Bedroom Seductions: Two Weeks in the Magnate's Bed. Nicola Marsh

      ‘What do you want to hear? That I’ve wanted to kiss you for days? Damn straight. Do I want a repeat? Hell, yeah.’

      A few of Jax’s parting shots echoed through her head: frigid, frosty, aloof, cold. How could she be any of those things when a kiss from Zac set her alight and he wanted a repeat performance?

      But it couldn’t happen again. Not when Jax’s other comments still resonated: how their relationship had been a bit of fun, nothing serious, a fling. She’d given him her heart; he’d given her a case of dating stage-fright for the next three years. There was no way she’d ever get involved with a guy again without having the relationship parameters spelled out at the start.

      As if a transient sailor boy who lived his life at sea would be interested in anything more than a fling.

      She yanked her hand out of his, folded her arms. ‘A repeat is not an option.’ She frowned for good measure, her old prickly exterior firmly back in place. ‘It was a mistake. Just forget it.’

      He shook his head, the hint of a smile curving those incredible lips she’d never forget. ‘Impossible.’

      Great. Was he referring to not repeating the kiss or forgetting it? No way was she asking for clarification.

      With her head a riotous confusion of thoughts and her heart a frightening jumble of emotions, she knew she had to escape. Fast.

      Her usual shyness wasn’t justification for this desperate need to run. This had more to do with the growing horror that she’d totally embarrassed herself by kissing him like a sex-starved Playboy Bunny, and the deep, unshakeable fear she’d like to do it again.

      ‘I have to go.’

      She didn’t wait for a response. Kicking off her shoes, scooping them up with trembling hands, she made a mad dash across the sand, wishing she could flee the memories of her insane response to his kiss as easily.

CHAPTER FOUR

      LANA tossed and turned all night, haunted by a tall, dark sailor with piercing blue eyes who commanded her dreams in explicit erotic detail.

      Sleep-deprived and grumpy, she rolled out of bed at six, needing an aerobics class more than ever to work off some of her pent-up frustration. It worked back home, when she had to unwind after dealing with missing freight or junior staff with non-existent people skills, so why not here?

      Zac had kissed her.

      And she’d let him.

      Worse, she’d responded, lost control for an insane moment in time, dropping her guard for a pair of persuasive blue eyes and a dashing smile.

      She never dropped her guard—not since discovering Jax’s deception, not since he’d dumped her and trampled her hopes for a future in the process.

      It was why she didn’t go in for fancy clothes or make-up, or snazzy highlights in her hair. She was comfortable in her own skin, secure in using her bland appearance as a protective mechanism to ward off guys after more than she could give.

      But Zac didn’t seem to care. It was as if he saw past her dreary dresses and sloppy T-shirts, as if he saw the real her: a woman with needs, a woman who wanted to break free of her conservative mould but was too damn scared to try.

      How ironic. He’d caught her off-guard and she’d given in to temptation, her burgeoning confidence courtesy of the dance class and the perfume purchase retreating faster than the First Fleet under siege.

      Now she had to deal with the aftermath of that scorching kiss and her cringe-worthy sex-starved reaction. Ensure she forgot it and make damn sure it never happened again.

      Once dressed, she headed for the gym. Exercising was familiar, exercising was cathartic, and exercising would surely burn off the energy buzzing through her body since she’d lip-locked Zac McCoy.

      She needed to stop dwelling, stop replaying it in her head. It had happened; she couldn’t take it back. Now she needed to move on, protective armour firmly in place again.

      Determined to stop brooding, she strode into the small gym, crammed with about twenty ladies of varying shape, age and attire warming up on exercise bikes and treadmills.

      Some of her tension dissipated in an instant at the comforting familiarity, and she found a space, dropped her towel and started stretching. She was midway through a hamstring stretch, her leg resting on a bar with her head almost touching her knee, when the instructor entered.

      She froze, her hamstring giving a nasty twang as her leg slipped from the bar when Zac strode past, barely breaking stride.

      Oh, no. Seeing him now was too soon, too awkward, too much.

      He faced the room and twenty women sighed in unison. She didn’t—she was supposed to be forgetting last night—but she couldn’t blame them. Not with him standing there looking decidedly sigh-worthy in navy shorts, white polo shirt, his ever-present charming smile in place.

      ‘Good morning, ladies. I can see you’re all keen to start working out if you’re up this early. Unfortunately Shelley had an accident ashore last night, and has a severely sprained ankle. So I’m sorry, but these classes will be cancelled for the remainder of the cruise.’

      Loud groans echoed through the room as Lana bit back a grin. Sailor boy didn’t have a clue how desperate a bunch of women out for their daily endorphin fix could be, and if he thought a simple apology would cut it, he was in for a big surprise.

      Zac was speaking again. ‘However, she’ll be able to check your gym programs from tomorrow. She’ll be here between ten and three, though purely in a supervisory role. Thanks for your understanding.’

      His thanks were pre-emptive. No sooner had he finished speaking than angry women besieged him.

      ‘You’ve got to be joking. I’ve saved for five years to take this cruise and that’s it? No aerobic classes? I must do my classes every day.’

      ‘When I pay for service I damn well expect it!’

      ‘The ship’s company will be hearing about this when I get off this ship.’

      ‘Isn’t there anyone else to take over?’

      He held up his hands, the smile long gone in the face of this terry-towelling tirade. ‘Ladies, please. If you’ll give me a chance to—’

      ‘Now, listen here, mister. This is my tenth cruise, and I’ve cruised with different shipping lines all over the world. So far the service on this ship stinks.’

      A large woman crowbarred into a purple leotard stood toe to toe with Zac, hands planted on ample hips.

      ‘Ever since I set foot on this tub things have gone wrong. The air-conditioning in my cabin didn’t work, the balcony door jammed, the incompetent waiters mixed up my dinner, the dance instructor was called away at the last minute only to be replaced by the likes of you, and now this. What next?’

      Another woman stepped forward, her rake-thin body clad in designer gear—the type you don’t sweat in—her coiffed blonde hair far too perfect for such an early hour of the morning.

      ‘I’m surprised, Mr McCoy. In my day a PR man knew how to handle life’s little dramas such as this. In fact, he was paid to promote the delights of cruising. You, on the other hand, don’t seem to be earning your wage at all. I would even say you’re rather incompetent.’

      Oh-oh. The situation had turned from tense to downright ugly in the space of two minutes, and Lana felt sorry for him, wanting to help but unwilling to interfere.

      Before he could utter a word, the designer dame jabbed an accusatory finger in his direction. ‘I presume you know who I am, Mr McCoy?’

      He nodded, his lips set in a grim line but his confident aura firmly in place. Lana had glimpsed