Melinda shook her head. “No.”
“He’s your husband—”
Melinda shook her head emphatically. “Connie, honestly, neither one of us knew it, so it doesn’t count.”
Connie grinned suddenly. “You know, you’re not half the shrew you’re supposed to be. Not that Roc ever said anything about you, you know. But we all kind of knew the story. And I didn’t mean that. About being half a shrew. You’re not a shrew at all, but even other divers are kind of in awe of your abilities, and I guess men think a woman has to be tough and—oh, wow, I’m not getting myself out of this at all, am I?”
Melinda, grinning, shook her head.
“I’m buying a pack of this stuff, from the soap and bubble bath on down.”
“Not for me.”
“For you. On your husband’s credit card.”
“But—”
“Well, you are sleeping with him again, aren’t you?” Connie demanded.
This was absurd. She felt like laughing while she turned every color of crimson, also while turning swiftly around to see just who else might have heard Connie’s question.
“Connie—”
“Trust me! He won’t mind.”
There was no stopping the woman. Melinda stayed with her to make sure she didn’t buy out the store; then they left, and in the next shop Connie found a bikini she thought would be perfect for Melinda. She also insisted that Melinda couldn’t keep diving in the same bathing suit over and over again, so in the end, Connie bought the suit, but Melinda insisted that she would pay her back just as soon as she got hold of some of her own money.
“Roc pays really well—”
“So does my father!” Melinda assured her.
They spent another hour poking around as if they were tourists. Melinda discovered that though Connie had been to Nassau a dozen times, she’d never managed to hear much of its history, so Melinda told her about the wild pirate days. The island had been in bad shape when Woodes Rogers, the first royal governor of the Bahamas, arrived in Nassau in 1718, determined to make it a decent place to live. He was so determined that he made the pirates clean up the island, even managing to make a few of them clean up themselves.
They wandered past some of the beautiful buildings from the late 1700s, and Melinda told her that many of the American colonists who had been loyal to Great Britain during the Revolutionary War had hurried here once their cause had been lost. At last they turned toward their hotel.
Bruce met them in the lobby. He’d already showered and shaved and settled in, so it seemed, and he was just waiting to give them their keys before moving out to the terrace for a few drinks beneath the coolness of the ceiling fans. Connie promised to join him shortly, and Bruce shrugged. “We’ve got dinner reservations in the Turtle Room for eight. Just be there,” he warned.
Melinda and Connie left Bruce in the lobby, then parted from each other in the elevator. Connie got off on the second floor, and as the elevator took her up to the seventh floor—the highest—Melinda mused at Roc’s choice. He tended to like things that were old and atmospheric, but this was one of the new hotels, beautiful but modern.
When she turned her key in the door and entered her room, she paused, biting her lip, all at once understanding his choice.
The room was heaven.
Huge windows overlooked the harbor and the beautiful old buildings, the whole bustle of the place. There was a door to her left leading to a spacious bathroom, and the king-size bed was to the right of the magnificent windows, while there was a huge Jacuzzi to the left of them. A wet bar flanked the rear wall, while a large-screen TV and video system was set across from the bed.
“Wow!” she murmured softly.
She dropped her duffel bag of borrowed belongings and walked over to the tub, reading the instructions on how to use it. It was wonderfully tempting. She set the water and the temperature, then brought over a few of the Passion Flower bubble cubes. She was just about to strip and plunge in when there was a soft knock on the door.
She opened it to find a bellman there with a package for her.
“There must be a mistake—” she began.
“No, ma’am. Your husband sent this. There’s a card.”
“Oh!” she murmured. Where was Roc? And what was he up to now? She felt a too familiar trembling seize hold of her. Some moments could be so perfect. So unbelievably perfect. Then she would see his eyes on her, see the suspicion in them, and she would wonder—no, she would know!—that he doubted her again, and her heart would sink, because she was so afraid that he could never really trust her again.
“Oh,” she said again, taking the package from the man. “I’m so sorry,” she said awkwardly, “I don’t have a cent on me at the moment. If you’ll give me your name—”
“I’m all taken care of, lady,” he assured her swiftly, with a wide smile. “Enjoy.”
She closed the door, studying the package. Then she walked to the bed and ripped the paper off with a burning curiosity.
It was a dress. The fabric was a wild mixture of exotic colors, turquoises and blues and greens, fashioned into a strapless creation with a short flared skirt. It was made of the softest silk, with a petticoat to go under the skirt. There were also a number of skimpy silk panties in the bundle, and a pair of white sandals.
And a note.
Size 7 on the dress, 8 on the shoes. I’m sure memory serves me correctly. Please accept these, as I’m anxious for Mrs. Trellyn to appear tonight in her own clothing, and they are offered with all good heart. See you soon, Roc.
Melinda set the package down softly, her fingers moving over the cool silk. It was a beautiful dress, and it would be perfect for her. He’d always had an eye for clothing.
“Offered with all good heart …” she whispered aloud. “And what do you think that means?” she asked the dress. “I’m not after a present—I’m after a lifetime!”
She set the dress down, certain that it wasn’t proper to accept such a present from a husband she had just discovered was still hers.
Or was he?
She clenched her teeth tightly, wondering if she wanted a relationship that was constantly embittered by suspicion and feeling a moment’s desolation as she wondered if there could possibly be any way back.
Yet that afternoon …
Things could be so wonderful. Maybe she did have a chance. She’d tried so hard not to respond to many of his comments. Just as she’d tried so hard that afternoon not to let the words slip from her lips. I love you …
She had been so close to whispering them, so close to giving away the truth—along with her heart, her soul and her pride. It had to wait, she knew. Had to wait until he believed in her again.
Until maybe he could fall in love with her again. She’d revealed a great deal about how she’d spent the time they’d been apart from one another—and he hadn’t told her a thing.
She sat at the foot of the bed, feeling overwhelmed for a moment. Then she looked at the tub, filled with Passion Flower bubbles, and she stripped off her shorts and shirt and stepped in.
The water was hot. She winced, then felt the steam crawl all over her. It was a delicious, soothing feeling. She sank down, closed her eyes and appreciated the sheer physical comfort, then opened her eyes again and appreciated the size of the tub. It was oval, surrounded by beautiful tile and handsome brass racks for towels and robes, and small brass shelves for soaps and shampoos. The bubbles broke around her, their sweet scent rising to her.
Please, God, she thought suddenly, don’t let me fail him. She closed her eyes, thinking again of the night when he had left, how she had been so certain that he wouldn’t go.…
Her father had told her within a few weeks that he had colored the truth a little and that she should give Roc a call.
She’d been so hurt then. Devastated. And determined that no one would know.
Then again, what she had said today had been the truth. Her father had behaved badly, though he wasn’t a bad m
an. He had loved Roc like a son, taken him beneath his wing.
“Stubborn!” she said softly.
She closed her eyes again, savoring the heat. Then she heard a key twisting in the lock, and she looked up quickly. The door opened and closed.
Roc was there.
He strode in, surveying the room swiftly. He was clad in cutoff jeans and a plaid denim shirt and brown scuffs. His hair was too long and delightfully askew over his forehead.
She felt that trembling begin inside her again. Then the aching. The longing.
She had loved him so much. She still did.
“Like it?” he asked her, throwing his duffel bag down on the end of the elegant king-size bed.
“It’s great,” she said, her arms stretched out on the tub’s tile rim, a small sea of bubbles around her.
He walked over to the plate glass windows to see the view of the city, now darkening with the sunset and coming to life with artificial light.
“Thanks for the dress,” she told him.
He spun around. She thought again how much she liked every little thing about him, the stubborn curve of his chin, the inky color of his hair, the vivid blue of his eyes. The handsome breadth of his shoulders beneath his shirt.
He arched a brow. “Do you like it?”
She wanted to say something flippant, but only nodded.
Suddenly he started undoing the buttons of his shirt, then gave up and wrenched it over his head. He kicked off his sandals and unzipped his fly, stepped from his shorts and briefs and walked over to the tub.
She bit her lower lip, fighting the wave of hot shivers that seized her. He was entirely bronzed—except for that white streak around his hips and sex—and there wasn’t a half-inch on him that could be pinched. Muscle corded his throat and shoulders and even the flatness of his belly.
She lowered her lashes quickly, wishing he didn’t affect her the way he did, almost wishing she had kept her distance.
He might want her again. Wanting was easy enough.
But she wanted more. She wanted him to love her. She didn’t want to be his wife because they had both forgotten to get a divorce—she wanted to be his wife because he loved her still.
As much as she loved him.
There was no way to tell him that now. Too much lay between them.
But as he sank into the water with her, an easy smile rose to her lips.
“The dress is great,” she heard herself saying huskily. “Thanks. I mean, under the circumstances, I really don’t have much to wear. I’ll pay you back—”
“You’re crew at the moment,” he told her. “You don’t owe me anything.” He winced briefly at the heat of the water, then slid over to sit in front of one of the jets. She saw the tension ease from his face as he said, “Ah!” softly.
“Well, we’ll see,” she murmured.
His eyes had been closed, his head back, resting on the tiles. He opened them suddenly.
“Have you tried it on?”
“Not yet. I saw the tub and …”
He grinned, lacing his fingers behind his head, leaning back again. “Definitely inviting.”
She nodded.
He frowned suddenly, inhaling deeply. He arched a brow at her. “What am I bathing in?” he asked.
She grinned. “Passion Flower,” she told him.
He groaned.
“You don’t like it?” she whispered. “Connie thought it was great. In fact, Connie told me that as crew, I could buy some and put it on your credit card.”
He was silent, but his grin deepened, and his eyes were on hers. “I like it on you.”
“Do you always buy bubble bath for your crew?”
“Depends on the crew member.”
She started to rise, but he swiftly moved a foot, and to her surprise she found herself falling back into the slick tub.
“To the best of my knowledge, you’re the only crew member for whom I’ve ever purchased bubble bath.”
She sat still, staring at him. A moment later she felt his toes again, inching along her calf. His eyes met hers, and he smiled wolfishly.
Then she felt his toe along her inner thigh. Her upper thigh. Touching her intimately.
“Roc …” she whispered.
He grinned and came across the tub. “We’ve got to make love,” he assured her, straddling her in the swirling water. “After all, we both smell like Passion Flower!”
She started to laugh, but then his lips sealed her laughter in her mouth, and the fullness of his body filled her with the same steaming heat that lapped around her. Her laughter was swallowed by the ecstasy that filled her, the hunger, the sweet delight. And eons later, when darkness filled the room and she lay dazed and sated and serene in the security of his arms on the expanse of the huge bed, she heard him sigh.
“I had Bruce make dinner reservations for eight. I think I’d best shower off my perfumed bubbles before we meet the gang, eh, Ms. Daven—Mrs. Trellyn?”
She felt tears sting her eyes and nodded in the darkness, hoping he didn’t notice them.
He left her, striding toward the shower.
She waited a few minutes, then slipped in with him, her bar of Passion Flower in her hand while he used the soap provided by the hotel.
He looked curiously at her.
She shrugged. “Well, it worked once!” she said mischievously.
She found herself in his arms once again. “Melinda, the scent is nice. Sexy. Alluring. But you know what?”
“What?”
“You don’t need a single whiff of it!”
His lips touched hers.
Why, in God’s name, had they stayed apart so long?
She drew away from him, trembling again. “Dinner, eight o’clock,” she reminded him.
“Eight o’clock,” he agreed.
She stepped out of the shower, leaving him there. She made good use of the rest of her Passion Flower assortment, the talc and the body lotion. Then she slipped into a pair of the new silk panties, the elegant strapless dress and the sandals. When he emerged at last in a towel, she was brushing her hair and awaiting his appearance.
“Wow,” he said softly.
She twirled for him. “You’ve always had great taste,” she assured him somewhat primly.
“Yes,” he said softly. “I have, haven’t I?”
She started to smile as he walked over to her, then kissed her lightly. “Why don’t you go on down before I get too tempted not to dress? I’ll bet Connie’s anxiously awaiting you by now.”
“I’ll wait,” Melinda told him.
He groaned. “No, do me a favor, get out of here!”
She smiled, finding it very hard to leave. “All right,” she told him at last. As she walked toward the door, she could feel his eyes upon her. She paused, turning back. I love you! she nearly cried, but she held back the words. “We’ll be waiting,” she told him.
She left him then, and hurried down to the Turtle Room. It was easy to find their table; the others were all there, Bruce handsome in a casual white suit, Connie lovely in a crimson flower creation, and the Tobagos a very striking couple, he in casual beige, she in striking red.
“Come, sit!” Marina called across the room to her as she entered. She hurried to their table. Bright tropical flowers adorned it. When she sat, she discovered that Connie had already ordered her the house specialty to drink. She wasn’t at all sure what it was, but it was a soft orange color, and filled with pineapples and cherries and oranges. She took a sip and found it a little sweet, but good. Across the room, a calypso band was playing. The night seemed so easy, so perfect.
“Turtle steak is the specialty,” Connie told her over the music.
Melinda made a face. “I’ve had it before. Not my favorite. I can’t help feeling sorry for the turtle.”
“What about cows? Have you ever seen animals with more soulful eyes?” Connie demanded.
Melinda laughed. “I don’t dare think about it!” she admitted.
A mom
ent later Roc arrived. He was wearing a light blue sport jacket and a striped shirt, no tie and darker trousers. Somehow, despite the fact that he’d packed in a duffel bag, he appeared pressed and relaxed and very handsome, his jacket emphasizing the striking color of his eyes.
He drew out the chair next to Melinda. “Have we ordered yet?”
She shook her head. “Dolphin?” she suggested.
He nodded. “The fish, of course. Not like our friend out at sea today. I learned something about him, by the way.”
Her brows shot up.
“They call him Hambone. Everyone thinks he must have been in an aquarium somewhere. He’s played with a number of the divers and spear fishermen around here.”
“Maybe he’ll stick with us!” Connie suggested.
“Maybe he’s good luck,” Marina said.
“Maybe,” Roc agreed. Melinda felt his fingers squeeze her thigh. He reached over and sipped her drink, then made a face.
“What is it?”
“I’m not at all sure.”
He grinned. Their waiter was there, and he ordered the dolphin oreganato and a beer. She ordered the dolphin, too. The rest of the table went for turtle steaks.
They talked about the dolphin, Hambone, and they talked about diving again, and Roc, his hand still resting lightly on her knee, mentioned that he was grateful for Melinda’s finding the spoon, or else he would be worrying now that he was chasing a figment of his imagination.
His eyes touched hers. Cobalt. Warm.
It was a wonderful night.
They finished their food, then ordered exotic coffees. The band was playing, and people were dancing.
Roc stood at a slow number and reached down to her. She took his hand and rose swiftly, following him to the dance floor, where she leaned against his chest. His hand moved tenderly over the hair at her nape as they drifted together.
“Nice night!” he murmured.
“Very nice,” she whispered against the fabric of his jacket.
Yet she had barely spoken when she suddenly felt him stiffen and go dead still.
Suddenly she realized that someone had tapped him on the shoulder.
“Excuse me, may I cut in, Trellyn? It seems you’re dancing with a friend of mine!”
Between Roc and a Hard Place Page 12
