Authors: Janet Dailey
“You’re mistaken about the shaving kit.” Rachel ignored his comments and dealt directly with the issue. “You didn’t leave it here. I unpacked all my things last night and I didn’t find anything of yours while I was putting mine away.”
“You must not have looked everywhere because I left it in the bathroom.” He was unconvinced by her denial that it wasn’t in the cabin.
“Well, you didn’t—” But Rachel didn’t have a chance to continue her assertion because Gard was already walking to the bathroom door. She hurried after him, irritated that he should take it upon himself to search for it. “You have no right to go in there.”
“I know you won’t be shocked if I tell you that I’ve probably seen the full range of feminine toiletries in my time,” he murmured dryly and paid no attention to her protests, walking right into the bathroom.
Rachel stopped outside the door, her fingers gripping the edge of the frame, and looked in. The bathroom was comfortably spacious, but she still didn’t intend to find herself in such close quarters with him.
“You look for yourself,” she challenged, since he intended to do just that anyway. “You’ll see it’s not here.”
He cast her a smiling look, then reached down and pulled open a drawer by the sink. It was a drawer she hadn’t opened because she hadn’t needed the space. When she looked inside, there was a man’s brown shaving kit.
“Here it is—just where I left it,” he announced, dark brows arching over his amused glance.
“So it is.” Rachel was forced to admit it, a resentful gray look in her eyes. “I guess I never looked in that drawer.”
“I guess you didn’t,” Gard agreed smoothly—so smoothly it was almost mocking.
He half turned and leaned a hip against the sink, shifting his weight to one foot. A quiver of vague alarm went through Rachel as she realized that he showed no signs of leaving either her cabin or her bathroom. There was a slow, assessing travel of his gaze over her.
“How long will it take you to dress and fix your hair?” he asked.
“Why?”
“So I’ll know what time to meet you topside for some morning coffee.”
“It won’t make any difference how long it takes for me to get dressed, since I won’t be meeting you for coffee,” Rachel replied, stung that he was so positive she would agree.
“Why?” he asked in a reasonable tone.
“It hardly matters.” She swung impatiently away from the bathroom door, the silken material of her long robe swishing faintly as she moved to the center of the sitting room. When she heard him
following her, Rachel whirled around, the robe swinging to hug her long legs. “Hasn’t anyone ever turned down an invitation from you?”
“It’s happened,” Gard conceded. “But usually they gave a reason if only to be polite. And I just wondered what yours is?”
Her features hardened with iron control. Only her eyes blazed to show the anger within. “Perhaps I’m tired of men assuming that I’m so lonely I’ll accept the most casual invitation. Every man I meet immediately assumes that because I’m a widow I’m desperate for male companionship.” Her scathing glance raked him, putting him in the same category. “They’re positive I’ll jump at the chance to share a bed with them—or a cabin—just because they can fill out a pair of pants. According to them, I’m supposed to be frustrated sexually.”
It didn’t soothe her temper to have him stand there and listen to her tirade so calmly. “Are you?” Gard inquired blandly.
For an instant Rachel was too incensed to speak. The question wasn’t worthy of an answer, so she hurled an accusation at him instead. “You’re no better than the others! It may come as a shock to you, but I’d like to know something about a man besides the size of his shorts before I’m invited into his bed!”
She was trembling from the force of her anger and the sudden release of so much bitterness that had been bottled up inside. She turned away from him to hide her shaking, not wanting him to mistake it as a sign of weakness.
“What does meeting for coffee have to do with going to bed together?” he wondered. “Or has your experience with men since your husband died been such that you don’t accept any invitations?” There was a slight pause before he asked, “Do you want to be alone for the rest of your life?”
The quiet wording of his question seemed to pierce through the barriers she had erected and exposed the need she’d kept behind it. She wanted to love someone again and share her life with him. She didn’t want to keep her feelings locked up inside, never giving them to anyone.
When she swung her gaze to look at him, her gray eyes were stark with longing. She had lived in loneliness for so long that she hadn’t noticed when it had stopped being grief. His dark gaze narrowed suddenly, recognizing the emotion in her expression. Rachel turned away before she showed him too much of the ache she was feeling.
“No, I don’t want to be alone forever,” she admitted in a low voice.
“Then why don’t you stop being so sensitive?” Gard suggested.
“I’m not,” Rachel flared.
“Yes, you are,” he nodded. “Right now you’re angry with me. Why? Because I think you are a very attractive woman and I’ve tried to show you that I’m attracted to you.”
“You came for your shaving kit,” she reminded him, not liking this personal conversation now that she was becoming the subject of it. “You have it, so why don’t you leave?”
She tried to brush past him and walk over to open the door and hurry him out, but he caught at her forearm and stopped her. His firm grip applied enough pressure to turn her toward him.
“I’m not going to apologize because I find you attractive and say things that let you know I’m interested,” Gard informed her. “And I’m not going to apologize because I have the normal urge to take you in my arms and kiss you.”
She looked at him but said nothing. She could feel the vein throbbing in her neck, its hammering beat betraying how his seductive voice disturbed her. She was conscious of his closeness, the hand that came to rest on the curve of her waist, and the steadiness of his gaze.
“And if the kiss lived up to my expectations, I would probably be tempted to press it further,” he admitted calmly. “It’s natural. After all, what’s wrong with a man wanting to take a woman into his arms and kiss her? For that matter, what’s wrong with a woman wanting to kiss a man?”
For the life of her Rachel couldn’t think of a thing, especially when she felt his hand sliding smoothly to the back of her waist and drawing her closer. As his head slowly bent toward her, her eyelids became heavy, closing as his face moved nearer.
His mouth was warm on the coolness of her lips, moving curiously over them. Her hands and arms remained at her side, neither coming up to hold or resist. The pressure of his nuzzling mouth was stimulating. Rachel could feel the sensitive skin of
her lips clinging to the faint moistness of his mobile mouth.
Behind her outward indifference her senses were tingling to life. Her body had swayed partially against him, letting the solidness of his body provide some of her support. There was a faint flavor of tobacco and nicotine on his lips, and the clean scent of soap drifted from his tanned skin.
There was a roaming pressure along her spine as his hand followed its supple line. It created a pleasant sensation and Rachel leaned more of her weight against him, feeling the outline of his hips and thighs through the thin, clinging material of her robe. The nature of his kiss became more intimate, consuming her lips with a trace of hunger. Within seconds a raw warmth was spreading through her system, stirring up impulses that Rachel preferred to stay dormant.
She lowered her head, breaking away from the sensual kiss and fighting the attack of breath-lessness. The minute his arms loosened their hold on her, she stepped away, avoiding his gaze.
It would have been so easy to let his experienced skill carry her away. It was so ironic, Rachel nearly laughed aloud. A little sex was what her friend had recommended. There wasn’t any doubt in Rachel’s mind that Gard could arouse her physical desire, but she wanted more than that.
“You didn’t slap my face,” Gard remarked after
the silence had stretched for several seconds. “Should I be encouraged by that?”
“Think what you like. You probably will anyway,” Rachel replied and finally turned around to look at him, recovering some of her calm. “If you don’t mind, I’ll ask you to leave now. I’d like to get dressed.”
“How about coffee on the Sun Deck?” He repeated the invitation that had started the whole thing.
Her wandering steps had brought her to the table where the telephone sat. Rachel pushed the call button to summon the steward, aware that his gaze sharpened as he observed her action.
“Let’s do it some other time, Mr. MacKinley,” she suggested, knowing that the indefiniteness of her answer was equal to polite refusal.
“Suit yourself.” He shrugged but his narrowed interest never left her.
There was a warning knock before the door was opened by the room steward. Curiosity flared when he saw Gard in the cabin, but he turned respectfully to Rachel. “Did you want something, Mrs. MacKinley?”
“Mr. MacKinley had left his shaving kit here. I thought you might have seen it,” she lied about the reason she had called him. “But we found it just this minute. Thank you for coming, though.”
“No problem,” he assured her. “Is there something else I can do? Perhaps I can bring the two of you coffee?”
“No thanks,” Rachel refused and looked pointedly
at Gard. “Mr. MacKinley was just leaving.”
Lazy understanding was in his looks at the way she had maneuvered him into leaving under the escort of the steward. He inclined his head toward her and moved leisurely to the door the steward was holding open.
There was some morning coolness in the breeze blowing through the opened windows at The Lido on the Sun Deck, but her lavender sweater jacket with its cowled hood provided Rachel with just enough protection that she didn’t feel any chill. There were a lot of early risers sitting at the tables and taking advantage of the coffee and continental breakfast being served.
On the Observation Deck above, joggers were tramping around the balcony of the sun dome, pushed open to provide sunshine and fresh air to The Lido. As Rachel waited in the buffet line for her coffee she looked to see if Gard happened to be among the joggers. Not all of them had made a full circle before the people in line ahead of her moved and she followed.
She bypassed the fruit tray of freshly cut pineapples,
melon, and papaya and the warming tray of sweet rolls, made fresh daily at the ship’s bakery. It all looked tempting, but she intended to breakfast in the dining room, so she kept to her decision to have only coffee.
There was an older couple directly in front of her. When she noticed that they were having difficulty trying to balance their plates and each carry a glass of juice and a cup of coffee as well, Rachel volunteered to carry some of it for them. She was instantly overwhelmed by their rush of gratitude.
“Isn’t that thoughtful of her, Poppa,” the woman kept exclaiming to her husband as she carefully followed her mate to a table on the sheltered deck by the swimming pool.
“You are a good woman to do this,” he insisted to Rachel. “Momma and I don’t get around so good—but we still get around. Sometimes it’s nice to have help, though.”
“Please sit with us,” his wife urged as Rachel set their glasses of juice on the table for them. “We appreciate so much how you helped us. If you hadn’t, I would have spilled something for sure, then Poppa would have been upset and—” She waved a wrinkled hand in a gesture that indicated she could have gone on about the troubles that might have occurred. “How can we thank you?” she asked instead.
“It was nothing, honestly,” Rachel insisted, a little embarrassed at the fuss they were making over her. Both hands were holding her coffee cup as she backed away from the table. “Enjoy your breakfast.”
“Thank you. You are so kind.” The elderly man beamed gratefully at her.
As Rachel turned to seek a quiet place to sit and drink her coffee, she spied Gard just coming off the ladder to the Observation Deck. His sweatshirt was clinging damply to him, a triangular patch of wetness at the chest, and his skin glistened with perspiration. He was walking directly toward her. Rachel stood her ground, determined not to spend her entire cruise trying to avoid him. Even though he looked physically tired, there was a vital, fresh air about him, as if all the fast-running blood in his veins had pumped the cobwebs out of his system. She envied that tired but very alive look.
He slowed to a stop when he reached her, his hands moving up to rest on his hips. “Good morning, Mrs. MacKinley.” Amusement laced his warm greeting as he smiled down at her, his eyes skimming over her ebony hair framed by the lavender hood.
“Good morning, Mr. MacKinley,” she returned the greeting.
His gaze drifted to her lips, as if seeking traces of the imprint his mouth had made on them. There was something almost physical about his look. Rachel imagined that she could feel the pressure of his kiss again.
“I see you have your morning coffee,” Gard observed.
“Yes, I do.” She braced herself for his next remark, expecting it to be some reference to his invitation.
“I’ll see you later.” He started forward, changing
his angle slightly to walk by her. “I have to shower and change before breakfast.”
For a stunned second she turned to watch him leave. Behind her she heard the elderly couple at the table speaking about them.
“Did you hear that, Poppa?” the woman was saying. “They call each other Mister and Missus.”
“The way we used to, eh, Momma.”
“He called her Mrs. MacKinley,” the woman said again.
“And she called him Mr. MacKinley,” the man inserted.
“That’s so nice and old-fashioned, isn’t it?” the woman prompted.
Suppressing the impulse to walk to their table, Rachel moved in the opposite direction. It hardly mattered that they had the mistaken impression she was married to him. Correcting it might involve a long, detailed explanation and she didn’t want to go into it. Besides, what they had overheard had brought back some fond memories of their early married life. They were happy, so why should she spoil it with a lot of explanations that didn’t really matter to them.