Cinderella And The Billionaire. Marion Lennox

and didn’t comment.

      ‘You’re not fit enough to...’

      ‘Lift Henry? Of course I am. Henry, I bet you don’t weigh as much as Boof. Will you let me carry you? You could jump in and walk, like me, but the water’s a bit cold. I think I saw a seal somewhere round the back of these rocks. Boof might show you if you ask.’

      But the strangeness of their situation was taking its toll. Henry clutched his seat and held. ‘Our boat burned,’ he said flatly.

      ‘It did,’ Matt told him. ‘It was a bad accident and we’re lucky Meg brought this little boat along. Now we need to stay here for a bit.’

      ‘Will you stay?’ Henry demanded and Meg heard raw fear. Matt, then, was more than just his mother’s employer to this little boy. He was the only link Henry had to his past, to an unknown future.

      And Matt obviously got that, too. ‘I’ll stay with you,’ he said solemnly, and Meg thought what choice did he have? But Matt didn’t waste time explaining. He simply promised. ‘I said I’ll stay with you until you’re with your grandma and I will. No question, Henry. Now, will you let Miss O’Hara...?’

      ‘Meg,’ said Meg.

      ‘Will you let Meg carry you to the shore?’

      There was a moment’s thought. Then: ‘Yes,’ Henry said. ‘Yes, please, Miss O’Hara.’

      ‘Meg,’ Meg said again.

      ‘Yes, please, Meg,’ Henry said and looped his arms around Meg’s neck and allowed her to carry him.

      And why that made her feel like bursting into tears, she had no idea.

      * * *

      She was amazing.

      Half an hour ago she’d been coughing so hard she’d been retching. Now it was as if this were nothing out of the ordinary.

      He couldn’t fault her.

      While he kept the boat steady she gathered the bag and carted that to shore, as well. Finally she agreed to allow him out of the boat.

      ‘We need to take the motor off and cart that up the beach, then the water and the bench seats, and then carry the tender itself,’ she told him. ‘I don’t know about you, but I’m not strong enough to cart it with the motor attached.’

      ‘We can’t just anchor?’

      ‘Too risky—these rocks are sharp. Leave your socks on by the way.’ She was already disconnecting the motor.

      ‘So we’re being careful of the tender...why?’ Henry was out of earshot now. Boof had met him on the shore and they were both tentatively looking for seals. With his hand on the dog’s collar, Henry seemed to have found courage.

      ‘If we can get it onto the sand it’ll make a comfy place to sleep,’ Meg told him. ‘With the thermal blankets, we’ll be snug as bugs in rugs.’

      ‘We’re not expecting rescue tonight?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘I would have thought,’ he said almost conversationally, ‘that a burned boat in the middle of Bass Strait, with three stranded passengers and one dog, might mean immediate search and rescue.’ He kicked off his shoes, hitched his trousers and was over the side. ‘You hold the boat. I’ll cart the motor in.’

      She was more than happy to let him. Someone had to hold the boat. She’d heaved an outboard motor before, but she was five feet four and slightly built, and even a lifetime of heaving craypots wouldn’t have prevented her from staggering.

      So she could only be grateful as Matt disconnected bolts, heaved the motor into his arms and strode through the shallows to the beach.

      What sort of New York financier and lawyer was this? One who worked out, obviously.

      She’d given them both sou’westers and lifejackets as they’d boarded the boat. Henry was still wearing his, but Matt’s was on the floor of the tender with his shoes. She thought fleetingly of his gorgeous leather jacket, replaced with the sou’wester. It’d be ashes by now, but he wasn’t worrying about a jacket.

      He’d hiked up his trousers and rolled his shirtsleeves. He’d taken her advice and was still wearing socks. Another guy might look naff in bare legs and socks, but not this man. He was all hard muscle, lean, toned, ripped. He carted the motor as if it were nothing and, as she held the boat steady, Meg had a sudden fantasy of what it’d be like to be carried by such a man. To be held in those arms...against that chest...

      Um...not.

      ‘Earth to Meg,’ Matt said as he returned, hauling her back to reality. ‘You were explaining why rescue isn’t imminent.’

       Time for confession. Just say it.

      ‘The radio’s not in the bag, nor is our emergency transmitter,’ she admitted. ‘Someone’s head will roll for that.’ Probably not, though, she thought. Charlie was her boss and she was hardly in a position to complain. ‘Our phones don’t work out here. We have no way of saying we’re stranded.’

      ‘I’d imagine your boss will be checking your position, though. If you don’t make it to Garnett tonight, surely he’ll notice.’

      And there was no way she could sugar-coat this. ‘Don’t bet on it. Monitoring the radio takes staff or work, both of which Charlie keeps to a minimum. The reason you were able to hire Bertha at such short notice is that we’re not a flash operation. In fact—’ go on, say it ‘—Charlie runs on the smell of an oily rag. If there’s a corner to cut, he’ll cut it. Bertha’s due back to port by Monday. On Monday night he’ll start wondering.’

      ‘But not before.’

      ‘Probably not.’

      He didn’t comment. Instead he heaved the water container from under the seat and carried that to the beach as well, then did the same with the removable seats.

      A lawyer with muscles.

      She thought, suddenly, idiotically, of fairy tales she’d read as a kid, and romance novels since. It had seemed to her that a hero would be rich and handsome. She’d thought mistily that a hero might even heave her craypots for her.

      And here he was, rich—presumably, if his name headed a prestigious Manhattan law firm. Handsome... Yeah, tick that. Now he was carting the motor and water as if they were featherweights.

      Fantasy plus. She almost grinned but then he was striding back, gripping the boat’s bow, readying to lift it and carry it to shore.

      He couldn’t do this alone. It wasn’t the weight; it was the sheer size of the thing.

      ‘So we’re dependent on Peggy,’ he said, almost conversationally.

      She’d already thought of that, with some relief. Peggy Lakey. Henry’s grandmother.

      ‘I assume you told her your travel plans,’ she said.

      ‘I did. She knows we landed in Melbourne this morning. She knows we were using this charter company and she’s expecting us by dark.’

      ‘And she has a radio.’ They were heaving the boat upward, out of danger of scraping, working as a team. Once again she had the impression that this guy was used to boats, used to the sea. Used to work?

      ‘It was a shaky connection this morning,’ Matt said. He was moving backward. She had the easy option of walking forward. ‘But I’d imagine if we’re not there by dark then she’ll call Charlie.’

      ‘And if Charlie doesn’t answer?’

      ‘Is that possible?’

      ‘The local football team’s reached the finals,’ she said dryly. ‘Yes, it is.’

      ‘And you work for this man?’