Pitbull: He plays hard on the field...He plays harder off it. (11 page)

I laughed at the image. "Maybe not him," I said.

"Do you really think a man like Jack Bailey wants to go on a cruise down the river to help clear his mind, or do you think it's more likely that he wants to get you alone, somewhere you can't escape from, somewhere he can have his wicked way with you?" Megan's face lit up. "That's it isn't it, Emily. You're blushing! You want him don't you?"

I shook my head and spluttered as my drink went down the wrong way. "Of course not," I protested, "I genuinely just want to help him."

"Well, you just be careful. You've got a job in Germany around the corner, and you'd better not jeopardise that because of a man. I happen to want to see Germany. I'm looking forward to visiting you and getting my share of the sausage which I'm told is so good." Megan's face distorted into the expression she used for delivering innuendos. "And some of the Frankfurter," she said.

Even Mister Snuggles made an exasperated sound. "You always have to lower the tone," I laughed, "like I said. It's professional, that's all. I'll still be going to Germany if I get the job, and I've certainly got no feelings for Jack Bailey. I hardly know him."

"On the contrary," said Megan, "you know him very well indeed, and I think you want a little more of what he gave you in that hotel room."

There was nothing little about what Jack had given me in the hotel room, but I didn't want to take Megan's mind any further down that track.

"Anyway, enough of that," I said, straightening my face into a look of seriousness. "I'm hungry, are you going to cook or are we ordering pizza?"

Megan climbed off the sofa. "I'm not bloody cooking," she said," I'll get the menu."

As the sounds of Megan searching her kitchen drawers for the menu got Mister Snuggles's attention, I picked up Megan's tablet again, and clicked on
images
in the search bar below Jack's name.

A photo of him holding a trophy above his head was first in the results, and I stared at his smiling face. He had got under my skin, and I didn't quite know why.

Chapter Seventeen

~Emily~

I waited for Jack in the grandly named Yacht Club car park. It was more of a gravel car park with a wooden hut and a length of river bank with a few small boats tethered alongside, than a yacht club, but it was a nice spot to sit at a wooden table watching the swans go by.

As the week had gone by, I'd become more and more sure that I was doing the wrong thing. Meeting a client for a trip down a river was hardly in my job description, but deep down I knew the truth. Jack was more than a client. Thoughts of him had been pervading almost every waking moment of my days, and he'd even been appearing in my dreams. Some of which made me blush the following morning.

I'd never known such feelings for a man that I hardly knew. I kept having to remind myself that I'd only slept with him once and met him a handful of times, one of those times resulting in us arguing. No, taking a boat trip with Jack Bailey was probably not the best course of action.

As with all things to do with the human heart and mind, though — as I knew only too well through my work, people didn't necessarily do what they knew to be the right thing. The opposite was true in most cases, and in my case, it was glaringly obvious.

It was probably a bad idea, but, oh well.

Just as I was about to give up waiting, and get in my car to get back to the things that I really should have been doing on a Sunday afternoon, a boat appeared around a bend in the river with the unmistakable figure of Jack Bailey at the helm, or wheel, or whatever it was called, his face framed by the window of the cabin he was standing in.

When he'd said he had a boat, and told me to meet him at the yacht club, I'd assumed that he owned one of the small vessels tethered along the bank, and that he'd be arriving by car. The boat that Jack was steering towards the bank though, with a look of total concentration on his face, was at least three times as long as any of the tethered vessels.

It was a crisp white colour with chrome railings and trims, and had a small wheelhouse and a below deck cabin lined with windows that ran the length of the front half of the hull. The engine roared as he attempted to line it up with the bank, and water swirled behind it.

The name of the boat graced the front of the hull in unobtrusive small black lettering, 'Margaret's wish' it said, in a curly font. I made a mental note to ask him about the name, and winced as the boat crunched into the low wall that separated grass and water.

It travelled for a further few feet and came to a stop. "Hop on," shouted Jack, over the revving of the engine.

Jack came out of the wheelhouse and offered me his hand. "Come on," he said, taking my bag from me.

I took his hand and hitched my dress up a little. It was loose, and made from light cotton, and drifted up my legs a little more than I'd have liked as the breeze caught it.

Jack whistled. "Nice," he said, as I lifted a leg over the railing and clambered on board, in a far less ladylike manner than I'd have liked.

"It's just some leg," I said, "nothing to get excited about."

Jack winked. "Some very nice leg."

I rolled my eyes. He was in no position to talk about showing off limbs. The shorts he was wearing showed off more than enough of his legs.

Realising my hand was still in his, I removed it as he turned towards the wheelhouse. "Come on," he said, "let's go."

I followed him inside and glanced down the short set of stairs that led to the cabin below. I could just make out a long upholstered seat and the corner of a table.

Jack put his hand on the throttle and eased it forward. With a growl from the engine, the boat lurched away from the bank towards the centre of the river and a group of ducks. The birds had more sense than to remain in the path of Jack Bailey, and scattered with angry quacks and the beating of wings as the boat approached them.

"Are you sure this is safe?" I said, gripping a railing so tightly that my fingers hurt.

"Of course it is," said Jack.

The river ahead disappeared around a meandering bend, and Jack turned the wheel to begin easing us into the turn. My weight shifted slightly and I banged up against his arm, feeling his muscles tense as he prevented me from falling any further.

"Where are we going?" I said, righting myself and tightening my grip on the rail.

"To a little spot I know," said Jack, "somewhere quiet."

"I never had you down as the type of man who knew quiet spots on rivers," I said, watching a couple walking hand in hand along the bank.

Jack gave the engine more revs and we picked up speed, sending a bow wave towards the shores. "You know what they say. Silent waters run deep."

I smiled. "You're hardly silent."

"I'm hardly the loudest guy in the world either."

The trees along the bank sides were getting thicker as we moved further away from civilisation, and the river widened.

"How does a guy like you end up with a boat anyway?" I asked, "it would be the last thing I'd imagine you owning."

Jack went silent for a moment, and then spoke in a soft tone. "It was something I promised my mother. Her wish was always to own a boat, since she was a kid."

"It's your mum's boat?"

He shook his head. "No," he said, "my mother's dead. I bought it to honour her memory."

The name of the boat suddenly made sense. "Margaret's wish," I said, "your mother was called Margaret."

"Yup."

"Do you want to talk about her?" I said, remembering the whole reason I was on the boat was to try and help him.

"Not really," he said, "I don't like to."

I kept silent for a couple of minutes, watching trees periodically give way to fields in which herds of cows and flocks of sheep grazed.

"I hope you like champagne," said Jack, breaking the silence. "I took the liberty of bringing us some lunch."

"This trip was supposed to be about me getting you to talk," I said, knowing full well that it had never been about that. "Not about getting drunk."

"Live a little, Emily," said Jack, turning to face me. "It's Sunday afternoon, what could possibly be better than drinking champagne on a river with a sexy rugby player?"

"Sexy?" I laughed, "you've certainly got no self-esteem problems, have you?"

He looked himself up and down. "With a body like this? Nah, no self-esteem issues here."

There was nothing I could do but laugh, and as I did, Jack stared at me. "Thanks for coming with me today," he said.

The way his eyes searched my face made my skin tingle. "You're welcome," I said, "how far is it to this little spot of yours?"

Jack pointed at the river ahead. "Just around the next bend," he said.

I'd heard that one before. My father always used to keep me quiet in the back of the car by telling me our destination was just around the next bend. It never was, but on this occasion Jack was telling the truth.

As the boat slid around the bend, I heard myself gasp. It was a beautiful place.

The low bank gave way to sheer cliffs on one side, and weeping willows lined the left bank, their low hanging branches kissing the surface of the river.

The sound of thundering water got louder as we neared the waterfall that plunged from the cliff top, sending mists of white water into the air at its base.

A sand bank formed a make shift beach to one side of the waterfall and Jack dropped the anchor next to it as I soaked up the atmosphere.

"You like it?" he said.

I took deep breaths through my nose, enjoying the ozone smell of the crashing water and the light smattering of water drops that landed on my face. "It's amazing," I said, "I never knew it was here."

"That's the beauty of owning a boat. You get to see things nobody else does," said Jack, ducking his head as he descended the stairway into the hull cabin.

When he emerged he was carrying a wicker basket that looked so out of place in his muscled arms that I had to stifle a giggle.

"What's so funny?" said Jack, "can't a man own a picnic hamper without being made fun of?"

"I'm just picturing you making little triangle sandwiches with the crusts removed," I laughed, as Jack placed the hamper on a bench that ran the length of the rear deck.

"Get that image out of your mind straightaway," said Jack, lifting the wooden lid and showing me the contents. "It's all courtesy of a twenty-four-hour petrol station."

Inside were two see through cartons containing sandwiches, two chocolate bars, and a bottle of champagne complete with a tube of plastic cups.

"They sell Moet at a garage?" I said, "the ones I go to draw the line at half decent fizzy wine."

Jack took the bottle from the hamper and began peeling the foil from around the neck. "This is from my own collection," he admitted, "but the other stuff is bone fide service station fare."

With large thumbs, Jack began easing the cork from the bottle. "Grab some cups," he said, as he teased it out.

I bent towards the hamper, and as I did, the cork shot from the bottle with a loud pop and headed straight towards my face. I shifted my weight to avoid it, but the backs of my legs hit the side of the boat and before I could do anything to prevent it, I was falling through the air towards the water, looking up at my feet and preparing to hold my breath.

Chapter Eighteen

Jack

Emily's legs were wide open as she fell, giving me a more than welcome eyeful of her black underwear. She hit the water with a splash and a squeal which was soon cut off as she sunk below the surface.

I laughed as I placed the bottle in the hamper and leaned over side of the boat, my amusement turning to cold anxiety when Emily didn't reappear. The river was slow as it coursed through the bend we were anchored in, but with the water fall so nearby I realised that there were probably powerful undercurrents that could sweep somebody away.

Cursing myself for not having a life jacket on board, I jumped into the river and submerged myself, ignoring the stinging of the cold water against my eyes as I searched.

With no sign of her and my lungs desperate for air, I surfaced and screamed her name, my shouts echoing off the cliff side and getting lost in the roar of the waterfall.

Panic rising in my stomach, I dived again, heading for the riverbed, narrowing my eyes as I tried to make out the shape of Emily among the shadows.

When I could hold my breath no longer, I pushed back to the surface and dragged deep breaths of air down my throat as I looked around for any sign of the woman, who less than a minute earlier, I was going to try and kiss.

"The champagnes nice," came a voice from above me.

I spun in the water and looked up into Emily's eyes. She leaned on the side-rail of the boat, a cup in one hand and a smile on her face that turned my fear into happiness. Her wet hair stuck to her face and her dress was clinging to her tits, her nipples made hard by the cold water.