by Nicola Marsh
But Lana wasn’t Magda, and he owed it to her—to himself—to let her make the decision.
Rubbing a hand across the back of his neck, he sank into the nearest chair, leaned back and focussed on the control panel in front of him.
He had to give her the option—had to know he’d tried his damnedest to make it work with this quick-witted, infuriatingly shy, naturally beautiful woman. She was worth it—every unaffected inch of her.
He just hoped she cared enough to take the risk.
CHAPTER TEN
FEELING like a pawn in a romantic game of her own making, the last thing Lana wanted to do several mornings later was play chess, but she had a game scheduled with Mavis and she hated to let her down.
She plopped into a comfy armchair and ordered a double espresso from a waiter, hoping the after-affects of yet another sleepless night didn’t show. She’d had to use concealer to hide the dark rings under her eyes for the first time ever. Beth would be proud she even knew what the stuff was for.
‘Guess what arrived at my door this morning?’
Lana screwed her eyes tight, pretending to think. ‘Let me guess. One of those dance hosts you’re so fond of?’
Mavis roared with laughter. ‘Bad girl. Next best thing, though: an invitation to the Captain’s cocktail party tonight. I’m sure there’ll be a few eligible men there to bat my eyelashes at.’
‘You’re supposed to be setting me a good example.’
‘Hah!’ Mavis snorted. ‘I think it’s too late for you, my girl. You don’t need any lessons, if that happy glow is any indication. I take it your tour went well the other day?’
The tour? It seemed like a lifetime ago, considering what had happened since. The chat they’d had the night the ship had left Suva had been replayed at will, over and over, till she wondered if she was going crazy. Luckily Zac had been tied up with work since, and she’d barely seen him. Maybe telling him she felt emotionally involved with him had been a good thing? Perhaps it had driven him away once and for all?
Indecision tore at her. She wanted to tell her friend everything, but was still trying to understand it herself, so she gave her a brief version of events instead. Mavis nodded in all the right spots, waiting till she’d finished.
‘Have you fallen in love?’
Lana sighed, resigned to the truth. ‘He’s a sailor, married to his job. What hope have I got?’
‘Have you told him how you feel?’
‘Sort of.’
She’d told him she had feelings—of a kind. Invested emotion meant the same thing, right?
But they hadn’t resolved anything that night. After she’d dropped her little ‘emotion’ bombshell they’d talked around it, he’d made one of his charming comments, she’d fired back a quick retort, and he’d walked her back to her cabin—sans kiss.
Besides, nothing would happen unless she wanted it to. He’d made that pretty darn clear.
‘What does “sort of” mean?’ Mavis touched a pawn, moved it forward by keeping her finger on it, frowned in concentration before moving it back. ‘Some newfangled term you young people have for chickening out?’
Lana chuckled. ‘Yeah, something like that.’
Mavis glanced up and fixed her with a stern glare. ‘So what are you going to do, missy? You need to show him how you feel. Take a risk. See what happens.’
She had to show him. He’d said the same thing.
Would she have the courage to make a play for the man she’d fallen for?
As she watched Mavis toy with the pawn again, a glimmer of an idea shimmered through her consciousness, slowly coalescing into a plan that had her tummy clenching with nerves.
Did she have the gumption to pull it off?
‘Listen to your heart, dear. It’s the only way.’
Listening to her heart was what had got her to this point: confused, elated, petrified, yet buzzing with anticipation. Ironic, as she’d always listened to her head until now, had been the perfect curator, the perfect cousin, the perfect girlfriend.
She had a well-ordered, perfectly sensible life back in Sydney. So why was she looking to turn it topsy-turvy by getting involved with a guy like Zac?
She gestured at the chessboard. ‘Your move. Then I might tell you my plan.’
‘What plan?’ Mavis’s eyes gleamed with delight at the hint of subterfuge.
Lana chuckled. ‘What time do you think you’ll be ready tonight?’
‘Well, there’s a lot more of me to nip, tuck, polish, exfoliate, moisturise and pluck than you, so around six?’
Lana smiled and moved a bishop. ‘That’s fine. If you could meet me at my cabin shortly after, that’d be great.’
Mavis frowned. ‘But what’s the plan?’
She leaned forward and crooked her finger, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘I need your help.’
* * *
‘How about this one?’
Lana glanced at the skimpy, thigh-skimming crimson silk dress and shook her head. ‘I couldn’t wear that.’
Mavis shrugged, flung it on the ever-growing pile on her bed, and picked another dress off a hanger from the quickly emptying wardrobe. ‘What about this?’
Lana took one look at the skin-tight tangerine tube dress and wrinkled her nose. ‘No way.’
Mavis sighed and added it to the pile. ‘This cousin of yours sure has an interesting dress sense.’
‘Way out, more like it.’
Beth had packed enough designer dresses to last Lana a month, but every one she’d contemplated wearing tonight had ended up on the discard pile. And, considering she’d have to make a decision shortly or do a Lady Godiva, her chances of finding anything suitable were rapidly dwindling.
‘This one?’ Mavis held a mulberry mini at arm’s length, screwing up her eyes with a thoughtful look on her face. ‘The colour’s gorgeous.’
As was the dress. The fabric shimmered like the finest claret as Mavis turned it this way and that. But the dress was super-short, redefining the term ‘mini’, and she’d never be able to pull off something like that without tugging self-consciously at the hem all night.
She wanted to make a statement, to show Zac what she wanted—not show him what he apparently wanted!
‘Here, let me hold it up to you.’
The second Mavis held it up in front of her and she glanced down and saw where the dress ended she shook her head vigorously. ‘Next.’
Mavis tut-tutted as she reached into the wardrobe again. ‘There are only a few left.’
Her heart sank. She’d seen what was left. She’d examined every single dress in there at least ten times since she’d made her decision this morning to go all out tonight and prove to Zac she was ready to take the next step.
She always came back to the same dress: a stunning floor-length formal gown in the richest shot-silk jade, its strapless bodice embroidered with tiny emerald crystals designed to capture the light and draw attention to the bust.
The gown was a stand-out—the type of dress to make a statement, the type of dress fit for a princess, the type of dress to turn an ugly duckling like her into a rare swan.
But she’d balked at trying it on, a small part of her terrified she wouldn’t live up to a dress like that no matter how far she’d come in the confidence stakes.
She heard Mavis flicking hangers at a rapid pace, and knew the exact moment she caught sight of the dress.
‘Oh, my.’
Mavis clasped her heart, drew out the jade sheath with reverence. ‘I swear, if you say no to this one I’m marching out of this cabin right now.’
Lana gnawed on her bottom lip, twisted one of the few curls left hanging from the elaborate do Mavis had managed with a few bobby pins and a squirt of hairspray.
‘Well?’
‘I like it, but—’
‘No buts. This is the one.’ Mavis held it up to her and sighed. ‘Perfect. You should see what this colour does to your eyes. That young man of yours won’t know what
’s hit him when he sees you in this.’
That was all that mattered, really. What Zac thought. And the anticipation of seeing his expression when he caught sight of her all dolled up and wearing this dress was incentive enough to make her reach for it with gentle hands and slide it off the hanger.
Mavis smiled her approval as she unzipped it with fumbling fingers, stepped into it and turned around. ‘Help me with this, please? I’m all thumbs, and the last thing I need is to ruin the zip on the one dress I like.’
As the metal teeth slid into place, she took a deep breath and glanced down, her eyes widening at her rather impressive newly created cleavage, courtesy of the in-built bustier. If that didn’t make a statement, nothing would.
‘Right, my girl, turn around. Let’s have a look at you.’
When she turned, she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror behind Mavis a second after her friend’s mouth formed a perfect O.
‘You’re beautiful!’
‘Don’t sound so surprised.’
Mavis reddened. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just I’ve never seen you look—I mean, you don’t usually wear—Uh—’
‘It’s okay.’ She patted Mavis’s arm. ‘I’m not a clothes horse—never have been—and I never wear make-up because I can’t be bothered.’
Mavis puffed up, nodding emphatically. ‘Well, you’re lovely without it.’
Lana stepped closer to the mirror, turning her head side to side. ‘Though I have to admit you’ve worked a minor miracle.’
The glittering moss-green eyeshadow and dark khol elongated her eyes to exotic proportions, the foundation created the illusion of perfect skin, and the whisk of bronzing powder gave her razor-sharp cheekbones a healthy glow. As for her lips, she’d gone for a neutral nude pink. Nothing too over the top, considering whatever colour she wore wouldn’t last long if she had any say in it…
‘The make-up has only enhanced what the good Lord gave you.’ Mavis held out a pair of shoes. ‘Now, put these on and let’s get going, before us Cinderellas turn into pumpkins before the night has begun.’
Lana laughed at the mixed metaphor and slipped on a pair of Beth’s fabulous sky-high stilettos in a matching jade, took a final look in the mirror and did a little twirl for good measure.
The emerald shot-silk sheath fitted her like a second skin, the rich colour bringing out the green flecks in her eyes, and for a girl who’d never felt beautiful in her life, nothing came close to describing how she felt right at that moment.
‘You’re going to knock his socks off, my girl. Just you wait and see.’
It wasn’t just his socks she wanted to knock off, but Lana wisely kept that gem to herself—though by Mavis’s knowing look, she’d read her coy smile pretty well.
In this dress she was a woman with grit and determination; a woman ready to show her man how far she was willing to go; a woman with more than flirting on her mind; a woman willing to take a chance on an incredible man.
‘Ready?’
Mavis held out a clutch bag and Lana smiled her thanks, slipping the sparkly bag into her hand, straightening her shoulders and following her out through the door, knowing she was as ready as she’d ever be.
* * *
Lana hovered near the entrance to the ballroom, watching the women in their designer dresses beguile their dates, sip champagne and laugh, clearly without a care in the world.
She wanted to be like that: sophisticated and flirtatious and carefree, the type of woman a guy like Zac would want in his life hopefully for more than just a couple of weeks.
But she wouldn’t think about that now. Tonight was about showing him she wanted him as much as he wanted her. Tonight was a night for romance, for magic, for a shy girl to spread her metaphorical wings, preen and fluff out her feathers, demonstrate there was more to her than shapeless dresses and baggy shorts.
With her heart beating in rhythm with the jazz ballad playing softly in the background, she took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and entered the ballroom.
Her fingers convulsed around her clutch the exact moment Zac caught sight of her.
He was deep in conversation with another officer when he glanced up and stopped, shock etched across his handsome face, before he mumbled something and strode towards her. His gob-smacked expression was vindication that her make-over had made a statement—though, by the reproof shadowing those cobalt blue depths, definitely not the kind of statement she’d wanted.
When he reached her he stopped dead, his greedy gaze roaming over her before reproach, even censure, crept into his steely eyes. ‘What’s all this?’
At that precise moment her world crumbled.
She’d imagined this magical moment all day, had built it up in her head to be picture-perfect, with Zac taking her hand, twirling her at arm’s length, before pulling her close and whispering how incredible she looked.
She’d imagined he’d take one look at her dress, her hair, her make-up, and know she’d done all this for him, to drive him mad with lust, to prove she felt the same way.
She’d imagined him so crazy for her he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off her, to the point where he’d drag her out of the party and straight to his cabin, where she’d finally shrug off the last of her insecurities and show him what a little confidence did for a woman.
Never in her wildest dreams—or nightmares—had she imagined the cutting criticism underlying his question, or the disapproval creasing his brow.
While her first instinct was to hitch up her skirt and flee, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how deeply he’d hurt her, how she’d trusted him enough to do this and how he’d rejected her anyway.
‘By this you mean the dress?’
His frown intensified as he glanced at her hair, her face. ‘And the rest.’
She bit down on the inside of her lip so hard she drew blood. The pain of his disparagement was slicing her heart in two.
Drawing on the last of her inner resolve, she concentrated on keeping her tone flat, unemotional. ‘The invitation said formal, so I made an effort.’
‘I see.’
Like hell he did.
For all his cheap words about getting to know her, admiring her intelligence and the real her, he didn’t have a clue.
She had to get out of here—had to leave before her humiliation was complete and she broke down. ‘You know something? I don’t think you do.’
His eyes narrowed, the electrifying blue brought into sharp focus. With his midnight curls slicked back, and a tux accentuating his broad shoulders, he was breathtakingly handsome—a rakish pirate who’d stolen her heart and plundered her emotions without thought or feeling.
She didn’t wait for a response before she rushed out of the room, her head swivelling both ways before she made a dash for the heavy glass door leading to the main deck.
She ran as fast as three-inch stilettos would allow, ignoring the heavy footsteps racing after her and the wind whipping her dress against her legs as her feet flew across the deck.
She reached the main deck as he shouted, ‘Lana—wait.’
As if. She reached a dead end, swivelled to the right—and her heel jammed. She pitched forward.
Before she could hit the deck he’d caught her, his saving grip an instant reminder of how all this had started. Considering how it was about to end, she would have been better off sprawling on her butt that first day.
‘You’re making a habit of this.’
Stiffening, she silently cursed her clumsiness, straightened instantly, and was irrationally disappointed when he released her. ‘Was there something you wanted?’
You, she wanted this seafaring charmer to say. As if that would happen, after his reaction to her make-over.
‘Why did you leave in such a hurry?’
Her disbelieving look could have created an iceberg. ‘Why do you think?’
Her clipped response didn’t alter his guarded expression. This was a waste of time, a
nd the sooner she made it to the sanctity of her cabin, ripped off this dress and slipped into her comfy cotton PJs, the happier she’d be.
He dragged a hand through his hair, muttered an expletive. ‘I’ve made a mess of this.’
Too right. And while every self-preservation mechanism told her to make a run for it now, she couldn’t help but wonder why he’d reacted that way.
‘What’s going on? I knew there was something wrong the second you saw me.’
His remorseful grimace didn’t quell the rolling, rollicking waves swelling in her belly, making her nauseous when the three-metre swells buffeting the ship didn’t.
‘I overreacted. Your transformation took me by surprise.’
Glancing down at her dress, remembering the shock of seeing her expertly made-up face in the mirror after Mavis had worked her magic, she shook her head. ‘There has to be more to it.’
‘There isn’t.’
He shrugged, his shoulders impossibly broad in the tux he wore as well as he did his uniform. ‘Don’t you get it? I like the fact you don’t go for all the artificial stuff most women do.’
‘You mean I’m a plain Jane?’
Ironic—she’d never felt so beautiful, so transformed, and he preferred simple old Lana.
Tipping up her chin, he searched her face. For…what? Proof his opinion mattered to her? A telltale sign that what he said had cut deep?
Whatever he was looking for, he wouldn’t find it. She’d become an expert at hiding her feelings from a young age—had fooled her dad into believing she didn’t care about his string of women, had convinced Beth she was happy being a frumpy nerd, when in fact she longed to be as gorgeous and confident and outgoing as her cousin.
‘I mean I prefer the real you—the woman who captured my attention the first second she fell at my feet.’
‘Oh, really?’ Her mouth twitched at the memory of their first meeting.
“Yes, really.” He trailed a finger down her cheek—soft, sensitive. ‘So what’s with the war paint?’
