Means To An End

by Carol McPhee

  When she looked at him, the twinkle in her eyes set him aback. “All you're lacking in here is soft music and a slave to pop the grapes into your mouth."

  Three

  Rand chased away a grin. He tried to ignore the vision that immediately jumped into his head—Lori, stretched out on a settee, popping grapes into his mouth one by one. “I have a stereo. I can play whatever type of music you want; it's piped all over the boat. I'll switch it on and let you listen."

  "That's Miles Davis playing his muted trumpet—"

  "You called that after two notes.” He arched an eyebrow.

  "I recognized Miles after the first note ... Are you a fan?"

  Oh, oh. She had him now. The CD collection wasn't his—it came with the boat—and while he enjoyed the music, he wasn't an authority on it. “He's an internationally famous jazz musician.” Rand had read the blurb on the CD's jacket, but he wasn't about to give away his lack of expertise. A wealthy yachtsman, determined to play up to women, would no doubt know a great deal about setting the mood with the right music. He better get her attention away from prodding what little music knowledge he had. “As for your comment about a slave—"

  "I'm sorry, I was only kidding,” Lori interjected. Her immediate flush appealed to him. The speed of her apology saved him from saying something that might show his chagrin. With her sense of humor beginning to show, he believed she'd been taken in by his cover story. He'd be wise to not let her see the bedroom—she'd really be misled and in a way that would not serve either of them well. With the ease in which she aroused titillating sparks in his body, he didn't think he should play his charade too convincingly.

  "Do you entertain frequently on the Destiny?” The gold flecks in the green of her eyes shimmered as she spoke.

  "Hmm ... I guess you could say so. I like to take my friends out on cruises.” He felt like his tongue was bolted to the floor of his mouth. He couldn't get the bedroom below out of his mind. Maybe her perfume contained an aphrodisiac that deprived men of their free will. He suddenly had a change of heart. If they became more relaxed with each other, even playful, it would strengthen his story. The gang would believe he and Lori were in a sexual relationship and he was what he implied—a bored, wealthy guy with speed at his fingertips in all areas of his life. He'd have to tread cautiously to avoid taking it far enough to cause emotional pain neither of them needed.

  "I would love to see the rest of the Destiny."

  Her statement shouldn't have surprised him, but it did. She had seemed too straight-laced for adventure with a man she'd only met a few hours ago. Going below could certainly be considered daring. Her request was an unexpected compliment to his ego that she trusted him.

  He needed time to think. “Ah ... Sure. But let's sit and talk first ... If you aren't afraid I'll bite.” Oops! Those words didn't come out sounding lighthearted, as was his intent.

  Her face clouded, washing the brightness out of her eyes. She moved away from the stool and hovered near the doorway. She had caught him in a weird frame of mind—hesitant and resenting that hesitancy—not like himself at all. Who was supposed to be asking the questions anyway? Still, his flippant response was uncalled for. He wondered how he had lost the upper hand he'd enjoyed when he'd first surprised her at dinner.

  A raw edge had crept into his voice when he spoke with her. His confidence hit a unique low. His verbal slips probably developed from his initial shock and annoyance at seeing her at the lodge. Later, when she'd left the dining room, he'd boasted to the gang that he intended to hit on her, and now that he could start the ball rolling, he was nervous. It would lead to one lie after another, but he was used to that in his work. If he hadn't known the hardship she'd faced, maybe his damn conscience wouldn't be running interference and pricking his nerves in her company. She didn't deserve sneaky moves from him. He needed to analyze the situation, but time was a precious commodity. The freighter would be arriving in a few days.

  "It must be wonderful to travel this way,” Lori said, apparently overlooking his rudeness.

  "I like to be comfortable when I'm any distance from land."

  He almost choked. He hated to be anywhere other than within sight of land, but it was part of what he did. He had grown up on the coast, hence his expertise at handling various sea craft. Lately, he'd had too much of the water and he'd been thinking how happy he'd be when he could go boating only for pleasure. Skulking murderous waves for the bad guys had become a turn-off. He figured he'd better be more attuned to her and work the charm he used to have. “Can I get you a drink? Brandy or a liqueur?"

  "A liqueur would be fine ... Amaretto if you have it. I used to like the almond flavor."

  "I think I have a bottle,” he answered, mesmerized by her gentle compliance.

  George had inspected the liquor cabinet and said it was well stocked, but Rand hadn't taken the time to familiarize himself with the contents or which of the four cabinets held the liquor. Where would the Amaretto be? He fumbled through two cabinets before he found it in the third. This wasn't a successful way to give a good impression of living high. Pure accident brought her here, but entertaining her properly was good practice for when his targets paid him a visit. Maybe she didn't notice his clumsiness.

  "George has been rearranging my cupboards again."

  "I hope he didn't leave here on my account."

  "Well, like he said, he had things to attend to.” To appear composed, Rand took his time pouring the drinks—the liqueur for her, Scotch on the rocks for him. Lori walked across the room and sat on the sofa.

  Rand watched her cumbersome movement with interest. It had been a long time since he had entertained anyone, anywhere; he needed a handle on it. Since he'd transferred in eight months ago, he'd been working with the Coastal Watch Program, focused only on the growing drug trade, not on a social life. He couldn't let her handicap arouse pity; she appeared in control of it, and he had to keep his mind on why he was here.

  In this area, Nova Scotia's shores were a popular entry point for smugglers because of the scattered population, isolated coves, and easy means of transport by fishing boats. The recent increase in boardings by Fishery patrols searching for illegal catches had hampered the criminal elements. Because they needed fast transfer by inconspicuous vessels they'd recently switched to using yachts, still plentiful in the fall. This was why his plan stood a good chance of success.

  The Destiny was a perfect lure.

  * * * *

  Repartee was not Lori's strength. In spite of her hope to have an intriguing evening's companionship, it appeared she wasn't herself tonight. Her crack about the grapes had slipped out slick as a melted ice cube and was hardly flattering to him. He might be a proper gentleman. Embarrassment at her sarcasm caused her to remove herself from the bar and put some distance between them.

  She studied Rand's awkward search as he opened several cabinet doors before finding what he wanted. She paid particular attention to his unsteady hand pouring the dark liquids into two glasses. Had he not had many other women onboard? That didn't make sense with his good looks and obvious charisma. She'd think it would be routine for him to entice them with this life of luxury. Stop it, Lori, you're letting your mind wonder in silly directions and this isn't like you.

  Expecting him to join her on the couch, she sat at the end and prepared for a fresh onrush of nerves. Instead, after passing her the drink, he settled into the chair opposite. His action brought on a sense of failure—her failure as a woman to elicit interest. The rotating light from the river's navigational lamp blinked through the porthole every seven seconds and illuminated his face. She'd thought his eyes dark when she'd watched him through the mist, but the flashing beams of light accented that darkness and added an unexpected stimulus that sent her senses reeling.

  With the soft trumpet playing in the background, an appealing man in front of her, the lounge exuded the perfect setting for romance. He made her remember the thrill of new beginnings with a man attentive to her
needs and of other things better left to the past. An involuntary sigh left her lips. While she didn't want to captivate him, she'd like to think he found her alluring enough to want to sit beside her. Her fingers automatically reached up and touched the roughened blemish on her skin.

  "Shoot me down if you like, Lori, but could I ask you a personal question?"

  She laughed. “You can try."

  He smiled as he focused on her scar. She thought she detected compassion in his eyes not disgust. In the process of sipping the Amaretto, she gulped down a larger amount than intended, then sputtered and choked. It took her a few minutes to recover. Blast those tears in her eyes. Maybe he'd think they were from the strong taste.

  "I'm wondering about the scar on your cheek."

  She didn't want to discuss personal matters, especially not this one. “I'm not ready to have plastic surgery, yet. I may never be."

  "You said you got it in an accident."

  "A car accident that killed my sister."

  "Is keeping it your way of shouldering the blame?"

  Stunned at his perception and his boldness for even suggesting her motive, her mouth slackened. “It's a daily reminder that part of it was my fault. Anything wrong with that?"

  "Why torture yourself? You can't change the past.” He took in a mouthful of his drink and never flinched, just stared straight at her, waiting for a response.

  Her chest felt as if an elastic band had been placed around it. “I'd rather not discuss it."

  "Okay. It's none of my business, and if I was too forward, I apologize.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his feet.

  "You don't understand,” she whispered. “Because of me, we were late getting away from home."

  "Look at me, Lori.” He sat up straight. “Is this to be a life-long penance?"

  What right did Rand have to express cruel thoughts? She moved to the edge of her seat. It was time to go. Her tightening chest threatened to stop her breath. The heat pouring into her face warned her that the same force of anger she'd let fly at the judge was rising fast. She didn't need this. She was about to stand when his big hand reached over and landed on her knee. Her tear-blurred eyes looked into mellow dark ones.

  "Those words came out more abrupt than I intended. What you're feeling is only natural."

  She couldn't comment right away. Although his blunt inquiry irritated her, an honest summation lurked behind his question and it hit home. Why he'd even been interested in inviting her here confused her. She hoped it was boredom and not pity. Was he right? Had she intended to be miserable forever?

  "Your sister wouldn't want that would she?"

  Lori swished her drink around in her glass, watching the liquid sparkle in the flashes of light. Finally she sipped at it, then lowered her glass. “No, Penny wouldn't. I never looked at it that way. I guess you think I've been wallowing in self-pity.” She paused. “Maybe I have."

  With his eyes fixed on hers, she became conscious of tears sliding down her cheeks.

  "Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have mentioned it. I like to get straight to the meat of a situation and sometimes I should keep my mouth shut."

  Her lower lip quivered; she barely managed to mutter, “It's okay."

  He removed his hand and leaned back in his chair. She'd caught a glimpse of regret amidst his scrutiny, and it was enough to convince her that beneath the exterior of this man lay a sensitivity to be reckoned with. No matter what he said, he was not the flamboyant, devil-may-care playboy prototype. He'd been straightforward in his observation; a playboy would have flattered her and not singled out such a flaw. Who was he? Did his insight come from demons that chased him, too?

  Not wanting to face him directly, she brushed away the dampness on her cheeks and steadied herself by surveying the room again. What was missing from the layout?

  Clutter. The lounge didn't look lived in. Nothing was out of place. Still, he'd had time to tidy up before she got here.

  "Did you design the interior?” she asked.

  "No. I can't take the credit."

  "Is the Destiny new?"

  "I bought it six years ago."

  His clipped answers and intervening silences gnawed at her thoughts. Her eyes roamed past a desk in the corner, then quickly went back to it. A computer graced its top, but there was no evidence of writing paraphernalia. No pencils or notebooks or grammar texts. No dictionaries or a thesaurus. He was not a writer. He was not a playboy.

  His failure to carry the conversation was wearing her down. He was studying her. Damn. She felt like a microbe under a microscope. She was grasping at straws, goaded on by the urge to know more about him, yet pulled back by his reluctance to divulge anything personal.

  "Does your family like to travel?” she asked. Maybe he was an errant husband on the loose. Why hadn't she thought to ask in the restaurant? She'd been out of the dating loop too long; it simply hadn't occurred to her. She'd enjoyed his company and subconsciously probably didn't want to spoil it by learning he was already taken.

  "I'm not married.” His sober exterior faded, replaced by a mischievous gleam that hinted at an inclination to tease. “Do you usually enter strange men's homes without knowing if they live alone?"

  "I guess I didn't see this as your home, and no, I'm not usually this dumb.” Lori lowered her eyes. Inadvertently, they skimmed the spotless royal blue carpet. If he lived at sea, why wasn't it marked in some way by wear or saltwater stains from six years of use?

  "You're a good housekeeper,” she said. “This room hardly looks lived in.” He straightened his shoulders and gulped the rest of his drink in one swallow. His sudden movement, accompanied by a frown, made him look nervous. Had she thrown him off balance?

  "Why don't I show you around my humble palace? I hope you have a sense of humor."

  "Something tells me it isn't humble.” She laughed and finished her drink. Then she reeled from the burn searing down her throat. Not used to liqueur, and already having had wine at dinner, it seemed to go straight to her knees. Lori staggered as she rose. She would have fallen when her weak leg gave out if Rand hadn't jumped up and supported her with the smooth glide of his arm around her waist.

  "I'm sorry. I haven't had a drink since long before the accident. Liquor twice in one evening packs a punch."

  He laughed, then turned serious. “I'd almost think the crash would have encouraged you to drink more."

  "That's why I abstained, until coming here. I brought a small bottle of Baby Spumante just to drink at leisure and celebrate my freedom. I can't deny there were reasons I might want to lose myself in a drunken stupor. But I'd witnessed the outcome of drinking first hand. It sickened me.” She couldn't hide the pain, nor could she ever put it far from her mind.

  He caught on quickly. “Come on, I'll show you around. Any yacht over a hundred feet in length is considered a ‘super yacht.’ The Destiny is one hundred and twenty-five feet."

  "How will you get it out of here?"

  "With caution.” The twinkle in his eyes boosted her mood. “There isn't enough room to turn it, but I can put the engines in reverse and back out like a car. The electronic gear will guide me; it'll require a steady hand at the wheel, though."

  She felt better about his change in tone and imagined it would not be the simple manoeuvring he let on. She hoped she could watch the Destiny leave. Better yet, would be to go for a cruise. Oh well, she didn't need to lose herself in impossible dreams.

  "We'll go up to the wheelhouse first."

  The range of electronic equipment in the window-encircled enclosure dazzled her. She pictured what it would be like cruising on a warm, sunlit day, enjoying the salt-tangy air in the company of a commanding officer. She shook her head. Her mind was playing hopscotch with her intelligence. She had no desire for complications ever again. An unfaithful fiancé had been enough.

  "Can George run the yacht, too?"

  "Yes."

  The innocent prodding came to a standstill. Why hadn't George liked havi
ng her here?

  "Did George come with the boat?"

  "Ah ... No. I hired him later."

  "Doesn't he have a home?"

  "Yes, he does.” Rand rubbed his finger over a ledge and seemed pleased that there was no dust. A diversionary tactic?

  "Where?"

  The twinkle in his eyes left. “Why do you ask?"

  "He didn't want me here and since he knew nothing about me, I can't help but wonder about him."

  Rand leaned against the wheel and looked directly at her. “George doesn't like women onboard. He thinks it's bad luck."

  "Oh, he's superstitious, then?"

  "Very."

  She didn't buy that for a minute. With his sturdy physique, Rand's mate couldn't be scared of much. She'd asked questions to give herself an idea of what Rand was really like and learned nothing. Rand obviously harbored the same set of rules against disclosing personal information on George, too. What were they hiding? And why was she so curious? It must be because she'd been involved with herself too long. She really needed a life. She was amazed at how good she felt having an interest in others—even if it was inappropriate.

  "Come on, I'll show you the galley."

  In the small kitchen space, her hand accidentally brushed against Rand's. Although unprepared for the spark that jumped between them, his boyish grin flashed, showing he liked the close contact. She did, too.

  "The air must be electrified down here,” she said to cover the flush rising in her cheeks.

  "It's not the air; it's us."

  Of course the damn air was charged, but she wasn't going to argue the point. To think otherwise was courting disaster. She restricted her questions to the convenience of the equipment around her. When she'd satisfied her curiosity, her eyes wandered to a small hallway and several closed doors.