by Carol McPhee
"I'd like to freshen up if you don't mind. The woes of alcohol, you understand.” The woes of desperation to get herself under control.
"Of course. You know your way. I'll refresh my drink. Do you want any more?"
"No, thanks."
Lori had thought that handling the goblet's stem would give her control over fingers with a habit of flexing when she was uncertain what to do. Tonight was one of those uncertain situations. The wooziness she felt must be from nerves. She knew she'd better get her stomach under control and rein in her sexual thoughts. She needed to concentrate on finding the chart to distract her feminine urges. She simply wouldn't drink any more sherry. Ever.
As she made her way below, she balanced her steps and paused to scrutinize any open shelf that might hold a rolled up chart. Nothing. When she opened the door to George's room, one glance showed there was no hiding place long enough. She moved on. The storage trunks in the crew's room were large, but piled on top of each other, they'd be too awkward for easy access. Hearing Rand's feet cross the lounge floor, she stumbled into the hall's tiny bathroom.
Once inside, she leaned against the wall, hoping for stability and to listen for sounds in the corridor. She hadn't known snooping could be so stressful and she'd never do it again. She splashed cool water on her cheeks, then blotted them with a burgundy hand towel from the rack.
The mirror's reflection displayed a sparkle in her eyes that she hadn't seen for a long time. The hammering of her heart was new as well. What was Rand doing to her? Had he cast a hex that followed wherever she went? It had to be the inspiration of doing something worthwhile that brought her to life. One drink of sherry wouldn't cut it. Neither should knowing a man for only two days cause a change. She braced herself against the counter and inhaled slow lingering breaths. The cold water had helped. A few minutes later, she seemed clear-minded enough to return, yet she stayed in the bathroom, thinking.
Throughout the second game, she had scrutinized Rand's every nuance in an effort to determine what was so appealing about him that coaxed her body into making absurd demands on her hormones. She had listened to his gentle tone and observed the way his glances studied her face each time before he made his move. She cringed with shame. He treated her as a worthy adversary. She repaid him with treachery.
"Are you all right, Lori?” Rand's voice carried down from the top of the stairs.
"I'm okay,” she yelled back. “Do you mind if I get a glass of water in the galley while I'm here?"
"Help yourself."
Lori pushed the door ajar so he could hear the toilet flush. Boosted by his permission, which only slightly eased her conscience, her request enabled her to search further. She used the sound of water gushing from the tap in the galley to mask the opening and closing of the cupboards she searched.
"Lori?"
Not again. She accidentally slammed a cupboard door from her tension.
"Y-Yes?” She stopped all movement, waiting for his foot to hit the top step.
"Use the water from the cooler at the end of the counter. There are paper cups in a container on the wall."
She blew out her breath, then clenched her fingers to calm herself. He was not venturing down.
"Oh. Okay. Thanks."
Standing mutely by the sink, she consolidated her findings, and eliminated the possibility that the chart was anywhere below unless in his bedroom. Already gone too long, she didn't dare risk a foray into that domain. She'd find an excuse to search the wheelhouse next.
A brief memory lapse sent her halfway up the steps. A sudden awareness of what she had forgotten sent her back down to retrieve a paper cup. As she rushed alongside the counter, she stumbled over the end of a carton lying on the floor marked Paper Cup Refills. Luckily, she caught herself in the midst of the lurch. Annoyed at her near fall, she kicked the long narrow cardboard box beneath the shelf. Partly filling her container with water, she returned to the lounge.
"Are you ready for a chance to redeem yourself?” Rand asked. He fidgeted with a black pawn and squinted at her, almost as if he suspected something.
"W-What?” Her stammer gave away her trepidation.
"A third game ... The tiebreaker. Remember?” She wondered if her face showed her guilt. “Are you sure you feel all right, Lori? You're awfully pale."
She gulped the water. That's what I get for being sneaky. Aloud she said, “I must be getting tired. I'll take a few minutes to beat you, then I'll have to go back to the chalet."
"You sound mighty sure of yourself.” His laugh carried a deep rumbling melody that electrified senses already tuned like harp strings. “It could take longer than you expect,” he added.
She shivered.
"Why don't you spend the night on the yacht?"
"No!” An erotic excitement filled with her dread. Grabbing her sherry glass, she drained the glass with one final gulp.
Rand's wide-eyed glistening showed what he thought of her attempt to be the one in command.
The third game was nothing short of a contest of stubborn wills. Every move she made, he countered impressively. His forehead beaded with sweat. She hoped her stress was less obvious. She blinked several times to clear her vision. Her moves slowed when the chessmen frolicked on the board.
In spite of her efforts, Lori knew it was merely a matter of time until he would stop the play with an obvious checkmate. That suited her. She was tired. And her eyes were losing their focus. Thank God, she could still think straight; she still needed a quick look in the wheelhouse, then she could call it a night.
* * * *
With her back to him as she walked across the lounge for the chess game, Rand's attention was on Lori's walk. The lovely dress showed her figure to advantage and illuminated a sophistication he hadn't noticed before now. Maybe it was just the change from casual wear that gave a lift to her step. Her limp seemed only an extension of her determination, and as such, didn't hold her back from pursuing whatever she had a mind to do. If he'd not been so concerned about her interplay with Warner, he'd have been tempted to leer at her all through dinner exactly like the drug lord. The dress's neckline was modest, but he towered above and could see more than she probably imagined each time she leaned ahead. The fact she moved in innocence made her more seductive than if she'd done a whirl-around and flashed bare breasts. He'd hungered for more exposure. When she fumbled and opened the wrong cabinet door, his admiration for her plotting skills grew as well.
Rand curtailed a grin. He knew what she was doing. How she planned to get the chart off the boat if she found it was the mystery. Her search techniques could do with a bit of fine-tuning. He relaxed. She'd never find the map. The hiding place was too obvious; she'd overlook it. Sometimes the best hiding places were in plain sight. It could be fun leading her on and also serve the purpose of getting to know her on a personal level. In his undeniable thirst to learn more about her, he'd scrape off the rust and rework the old charm. When the time was right, he'd confess.
When Lori returned to play chess, he found it nigh impossible to keep his eyes off her cursed neckline. Each time she bent to move her piece, his knowledge of chess deserted him. He discovered that as much as he wanted to avoid ogling like Warner, if he took too long planning his moves, an uncompromising obstruction choked his throat, forcing him to glance down at the smooth, rounded flesh.
"Your skill surprises me, Lori.” When she looked up to see if he was sincere or being sarcastic, he added, “I'm forced into using my favorite gambits in plays with you."
She appeared not to notice the influence she had on his body. Several times he'd had to shift position to make his lower parts comfortable. The chess play called for more than simple strategy to outwit her; it called for restraint. He'd like nothing better than to slip onto the couch beside her and sniff her exquisite perfume, letting it coerce him into planting tender kisses on her neck. With the facilities below for a romantic tryst, confining his thoughts to a hands-off level became increasingly difficult. He'd alre
ady figured out that whatever she did, she did with passion. In making love he'd anticipate no less.
Her green eyes that had sparkled at the onset were now slightly glazed, but she kept on, not giving in to her imminent defeat. Not able to endure her suffering any longer, he checkmated. She smiled and leaned her head back against the couch. “You won that fair and square."
Her fingertips ran along the soft leather surface on each side of her, leaving her body undefended. He wanted nothing more than to run his hands over her breasts and kiss her to submission of a different kind. The distress from not doing so wreaked havoc on his mind. And his body. He mopped his brow.
"I think I need some fresh air,” she whispered.
"All right. We'll go outside.” Rand packed up the pieces. She tended to sway to the left as she walked toward the door. His testosterone level urged him to lead her down the stairs, but instead, he put his arm around her waist and guided her to a bench on the deck.
* * * *
Lori tried to convince herself it was only a game, but she couldn't think straight. The play wasn't fair because of her own doing. She should never have finished off the sherry. Her head swam in a haze; his handsome features compelled her to surrender. She regretted the day she decided to help the sergeant, but she couldn't give up the effort. Not now. An obscure spark of self-respect lingering within urged her to ignore her weaknesses.
"Breathe deeply and slowly, Lori. You're a bit under the weather, you know."
"Is it that obvious? I hate sherry. I-I'm sorry I appear to be such a lush.” She couldn't fathom why some undeniable force made her confess to her lie, yet it had become most important that he think good things of her.
"You're my responsibility until you're sober."
Dejected, she leaned her head against his shoulder. He was angry with her. Well, so be it. He would be angry anyway when they carted him off to prison ... Prison! The chart. She had to find out if it was in the wheelhouse. The small space was just in front of her ... So close, yet so far. Whatever was she thinking that she'd lost track of her goal by filling her head with silly delusions of him?
"I'll be all right in a few moments. Do you have any tomato juice?"
"George may have some in the galley, but I'm not going to leave you here by yourself with the state you're in."
Her wistful sigh flowed through the cool night air. Why had he chosen now to be so gallant? She wanted a few minutes alone so she could make a quick search. If she concentrated on her movements really hard, surely she could search the area and return to the bench before he came back.
Lori shuddered as a light breeze blew across her shoulders. Rand drew her closer. His cologne acted as an aphrodisiac, inviting her to desire what should be forbidden in her unsteady condition. Yet she didn't feel loaded, just mildly confused.
Perhaps if she closed her eyes for just a second or two, she could relax and come up with another idea to get rid of him. No. She mustn't close her eyes. She had a job to do and it would get done. She pushed back from his shoulder and slithered away from his grasp. “Do you have a jacket I can borrow?"
"You're shivering ... All right ... I'll run down and get one. Stay where you are and don't move an inch. I'll be right back."
The second he disappeared, her feet hit the deck. Reeling with the sudden movement, she staggered into the wheelhouse and leaned against the wall. The glow from lampposts bordering the dock filtered through the salt-sprayed windows, giving enough light to scan for a long roll of paper. She spied one lying on a ledge near the wheel.
Quickly unrolling the document, she saw that although it was a chart of the coastal waters, it was free of markings. This was not the one she'd seen previously. She stumbled across the floor and balanced herself against cupboards lining the wall. She inhaled a couple of deep breaths before she knelt and opened several doors. Once again, there was no sign of the map.
Lori's hands brushed her thighs as she tried to think where it might be. Why hadn't she simply pretended to drink? No time now for regrets. In the morning, she'd have plenty of those.
There was only one place she hadn't searched—Rand's cabin. There was no chance for her to find a way to go there; in the first place, Rand would be suspicious of any return she made below; in the second place, she knew there wasn't any way she could navigate those stairs again, unless...
An idea leaped to her aid. She should probably sit and think it through. Why bother? Her idea was so simple she amazed herself. She'd try to remember that sherry must dole out insight because she saw things more clearly now than she had in a year. A slight gamble could demolish two problems at once—get into his cabin and sober her up in the process. She'd have to sacrifice her dress, though. It would never look the same again. She stared at the black water gleaming with shadowed darkness and depth. She needed to be refreshed and being an excellent swimmer, there was nothing to fear. If she got a good soaking, she would have an excuse to change into borrowed clothes until her own dried. If she could wear one of his shirts, she'd still be respectable. It would probably hang to her ankles.
Lori heard Rand's footsteps sprinting up the stairs. She waited until he was almost to the top, then hurried toward the bench. Swaying badly to the left, it was easy to miss her seat and fall over the yacht's side in a smooth glide that left no opportunity to grab hold of anything and avoid the ultimate outcome. She had time for an effective scream, however.
Her body hit the water at an awkward angle—with more force than expected. The side of her face smarted with the surface contact. The sound of the splash hollowed against her eardrums. As she sank, her mind, shocked at the cold wetness, refused to send orders to her limbs. With no direction or strength, her arms and legs became motionless. A voice screamed from deep in her soul.
She sank deeper.
Nine
Rand couldn't believe his eyes. Only a couple of minutes had elapsed since he looked down the Destiny's companionway and found his jacket wasn't hanging in its usual place. He didn't want to leave Lori alone on deck, but with all those goose bumps on her arms he knew she was chilly. Since she claimed she hadn't had a drink in over a year, he should have been considerate enough to limit her consumption. Every time he looked at her, the urge to make love with her surfaced. He grimaced—exasperated by his exceedingly poor judgment. His thoughtlessness had gotten her sloshed and now he'd have to take good care of her.
It took him another minute to find his other jacket—time he'd have preferred keeping Lori in sight. He had just reached topside when he saw her stagger haphazardly across the deck. What in the hell is she doing?
"Lori! I told you to stay put!” He charged out of the doorway.
He caught a fleeting glimpse of Lori's shoe-clad feet in the air. A splash echoed through the night's silence. Experience in dealing with emergencies overpowered his immediate shock. When he kicked them off, his shoes flew across the deck floor. He dove into the spot still rippling from her plunge.
Lights from the wharf lampposts allowed limited visibility, but he couldn't find her. He surfaced and wiped the cold water from his stinging eyes. He breathed in gulps to catch his breath. His eyes scanned around him, but there was no thrashing movement. Somewhere in the murky depths, Lori's life ebbed away. Rand's heart thumped viciously against his chest as the risk of losing her hit its mark. The danger was real—he had to locate her. A sudden eruption of bubbles marked her descent. He sucked in a lungful of air and torpedoed beneath them.
* * * *
Lori sank to the bottom. When her feet touched the rocks, she fell to her knees. The shock of the water's coldness automatically encouraged her to hold her breath. On every side of her, long-stemmed grassy plants danced with the current and gently caressed her skin. It was peaceful here below.
The strife of the past year passed before her eyes; her problems could end if she simply let go. Giving up should be easy. Suddenly, a brutal clamp on her shoulder distracted her thoughts. She couldn't see in the darkness, but knew instinctive
ly—Rand had come for her. He yanked her upward. Sweet night air crept into her oxygen-starved lungs as she broke from her watery grave.
"I've got you, Lori. You're safe now."
Safe. His words should have reassured her, but Rand didn't understand that “safe” meant more living with guilt. When her hands tugged at his arm lock around her neck, his command was swift and persuasive.
"Settle down! Don't fight me!"
Lori's innate sense of self-preservation allied with her rescuer. She gave up the battle. Rand guided her toward a narrow walkway running the length of the Destiny's berth. He lifted her onto the grassy slope, then sat down wrapping his arms around her shoulders. She wrestled from his hold just in time to bring up a mouthful of water.
"Let me g-go,” she sputtered. “I'm all right now.” Her disturbed mind resented his interference. Why couldn't he have tended to his own business and left her to die? It was a way she could put her shame to rest. “Leave me alone."
"No!"
She avoided his eyes. “I wanted to stay down there where I was free.” The briny water gagged her throat and caused a fit of coughing. Her voice withered to a rasp, but she looked up at him. “Don't y-you u-understand?"
She swept the back of her hand across the water streaming down her chin. Rand blinked the water from his eyes.
"You don't really mean that,” he snapped.
His confrontation probed her conscience. She knew she meant it when she spoke the words. Now, a few seconds later, she wasn't sure.
Her silence moderated his tone. “Lori, it's the alcohol talking. We need to sober you up."
