised. “Why?”
“Because I need you to be safe,” he responded through clenched teeth. “And there’s only one way I can guarantee that right now.”
A gleaming back motorbike was waiting. “Yours?”
“Surprised?”
“Actually, not at all.” A half-smile fluttered on her face and relief flooded him. She would smile again. She would remember what it was like to be herself, to know true freedom.
“Here.” He brought a helmet to her, but before he could fasten it he had to undo her bun. “Hold this.”
She took it without question, her eyes locked to his as he concentrated on dismantling the epic construction, pin by pin, until her hair uncoiled over one shoulder.
“You’re good at that.”
His smile was cynical. “It wasn’t rocket science.”
“Easier to take out than put in,” she responded with a hint of pique.
“I don’t doubt it.” He pressed the helmet into place on her head then slid on his own. “We’re not going far.”
A minute later, he wished that weren’t true. She felt impossibly good wrapped around his back, her arms holding him tight as he drove through the balmy summer’s evening towards the yacht club. The lights danced in the distance; he sped towards them, cutting the engine only once he reached the Yacht Club carpark.
“You’re…hiding me at a yacht club?”
“No.” He nodded towards the marina. “I’m hiding you out at sea.”
Her lips parted. “You’re serious?”
He nodded once. A rush of excitement ran the length of her spine. It was wrong but she felt as though she were standing on the brink of adventure and suddenly all she wanted was to step onto the ledge and experience all it had to offer.
“And you’re coming too?”
“Did you think I’d strand you on your own in the middle of the Bay of Biscay?”
She lifted a single shoulder. “I’m learning to expect surprises.”
“No more surprises tonight.” He reached for her hand. “I promise.”
She believed him. They walked in silence along the marina, past boat after boat after boat, until he stopped at a catamaran that was both beautiful and somehow dependable.
“This one?”
He nodded once, gesturing to the stairs at the back. They were pressed neatly against the marina decking.
She slid off her high heels, holding them in one hand and placing her other on the railing, moving up with a speed born of curiosity. She couldn’t say why, but her heart was racing, and she suspected it had a lot to do with the fact she was seeing a part of Noah Storm’s world that he didn’t routinely share.
He followed behind her, immediately turning on a light on the deck, offering her a distracted smile before he began to busy himself with the boat, hauling ropes, flicking switches. She stood by, wishing she could offer help, but with a very limited experience of sailing, figured she’d be more of a hindrance than anything else.
“Feel free to head downstairs and freshen up. Grab yourself a drink, something to eat. I’ll let you know when I’ve dropped anchor.”
She nodded, but didn’t move, couldn’t look away, as he took up position on the windward side, right behind the wheel, and began to expertly navigate the catamaran out of the marina, cruising past the other boats with obvious skill, showing that he did this often.
“This is yours?”
“Yes.”
“You sail?”
“When I can.”
“Not such a workaholic after all.”
He lifted one brow as he turned to face her and Max’s heart skipped a beat. “I can work from the boat. It has state of the art satellite communications. I’m just as effective from the middle of the ocean as I am in any office in the world.”
She could well imagine it.
“Max?”
She nodded once.
“Go and sit down before you pass out. You’re pale.”
“I’m okay,” she lied. Or was it the truth? She was shaken up by the phone call yet being here with Noah, beneath a clear, star-lit sky, a balmy breeze drifting off the western coast of France, she found it impossible to give herself over to catastrophizing things completely.
“I’d feel better if you sat down.”
“I’ll make a tea,” she said as a compromise. “Would you like one?”
“Coffee,” he responded with a gruff nod, then softened it. “Thank you.”
The narrow staircase was pitch-black and her heart rate shot through the roof as she fumbled around for a light switch, sweat beading on her brow in a familiar panic reaction until she found it and flicked it, flooding not just the staircase but also the boat’s interior with a warm glow. You’re safe, you’re safe.
Below deck, the catamaran was surprisingly well-appointed, modern and stylish without being over the top grandiose. The interior ceiling was dark wood, the details matched but the floor was a cream linoleum, easy for hosing out. The furniture was white leather, and as she looked around she saw a single bedroom, with a very large bed, under the bow of the catamaran. A smile touched her lips; it widened when she realized there were portal windows on either side of the bed. Okay, being stalked was a waking nightmare, but this was most definitely a silver lining.
A comfortable, neat sitting room boasted a sofa that tucked right along the side of the boat, beneath the windows, and a coffee table in front was made of tempered glass. The kitchen was all dark timber, well-appointed, with electric frying pans, a sandwich press, and enough packaged, long-life food to make Max think they could hide out here for months. The thought pulled her up short, because far from being silly or sarcastic, the idea lodged in her brain and refused to budge, so she was forced to admit – only to herself – that being stranded on this yacht with only Noah for company would be a form of nirvana.
She stared out at the ocean as the boat motored across it, the lights of the shore becoming a distant smudge very quickly, so she exhaled a breath of tension she hadn’t known she’d been holding, watching the disappearing marina until the kettle was boiled. It didn’t take long to locate what was required for their drinks and a moment later she was carrying them upstairs. Noah stood at the wheel, on the windward side of the boat, so impossibly handsome and in control that her stomach did a funny little squeeze.
“Find everything okay?”
She nodded, handing over the drink, shivering a little as out here, well into the Bay of Biscay, the wind had picked up. Noah saw – of course he did. What didn’t the man observe? – and reached into a narrow, weatherproof hutch at his side, removing a dark blue jacket with a hood and reflective patches on the sleeves. She placed the drinks down to his side and took the jacket appreciatively, sliding her arms into it before Noah moved in front of her and zipped it up, his fingers moving slowly, body close to hers, his breath on her forehead making her tummy tangle and tighten.
His eyes roamed her face and he looked as though he wanted to say something, or perhaps he was just reassuring himself that she was okay? He turned back to the wheel and continued to steer the boat for a few more minutes before cutting the engine and dropping the anchor with a soft but mechanical winching sound. Once secure, the silence was palpable. He took his coffee and moved to the leather seats at the front of the catamaran; Max followed, her hands cupping the tea for warmth.
The smell of salt filled her nostrils, the gentle lapping of the boat calming even when her pulse was rushing through her veins, in hyperdrive.
“This is so peaceful.”
“Yes,” he leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees as he stared first at the shoreline and then at Max.
She sipped her tea, watching him. “How do you know he won’t find me here?”
Noah’s frame tensed almost imperceptibly. “He won’t.”
“But your boat must be registered in your name. If he knows who you are, your company…”
“The boat is registered through about a thousand different companies to avoid exactly that,” he said brusquely. “It’s my ultimate bolt hole, a place I know to be completely off-grid. The marina berth is held by a dummy corporation with no way of tracing it back to me, it’s completely safe.”
“Do you use this rescue of last resort often?”
“Never. You’re the first person I’ve brought here, Max.” He held her eyes over the rim of his cup as he sipped the coffee. Steam vapour blew towards her and out of nowhere she contemplated the transience of life, the brief and intangible moments that are impossible to grab hold of. “A bolt hole doesn’t really work if you tell the whole world about it.”
She massaged her lower lip with her teeth. “Have you never needed to use it before?”
Again, his whole body tensed and her heart kicked up a notch.
“You’re worried,” she murmured, drinking her tea to stop her voice from quivering. “You think this guy’s getting close.”
He stared at her with that steely look of his. “I missed something tonight. I couldn’t take my damned eyes off you, Max, and I missed something. If I put you in harm’s way, then I will never live with myself. I need you here. Safe. While I work the problem with my team, analysing footage of tonight, tracing the call, trying to put all this together while being assured of your safety. There’s too many moving parts otherwise. I have to protect you.”
Her heart stammered and for a second she let herself believe he was talking to her as a woman, that his drive to keep her safe was about her, personally, rather than his professional determination and a soul-deep need to undo the loss he’d experienced with his sister, the guilt he felt for not having been able to save her.
“You live in America, right?”
If he was surprised by the conversation change, he didn’t show it. “Yeah.”
“So why have a boat in Europe?”
“I have clients all over the world,” he reminded her. “I’m never in the states for long. Or anywhere in particular.”
“But you don’t do personal security?”
“I still meet with our clients, manage their needs, make sure we’re across the latest technologies and training. I travel a lot.”
“Because you like to?” She pondered, sipping her tea, relishing the familiar flavour.
“Sure.”
She laughed softly. “I’m not convinced.”
His grin was more of a grimace. “My business partner, Ashton, is married, with young kids. It’s harder for him to get away for long periods of time.”
“Whereas you avoid commitment like the plague,” she surmised thoughtfully.
His eyes narrowed, studying her. “Generally.”
Another soft laugh, but this one hid an uncertain dipping feeling in her tummy. “At least you’re honest.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Maybe because we slept together last night?” She prompted thoughtfully, watching his reaction carefully. “You don’t think being so brutally honest could hurt my feelings?”
She’d spoken in a jocular tone but she felt the underlying seriousness of her question, the sharpness in her lungs speaking of an anxiety she wanted, desperately, not to feel.
“Maybe,” he shrugged with carelessness, but somehow she knew it was assumed. “But you told me this morning that you’re only ever into casual affairs anyway, so I’d say our expectations are pretty well-matched.”
She nodded, angling her face to look at the shore, imitating an idle interest in the coastline. “It’s beautiful out here,” she murmured.
The waves lapped gently against the edge of the boat, rocking them ever so softly.
“The thing is, I’m not really a relationship guy. I never grew up with the picture of a happy marriage to aspire too. I saw my dad make my mom miserable, make us miserable, saw the way he messed up with woman after woman, the way he hurt them.” She turned towards him in time to see the grim line his lips formed as he paused for thought. “Then I signed up, went to war-zone after war-zone, lost friends, people I loved, my sister.” His voice took on a graveled tone. “I decided, somewhere along the way, that I like being on my own. It’s not like I ever felt differently, but I know for sure now. It’s just the way I’m programmed.”
She nodded, wondering at the thickness in her throat that made speaking difficult.
“But I like companionship, from time to time,” he said with a shrug of his broad shoulders.
“Sex,” she substituted archly.
He laughed, the sound sending waves of awareness through her body.
“Sure, sex.”
“So you give women this spiel before you sleep with them, to make sure they know not to get any stupid forever fantasies about you?”
He lifted a dark brow, a quirk of his lips sending her pulse into a frantic rhythm. “Does anything about me strike you as a ‘forever’ guy?”
Her heart stammered. She smiled because she felt like it was expected of her but every cell in her body was reverberating. “I think you could be if you wanted to be.”
His own smile dropped. “I don’t. I like to pick up and leave at a moment’s notice. I carry a backpack and a pair of shoes and I’m done. No wife, no kids, no commitments I can’t turn my back on in a flash. The idea of anything else makes me feel suffocated.”
“What about your business.”
“It travels with me.”
“So that’s your significant other?”
“Sure. In a sense. Couldn’t the same be said about you?”
“No.”
“I’ve seen you, Max. You work non-stop.”
She pulled a face. “I’m hiding from a stalker at the moment. It’s easier to work than face the music.”
“Is that really how you feel?”
“I don’t know.” She ran a hand through her hair. “Kind of. Work is my safe space. I’m good at it and I feel confident and untouchable.”
“Did you always want to forge your own path?”
“Yes. Gray and I both did. As teenagers we used to come up with ideas for our own business. We wanted to cut loose from mom’s money as quickly as we could.”
“Why?”
Now Max’s heart raced for a reason she didn’t like. Familiar animosities bubbled to the surface. “She’s my mum and I love her, I guess, I mean biologically I’m sort of obligated to love her, but my mother is the most selfish person you’ll ever meet. After dad died, she remarried a few times, each guy was his own kind of special prick, each one sued her for a fortune after the divorce. There was a lot of change year on year, a lot of tension as she met with different lawyers and tried different approaches. We just wanted to be at the helm of our own ship, you know? To run our own lives, to have more control than we ever knew as kids.”
“That makes a lot of sense.”
“But I’m different to how you are,” she said after a moment, sipping her tea as she marshalled her thoughts. “I always wanted what I didn’t have. Stability and family. Love.” Her self-deprecating smile was lopsided. “I want the fantasy my mum kept reaching for, I just want to do it smarter than she did.”
She was aware of his stillness, his absence of motion and breath. “But why? It sounds like you’ve had more than enough proof it’s not possible.”
“I guess I’m an optimist,” she grimaced. “I see lots of people out there who are happy, married, kids, home, work, balance, the works. I want that.”
“You’re not happy with your life as it is?”
She nodded, brushing aside his question. The answer made her feel ungrateful, spoiled, as though she couldn’t just be content with what she had when the truth was, she was. “I’m happy,” she said after a moment. “But there are different kinds of happiness. One day, I want another kind. One day, I want to feel…less lonely.”
A shiver ran down her spine, but not from cold.
He drained his coffee, then stood. “I need to check in with the office. Make yourself at home.”
She looked up at him, wondering if he could hear the solid pounding of her heart against her ribs. It was loud enough to rattle through Max’s ears, as rhythmic as the ocean, loud enough to make her sit very still and listen to what it was trying to tell her.
It wasafter midnight when he finally got the security feed released to him – a special request via DCS Wingrave produced the requisite files and Noah wasted no time. He loaded up his laptop and clicked into the feed, starting at the beginning of the evening, even though that was hours before their arrival. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for – a first review was often just about getting a feel for the faces, the movements, seeing if there were any exits he hadn’t been aware of, any staff that seemed out of place. But after an hour of reviewing, he couldn’t see anything untoward. It was people coming and going, carrying trays, polishing glasses, cleaning, milling around chatting.
“You’re working?”
He blinked, surprised by the interruption, then more surprised that he’d so successfully been able to blot Max from his mind. It was a feat he doubted he’d be able to accomplish again, now that he’d seen her. Showered, with bare legs that seemed to go on forever, wearing a simple white t-shirt of his, completely at odds with the diamond necklace she almost always wore, her hair pulled up in a messy bun, her movements languorous and elegant.
“Do you mind?” She pulled at the top, offering a little expression of uncertainty. “I didn’t feel like getting back in that dress.”
“Of course not. Help yourself to anything on board.”
“I was going to fix something to eat. I didn’t have much at the event and I’m peckish.”
He swore under his breath. “I’m sorry, I should have offered you something.”
“You told me to help myself,” she waved away his apology. “Besides, what you’re doing is way more important than feeding me. Do you have anything yet?”
He snapped the lid of his laptop closed, wanting to protect her from the events of the evening, wanting to avoid anything that might scare her. “I’ll show you some of the security footage in the morning. It would be helpful if you could look through it for familiar faces, anyone you know but wouldn’t generally expect to see at an event such as this. Anyone you’ve had unpleasant experiences with.”
She moved into the kitchen, just a little way from the table and, laptop now closed, Noah followed, for no reason other than that he wanted to be close to her. It was a bad idea. In the tiny space, all he could focus on was her bare, tantalizing legs, and his brain was suddenly shot to pieces.
“Why don’t you sit down,” he suggested, hoping she’d move out of the kitchen and choose one of the bar seats, out of his line of sight. “I’ll make a sandwich.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah.” His tone was rougher than he intended. He cleared his throat to soften it.
The offer backfired spectacularly; Max pulled herself onto the kitchen bench, so her long legs dangled right in front of him. He threw her a look and then bit back a laugh. She knew exactly what she was doing.
“It occurs to me that you might have been talking about a different kind of hunger,” he drawled, giving up on sense and moving between her legs, planting a hand on the bench to either side of the thighs.
Her smile confirmed his suspicions. “Can’t I be both?”
“Oh, absolutely.” He nipped her lower lip with his teeth. “The question is, which one do you want to deal with first?”
She wrapped her legs around him, clasping her feet at his back. “Isn’t that sort of obvious?”
He lifted her easily, carrying her through the cabin, her laugh filling him with a strange sensation – a feeling it took him several moments to identity correctly: happiness.
