Pages of Passion

by Girard, Dara

  “Yes, I know,” he said in a low voice that made her pulse quicken.

  “I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

  “I’m just waking up. I took some pain medication and it knocked me out and now I’m starving. Do you think you could get some food delivered to my cabin? My brain’s still foggy.”

  “Sure,” Noreen said, thrilled that he wanted her help. “I’ll take care of everything.”

  She heard a smile in his voice. “I thought you would. Thanks,” he said then hung up.

  Noreen replaced the receiver also feeling renewed. She could help him. Fortunately, she was used to taking charge of situations and she’d take care of this one.

  She called room service and arranged for lunch to be served in his cabin. Forty-five minutes later she knocked on his door with a steward following close behind. Michael called for them to enter. When she walked into his room Noreen tripped over his shoes, which he’d carelessly tossed. She picked them up and put them over to the side then tried not to stare. His stateroom was a grand suite. It made her small cabin look like a manhole. It was spacious with several large windows providing not only an exquisite ocean view, but allowing ample natural light to flood the cabin. The walls were lined with a satin-weave fabric wall covering in a soothing moon-gray. Elegant crafted wood furniture provided the perfect touch, along with natural stone-and-glass tile accents. Off to the side was a balcony overlooking the mezzanine, where guests could look at what was happening below. Noreen walked over to the window and caught a glimpse of the event that day, which featured water acrobats performing high-diving stunts.

  Finally her eyes fell on him. His deep brown skin looked succulent against the dark red silk comforter and plush down pillows on his bed. He appeared just as exhausted as when she’d left him last night. He was still shirtless except now purple bruises spotted his chest and the bandage on his forehead had been redressed.

  “You should have stayed in the sick bay.”

  “I prefer to be here. I’m feeling better, I just look bad.”

  Noreen decided not to argue and thanked the steward when he placed the tray on a side table and then left.

  Michael looked at the crowded tray. “That looks like enough for two people.”

  “There is.”

  He smiled. “You’re joining me for lunch?” Michael’s smile grew wider when she nodded. “Great. It would be nice to have some company.”

  Noreen arranged his tray, thrilled that she’d pleased him. She then walked the short distance between them and rested the tray on his lap.

  “Thanks for doing all this,” he said.

  “It’s nothing.”

  “Nothing, huh? I guess my life doesn’t mean that much to you,” he said in a dry tone.

  “No, no, that’s not what I meant at all.”

  “Good.” He winked. “I figured as much.”

  Noreen folded her arms. “You were teasing me.”

  “No, I really appreciate all that you’ve done. It means a lot to me. You’re a special woman.”

  Noreen sniffed, unimpressed. She took the plastic off his juice. “I wonder if you could tell my ex-husband that.”

  “You were married?”

  She stiffened. Ooops. Arlene had never been married. She crumbled the plastic in her hand. “Um…no, I mean my ex-boyfriend. We were together so long it felt like we were married.”

  “Is he the reason why you’ve not given any man on this ship a chance to get to know you?”

  Noreen couldn’t help a smile. “He’s partly the reason.”

  “What’s the other reason?”

  “I happen to be a jerk magnet.”

  Michael raised his brows, offended. “Thanks a lot.”

  “I didn’t know you then.”

  “And now that you know me, what do you think?”

  Noreen sat at the small side table and placed a napkin on her lap. “I think you’re fishing for a compliment.”

  “Damn right, I am. My body is bruised and so is my ego. I need some tender love and care.”

  “Eat your lunch.”

  Michael looked down at his tray and frowned. “What exactly is this?”

  “Vegetable soup, French bread and applesauce. I thought you should start light.”

  Michael lifted the spoon out of the bowl then let the contents plop back into it. “Are you sure this is soup?”

  “Of course I’m sure.”

  He took a sip then grimaced.

  Noreen shook her head. “I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

  “You taste it,” he challenged.

  “You’re being childish,” Noreen said, taking the spoon from him and scooping up some vegetables. “I’m sure it’s fine.” She took a large spoonful, swallowed and nearly choked. She cleared her throat and kept her face composed.

  Michael studied her. “Well?”

  She set the spoon down. “It tastes like boiled water and paste.”

  He bit his lip. “Please don’t make me laugh.”

  “I’m sorry.” Noreen covered her mouth, but when she met his eyes they both burst into laughter.

  He winced and squeezed his eyes shut. “Stop, please.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, taking the tray away. “I was just trying to be careful. You can share what I’m having. I’ve got enough for two.” She prepared his plate, making sure to get a sample of everything—fried plantain, a fruit mixture nestled in a coconut shell, spicy jerk chicken wings and refried black beans.

  “That’s a relief. I thought my little angel was growing horns. Yes, that’s better,” he said when Noreen replaced his soup with a new plate. He took a bite and moaned with pleasure. “That’s perfect.”

  Noreen returned to her seat. “Good.”

  “So you’re not seeing anyone now?”

  She sent him a quick look. Why was he so interested in her love life? “I’d rather not talk about myself. I’m here to get away from it all and think things through.”

  “So that’s a yes?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “I like to know where I stand.”

  “Yes, I’m seeing someone, but it might not last.”

  “And you’re on this cruise to get away from him and think over your relationship?”

  “Something like that. Why are you so curious?”

  “A man likes to know if he has any competition.”

  Noreen bit into her fried plantain.

  “So where are you from?”

  “North Carolina,” she said, thankful for a safe topic.

  Michael shook his head. “That explains the Southern charm, but not the accent.”

  “I’m originally from Boston,” Noreen said, feeling a slight blush.

  “That explains it. So what do you do in North Carolina?”

  Noreen cleared her throat. “I’m in antiques,” she said, vaguely wishing she’d paid more attention to what her sister did. “I’m really not very interesting. What about you? You don’t usually see a good-looking, wealthy man all alone on a cruise ship.”

  “So you noticed?”

  “That you’re good-looking?”

  Michael’s mouth quirked with humor. “No, that I’m wealthy.”

  Noreen threw her hands up and laughed. “Okay, so you caught me. I noticed you on the first day and I was impressed.”

  “So impressed you’ll have dinner with me tonight?” When she hesitated he said, “Please, I don’t want to eat by myself.”

  “How about the people assigned to your table?”

  He sent her a look of horror. “Have you met them?”

  “They can’t be worse than mine.”

  “I have two older women who are convinced I am the spitting image of their dead brother, Lenny.”

  “I have a couple of newlyweds.”

  He nodded. “That can be annoying, but that’s not too bad.”

  “The newlywed husband slipped me his number.”

  Michael narrowed his eyes and pointed a warnin
g finger at her. “I swear if you make me laugh again I’ll strangle you.”

  “Okay, then I won’t tell you about Bertram.”

  He shook his head. “I’m scared to ask.”

  Noreen opened her mouth then closed it. “I’ll wait until you’re feeling better.”

  “Does that mean you’ll have dinner with me?”

  Noreen lifted her hand to adjust her glasses then remembered she wasn’t wearing them because she was Arlene. She looked over at Michael and couldn’t deny the electric thrill of attraction. She liked him.

  He was everything her ex wasn’t. He smiled easily and she could make him laugh and he appreciated her. He had a calm, steadying presence. They were alike in many ways except, of course, he was attracted to Arlene, like most men were. But that was okay. He was a big improvement over Clyde. And why shouldn’t she have some fun pretending to be her sister?

  A man like Michael would never look at Noreen. But right now she wasn’t Noreen and being with him would certainly get her creative juices flowing again. He would be her Muse—from his beautiful hazel eyes to his well-made body. More than once she’d imagined crawling in bed with him. The trip was definitely starting to have its benefits.

  Noreen finished her lunch then walked over to one of the large windows. She raised her arms over her head in a way she’d seen her sister do many times and got the desired response—Michael’s gaze fell to her chest. “You know, the weather is great today. How would you like to sit out on the deck after lunch?” She let her arms fall. “Get some sun.” When he didn’t respond, she snapped her fingers. “Michael?”

  He lifted his eyes to her face. “Huh?”

  She stifled a grin. “The deck? Would you like to go out on the deck after lunch?”

  “Only if you say yes to dinner.”

  Noreen raised an eyebrow and sent him a coy smile, seeing the gleam of interest in his eyes. “Are you sure you’re only asking me to dinner?”

  He flashed a devastating grin. “We’ll talk about dessert later.”

  Chapter Six

  That evening Michael wasn’t smiling. He sat in his stateroom as he buttoned his newly pressed white shirt for dinner and frowned at his cell phone, remembering his conversation with Darren.

  “How are things going?” Darren had asked him.

  “Fine.”

  “You only say ‘fine’ when you’re worried. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. It’s fine. I’ll give you a report later.”

  “If you’re worried, your instincts are right.”

  “Why?”

  “I just discovered who Arlene’s uncle is.” He paused for effect. “Obsidian.”

  Michael swore. “Obsidian” was the nickname of Langston Webster, a known smuggler who wore a pinkie ring with that gemstone and for years had eluded capture.

  “She and her sister had worked for him years ago. Arlene’s sister, Noreen, had gotten out first.”

  “Smart girl.”

  “Arlene wasn’t. She lasted nearly a year longer before things got real hot and Obsidian went underground. What a family. Their father, Vince Webster, cons everyone he meets and sleeps his way through high society, but he’s harmless. However, his brother isn’t.”

  “So maybe she’s not as dumb as we thought.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Darren agreed.

  “Thanks. This helps.”

  “I thought so. Be careful. Remember—”

  “I know,” Michael interrupted with a fierce sigh. “You don’t have to remind me.”

  “What else is going on? I can tell you’re worried about something.”

  “No, I just had a little mishap, but I’m recovering. Talk to you later,” he said then disconnected and tossed the phone on his bed and swore. Darren was right. He was worried because things weren’t fine. For the first time in his career he was falling for a target. And he was falling hard.

  Michael knew he was in trouble the moment he met Arlene on the deck at the pool that afternoon. He wore a pair of dark trunks and a white mesh T-shirt to cover his bruises. The lower deck was crowded. As he made his way to the pool he heard the sound of kids squealing with delight in the kiddie pool, loud splashes as people dived off the diving board and low conversations of travelers lazing on lounge chairs.

  He remembered that Arlene had spotted him first and called out his name and he saw her waving at him from the pool. It had been more than an hour since they’d finished lunch and agreed to meet there. He’d needed that hour break from her to get a hold of his mixed feelings about her. He still hadn’t been able to figure her out. Michael walked over to the deep end of the pool. She swam to the edge and took off her goggles then rested her arms on the side and looked up at him.

  He grinned. “Couldn’t wait, huh?”

  “Sorry, I wanted to get in a quick swim before we met.” She pointed to something in the distance. “I reserved those two deck chairs for us.”

  Michael turned and saw two chairs loaded with towels, books and suntan lotion. “Great,” he said. He turned to her and blinked, amazed that she’d caused him such confusion before. The medication must have enhanced his attraction to her because he didn’t feel that same pull now. He stared at her bright, engaging grin and big brown eyes thinking how cute she was. She wore a dark blue swim cap that made her look as harmless as a pixie. He wasn’t in any danger. Yes, he was in complete control again. He inwardly laughed at himself.

  Then she got out of the water.

  He stopped laughing.

  She wore a bright orange bikini—her nipples pressing against the elastic fabric like little pebbles begging to be touched. Water streamed down her body, pooling in her cleavage and sliding down her hips and thighs in a way his hands wanted to. He watched her mouth move, hypnotized by her full, wet lips. He knew she was speaking, but he couldn’t hear a sound.

  Suddenly she turned and walked toward the deck chairs, giving him an enviable view of her backside.

  He stood, paralyzed, as he studied how the orange fabric of her bikini emphasized the seductive swish of her hips and the round curve of her butt. She abruptly stopped and turned to him. “Michael? Is something wrong?”

  He quickly lifted his eyes and saw the worry on her face. “No, I—”

  “Was the walk too much for you? This pool is far from your cabin. I should have thought about that.” She came up to him and draped his arm over her shoulders then wrapped her arm around his waist, pressing her wet body against him. He groaned.

  “Am I hurting you?” she asked sharply.

  She was killing him, but it was sweet torture and the evidence of his desire was on full alert. If her hand slipped lower than his waist he was a lost man. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

  “Why not? Don’t worry about anyone looking—it’s none of their business.” Arlene held him tighter. He knew she meant it as an act of reassurance, but it affected his equilibrium and he stumbled forward. “Careful, Michael. I don’t want you to fall. Lean on me. Come on. You did it before,” she said, leading him to the deck chair. Once they reached it she swept the items off the seat. “There you go.”

  Michael sat down and briefly closed his eyes.

  “You really are in pain, aren’t you?” she said, anxious. “And I’ve gotten you wet. Do you want me to help you take off your shirt?”

  His eyes flew open. “No!”

  She hesitated, surprised by his vehemence, then softened her voice. “Is it because of your bruises?”

  He met her eyes with amazement. She was completely unaware of the effect she had on him. The expression in her eyes reflected only deep concern. That Arlene truly cared about his well-being stunned him. Who was this woman who could dress and walk like a sex kitten one moment and be Florence Nightingale the next? And why did she keep looking at him like that? As if he was special and dear to her? He could hardly remember the last time a woman had treated him with such tenderness. The last time was…no, he wasn’t going to go back that far.<
br />
  Her attention was becoming like a drug he was starting to crave. Michael covered his eyes, unable to meet her gentle gaze. “Yes,” he lied. “It’s the bruises.”

  “They don’t look that bad, but I understand.”

  He sighed with relief that she’d believed him, then he felt the soft pressure of her fingers on his leg. He nearly leaped off the chair.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, noticing that one of her bikini straps was sliding down. He stared at it wishing he could move it with mental energy—just a little lower.

  She pulled it back up. “I’m going to help you. Just lean back.”

  “Don’t. I’m fine. Really,” he said then lifted his legs and swung them onto the chair to prove it. But he did the motion too fast and swore.

  “You don’t have to pretend you don’t need help,” she said then stood and reached across him.

  He balled his hands into fists. Her beautiful brown body was like a tree and her breasts hung in front of him like two bright oranges ready to be plucked. He could imagine peeling off the outer layer and sucking the divine fruit underneath. Before he could further enjoy his fantasy, she pulled back and opened a towel.

  He stared at her, wary. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to put this over you.”

  Michael took it from her and draped the towel over his lap, glad that his trunks were loose. “It’s all right. I don’t need it.”

  She grabbed her own towel and wrapped it around herself, staring at him, unsure.

  “I’m okay,” he said, glancing away. He was going to kiss her if she kept looking at him like that.

  “I don’t—”

  “So tell me about Bertram, the man at your table,” he said, desperate to change the subject.

  To his relief the look of worry left her face and Arlene smiled. She sat down on the lounge chair beside him. She told him about Bertram, a failed ventriloquist who tried to throw his voice and make his sock puppet talk then she did an imitation of him trying to feed it. And Michael burst into laughter and winced, begging her to stop.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, biting her lip.

  Michael rubbed his side. “It’s my fault for asking.”

  “I don’t usually make people laugh. Maybe I should stop talking.”