Miranda Lee - Fugitive Bride

So she climbed into their bed naked and reached for him first, startling him. Not once during their marriage had she done that. Perversely, he’d seemed very pleased. He didn’t realise her actions were inspired by desperation. And despair.

It was ironic that his subsequent lovemaking carried a sweet tenderness Leah had never previously experienced in his arms. She responded to that tenderness, even more than she had to his passion the previous two nights.

Gerard would never know how much he had lost in losing her. She would have devoted her life to him, if only he’d loved her back. Instead, he’d reduced her to nothing but a shell of a woman, tormented by thoughts of what might have been, tortured by what her marriage had actually been.

A cruel, cynical, cold-blooded sham.

‘Got the food and drink ready, Leah?’

Leah spun round, the sea breeze whipping her long honey-blonde hair across her face. ‘Yes, Alan. Everything’s ready,’ she called back.

‘Good girl. Hold the fort while I collect tonight’s party,’ he said, nodding towards the distant figures on the beach.

Leah shaded her eyes with her hands and peered to shore. She knew they had a booking for six, but not the ages or sexes of the people. It looked like two couples, a single woman and a single man. You could usually guess their status by the way they stood, either in close pairs or out on their own.

‘Won’t be long.’ Alan undid the rope, jumped into the Zodiac dinghy and fired the outboard motor. Within seconds the small craft was speeding across the water towards the beach, its flat bottom slapping across the tops of the waves, salt spray flying everywhere.

He was a bit of a cowboy, was Alan.

He was also the captain and owner of The Zephyr , an old pearling lugger built back in the 1920s. Alan had bought it a few years back, and now made a tidy living carrying tourists up and down the West Australian coast, his speciality being sunset cruises along Cable Beach during the Broome holiday season, which ran from late May till early September.

Six weeks ago Leah had heard on the yachtie grapevine in Darwin that the owner of The Zephyr wanted a female deck-hand, someone young and attractive who knew about sailing boats and who could handle the hostessing part of the job. So she’d applied and been immediately offered the job. Once she’d assured herself Alan didn’t think he was hiring himself a live-in lover for the duration, she’d had no hesitation in accepting his offer.

He’d been a perfect gentleman so far. Not so perfect a gentleman with other members of her sex, however. A steady stream of women had trailed through the captain’s cabin since The Zephyr’s arrival in Broome.

Alan had this thing for older women, it seemed. He had no trouble reeling them in, either. Around thirty-five, he wasn’t what Leah would have called handsome. But it seemed his long blond hair, bronzed body and soulful brown eyes always got the women in, especially the ones around forty.

Leah wondered if the unattached woman standing alone on that beach might be in Alan’s required age bracket. It was a distinct possibility, and she watched him angle the boat further in than usual.

The wide flat tides around Cable Beach made it impossible to use a regular dinghy to pick up their clients. Most times, Alan still couldn’t get the Zodiac right in, and the people had to wade out a bit into the water. He only made this kind of extra effort when a lady he fancied was concerned.

Leah shook her head. Some men were devils when it came to women and sex, she decided. She wanted nothing more to do with that type. Not ever!

Alan turned the Zodiac—now lined with people—and headed back towards the lugger, going as fast as ever. Show-off, Leah thought wryly as she moved to stand at the side railing, ready to help everyone aboard. Twenty seconds later, the small craft was close enough for her to make out the various eager and expectant faces.

When her gaze moved to the man sitting alone at the back her eyes flung wide, her heart missing more than a beat.

‘Oh, no,’ she groaned. ‘No, it can’t be.’

But there was no mistaking that handsome face. Or those penetrating eyes.

Her husband had found her.

There was no escape this time, not unless she flung herself into the depths of the Indian Ocean.

HER heart started thudding. Blood began roaring through her head. As did a whole host of furious thoughts.

How dared he pursue her like this?

Six months had gone by. Six long, miserable months. She’d just begun to feel safe. Just begun to feel as if she might survive without him. And what does he do? Turns up like a bad penny!

What in God’s name did she have to do to make good her escape? She’d fled the damned country, hadn’t she? Lived on the high seas. Worked menial jobs in far-flung harbours around the world for months before daring to return to Australia. Even then, she’d only stayed because this job had been in such a remote corner of the country. Gerard had always said he had no interest in any other state except Queensland.

How had he found her? Had some wretched tourist from Brisbane recognised her and reported back to him?

No, she decided. That wouldn’t have been likely. People from Brisbane rarely holidayed in Broome.

He’d found her the way men like him always found people. He’d hired some professional to hunt her down, to track her like some wretched criminal on the run. And now that she’d been found, he’d come himself to hound her into going back to him.

Well, she wouldn’t! Never! Ever! He would have to hog-tie her and drag her back to Brisbane. She would never voluntarily go back.

Leah had thought she’d be afraid if and when Gerard caught up with her, thought she’d be terrified of the wicked power he had over her. She wasn’t. She was simply livid!

Her eyes glared daggers at him as the Zodiac pulled alongside. She didn’t notice Alan glaring at her when she failed to take the rope and secure the boat to the lugger. All she saw was Gerard, staring back at her with a blank expression, as though he had no idea why she was scowling at him with such ill-concealed fury.

His lack of sensitivity only infuriated her further.

Alan finally communicated his own frustration with Leah by throwing the rope into her hands.

Reluctantly, she turned her attention to the job at hand, securing the boat to the side of the lugger. Her smile was stiff as she introduced herself, then proceeded to help the party aboard, finding out in the process that the first couple were called David and Dawn, and the second Geoff and Peggy. All four were around sixty and obviously good friends, confiding in Leah within seconds that they’d all retired recently and had been travelling around Australia together for several weeks.

The single woman’s name was Sandra. She was fortyish, as Leah had guessed. Quite attractive too, she supposed, if you liked plump blondes who wore too much make-up and gushed over everything. The avid glances Alan was giving Sandra’s womanly derriere as she stepped onto the deck seemed to indicate he did.

‘This is just too too exciting!’ Sandra enthused, one hand fluttering up to her throat as she gazed around with seemingly enthralled eyes.

‘Watch your step,’ Leah warned on sighting her high-heeled sandals. ‘The deck is smooth and can be slippery.’

‘Don’t you worry, sweetie,’ she said smugly. ‘I won’t fall. These shoes and I have gone to the top of Ayer’s Rock together. They’re like part of me.’

Leah could believe it. She’d met other women like Sandra on her travels. They looked all fluff on the surface, but underneath were tough as an old boot. They were survivors, the Sandras of this world. Not like the Leahs, the silly, soft, sentimental Leahs…