by Janet Dailey
Then he was drawing back slightly to rest his hard cheekbone against her temple, his lips barely brushing the silken texture of her black hair. While his hands were curved to the hollow of her back, Rachel slipped her arms from around him so she could glide them around his neck.
“I told you it’s what’s in between that counts,” Gard said with a rough edge to his voice that left her in no doubt of his desires. “And you can’t deny there’s something between us.”
“No.” The way she was trembling inside, Rachel couldn’t possibly deny it. Neither could she tell whether it was purely sexual or if there was an emotional fire there as well. Liking a person was often a spontaneous thing; so was physical attraction. But love took a little longer.
“I thought I’d get an argument out of you on that one,” he murmured, absently surprised at her easy agreement, but only she knew the qualification she had attached to it.
When his mouth turned toward her, she welcomed its possession. Her fingers curled into the mahogany thickness of his hair to pull his head down and deepen the kiss. She arched her body more tightly against the vital force of his, her breasts making round impressions on his solid chest. There was a completeness to the moment, the iron feel of a man’s arms about her and the passion of a hungry kiss breathing life into her desires.
Locked together in the heat of their embrace, it was several seconds before either of them became aware of the suppressed titters behind them and the whispered voices. Their lips broke apart as they both turned their heads to see the elderly couple tiptoeing past them. Rachel recognized them as the pair that had been so grateful for her help that morning when she had carried juice to the table for them.
They had seemed a romantic pair despite their advanced age. She didn’t really mind that they had been the ones who had seen her kissing Gard. Still, this was a fairly public place to indulge in such private necking. She lowered her arms to his chest and gently pushed away.
“I think I’d better go to my cabin before I become drunk on all this fresh air,” Rachel murmured.
“It wasn’t the air I found intoxicating,” Gard countered with lazy warmth and let her move out of the circle of his arms.
“I’ll bet you’ve used that line more than once.” The lighthearted feeling prompted her to tease him.
“As an attorney, I’d do well to plead the Fifth Amendment rather than respond to that remark,” he retorted and held out a hand to her. “I’ll walk you to your cabin.”
“No.” Rachel put her hands behind her back, in a little girl gesture, to hide them from his outstretched palm. “I’ll tell you good night here.”
There was a hesitation before he surrendered to her wishes. “I’ll see you at breakfast in the morning . . . Mrs. MacKinley.”
Something in the way he said her name made it different, like it was his name she possessed. Her heart tumbled at the thought, her pulse racing. She schooled her expression to give none of this away to him and smiled instead.
“I’ll see you in the morning.” She avoided speaking his name and swung away to walk to the steps leading to the door.
After she had pulled it open, she paused and turned to look aft. He was standing at the railing where they had been, lighting another cigarette, all male elegance in his black formal suit. The urge was strong to go back to his side, and Rachel lifted her long skirt to step over the raised threshold and walked inside before that urge could override her sense of caution.
At breakfast the next morning Gard extended invitations to his private cocktail party to the three couples at their table. After they had accepted, his roguish glance ran sideways to Rachel.
“Will you come now?” His question mocked her with the proof that she wasn’t the only one invited, as she had once accused.
“Yes, thank you.” She kept her answer simple, knowing how the red-haired woman was hanging on her every word and partly not caring. She’d run into gossips before who simply had to mind everybody’s business but their own.
After last night there was no point in denying her attraction to Gard any longer—and certainly not to herself. She had begun to think that if a relationship developed on the cruise, it wouldn’t necessarily have to end when the ship reached its destination in Acapulco. Both of them lived in Los Angeles. They could continue to see each other after this was over. Part of her worried that it might be dangerous thinking. But Rachel knew she was nearly ready to take the chance.
After she had finished her morning meal, she stopped in the Purser’s Lobby on her way topside to the Sun Deck. For a change no one was waiting at the counter for information. When Rachel asked to speak to the purser, an assistant directed her to his private office.
When she entered, his short, round body bounced off the chair and came around the desk to greet her. “Good morning, Mrs. MacKinley.” His recognition of her was instant, accompanied by a jovial smile. “No more mix-ups, I trust.”
“Only one,” she said, admitting the reason for wanting to see him. “The passenger list posted outside—”
“That oversight has already been corrected,” he interrupted her to explain. “I saw Gard early this morning and he mentioned that he was still listed as being in the cabin assigned to you. I changed that straightaway.”
“Oh.” She hadn’t expected that. “I’m sorry. It seems I’ve taken your time for nothing.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that,” he insisted and walked with her as she turned to leave. “Will I be seeing you at the cocktail party Gard is having tonight?”
“Yes, I’m coming,” she nodded.
“We’ve been giving him a bad time about having a wife on board,” he told her with a broad wink. “His friends have had a good laugh over the mix-up, although I know it was probably awkward for you.”
“It was, at the time,” Rachel admitted, but her attitude had changed since then, probably because her wariness of Gard was not so strong.
“If I can help you again anytime, come see me.” When they reached his office door, he stopped. “I’ll see you tonight.”
“Yes.” She smiled and moved away into the lobby.
As Rachel headed for the gracefully curved staircase rising to the mezzanine of Aloha Deck, her course took her past the board with the passenger list. She paused long enough to see for herself that the cabin number beside Gard’s name had been changed. It was no longer the same as hers.
It was late in the afternoon when the ship’s course brought it close to a land mass. Rachel stood at the railing with the crowd of other passengers and watched as they approached the tip of the Baja Peninsula, Cabo San Lucas.
The cranberry-colored jump-short suit she wore was sleeveless with a stand-up collar veeing to a zippered front. It showed the long, shapely length of her legs and the belted slimness of her waist. Even though her skin was slow to burn in the sun, Rachel had limited her amount of exposure to this hot, tropical sun. As a result her arms and legs had a soft, golden cast.
A brisk breeze was taking some of the heat out of the afternoon. It whipped at her black hair and tugged a few wisps from the constraining ponytail band, blowing them across her face. With an absent brush of her hand she pushed them aside and watched while the ship began its swing around the point of Cabo San Lucas.
Around her the passengers with cameras were snapping pictures of the stunning rock formations. Centuries of erosion by the sea and weather had carved the white rocks, creating towering stacks and spectacular arches to guard the cape. At this point of land, the Sea of Cortez met the waters of the Pacific Ocean.
As the Pacific Princess maneuvered into the bay, giving the passengers a closer look at the sprawling fishing village of San Lucas, Rachel was absently conscious of the person on her left shifting position to make room for someone else. Those with cameras were constantly jockeying for a better position at the rail, and the non-photographers among the passengers generously made room for them. So she thought nothing of this movement until she felt a hand move familiarly onto
the back of her waist.
Her body tensed, her head turning swiftly. The iciness melted from her gray eyes when she saw Gard edge sideways to the railing beside her. She felt the sudden sweep of warm contentment through her limbs and relaxed back into her leaning position on the rail.
“It’s quite a sight, isn’t it?” Rachel said, letting her gaze return to the white cliffs and the small village tumbling down the hillside to the bay. Then she remembered that Gard was a veteran of this cruise. “Although you’ve probably seen it many times before.”
“It’s still impressive.” The soft, husky pitch of his voice seemed to vibrate through her, warm and caressing. “You didn’t come down to lunch.”
“No,” she admitted, conscious of the solid weight of his arm hooked so casually around her waist. “I realized I couldn’t keep eating all these wonderful meals. I have to watch my figure,” she declared lightly, using the trite phrasing.
When she turned her head to look at him again, her pulse quickened at the way his inspecting gaze slowly traveled down the length of her body as if looking for the evidence of an extra pound or two. Her breasts lifted on an indrawn breath that she suddenly couldn’t release. The soft material of her jump-shorts was stretched by the action and pulled tautly over her maturely rounded breasts.
Her stomach muscles tightened as his gaze continued its downward inspection and wandered over the bareness of her thighs. It was more than the mere intimacy latent in his action. He seemed to be taking possession of her, body and soul. Rachel was shaken by the impression. The impact wasn’t lessened when his gaze came back to her face and she saw the faintly possessive gleam in the brown depths of his eyes.
“I don’t see anything wrong with your figure,” he murmured, understating the approval that was so obvious in his look.
Rachel curled her fingers around the railing and tried to keep a hold on reality. “There would be if I started eating three full meals a day.” She stuck to the original subject, not letting him sidetrack her into a more intimate discussion.
“You could always come jogging with me in the mornings and run off that extra meal,” Gard suggested.
“No thanks,” Rachel refused with a faint laugh. “I came on this cruise to rest and relax. I don’t plan to do anything more strenuous than—”
“Making love?” he interrupted to finish the sentence with his suggestion.
Everything jammed up in her throat, blocking her voice and her breath and her pulse. Rachel couldn’t speak; she couldn’t even think. The seductive phrase kept repeating itself in her mind until a resentment finally wedged through her paralyzed silence because he was setting too fast a pace.
“Don’t be putting words in my mouth.” Rachel faced the village, her features wiped clear of any expression.
“Why not?” He continued to study her profile with lazy keenness. “Last night you admitted you had ideas in your head. What’s wrong with saying the words to go along with them?”
The hand on her waist moved in a rubbing caress, its warm pressure seeming to go right through the material to her skin. Rachel felt the curling sensation of desire beginning low in her stomach. A hardened glint came into her gray eyes as she swung her gaze to him.
“Because some ideas are stupid, and I’d rather not turn out to be a fool.” It was too soon for her to know whether she could handle a more intimate relationship with him, and she refused to be rushed into a decision.
His faintly narrowed gaze measured her, then a slow smile spread across his face. “I guess I can’t argue with that.” Gard straightened and let his hand slide from her waist. “Don’t forget cocktails at seven thirty in my suite.”
There was an instant when Rachel had an impulse to change her mind and not go, even though she wanted to attend the party. It was something she couldn’t explain.
“I’ll be there.” She nodded.
“Good.” He glanced at the watch on his wrist, then back to her. “I’ll see you in a couple of hours then. In the meantime, I’d better go shower and dress—and make sure there’s plenty of mix and snacks on hand.”
“Okay.” Rachel didn’t suggest that he leave the party preparations until later and stay with her a little longer.
His gaze lingered on her, as if waiting for her to say there was plenty of time. Then he was leaving her and walking away from the railing.
Soberly she watched him striding away, her gaze wandering over the broad set of his shoulders beneath the form-fitting knit shirt. Somehow Rachel had the feeling that Gard was skilled at playing the waiting game. She began to wonder whether he wasn’t patiently wearing down her resistance—and an affair was a foregone conclusion.
Troubled by the thought, her eyes darkened somberly as she swung back to the rail. A wrinkled hand patted the forearm she rested on the smooth wood, drawing Rachel’s startled glance to the elderly woman beside her. There was no sign of her husband, but Rachel recognized the woman instantly as half of the couple she’d helped the day before.
“Don’t be too hard on your husband, Mrs. MacKinley.” Her look was filled with sympathetic understanding. “I’m certain he truly cares for you. If you try hard enough, I know you will find a way to work out your problems. You make such a lovely couple.”
“I—” Rachel was dumbfounded and lost for words.
But the woman didn’t expect her to say anything. “Poppa and I have had our share of arguments over the years. Sometimes he has made me so angry that I didn’t want to see him again, but it passes,” she assured Rachel. “No marriage is wonderful all the time. In fact, often it is only some of the time.” A tiny smile touched her mouth as she confided her experience.
“I’m sure that’s true.” Rachel’s expression softened. There were always highs and lows, but most of the time marriages were on a level plateau.
“One thing I do know,” the woman insisted with a scolding shake of her finger. “You will solve nothing by sleeping in one cabin while your husband sleeps in another.”
At last Rachel understood what this was all about. The woman had obviously seen the corrected passenger list and noticed that Gard was in a different cabin. She tried very hard not to smile.
“I’m sure everything will work out for the best. Thank you for caring,” she murmured.
“Just remember what I said,” the woman reminded her and toddled off.
Chapter Six
Punctuality had always been important to Rachel. At half past seven on the dot she walked into the passageway running lengthwise of the Bridge Deck and stopped at the first door on her right. It stood open, the sound of voices coming from inside the suite, signaling the arrival of other guests ahead of her.
Uncertain whether to knock or just walk in, Rachel hesitated, then opted for the latter and walked into the suite unannounced. Four ship’s officers in white uniforms were standing with Gard in the large sitting room, drinks in hand while they munched on the assorted cheeses and hors d’oeuvres arranged on trays on a round dining table.
When Gard turned and saw her, a smile touched the corners of his eyes. He separated himself from the group and crossed the room to greet her. Although Rachel was used to being the lone woman in business meetings, the feeling was different in a social situation.
“You did say seven thirty,” she said to Gard, conscious of the smiling stares of the, so far, all-male guests.
“I did.” He nodded as his gaze swept over her dress, patterned in an updated version of a turn-of-the-century style out of a raspberry-ice crepe.
The high-buttoned collar rose above a deeply veed yoke created by tiny rows of pleated tucks and outlined with a ruffle. The tucks and ruffles were repeated again in the cuffs of the long sleeves. A narrow sash, tied in a bow at her waist, let the soft material flow to a knee-length skirt. In keeping with the dress’s style, Rachel had loosely piled her ebony-dark hair onto her head in an upsweep. A muted shade of raspberry eye shadow on her lids brought a hint of amethyst into the soft gray of her eyes.
&
nbsp; “You look lovely,” Gard said with a quirking smile that matched the dryly amused gleam in his eyes. “But I can’t help wondering if that touch-me-not dress you’re wearing is supposed to give me a message.”
His remark made Rachel wonder if she hadn’t subconsciously chosen this particular dress, which covered practically every inch of her body, for that very reason. But that would indicate that she felt sexually threatened by her own inner desires, which she was trying to keep locked in.
“Hardly,” she replied. “You’d probably see it as a challenge.”
“You could be right there,” he conceded, then took her by the arm to lead her over to his other guests. “I have some friends I’d like you to meet.”
He introduced her to the four officers, including the purser, Jake Franklin, whom she’d already met. But it was Gard’s close friend, Hank Scarborough, who put a quick end to polite formalities and meaningless phrases of acknowledged introductions.
“Ever since I heard about you, Mrs. MacKinley, I’ve been anxious to meet you.” Hank Scarborough was Gard’s age, in his middle to late thirties, not quite as tall and more compactly built, with sandy-fair hair and an engaging smile. There was a gleam of deviltry in his eye that seemed to hint that he was fond of a good story. “You more than live up to your reputation.”
“Thank you,” Rachel said, not sure whether she should take that as a compliment.
“I admit I was curious about a woman who would first pass herself off as Gard’s wife, then boot him out of his own cabin with not so much as a ‘by your leave.’” He grinned to let her see that he knew the whole story and the unusual circumstances. His mocking glance slid to Gard. “You should have kept her for your wife.”
“Give me time, Hank,” he advised.
A sliver of excitement pierced Rachel’s calm at Gard’s easy and confident reply. She had to remind herself that he was just going along with the razzing. It did not necessarily mean that he was developing a serious interest in her. When his dark gaze swung to her, she was able to meet it smoothly.
