beneath the brim of her hat to press his lips to hers.
It didn’t last long, as kisses went, and it involved only the merest touch of his firm, perfectly sculpted lips to hers; but it left Charli as dazzled as the sun dancing on the waves.
‘I won’t tell him if you won’t,’ she whispered, and sighed in pleasure as he leaned in for another kiss.
With a gentle thump, the yacht docked in its berth, and Charlotte was vaguely aware of the sound of feet running below and voices calling out as the Meryton was tied and secured. Beyond that, there was only Ciaran’s deliciously warm, sexy mouth on hers.
There was a shout somewhere below them on the pier, followed by the pounding of feet; Charli heard raised voices and felt the vibration of those same feet coming closer.
Ciaran drew away, annoyed. ‘What on earth…’
‘Get your bloody hands off her.’
Charlotte shaded her eyes against the sun as she looked up and gasped. ‘Harry! What are you doing here?’
Hugh’s younger brother, his fair face pink with sun and temper, glared at her. ‘Hugh told me you were hanging out on this tosser’s boat.’ He cast Ciaran a murderous glance. ‘I didn’t believe it until I saw it for myself.’
‘Sorry, Harry, but I don’t need your permission,’ Charli retorted, ‘or Hugh’s, to spend time with Ciaran. I’m an adult.’
‘No you’re not,’ he said grimly as he reached out and wrapped his hand around her wrist. ‘Your little rendezvous – or date, or whatever it is – with Ciaran is over, as of right now. I’m taking you home.’
He pulled her up and out of her seat, and Charli let out a cry of outrage. ‘How dare you,’ she snapped, and struggled to free herself from his grip. ‘Let me go!’
‘Now, wait just a minute!’ Ciaran protested, and thrust back his deck chair as he confronted Harry. ‘I won’t have you coming aboard this yacht – without permission, I might add – and manhandling my guest.’
‘Your “guest” is my friend, Mr Duncan,’ he returned, his chest rising and falling beneath his striped polo shirt, ‘and I’ve known her a good deal longer than you. It’s time she came home.’ He turned to Charlotte, still struggling to wrench herself free. ‘Does your father know you’re here?’
‘No,’ she admitted, and glared at him. ‘He thinks I’m spending the afternoon with my friends.’ Her hand went lax in his. ‘You won’t tell him, will you?’
‘I thought as much.’ He turned and regarded Ciaran with contempt. ‘Stay away from her,’ he warned, ‘or I’ll take care of you myself.’
‘Is that a threat?’ Ciaran asked with equal parts amusement and disbelief.
‘No,’ Harry retorted, and shoved him in the chest, ‘it’s a promise.’
‘Stop it, both of you,’ Charli cried as Ciaran shoved him back. ‘What about me? I’m the one who gets to decide if I spend time with Ciaran, not either of you!’
‘It isn’t proper, you hanging out with him,’ Harry told her, his ginger brows drawn together in a scowl. ‘He’s bad news.’
‘Who are you to tell me what’s proper, or who to “hang out” with?’ she demanded. ‘What about Alice Mannerly, and Sarah Afton-Crimsbury? Oh, yes, I know all about them, and all of the other girls you’ve dated and discarded, Harry, because I read the tabs. That’s quite a double standard you’ve got going.’
‘Call it whatever you like,’ Harry gritted, ‘but I’m an adult, you’re not, and you’re coming home.’ He took her arm and pulled her forward. ‘Now.’
‘I’m not leaving! I’m not a child! Let go of me!’ she cried.
‘You heard her,’ Ciaran snapped, and stepped between Harry and Charlotte. ‘She doesn’t wish to leave.’
‘I’m warning you,’ Harry breathed. ‘Stay out of this, Duncan, and stay away from Charli as well, or…’
‘Or what?’ Ciaran challenged, his eyes narrowed.
Harry hurled himself at the actor, and Ciaran drew his arm back and punched him in the face with a resounding crack, sending him staggering back against the deck railing.
Charlotte let out a small scream as Harry straightened and launched himself straight at Ciaran.
‘Harry, no!’ she wailed. ‘Both of you, please, please stop!’
But as the two men grappled and exchanged punches, she realised they weren’t listening, and she knew she had to do something – anything – to stop them. Spying the pitcher of iced water on the table, she grabbed it and flung it on them, vaguely aware as she did so of the rapid click and whirr of a camera somewhere nearby.
She glanced up to see a man with darkish blond hair crouched on a neighbouring yacht, his face half hidden behind a Nikon with a telephoto lens. It was trained on the Meryton as he snapped a series of rapid-fire photos.
‘Stop,’ Charli shouted again, and levelled a glare at the man on the yacht. ‘Stop taking those pictures this instant!’
As he drove them back to Cleremont, Hugh subsided into a frowning, broody silence.
‘What’s wrong?’ Holly asked him, and laid a hand on his arm. ‘It’s Charlotte, isn’t it?’ she added.
‘Yes. I’m worried about her, getting involved with that scoundrel Ciaran. I don’t like it. I’m only sorry we didn’t reach the dock in time for me to have a word with her.’
‘It wouldn’t have done any good,’ Holly pointed out. ‘You’d only have made Charlotte angry… at you. Not to mention more determined than ever to see Ciaran.’
She spoke from experience. Was it only last summer that the film star had worked his charm on her, convincing her he was madly in love and desperate to marry her?
Thank God she’d learned what he was really up to before it was too late.
Hugh let out a short breath. ‘Of course you’re right. At least I got hold of Harry and he promised to bring her home. But I do wonder if I shouldn’t tell Mr Bennet as well. He ought to know what his daughter’s up to.’
‘Well, she’s of age,’ Holly said, ‘and her father may already know that she’s seeing Ciaran, and may not mind.’
‘I doubt that.’ Hugh’s words were firm.
‘He hurt your sister very badly, didn’t he?’ she said after a moment.
His hands tightened on the wheel. ‘Phoebe was young and trusting, just like Charlotte, and Ciaran used her and discarded her like a – a toy he no longer wanted. Never mind that she was expecting his child.’
Holly laid a comforting hand on his arm. ‘I know. He even had the audacity to tell me that you’d treated his sister Jane in exactly the same way.’
‘Yes, of course, you know the story… most of it. He demanded she get rid of it. She did, but the guilt nearly destroyed her, and she tried to kill herself. She took a handful of sleeping pills,’ he added matter-of-factly. ‘Thank God she was found before it was too late.’
Her hand tightened on his arm. ‘Where’s your sister now?’
‘Happily married and living in Pembrokeshire,’ he answered, and smiled slightly. ‘With two rambunctious children and a husband who dotes on her.’ His smile faded. ‘And Ciaran Duncan, thank God, is nothing more than a bad memory.’
***