Marion Lennox - Cinderella And The Billionaire

‘I...guess...’

It was okay with Meg, too. It sounded like a workable plan—the only hiccup being...

Charlie.

We’ll wait for Meg’s boss to realise she’s no longer in radio contact...

Charlie’s charter boats were supposed to check in every hour, acknowledging to Charlie that boats and punters were safe. Meg couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen Charlie monitor those calls. The calls were made—most of his skippers were punctilious—but they were made to an empty control room.

Charlie was always on the pier, chatting to the locals. He watched his boats come in every night. If Meg was due in tonight and didn’t show, Charlie would notice. The trouble was, Meg wasn’t due back tonight. Or tomorrow.

She closed her eyes.

‘Bad?’ Matt asked sympathetically.

And she thought, He’s not going to be sympathetic when I tell him I work for one of the world’s shonkiest charter companies.

But it was no use telling him now, especially not when he’d just reassured Henry.

‘I’m okay,’ she muttered and lowered her head again. It must be the smoke still making her feel sick. ‘We’ll all be okay. Eventually.’

FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER they reached their destination.

The combination of medication and salt air had worked their magic. Meg’s lungs felt almost clear.

She still wasn’t in control, though. Matt had taken over. The letterhead on the documents she’d read had been embossed with the words McLellan Corporation . Matt’s name? Her first impression had been wealth and command, and she was now adding skill to the mix. Wherever he’d learned it, he’d acquired knowledge of the sea and small boats. He was now in charge, and the feeling was almost overwhelming.

How long had it been since anyone had taken charge of her world? Not since her grandpa had got sick. Even as a child Meg had learned to be leaned on. Her grandparents had been gutted when her parents had been killed. If she cried, they couldn’t handle it. She’d had to act cheerful even when things were dire.

When she was sixteen her gran had died, too, and Grandpa had pretty much fallen to pieces. That was when she’d decided to quit school and go fishing with him. She’d cajoled him back to enjoying life.

It was only when he was gone that she realised how restricted her own life had become. She could heave craypots. She could count punters in and out of charter boats and she could cope with boats in heavy seas.

Was that what she wanted for the rest of her life?

At twenty-eight, what other choices did she have?

Oh, for heaven’s sake, why was she thinking that now? They’d reached the outcrop. Matt was steering carefully—because the boat was inflatable and the rubber could rip on any one of these sharp rocks—into the tiny cove. There was a stony beach.

She needed to stop thinking of the complications of her life. More immediately, she needed to stop thinking how good it was to let this guy take over—and how good he looked while he did it—and start being useful.

She hauled up the legs of her jeans, checked the bottom and jumped out into knee-deep water. Beaching the tender wasn’t an option on these sharp stones.

The cove was sheltered from the prevailing winds, and she could see to the bottom.

‘I didn’t mean you to do that,’ Matt said, sounding displeased. ‘I thought we’d run her up on the beach.’

‘And rupture the membrane?’

‘Instead of your feet? Yes. And we won’t have any more use for her. We’re hardly here to reprovision and set off for the mainland.’

‘But why wreck a perfectly good inflatable?’ She wasn’t about to tell him it might well be needed again. Focus on now.

She clicked her fingers. Boof jumped into her arms and she carted him to shore. Ouch, these stones were sharp! Her shoes were...with the remains of Bertha .

Henry next. ‘Will you let me carry you to Boof?’ she asked him.

‘I’ll take him,’ Matt said but she shook her head.

‘Can you stay at the tiller until we’re unloaded? If we get an unexpected swell the boat might be damaged.’

His eyes had narrowed. ‘So that matters?’

‘That matters.’

He got it. But he glanced at Henry 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.