Ben brandy, and they sat and talked about the yacht business.
Finally, Ben had had enough of skirting around the main issue. ‘We need to talk about Cairo.’
Paxton glanced at his watch. ‘It’ll have to wait until tomorrow. I’m afraid I have an engagement this evening. There’s a chopper coming to pick me up for a business meeting in Monaco. One of my more eccentric clients, a Hollywood star who thinks everyone has to come to him. And of course they do.’ Paxton smiled grimly. ‘Make yourself at home. We can talk in the morning, and I’ll tell you everything you need to know.’
Paxton left a few minutes later, and Ben heard the helicopter come and go. He was glad to be alone again, even though his thoughts were in turmoil. He lounged back in his armchair and drank another large glass of brandy, trying to relax. But it wasn’t working.
He wandered back through the maze of corridors and passages, glancing at the rows of gleaming wood doors. Caught himself wondering where Zara was.
Back in his cabin, he grabbed the bottle of Glenmorangie and a glass, slouched on a sofa, aimed the TV remote at the big screen on the wall and flicked through dozens of satellite channels before settling on some mindless zombie movie that he watched idly for a while. Eventually he switched it off and sat in darkness. His thoughts passed back and forth like conflicting voices in his head.
It’s not right for Paxton to be asking me to do this for him. I don’t know these men I’m supposed to kill. They’re nothing to me. I have no personal reason to harm them.
But it’s only a job. You’ve done it before.
Not like this. Not since the army. You swore you were never going to do that again. You gave up fighting other men’s wars and killing other men’s enemies.
Are you just trying to justify your feelings for this man’s wife? You want to be with her, take her away from here. So you’re looking for excuses.
He kept on like that, argument after counterargument, until he felt exhausted. The fact was, he was here; and just being here, on board for the night, was as good as giving his word to Harry Paxton. Like it or not, he was committed now.
A sound made him sit up, suddenly alert. He listened. Nothing. Just the whisper of the waves against the sides of the vessel.
But then he heard it again. A gentle tapping on his door.
‘Who’s there?’ he called softly.
A crack of light appeared in the doorway, widening until he could see the figure there. It was Zara.
She slipped into the room and snicked the door shut behind her, closing out the light and merging with the shadows. He saw her dark shape move silently towards him, and step into the patch of moonlight that was shining in through the porthole.
‘Zara, you can’t be here,’ he whispered.
‘I had to come,’ she said, sitting beside him on the sofa. She moved close, and he could smell her perfume. ‘I need to be near you.’
‘Why?’ he said falteringly
‘I think I’m falling in love with you.’
‘Don’t say that.’
‘It’s the truth. I can’t help it.’
‘Harry loves you,’ he said. ‘I can see it.’
‘It’s over between me and Harry. It has been for months.’ She let out a sigh. ‘Sometimes things just don’t work out. It’s nobody’s fault.’
‘If he knew…’
‘I know. It would destroy him. But you feel the same way, don’t you?’
He couldn’t answer.
‘Don’t you?’ she repeated, a little more urgently. Her hand slipped into his, and she moved closer. The warmth of her body made his heart beat fast.
He didn’t speak.
‘You do, don’t you? I know you do.’
Then she kissed him, and he could feel the quickening of her breathing.
‘Harry’s gone for a few hours,’ she whispered, breaking the embrace. Her arms encircled his neck and she moved forwards to kiss him again.
He gently took her wrist and pushed her back. She sat there gazing at him in hurt bewilderment.
‘I already told you this can’t happen,’ he said softly.
‘I’m going to leave him. When this is over, when you do this job for him and he’s not suffering so much. I’ll wait a while, a month or two. Then I’m out of here. So it makes no difference what happens here between us tonight.’
‘I can’t do this to the man who saved my life.’
‘I want you,’ she said. ‘I want to be with you.’
‘I want you too,’ he replied. ‘But you have to understand. I’m not free to make that decision.’
‘But you love me.’ Tears glistened on her face. He wanted to kiss them away.
He hesitated. ‘Yes,’ he whispered.
‘Is it so wrong, if it’s love? If we didn’t plan it this way, if it just happened to us? Why is that wrong? People do fall in love.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘It’s just the way it is. Can’t we be friends?’ But it sounded empty and hollow to him even as he said it. He knew it could never be.
She pulled away, standing up and moving back into the shadows. ‘I won’t be here when you leave tomorrow.’
‘Zara-’
‘Goodbye, Ben.’
He watched her slip back to the door. The chink of light appeared and disappeared as she left the room.
He leaned back and closed his eyes. His thoughts swirled. He lost all track of time.
It had been a long time since he’d felt this lonely.
Chapter Thirteen
The feeling of loneliness was still with him when he woke up early the next morning. He sat up in bed and watched the sun break away from the flat blue horizon and begin its climb up across the lightening sky. The sea was a little choppier today, and there was just the slightest perceptible sense of motion as the superyacht rode up and down on the swell.
After a few minutes he rolled out of bed and forced three fast sets of twenty press-ups out of himself on the soft carpet. It helped to shift his focus and settle his restless mind, but not enough. He paced up and down for a while in the luxurious stateroom, finding the opulence of it almost oppressive. Then he went for a shower in the massive ensuite bathroom. Afterwards, he found a dark blue bathrobe on a rail and put it on, noticing in the mirror that it had the yacht’s name embroidered in gold across the right breast. He wandered back out of the bathroom and flopped on the bed.
What a situation. He closed his eyes and tried to empty his mind, but it wasn’t working. He grabbed his Omega from the bedside table and looped it over his wrist, noting that it was after eight. He reached for the phone and punched in the number of the office in Normandy. He was expecting Jeff to answer, but the voice that greeted him on the other end was Brooke’s.
‘You’re still there,’ he said.
‘You’re losing it, Hope. I’m here for a few days. We talked about it, remember?’
He did. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered.
‘I was kind of hoping you’d be back today.’
‘No chance of that.’
‘Where are you?’
