Chapter 33
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
FRANCESCA
After my experiences of the morning—in the clothing boutique, in the car, twice more in the lavish hotel room—I don’t think the day can get any better, but the launch tied to the dock absolutely blows my mind.
It’s enormous, the top deck with enough room to hold a party, the middle deck configured with four different seated conversation areas, and a plethora of cabins inside and below.
My stomach lurches when we hit the swells of the outer harbour but after a few minutes’ worth of adjustment, I’m fine. Deck staff circulate with trays holding canapes or glasses of bubbles. As the late afternoon sun hits the deck, I squint, barely able to believe today is really happening.
“This is wonderful,” I tell Kincaid, holding his arm in a death grip, scared if I let go the entire magical day will disappear. “Does your uncle own the boat?”
“Not this one, but he does have a launch moored over in Sydney.” Rays of light turn his amber eyes warm as a fireplace as he reads my face. “If you want, we could fly over there for a long weekend and travel around the bays.”
“Oh, I want.”
He chuckles, fingers spreading possessively over my hip as he pulls me closer. “Then I’ll organise it. Maybe in the October school holidays.”
I tuck myself against him, arm leaning against his rib cage, feeling cherished. There are too many amazing sights to keep track of, and I let the beautiful view float in and out of my head, cataloguing a thousand images to pick over later.
“Here’s the jewellery,” he whispers when I’d almost forgotten the reason for this trip.
A trio of women in form fitting black dresses assemble on the deck, flashing their legs and wearing statement pieces that contain so many large gemstones, it seems impossible they aren’t fake.
“Does anything catch your eye?”
Just staring at the assortment makes me nervous, like one wrong step will send millions of dollars flying over the railing into a watery grave. “Everything is so expensive I’d be scared to wear it.”
Kincaid has his arm around my shoulder and gives a squeeze. “It’s insured. And nobody’s going to force you to wear the crown jewels, there are simpler pieces.” I must still look nervous, because he whispers, “Don’t worry. We can look once everyone else has made their selection.”
Lance’s date oohs and aahs over almost every piece, draping the jewels across her arm to see them sparkle, testing how well they suit her skin tones.
He pays little attention, his focus narrowing instead on the youngest of the three saleswomen. A girl whose shy blushes and hesitation show she hasn’t been in the role long.
Although his expression remains pleasant, the intensity of his gaze disturbs me. It’s like watching a lamb tug at its woolly coat to reveal glimpses of the salivating wolf hidden underneath.
After a few minutes, I step away from the display, excusing myself to go inside the cabin and fetch a bottle of water. After the glass of champagne in the boutique, and the one offered when I stepped on board, I need a palate cleanser.
The extravagance of the situation alone is inebriating enough for me.
A deck hand shows me to the galley and a well-stocked fridge. I take a chilled bottle, then look along the spritzers I can add for flavour. With additions of lime and pepper, I head back towards the main deck, then stop at the sound of voices ahead of me.
“You work on commission, don’t you?”
I recognise Lance’s voice and freeze in place. I’m wary of making my presence known and hope they’ll return outside any second.
The jewellery saleswoman—early to mid-twenties at the most—replies “Yes,” in such a breathless voice, it could be mistaken for another slap of the ocean waves.
“There are a couple of these pieces that pique my interest, but I really need to see how they look while being worn. Would you oblige, my darling?”
“But I’m…” The bewildered woman clears her throat. “I’m already wearing them, sir.”
He gives a soft snort, sounding so like Kincaid, I step closer, peeking past the separator.
Lance towers over the salesgirl by at least a foot, their heights appearing more disparate because her head is bowed, gaze locked on the floor.
“My girls don’t wear jewellery above their clothes. They wear it against their bare skin.” He gently cups her shoulder, then uses his knuckle to raise her chin until they’re staring into each other’s eyes. “Take your dress off for me, there’s a good girl.”
My throat clutches and I retreat to my former position before I can be seen, heart beating far too loud in my ears.
“Don’t look so concerned,” he continues. “There’s only me here to see you. I won’t let anybody through the hatch until you’re fully clothed again.”
Even though I’m no longer looking, I imagine how her eyes skate to the connecting entryway, searching for help and not finding any.
I could walk through into the cabin and put an end to it, but even with the introduction and Kincaid’s reassurances, the man scares me, and I stay where I am. Cowardly, yes, but it’s not like he’s forcing her into a four-way gang bang. There’s a rustle of movement and I turn, resting my forehead against the cool fibreglass siding.
Maybe I should clear my throat to let them know I’m here.
… believe me when I say, my uncle is so much worse.
My stomach knots with remembered fear.
In person, the man has proven to be cordial, generous, inclusive. But if Kincaid’s words are a true assessment from a boy who loves, respects, and even emulates the man, I don’t want to find out how quickly his persona could change.
If anything, his politeness worries me more than thuggery would. At least then, I’d know to keep well distant.
“It’s sweet how shy you are.” There’s a long pause and I cup my neck, the pulse beating fast under my fingers. “Now remove your underwear. No”—his voice turns sharper—“don’t worry about what’s happening on deck. Just concentrate on me. Listen to my voice and follow my instructions. I won’t harm you. In a few minutes, you can leave here and join your companions on deck.” Her breathing calms, falling into synch with his. “Should I unhook your bra? Save your shaking hands?”
I close my eyes, transported back to a steamy locker room. It’s now obvious where Kincaid sourced his playbook.
“That’s it. You’re exquisite, my dear. Far better than these flashing stones. Meet me at my hotel this evening, and I’ll have a contract for you to sign.”
“I don’t understand.”
“To be my… companion for the next six months. I pay for everything you need, and you satisfy my needs in return. Any time, any place I want you. There’ll be a signing bonus if you’re interested. A completion bonus too, paid when the six months is up or I grow bored. Whichever comes sooner.”
“I don’t—”
His voice becomes firmer. “All up to you, of course. If you’re worried, ask the lawyers to draft an escape clause, and I’ll review the conditions you want imposed. That’s fine. This is an arrangement for expediency—not a trap.”
Another shuffle of movement follows, accompanied by a long pause. “And what if I decline, sir?”
“You won’t know until you read the contract, will you? Regardless of what happens with the paperwork, I’ll take these jewels… though you’re a hundred times more beautiful than they could ever hope to be. Get dressed. I’ll have my guard bring you an appointment card and whether you attend or not is up to you.”
“Thank you, but please don’t expect me to—”
I risk another glance just in time to see him shush her with a finger. Her eyes are large, wary, yet also full of yearning.
“Your employer told me your sister’s ill in hospital. I could pay for a specialist to fly in from overseas, offer another opinion. I can’t guarantee a cure, but with the public health system overwhelmed, I can guarantee you she’ll receive a far better standard of care.”
His thumb presses on her lower lip until it forces entry, pumping inside while her eyes water. “Wider,” he murmurs, and she obliges, stretching her jaw until mine aches in sympathy and I retreat again.
“You wouldn’t want your family to suffer for the sake of a few principles, would you? Family is all that matters in this world. The one you’re born to and the one you make your own.”
Footsteps are followed by the squeal of wood against wood as the hatch is released and Lance reverts to a gentleman, helping her up the steps and back onto the deck. I stay still for another minute, making sure they’re truly gone before I walk through and collapse onto a seat, trembling from head to toe.
It’s hard to catch my breath. I hold the bottle to my forehead and cheeks, cooling them until my pulse settles enough to take a sip.
My mind swims with the eerie familiarity of Lance’s manipulation. Leverage. Terms of commitment. The gentle push of coercion that soon becomes a tidal swell that’s impossible to resist.
I can’t judge how to react. Whether to pity the boy who had this man as a role model, to be appalled at the carbon copy, or to appreciate the simplicity of the exchange.
“Hey,” Kincaid calls from the entryway, taking one step inside and stopping there, leaving me space.
With the low light fracturing into a dozen different colours in the deepening sunset, he’s never appeared as handsome. His masculine beauty makes my breath catch.
“Are you staying down here? I could ask one of the salesgirls to bring in a display case.”
“I don’t know anything about jewellery.”
He glances over his shoulder, then wrinkles his nose and takes another step into the cabin. “Neither do I. You don’t have to take anything. You don’t even have to look if you don’t want to.” He lowers himself to sit on the shallow steps, dwarfing the entryway, and I walk across to him, putting down the bottle to cup his face between my hands, letting our foreheads kiss.
I don’t care how we began. Today has been wonderful and not because of the extravagance or the glimpse of a lifestyle I’ve never dreamed of attaining. It’s because Kincaid wants it to be wonderful that makes it that way.
I remember how my eyes were always drawn to him on the rugby field, attracted by his magnetic presence.
If that was a crush, right now I’m being pulverised.
For years, I trudged through life, head down, using bland expressions as a disguise to hide my misery. The past few months, happiness hasn’t just been unattainable, it felt undeserved; forever barred to me because of the terrible thing I’d done.
Now there’s a boy who planned an entire day for no other reason than to make me happy. A boy who proudly strides through each day wearing a suit stitched from red flags, not bothering to hide who he is, not caring what others think.
We shouldn’t fit together, but the longer I spend with him, the more I understand we do.
Not just fit… we fit perfectly.
A warm amusement fills my chest. I’ve got it so bad for him, I can’t remember why I ever resisted. Just the flex of his muscles makes my lips throb, wanting to taste him, to bite his throat and mark him the way he sometimes marks me.
Time will prove if we’re correct and I can offer him that. Time to let Kincaid show me exactly who he is and what we are. A six-month contract like his uncle… or a lifetime.
“Come on,” I say, grabbing the discarded water and taking another sip because I’m far, far too thirsty. “Let’s go enjoy that sunset.”