The Bedroom Barter. Sara Craven
lifted her chin. ‘For preference—to the other side of the universe.’
He said, ‘I can’t promise that—but there’s always St Hilaire, instead.’
Her brow creased. ‘Where is that? I’ve never heard of it.’
‘Hardly surprising,’ he returned. ‘It’s in the Windward Islands, and not terribly big. I’m taking a boat there for its owner.’ He paused, giving her a level look. ‘You could always go with me.’
Chellie stared at him. She said uncertainly ‘Go—with you?’ She shook her head. ‘I—I don’t think so.’
‘Listen,’ he said. ‘And listen well. I may be the first man to pay for your company, but I certainly won’t be the last. And the next guy along may not respect your delicate shrinkings. In fact, he could even find them a turn-on,’ he added laconically. ‘And expect a damned sight more pleasure from you than I’ve had. Are you prepared for that?’
Colour flooded into her face. ‘You don’t mince your words.’
‘Actually,’ he said, ‘I’m letting you down lightly.’
She was quiet for a moment. ‘Why should I trust you?’
‘Because you can.’ The blue eyes met hers in a single, arrogant clash, and Chellie found herself looking away hurriedly, aware of the sudden thud of her heart against her ribcage. Even if he wasn’t here alone with her, she thought, he would still be one of the most disturbing men she had ever encountered.
She lifted her chin. ‘I’ve trusted other people recently. It’s been a disaster every time.’
He shrugged. ‘Your luck has to change some time,’ he said. ‘Why not now?’
She hesitated again. ‘When you say—go with you …’ She paused, her colour deepening. ‘What exactly do you mean?’
His mouth curled. ‘Listen, songbird, if I really wanted you, I’d have had you by now.’ He paused, allowing her to assimilate that. ‘The boat has more than one cabin, so you can have all the privacy you want. I’m offering you safe passage to St Hilaire and that’s all. There’s nothing more. So—take it or leave it.’
She should have been relieved at his reassurance. Instead she was aware of an odd feeling closely resembling pique.
She was angry with herself because of it, which in turn sparked a sudden sharpness in her voice. ‘You don’t look much like a philanthropist to me.’
‘Well, sweetheart,’ he said, ‘your own appearance is open to misinterpretation—wouldn’t you say?’
He seemed to have an answer for everything, she thought with growing resentment.
She said, ‘It’s just that—I can’t pay you—as you must know.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ he directed lazily. ‘I’m sure we can reach some mutually agreeable arrangement.’ And, as her lips parted indignantly, he added, ‘Can you cook?’
‘Yes,’ she said swiftly, and on the whole, untruthfully.
‘Problem solved, then. You provide three meals a day for Laurent and myself, and you’ll have paid for your trip several times over.’
‘Laurent?’
‘The other crew member. Great bloke, but not gifted in the galley.’ He paused. ‘Well?’
No, she thought, that’s not the word at all. ‘Dangerous’ comes to mind. But so does ‘tempting’ at the same time.
She said slowly, ‘I—I don’t understand. Why should you want to help me? We’re total strangers to each other.’
‘We share a nationality,’ he said. ‘We’re both a long way from home. And one look tonight told me you were in deep trouble. I thought maybe you might need a helping hand.’
She stared at him. ‘Your name isn’t Galahad, by any chance?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘Any more than yours is Micaela.’
Chellie bit her lip, once again at a loss. ‘I’m still not sure about this …’ she began.
He gave a quick, impatient sigh. ‘Understand this, darling.’ His tone bit. ‘I’m not about to force you on board La Belle Rêve. And I’m not going to beg you on my knees either. It all depends on how badly you want to get out of your current situation. But I’m sailing tonight, whether you’re with me or not.’
He paused. ‘So—no more discussion. We’re wasting valuable time. I’m the rock. This is the hard place. You have to make the decision, and make it now.’
‘And when we get to St Hilaire?’ she asked jerkily. ‘What then?’
‘There’ll be other choices to consider,’ he said. ‘There always are.’
‘You forget,’ Chellie said. ‘I still have no passport, which reduces my options to zero. Unless, of course, St Hilaire has openings for singers,’ she added wryly.
He was silent for a moment. ‘You say Mama Rita took it from you. Do you know where she keeps it?’
‘In her desk—locked in the top right-hand drawer. She showed it to me once.’ Chellie bit her lip. ‘To convince me she still had it, and therefore still had me. Playing cat and mouse.’
‘And the key to her desk? Where’s that?’
Chellie grimaced. ‘On a long chain round her neck.’
He shuddered. ‘Which is where it can definitely remain.’ He paused, frowning. ‘Where will Mama Rita be now?’
‘Down in the club. She’ll come up at the end of the night to count the takings, but that’s usually the only time. She considers she’s one of the features of the place. That people come just to see her.’
‘Well,’ he said softly, ‘she could be right. After all, something brought me here this evening. So let’s hope that her ego keeps her right there in front of her admiring public.’
‘Why? What are you going to do?’ she asked.
‘Break into that desk, of course.’ His tone was almost casual.
Her jaw dropped. ‘Are you crazy?’
‘Well, we can hardly take the damned thing with us. People might notice.’ He gave her a dispassionate look. ‘I’m surprised you haven’t tried to get into it yourself.’
His faint note of criticism needled her. ‘Because I wouldn’t know how,’ she said tautly. ‘Unlike you, it seems.’
‘Merely one of the skills I’ve acquired along the way.’ He shrugged, apparently unfazed. ‘For which you should be grateful.’ He gave her a questioning look. ‘I hope there’s a back way out of here?’
‘Yes, but that’s always locked too, and Manuel has the key.’
‘Well, that shouldn’t be a serious problem.’ He got to his feet, and Chellie rose too.
She said breathlessly, ‘You don’t know him. He’s always hanging round—and he has a knife.’
‘I’m sure he has,’ he returned with indifference. ‘I thought when I saw him that serving drinks couldn’t be the entire sum of his talents.’
She said in a low voice, ‘It’s not funny. He’s really dangerous—worse than Mama Rita.’
He said softly, ‘But I could be dangerous too, songbird.’ He paused. ‘And don’t say that hasn’t already crossed your mind.’
She stared at him, the silence between them crackling like electricity. He knew how to break open a desk, she thought, and he wasn’t scared of knives. Just who was this man—and how soon