Night with a Stranger

by Joanna Mansell

  'It's early April,' he reminded her. 'This time of the year, the water's often rough. Why didn't you wait, and take this trip in summer, when the Channel's usually fairly calm?'

  'I needed a holiday now,' she said defensively. 'I didn't want to wait a couple more months. And I told you, I thought I'd be all right on the boat. And I was, until I looked out of the window and saw the coast getting further and further away. I just panicked, I couldn't help it. I'm still in a panic,' she got out in a quavering voice.

  'I know that,' came Lewis's dry reply. 'You're hanging on to my arm so tightly that I'll probably be black and blue by tomorrow.'

  'I didn't want to come up here on deck,' she mumbled. 'I tried to tell you that, but you wouldn't listen. I don't want to have to look at the water. I want to go somewhere I can't see it at all, and then stay there until we're safely in port.'

  'Come on, then. I'll take you back below.'

  'Can't move,' she croaked.

  'What?' That hint of impatience was back in his voice again.

  'Can't move,' she repeated. And it was true. Her legs were completely frozen. The panic had spread right through her, seizing hold of all her muscles and reducing them to an embarrassing uselessness.

  'Heavens, how did I ever get involved in this?' Lewis said in some disbelief.

  'You tried to help. But you didn't. You just made things worse.'

  'Then next time, remind me to mind my own business,' he said a little grimly. 'And in the meantime, we're going to get back below before we both freeze to death. Walk, Lorel!'

  She wasn't sure if it was the tone of his voice or the way he had said her name, but which ever it was it seemed to free her from her paralysis. She found her legs would move again, and she hurriedly stumbled back down the stairs, still hanging on to Lewis's arm as if it were some kind of lifeline.

  At the bottom of the stairs was a narrow corridor, with several doors leading off it. Lewis opened a couple of the doors, and then finally pulled her through the third. Lorel looked around, feeling slightly better now that she couldn't see the heaving expanse of water that surrounded the boat.

  'This is someone's cabin,' she said rather doubtfully. 'We shouldn't be in here.'

  'I don't suppose they'll mind too much if we borrow it for a short while.'

  There was a small porthole, and Lewis drew the curtain across it. The interior of the cabin was rather dim now, but Lorel didn't mind. Somehow, it felt safer that way.

  Lewis pushed her, none too gently, down on to the narrow bed, and then disengaged her clutching fingers from his arm.

  'Sorry,' she said as he rubbed his bruised flesh. 'I had to cling on to something, and you just happened to be handy.' She looked around. 'I really don't think we should be in here,' she added rather nervously. 'What if someone comes in and finds us?'

  'We'll apologise and leave.' His blue gaze fixed on her. 'The alternative is to go back to the main lounge. Do you want to do that?'

  'No,' she said immediately. She was feeling much better now, but she didn't want to face other people just yet. Anyway, the lounge had those large windows. She would be able to see the heavy, rolling waves again—

  At the very thought of it, she shuddered. She was sorely tempted to grab hold of Lewis Elliott's arm again—the warm, hard touch of him had been curiously comforting—but she managed to stop herself this time. At the same time, she began to feel highly embarrassed. What an exhibition she had made of herself in front of this stranger! His opinion of her must have reached absolute rock-bottom by now.

  'Want to tell me why you're so scared of the sea?' he asked unexpectedly.

  'I'm sure you're not really interested,' she answered rather stiffly.

  Lewis sighed. 'Are you always like this? Or is it because you're scared that it's so hard to get through to you?'

  'I don't know why you're even trying to get through to me,' she answered defensively. 'On the train, I got the impression that you thought I was nothing except a nuisance. Now, you're suddenly being friendly and helpful. It's very—well, confusing,' she finished in a low voice.

  'You think I've got some ulterior motive?'

  She could hear the clear amusement in his voice, and to her annoyance it made her flush.

  'I've no idea,' she said coldly. 'I don't know what motivates you. In fact, I don't know anything about you.'

  'Nor I about you,' Lewis reminded her. 'But I'm trying to remedy that situation.'

  'By prying into my private life?'

  A familiar glint of impatience appeared in his blue eyes. 'I simply asked why you're frightened of the sea. Under the circumstances, I don't think that's too impertinent a question.'

  'I suppose not,' Lorel conceded reluctantly. She still didn't feel relaxed, though, and the fresh waves of tension didn't seem to have anything to do with her earlier attack of panic. All the same, she supposed she owed him some sort of explanation. 'My parents were drowned a couple of years ago,' she said at last, in a tight voice. 'They went out in a small sailing-boat with a couple of friends and—and none of them came back. Until that happened, I never used to be scared of the sea. I used to enjoy swimming and sailing. After the accident, though, I began to stay well away from the water. There didn't seem any point in deliberately dragging up all the old, sad memories. I didn't think it was a major problem, though. Only a natural reaction, after what had happened. It wasn't until I was actually on this boat that I realised it had developed into a real phobia. By then, it was too late to do anything about it.' She managed a rather feeble smile. 'You can't get off a boat in the middle of the Channel.'

  'No, you can't,' Lewis agreed. His tone was rather different from what it had been before, and he was looking at her thoughtfully now. 'You know, there are two things you can do about phobias,' he went on, almost conversationally. 'Give in to them, or face up to them.'

  'I definitely intend to give in to this one,', she answered immediately. 'There's no way you're going to get me up on that deck again!'

  He gave a brief shrug. 'OK, if you want to be a coward ‑'

  'I do!' she said firmly. She had no intention of letting him provoke her into doing anything foolishly brave.

  Lewis's blue gaze fixed on her again. 'I didn't think you were the type to back away from problems.'

  She looked back at him steadily. 'Since you don't know me, I don't see how you can possibly guess what type I am.'

  He studied her consideringly. 'Perhaps not. But I'm fairly sure of one thing. I think that you're my type.'

  Lorel blinked, not sure that she had heard him correctly. Or, if she had, that he had really meant what he had said.

  'What do you mean by that?' she said slowly, at last.

  'Exactly what I said.'

  'But you can't have the slightest idea what I'm really like,' she objected. 'We only met a couple of hours ago.'

  'I know that I like girls with gold-brown hair and gold-brown eyes.'

  Lorel gave a quick snort. 'That's nothing to do with me. That's just what I look like.'

  'But it's a start,' replied Lewis. 'As to whether it goes any further—we could have a lot of fun finding out,' he suggested lightly.

  She knew that she ought to find his suggestion completely outrageous. So, why didn't she? Perhaps it had something to do with those vivid blue eyes of his, she decided shakily. When they were fixed on her so unwaveringly, it was difficult—in fact, almost impossible—to think straight. The man should have been a hypnotist! He could have reduced an entire audience to sheeplike obedience by just staring at them for a few minutes.

  His eyes briefly gleamed. 'I think that you're tempted,' he murmured. 'But that you're also a little prudish. There are ways of getting round that, though ‑'

  Casually, he slid his hand over her own, enclosing her fingers within his warm grip. It was an unexpectedly pleasant sensation, and when his thumb tickled her palm she jumped slightly but didn't try to pull her own hand away. When his thumb slid up to the sensitive inner skin of her wrist, th
ough, she decided that enough was enough . This had to stop—and right now!

  She tried to release her hand, but discovered that Lewis's grip had been deceptively light. Although his fingers had only seemed to be resting gently on her own, she found she couldn't actually free her hand from his.

  Nervously, she cleared her throat. 'Look, this is silly,' she began. 'Someone could walk in at any moment. And anyway, I'm hardly in the mood for these sort of games.'

  Lewis merely smiled. 'I could soon persuade you to be in the mood,' he said with total confidence.

  Lorel's face instantly darkened. She hated men who were sexually arrogant.

  'Oh, I'm sure that you're Mr Wonderful in bed,' she said with heavy and deliberate sarcasm. 'But unfortunately for you, I don't happen to be Miss Free-and-Easy!'

  To her amazement, he didn't seem in the least offended. 'I never thought for one moment that you were,' he replied quite calmly. 'As for being Mr Wonderful—perhaps that's taking it a little too far. Although I don't remember having any actual complaints to date.'

  'Well, you're about to get your first one,' she retorted. 'I've definitely had enough of this!'

  'How can you say that when we've done nothing more than hold hands?' he asked, quite reasonably.

  'I know when I want something—and I definitely don't want you!' Lorel snapped angrily.

  Lewis remained astonishingly relaxed. She thought she could even see the faint hint of a smile lurking around the corners of his mouth.

  'Perhaps you shouldn't make any firm decisions until you've sampled what's on offer,' he suggested smoothly.

  She stared at him in disbelief. 'Haven't you been listening to anything I've said? I'm not interested!'

  Unperturbed, he let his fingers trace a regretful pattern on the back of her hand. 'Is it because I was rude to you when we first met?' he enquired. 'But I apologised for that.'

  'No, you didn't,' she retorted. 'You meant to, but you never actually got around to it.'

  'Then I apologise unreservedly,' he said charmingly. 'Am I forgiven?'

  She stared at him suspiciously. 'I suppose so,' she finally muttered. What else could she say?

  Lewis seemed satisfied with that. He got to his feet, and strolled across to the door. 'Since you don't seem to want to take this any further, perhaps we'd better go.'

  Thoroughly relieved by his suggestion, Lorel scrambled to her feet. As far as she was concerned, she couldn't get out of here quickly enough.

  When she reached the door, though, Lewis casually swung one arm around her, stopping her from going any further.

  'It's no good,' he murmured. 'I can't resist a quick sample, even though I know I'm not going to be allowed any more than that.'

  His kiss was swift and hard—and totally delicious. Lorel's head briefly whirled, and for just a moment she found herself actually regretting that she had turned him down so firmly. Then he let go of her again, and gently pushed her out of the cabin.

  This time, her legs felt unsteady for an entirely different reason. More perturbed than she liked to admit, she followed him back to the main lounge. Just as they reached the door, though, he stopped and turned to face her.

  'We'll be in port in about ten minutes. Will you be all right until then?'

  'Fine,' she mumbled. In fact, incredible though it seemed, she had almost forgotten they were on a boat.

  Unexpectedly, he grinned. 'There's nothing like a little diversion for taking your mind off your problems, is there?'

  Lorel's eyes opened very wide as she realised what he was telling her. 'You mean, you did all that on purpose?' she said incredulously. 'Just to stop me thinking about my phobia?'

  His grin broadened. 'Believe me, it wasn't any great hardship. If you're OK, go and sit in the lounge until we get into port. I'll see you later.'

  'Where are you going?' she couldn't stop herself from asking.

  Lewis's dark eyebrows lifted quizzically. 'To the bar. That kiss has started me thinking a lot of very unsuitable thoughts. I need a drink!'

  He quickly walked away from her, and Lorel made her way into the lounge and gratefully sank into a seat. The long train journey from Boulogne to Venice still lay ahead of her, and it looked as if much of it was going to be made in the company of Lewis Elliott. How did she feel about that? She didn't know. One thing seemed certain, though. It was highly unlikely to be boring!

  CHAPTER TWO

  For a variety of reasons, Lorel was very glad to finally get off the boat. The Continental train was waiting for them, and she was welcomed aboard and then shown to her cabin. Her spirits began to rise again as she drank in the luxury of the train; the beautifully polished wooden panelling, the gleaming brass fittings, and elegant Lalique lamps. She forgot about the misery of the channel crossing, even forgot about Lewis Elliott's kiss, as she looked forward to the rest of the journey.

  Since her cabin was a single, it was very small, but clever lighting and carefully placed mirrors helped to give the impression that it was much bigger than it actually was. There was a comfortable sofa with thick cushions, and a small mahogany writing-table with a brass lamp. Her suitcase had been placed in the ornate gilt rack above her head, and she shoved her hand-luggage up beside it, and then gave a sigh of satisfaction. This was great! Even better than she had expected it to be.

  She felt rather grimy after the ferry crossing. Knowing that there was a small sink concealed somewhere in the cabin, she began turning various knobs, trying to find it. She discovered several cupboards, but no sink. Then she turned one final knob, and found that she had inadvertently opened the door which led into the next cabin!

  To her embarrassment, someone was in there. She had just begun to mumble an apology when the man raised his head, and she found herself staring into a very familiar pair of vivid blue eyes.

  'Oh, I don't believe this!' she said in annoyance.

  Lewis Elliott gave a resigned shrug. 'It looks as though we're destined to spend this journey bumping into each other—one way or the other,' he added, with a sudden gleam.

  'I was looking for the sink,' Lorel said with some dignity. 'I must have turned the wrong knob.'

  'And found me instead,' Lewis commented, his gaze still suspiciously bright.

  'I didn't know you were going to be in the next cabin.'

  'I didn't arrange it,' he told her smoothly. 'And the door does lock from your side. You're quite safe.'

  Lorel knew perfectly well that he was laughing at her. And why not? she thought with some irritation. So far, he definitely hadn't seen the best side of her. She had been sarcastic to him when they had first met, then a gibbering wreck on the ferry, when she had had that sudden attack of panic. And now she was over-reacting again, just because he turned out to be occupying the cabin next to hers.

  On the other hand, did it really matter what this man thought of her? She definitely didn't want to impress or dazzle him. Not that there was any chance of that now, she reminded herself ruefully. She didn't know what his opinion of her was, but she was certain it must be pretty low.

  'Have you managed to find the sink yet?' he asked.

  'No, I haven't,' she admitted.

  He came into her cabin, cleared the top of the small mahogany writing-table, and then lifted it up to reveal a marble sink neatly fitted underneath.

  'Thank you,' she said. Her voice came out much stiffer than she had intended. Perhaps it was because he was uncomfortably close. The cabin suddenly seemed far too small to hold the two of them.

  She had the disturbing feeling that he knew exactly how much he was disconcerting her. There was a bright glitter in his eyes again as he turned to face her, and an amused smile touched the corners of his mouth, making it look far less hard and very sexy. Lorel swallowed audibly, and with an effort dragged her gaze away from his face.

  'When you've washed and changed, would you like to join me in the Bar Car, for a drink?' Lewis invited.

  'Why?'

  Her blunt question seemed to surpr
ise him. 'For all the usual reasons,' he said, after a brief pause. 'Do you want me to list them?'

  'I just don't know why you're bothering with me,' she told him, quite truthfully. 'You more or less ignored me on the first part of the journey, and then I was a thorough nuisance on the boat. I thought you'd be trying to avoid me for the rest of the journey, not inviting me to have a drink with you. Or are you just being polite?'

  'I rarely do anything out of politeness,' Lewis replied. His gaze rested on her levelly. 'I asked you because you're beginning to interest me. So—is your answer yes or no?'

  'Well—yes—I suppose so,' she said hesitantly.

  'Then I'll see you later.' He walked back into his own cabin, and as he closed the connecting door he gave her a wicked glance. 'Don't forget to lock it,' he reminded her gently.

  Lorel hurriedly obeyed. Then she was annoyed with herself for behaving like the little prude that he had earlier accused her of being.

  Her face feeling uncomfortably hot, she ran some cold water and then splashed it over her cheeks until she felt them return to their normal temperature.

  'I'm not at all sure I like this man,' she muttered to herself. 'And I wish I wasn't having a drink with him.'

  Since she had already accepted his invitation, though, she decided that perhaps she had better try and show him a new image. The old one certainly hadn't been very impressive? She dug her make-up case out of her bag and settled down to repair the ravages of the journey.

  ' "A little bit of powder and a little bit of paint ‑"' she quoted wryly, as she brushed bronze eyeshadow on to her lids to bring out the golden-brown of her eyes. In the evening, she would change it to gold, which would make them look positively tawny. Then she generously stroked blusher on to her cheeks. After that Channel crossing, they definitely didn't have much natural colour left in them! A touch of mascara, although her thick, dark lashes hardly needed it, and then some lip-gloss to give her mouth a soft shine. Critically, she surveyed the result. 'Not bad,' she murmured. She ran her fingers through the glossy gold-brown curls which fell almost to her shoulders. There wasn't much she could do with her hair except give it a vigorous brushing, and then shake her head so that the curls tumbled naturally back into place.