Chapter Three
THE YACHT MOVED GENTLY, just enough to remind him they were on the water. That was enough to lift his spirits.
The realisation of how extraordinarily good it felt, being out here, only proved what he already knew. Things had been tough lately.
His gaze settled on Greer, half asleep with her wide-brimmed hat low over her face. She’d been full of questions about the vessel and sailing. She’d even offered to help, with an enthusiasm that made up for her inexperience.
He felt a smile hover at the corners of his mouth.
After they’d anchored, she’d shared the picnic lunch as if ravenous.
When she ate in the office, she’d often peck at food, getting distracted by work.
It seemed to him that since her release from hospital, she was too fragile.
The line of her jaw seemed sharper and a slight hollow in her cheeks made him wonder if she were taking care of herself.
Imagine how she’d react if she knew you were trying to feed her up.
The smile became a wry twist of the lips. Which solidified as she sighed and turned in her seat, confirming his suspicion she was dozing.
Her movement drew attention to the rounded thrust of her breasts against that fitted T-shirt.
He knew Greer well enough to realise she hadn’t deliberately dressed to provoke him with that sexy dark bra clearly visible beneath the white cotton.
He swallowed. Of course she hadn’t.
That didn’t stop his thoughts veering in the direction he’d vowed to avoid. He dragged his gaze from her full breasts only to trace instead the line of her body to that slim waist, then the flare of her hips.
His fingers curled into his palms and his pulse thudded too hard as want rose in him.
He jerked his head around to look out across the water.
But instead of seeing the glint of sunlight on the rippling surface, his mind’s eye pictured narrow, sandalled feet and long legs.
She wore a colour he knew from an ex-girlfriend was called French blue.
His ex had liked it because it suited her blond hair.
It suited Greer better.
Greer was brunette. Her long, straight brown hair was as dark as mink.
Conall knew that because when he was five, just after his mother died and he’d gone to live with the father he’d never met, he’d discovered a huge walk-in wardrobe, bigger than his old living room.
He’d accidentally knocked a jacket off its hanger.
It had been so rich and soft it had made him yearn suddenly for his mother and those wonderful soft hugs she used to give him.
When the housekeeper found him he was standing on a chair, tears streaming down his face as he struggled to lift the heavy fur onto its hanger.
She quickly tidied up and swept him down into the kitchen before his father could see him crying.
His father, a daunting, distant man, didn’t like emotion.
She’d explained the fur was mink and he must never touch it again.
It had belonged to Mrs Abercrombie, his father’s wife who’d died.
Conall’s mother had died too. She hadn’t been married to his father or lived in a big house and he’d wondered if that was why she hadn’t had anything so soft as a fur coat.
Conall pushed aside the ancient memory. Why he’d thought of that after all these years, he couldn’t fathom.
But he could. That had been his first, shocking experience of loss. Events here in Sydney had dragged it to the surface.
They’d hammered home to him how precarious life was.
He remembered the taut, unhappy line of Greer’s mouth weeks ago. The bleakness in her blind stare, as if the world didn’t make sense anymore. He remembered standing beside her, startlingly bereft in the face of her pain. He’d never felt so desperate to make things better for anyone.
It had been humbling and made him look long and hard at his priorities. What he’d seen hadn’t been pretty. What was the point of living for work when life was so fragile? For years he’d forgotten that.
He was thankful she was safe and healing. He couldn’t imagine losing Greer.
Conall turned to find stunning, ink-blue eyes staring at him with an expression he couldn’t decipher.
‘You’re awake,’ he blurted.
‘Was I snoring? It must be the sunshine. One minute we were talking and the next…’ She shook her head.
‘You only napped for a few minutes. Definitely not long enough to snore.’
Conall saw the warm colour in her cheeks and those glittering eyes and thought how much better she looked. But he knew not to say that. She was touchy about reminders of her injuries.
‘So, what do you think?’
She lifted her elbows above her head and stretched as unselfconsciously as a cat.
He was delighted she was so at ease when for the past couple of weeks it had felt like she was on edge around him.
‘Think about what? I lost the thread of the earlier conversation.’
‘What do you think of the yacht?’
She didn’t answer immediately and he noted the tiny vertical fold in the centre of her forehead that signified she was considering carefully.
‘It’s glorious. Powerful and fast and incredibly exhilarating when the wind caught us and drove us right across the harbour.’
She was exhilarating. The animation in her voice and her face was like summer after the longest, bleakest winter. It was damnably hard, keeping his reaction to her hidden. But now wasn’t the time.
‘Do you sail much? You never mention it.’
‘Not for years. Once I sailed regularly, crewing for friends in races.’ But the need to prove himself, make his mark, had meant devoting all his time and energy to business. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been on the water. ‘Today’s made me remember how much I enjoy it.’
Greer tilted her head as if fascinated and Conall wanted more than anything to keep the conversation going. ‘How about you? What sport do you enjoy?’
‘I haven’t played sport in years. Though,’ she added slowly, ‘I always wanted to learn tennis.’
‘You didn’t play at school?’
‘The schools I attended didn’t offer it.’ As if reading his mind she went on, ‘And we didn’t have money for lessons. But I liked netball. I played it for years.’
His sixth sense told him Greer’s change of subject meant they’d veered close to something she’d rather not discuss. Her family’s lack of disposable income?
‘We didn’t have money for extras when I was little either.’ He watched her eyes widen and felt surprised himself. He never discussed his childhood. But he wanted to further the connection between them. ‘My mum raised me alone until I was five.’
She’d kept him a secret from Fraser Abercrombie, afraid the man would take him away. Conall’s father went through women like water but had a controlling interest in his children.
‘So, the sailing came later. Do you remember your first time on a yacht?’
That was Greer, tactfully not asking about his family dynamics. She instinctively knew his no-go subjects. But he trusted her implicitly, more than she realised.
‘I do. My half-brother, Jackson, took me out when I was seven. We were in the middle of the river then he turned the tiller hard just at the right moment to tip me in.’
‘You fell in? That must have been terrifying.’
Conall remembered his disbelief and terror. ‘My life vest kept me afloat while I dog-paddled. And I was almost sure he’d come back and collect me.’
‘You mean he did it deliberately?’
‘He thought it a great joke. Even bragged about it when we got ashore.’ Conall remembered shivering, water streaming off him, listening to his father say he needed to toughen up and hang on better next time. But seeing Greer’s horror he smiled. ‘I was okay, and it taught me valuable lessons.’
Never trust his half-siblings, Jackson in particular. Friendly overtures were usually a prelude to a trick, especially as Conall was so many years younger than the rest. Never expect sympathy from his father. Rely only on himself.
Reading Greer’s questioning look he said, ‘It made me practise my swimming and I was so determined to learn to sail, I became proficient young.’ Now he wanted to go back to it. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision but it felt right. ‘So, thoughts on buying the yacht?’
‘As an investment? If you’re after long-term profit, I don’t think pleasure craft accrue value when compared with other investments, but I’d have to research that.’
‘If I didn’t care about profit?’
She tilted her head as if to read his expression better. ‘I don’t see how it would fit as a community enterprise.’
‘No, though your idea of a sailing school might be worth investigating longer term.’
‘So it really would be purely for recreation?’
They’d already discussed this but it seemed she hadn’t fully believed it. Did she regard him as a total workaholic?
He couldn’t blame her. A year ago he’d never have considered doing anything like this just for fun. Over the years his leisure time had become a casualty of the continual need to pursue business goals.
He’d been raised to take business seriously. His father had deliberately manipulated his children into lifelong competition with each other. The old man’s dictum that it was ‘dog-eat-dog’ out there played out in the family too, at an unhealthy level.
‘You’re going to take up sailing regularly?’ When he nodded she went on. ‘In that case, why not? You can obviously handle it alone and it suits you.’
‘Suits me?’
Her gaze shifted, settling over his shoulder. ‘You looked different. You were obviously enjoying yourself enormously.’
He studied her closely. ‘And you, Greer? Did you enjoy it?’
Blue eyes met his. ‘I did. Very much.’
‘Then I’ll have to take you out sailing again.’
‘If you buy the boat.’
Oh, he’d buy it. He’d already decided. It amazed him now that he’d stayed away from sailing so long. Another thing in his life he intended to change.
‘The question now is whether you’re in a hurry to get back.’ He watched her closely. ‘Did you have anything planned for the rest of the day?’