Marcus

by Kate Hoffmann

  “Today is a new day,” Eden murmured. Her confidence bolstered, she climbed out of bed and shimmied out of her sundress. A quick search of her cabin turned up a pale blue bikini, one of her more conservative choices in swimwear. She stepped into the bottoms and pulled them up, then slipped into the top. She could go topless, but it would be much more fun to let Marcus fantasize about what was beneath the tiny scraps of fabric-and then let him undress her later.

  She wandered through the cabin, listening for Marcus, but the boat was quiet, the clanging of the rigging the only sound. A quick check of the deck turned up nothing. She saw the note on the chalkboard when she stopped in the galley for coffee. “Went to town,” she read. “Be back before lunch. Call me if you need something.” He’d written his cell phone number on the bottom of the note, signing it with an M.

  She stared down at his handwriting, running her fingers across the casual scrawl. A fleeting sense of loneliness settled in her heart and Eden brushed it aside. So she’d grown used to having him around. He wasn’t unpleasant to look at and he had a certain masculine charm that she found appealing. But it wouldn’t do to get too attached to him. After all, they moved in different circles and lived in different worlds.

  Eden sat down on the sofa, impatient for her day to begin. She didn’t like being alone. When she was alone, her mind wandered to all her troubles, to the horrible stories that were probably being told in the media, to the anger and frustration that her father was no doubt feeling right now. But then, maybe the story hadn’t reached the States.

  With a soft curse, Eden stood up and strode to the crew cabin at the bow of the boat, standing outside Marcus’s berth for a long moment before opening the door. She couldn’t help but be curious. He wasn’t much for conversation, so there would probably be very little forthcoming from him. Maybe there were a few clues to the man hidden amongst his belongings. Hesitantly Eden stepped inside and shut the door behind her.

  The cabin was small, about a quarter the size of the stateroom she’d taken in the aft section of the yacht. His clothes were scattered all over, draped from the upper bunk and tossed into half-open drawers. Eden grabbed a shirt she recognized and pressed it to her nose. She breathed in a scent of his soap mixed with the fresh smell of salt air.

  Twisting the shirt in her hands, she moved to the small cabinet next to the berth and picked through his selection of bedtime reading: a dog-eared paperback by Tom Clancy, two Horatio Hornblower books that she recognized from the ship’s library and a book on antique tools. Beneath the books, Eden found a stack of magazines and flipped through them. “Wooden Boat, Science Digest, The New Yorker,” she read, happy to see there were no girlie magazines. But when she reached the bottom of the pile, Eden froze. “The National Inquisitor.”

  Her heart twisted in her chest, making it difficult to breathe. The headline was splashed across the top half of the cover. “Eden’s Sexcapade Caught on Tape.” Below the headline was the horribly grainy photo of her and Ricardo locked in a steamy embrace, the same photo that had appeared in the European magazines. She knew it was her. The Cartier watch was a dead giveaway.

  Strange how she’d reached the level of celebrity where she’d become known by her first name only. There was no mistaking who they were talking about. There was only one Eden stupid enough to get herself mixed up in such a mess.

  She slowly sat down on the edge of the bunk. What was Marcus doing with this? Had he picked it up at the grocery store yesterday? If he had, then that meant her father probably knew all about it by now. Tears of humiliation pressed at the corners of her eyes.

  She’d come looking for clues about him and instead found everything he needed to pass judgment on her, all the sordid little details of her past, regurgitated once again for the public to savor. A sob welled up in her throat and she hurried out of the cabin, his shirt and the tabloid still clutched in her hands.

  “Why the hell did he have to be here?” she muttered as she strode back to her stateroom. She’d wanted to spend some time alone, to figure out how to deal with the mess she’d made of her life. And now, because Marcus Quinn was here, she’d be forced to explain it all to him-a complete stranger!

  Well, she certainly didn’t owe him any explanations. And if he came looking for them, then she just wouldn’t be here to make them. Eden grabbed her bags from beneath the berth and tossed them onto the bed. She didn’t bother to fold her clothes. The sooner she got off the boat, the better.

  But as she stuffed her underwear into the suitcase, Eden realized that she couldn’t get off the boat with her belongings unless she threw her suitcases overboard and floated them back to the dock. Marcus had taken the dinghy.

  She wasn’t about to ruin a custom-made set of Goyard. She loved her luggage. Over the past few years, it had been the only constant in her life, and balanced against the humiliation of seeing Marcus again, she’d definitely choose to save the luggage rather than save face.

  Eden grabbed a pair of faded jeans and a T-shirt and tugged them on. It was always best to dress down when she traveled. With sunglasses, a hat and a wrinkled linen jacket, she had about a twenty-percent chance of going unnoticed. She would head back to Manhattan, get a suite at the Belleville and hide out for a few days until she figured out her next move.

  It wasn’t the Ritz or the Four Seasons or the Peninsula, but she’d be safe there. The staff at the trendy Hotel Belleville were perfectly discreet, and she loved the Frette bathrobes and the French breakfasts and the handsome Italian concierge who always did his best to make her laugh. And the hotel was usually off the tabloid radar.

  Once she was dressed and packed, Eden dragged her luggage up to the cockpit. She was nearly finished when she heard the dinghy approach. Marcus waved at her, but Eden didn’t respond, watching him from behind the dark lenses of her sunglasses. He tied the dinghy behind the boat and crawled up the swim ladder, swinging a gallon of varnish up onto the deck.

  He saw her luggage and stopped, a frown creasing his brow. “Are you going somewhere?” he asked, stepping into the cockpit.

  Eden avoided his gaze. In fact, she avoided looking at him at all, avoided his broad shoulders and his narrow hips, his thick hair curled at the nape of his neck and his deep blue eyes. Even now, in the midst of her hurt and humiliation, she ached to touch him.

  “I’m leaving,” she murmured. “I was just waiting for you to get back with the dinghy.”

  “Life on board gotten a little too boring for you?” he asked.

  She heard the sarcasm in his voice and it cut deep. Of course that’s what he’d think. He’d assume she was ready to jet back to Europe and throw herself into the middle of another scandal. “It’s just time to leave,” she said.

  “Does this have anything to do with what happened last night?” Marcus asked. “Because I realize it didn’t mean anything to you. And that’s all right. We were just…scratching an itch.”

  “It’s nice to know that you think of me as an itch,” she said. “It’s better than a slut or a whore.”

  He blinked, taken aback by her candor. “What are you talking about? I never-”

  “Oh, be honest, Barney. You can tell me what you really think of me. Everyone else seems to have an opinion. I bet the clerk at the grocery store thinks she knows me well enough to comment. And the guy at the gas station, I’m sure he has a few choice words.” Eden reached down and grabbed the copy of the Inquisitor from the front pocket of her tote, then tossed it at him. “I found that in your cabin. I’m sure it was much more entertaining than the Tom Clancy novel.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe you spent money on that. I would have told you the truth for free had you asked.”

  “I didn’t buy that,” he said.

  “Oh, are they giving them away on every street corner? I shouldn’t be surprised. Hometown girl gone bad. Makes an interesting story.” Eden grabbed her bags and hauled them to the stern of the boat, then struggled to crawl down the swim ladder to the dinghy. But the weight of he
r suitcase set her off balance and she nearly lost her grip on the ladder. An instant later, Marcus grabbed the bag and pulled it back on board.

  “Give me my suitcase,” she said. “I want to leave.”

  “You don’t have to leave,” he said.

  Eden stared up at him for a long moment. In truth, she didn’t want to go for so many reasons. The prospect of facing the public was terrifying to her. The photographers would hound her twenty-four hours a day. People would stare and point and laugh-and then they’d have the nerve to ask her for an autograph or a photo. Eden wasn’t sure she possessed the energy to get through it without falling apart at the seams.

  But the prospect of staying with Marcus was even more difficult to bear. He’d look at her differently now. He’d wonder whether what they shared was something she’d shared with other men. He’d question her motives every time she touched him. And in the end, distrust and jealousy would set in and everything good would be ruined.

  “Give me my luggage,” she said.

  Marcus shook his head. “I can’t do that.”

  “Fine. Then I’ll leave without it. Once I get settled, I’ll send for it.” She jumped off the bottom of the ladder into the dinghy, then sat down in the back of the little fiberglass boat and stared at the outboard. She’d ridden in the dinghy in the past, but someone else had always ferried her back and forth to the ketch.

  She reached for the starter cord and gave it a yank, but it snapped back and nearly pulled her shoulder out of joint in the process. She pulled again, but the same thing happened. Tears threatened and Eden swallowed them back. She stood up, prepared to swim back to shore, but his voice stopped her.

  “It doesn’t make any difference,” he said.

  Eden drew a shaky breath and looked up at him. “What?”

  “What I read in that tabloid. I know that’s not you, Eden. At least not all of it. And maybe the rest is what was you, last week or last month or last year.”

  “Three years ago,” she said.

  He nodded. “That’s a long time ago.”

  “You don’t know me,” she said.

  “I realize that. But that could change…if you stayed.”

  “Are you asking me to stay because you want to sleep with me?”

  Marcus chuckled and shook his head. “Are you under the impression that all men want to sleep with you?”

  “No,” she said, a reluctant smile twitching at the corners of her mouth. “The gay ones don’t. And probably most of the guys over seventy don’t. But the rest do. They may not admit it, but they would if presented with the opportunity.”

  “You have a very high opinion of yourself, don’t you, Princess?” Marcus said, holding out his hand.

  Reluctantly she placed her fingers in his outstretched palm. He smiled at her and suddenly her anger and humiliation dissolved. “I prefer to think of it as a good grasp of the reality that is my life.” She stepped back onto the ladder and he helped her into the cockpit.

  Eden stood in front of him, her hand still tucked in his, his eyes locked on hers. She felt her knees tremble as he leaned toward her and she knew she was about to be kissed. But all her emotions had been rubbed raw, and if he kissed her, Eden knew it wouldn’t stop there. She wanted more, something to soothe the pain and make her forget. But she and Marcus had formed a friendship of sorts, a trust that went beyond their physical attraction. That’s what she needed to sustain her right now.

  She stepped back, tugging her hand from his. “If I’m going to stay, maybe we shouldn’t…you know…”

  “What? We shouldn’t swim after eating? Shouldn’t eat mangoes unless they’re ripe? Shouldn’t watch television in the dark?” he prompted teasingly.

  “I usually rush into things without thinking,” she said. “And look where it’s gotten me. Maybe we should…take a breath? Slow down a bit?”

  He considered her request for a long moment. Eden couldn’t tell if he was disappointed or indifferent. “Well, if that’s the deal, then you’d better start wearing clothes while you’re on board. No more skinny-dipping, no more topless sunbathing, no more transparent little dresses without underwear. And no more morning coffee in the nude.”

  “Then you’re all right with slowing things down?” Eden asked.

  “It’s not my decision,” he said. “It’s yours.”

  She considered his answer for a long moment. Suddenly she didn’t want to slow down. If anything, she wanted him more than she had before he’d gotten all noble and heroic on her. “If I want to sunbathe topless, I certainly can,” Eden said.

  “Then don’t expect me to keep my hands to myself,” Marcus warned.

  Eden stared at him, trying to keep from smiling. She felt so alive inside when they were at odds, the anticipation of surrender enhanced by antagonism. “You forget that you only work here, Barney. This is my father’s boat and I can do whatever I please. If I want to take off all my clothes right now, I could. And there wouldn’t be anything you could do about it.”

  “First, you’re usually wearing next to nothing anyway, so it wouldn’t come as much of a shock. Second, I’ve seen it all before. And finally, if you choose to do this, then be prepared to suffer the consequences.” Marcus grabbed the gallon of varnish he’d brought on board and turned toward the foredeck.

  Eden stared after him. The consequences? Somehow she couldn’t quite believe that the consequences would cause any sort of suffering at all. In truth, the consequences of tempting Marcus Quinn would probably be sheer, unadulterated pleasure.

  With a sigh, Eden picked up a suitcase and dragged it to the aft companionway. It was only a matter of time. And any thoughts that either one of them had about keeping their relationship platonic were simply the fantasies of two very deluded people.

  MARCUS SAT CROSS-LEGGED on the foredeck, his back braced against the side of the cabin, a small slab of teak jammed up against a stanchion. He’d been working on a series of carvings for the cabinetry above the double berth in the master suite-fish and crustaceans and other underwater life. He’d been working on the crab for the past few days and was nearly finished.

  A shadow blocked his light, and he glanced up to see Eden standing over him. “That’s nice, Barney,” she said.

  “Thanks.” Marcus squinted against the setting sun. “You’re in my light.”

  “I thought you might like some dinner. I made a salad and some sandwiches.”

  He levered to his feet and brushed the wood shavings from his lap. “Yeah, I could eat.”

  Their fight earlier that day had been forgotten and Eden seemed to be much more relaxed. He couldn’t say the same for himself. He found himself aching to touch her again, but then he remembered the agreement.

  Hell, it wasn’t an agreement at all. Instead, it had become some sick brand of sadomasochistic torture.

  It was as if they’d silently agreed it wouldn’t happen and now they were just prolonging the agony to make it more pleasurable for the both of them when it did. Marcus had spent every hour since she’d come on board thinking about stripping off her clothes and yanking her down on the bed and slowly burying himself inside her. If they didn’t consummate this relationship soon, Marcus was going to be left with no choice but to take matters into his own hands-or hand.

  Marcus followed Eden back to the cockpit as he pondered their relationship. It was a word he’d avoided for so long, but there was no other way to describe what they’d been sharing. They did seem to get along-they talked and laughed all the time. And there was an undeniable sexual chemistry between them. He wanted her more than he could ever remember wanting a woman. Didn’t that pretty much define what a relationship was? Sure, it was primarily based on uncontrolled lust, but that wasn’t all bad, was it?

  When he stepped into the cockpit, Marcus noticed the table she’d set, this one much less elaborate than the one last night. Candles flickered from little glass cups, and a bottle of wine had been uncorked. Eden pointed to a spot beside her at the table. He s
at down and poured himself a glass of wine, then filled her glass, as well.

  “Should we make a toast?” he asked.

  “And what would we toast?” she asked, sliding into place next to him.

  He held up his glass. “To…friendship,” Marcus said.

  Eden raised her eyebrow, then shrugged. “All right. To friendship.”

  Marcus took a quick taste of the wine, then dug into the salad she’d prepared. He’d never been much for lettuce, but it tasted pretty good, kind of tangy and sweet at the same time. She’d made a ham-and-cheese sandwich with the Italian bread he’d bought, but she’d sliced little dill pickles onto the sandwich, adding a taste that wasn’t all that bad.

  She watched him as he ate, slowly sipping her wine and picking at her salad. “It’s good,” he said.

  “Contrary to popular belief, I’m not a useless bimbo who only knows how to shop and party.”

  “That’s not what I think of you,” he said.

  “I’m an expert at grilled cheese and hot dogs and that’s about it. My mother was gone a lot, so I usually ate supper with Maria, our housekeeper in Malibu. She used to make the best Mexican food.”

  “I love Mexican food,” Marcus said.

  “Well, I ate it, but I never learned to cook it. Another thing I’m completely mediocre at.”

  Marcus grabbed his glass and sat back in his chair. “Why do you do that?”

  “What?”

  “Talk about yourself in such a negative way. I know you’re not useless or a bimbo. And I know there are a lot of things you probably do very well.”

  “Do you? I don’t think you really know me at all.”

  “Then tell me,” Marcus said, setting his fork down. “I’d like to know more about you.”

  She regarded him with a suspicious look. “You want to know about the videotape, don’t you?”

  “If that’s where you want to start, then go for it,” Marcus said.