“No,” she said slowly, “that won't be necessary.”
Simon Dominic shrugged. “Whatever you say,” he agreed, rising to his feet. “Tell me, are terrorists permitted lunch, or are you only allowed bread and water?”
Jane smiled as she dipped her brush in the water. “I assume that I'll be eating all my meals with the crew from now on,” she answered dryly. “The captain made it quite clear that I'm to have no special privileges.”
“In that case, I'll brave his wrath and ask him if I can show you where the mess is located.”
“Thanks, I'd appreciate that,” Jane said warmly. She was going to like Simon Dominic.
With a blithe salute, the immaculate figure turned and walked back toward the bridge.
True to his word, Simon Dominic returned in an hour, and after accompanying her to her cabin, where she washed hurriedly and ran a comb through her hair, he escorted her to the crew's mess.
The mess was actually a large common room with a number of tables of varying size and a cafeteria-style serving area. The room was obviously used as a recreation area as well, she noted. There was a yellow-and-black dart board fixed on one wall, and one large table with leaves that could be opened to convert it into a Ping-Pong table.
Jane followed Simon through the serving line, conscious of the lull in conversation as she followed him to a small table, unloaded her tray, and sat down opposite him.
“I feel like Lady Godiva,” she whispered as she poured dressing on the crisp garden salad.
“We should be so lucky,” Simon joked, his blue eyes dancing. “They'll get used to you. We're not used to females on board ship, and you must admit your manner of signing on was a bit unusual.”
“I certainly wouldn't recommend it,” Jane answered, smiling. She took a bite of her salad and shook her head in amazement. “This dressing is absolutely fantastic. I imagine Captain Benjamin has no problem keeping his crew if the food is always this terrific.”
Simon lifted his brows wryly. “The chow isn't always this good,” he admitted. “Jake Dominic brings his own chef on these cruises, and he takes over the meal preparations from Max, our regular cook.”
“Simon, could I ask a favor of you?” Jane asked impulsively.
“Anything,” he promised lightly, adding, with a grin on his pleasant bronze face, “as long as it's not planting one of your ‘accidental’ bombs.”
“I don't have any clothes,” Jane said earnestly. “Do you have any old shirts or sweaters that I might use until I can get my roommate to send me some of my own?”
He looked doubtfully at her tiny figure and then at his own large frame. “You'd be lost in any of my clothes,” he told her, shaking his head. “But I'll ask some of the other men and see what we can come up with.”
“Thank you, Simon.” Jane smiled radiantly. “I could see myself in these same jeans and sweater for the next two months.” She gestured distastefully at her soiled jeans and the black sweater, which was now much the worse for wear.
“Well, you'll need something cooler than that sweater where we're going.”
“Really? Where are we going?” she asked casually. Then, her eyes dancing: “For that matter, where are we now? I'm afraid I've been too preoccupied to even wonder.”
“We're in the Gulf of Mexico,” Simon replied. “We'll be cruising along the eastern coast of Mexico to the Yucatan and then possibly around Central America to Venezuela.”
“I've never been to Mexico,” Jane said dreamily. She grimaced as she came abruptly back to earth. “I'll probably not even get off the ship if Benjamin has anything to say about it.”
“Oh, I don't know,” Simon said optimistically. “Evidently he's lifted his nonfraternization rule, or he wouldn't have let me take you to lunch. Perhaps the old man is softening.”
“Perhaps,” Jane echoed skeptically.
At sundown that day she was no longer skeptical. She was sure that Benjamin had a will of iron and a heart to match. Every muscle and bone in her body ached. Her knees in particular were affected; they were swollen and bruised to a point of agonizing sensitivity. The sun had caught her face, and her nose was red and tender.
Jane gritted her teeth as she leaned over once again to soap the wooden deck. Benjamin had told her to continue scrubbing until he told her to stop, and she'd be damned if she'd quit before that time, even if she had to work through the night. She flinched as she put pressure on the wooden back of the brush and it rubbed against a blister on the palm of her hand. At least it was cooler, now that the sun was going down, she thought tiredly, as a vagrant breeze ruffled her hair, darkened with perspiration to nearly auburn.
For the past two hours she'd been in a haze of exhaustion and pain. Only sheer stubbornness had prevented the tears from flowing. She would rather fall flat on her face than admit defeat to that heartless monster of a captain.
A large shadow fell across the wet deck, but Jane didn't look up until Marcus Benjamin spoke.
“What the hell do you think you're doing?” he growled impatiently. “Do you realize that it's almost eight o'clock?”
She clenched her teeth and continued to move her brush, albeit a trifle slower. “I'm following orders, sir,” she replied caustically. “I'm scrubbing the bloody deck, sir,” She dipped the brush in the bucket and then brought it down hard on the deck, noting with satisfaction that a drop or two of the dirty water splashed on Benjamin's highly polished shoes. “If you'll kindly move, I'll finish my work, sir.”
“Damn it, what do you think this is, a slave labor camp? You'll work a regular eight-hour day just like the rest of the crew,” he said grimly.
Jane threw her brush in the bucket. “I thought I was the exception, sir,” she said, meeting his eyes defiantly. “I believe I was told to continue my work until I was told to stop, Captain.”
“I have other duties besides acting as a warden to you, Miss Smith,” he said shortly. “I assumed you'd have the intelligence to stop at the end of a normal work day.”
“Are you saying that I may stop for the day?” she demanded. “I want it quite clear, sir.”
“Yes, you may stop working,” he said between his teeth. She struggled to her feet, staggering as her knees abruptly gave way. Benjamin instinctively reached out to help her, but she angrily shrugged his hand away. “I'm quite all right,” she said, lifting her chin proudly. She bent and picked up her bucket and brushed past him disdainfully, her back ramrod straight, and stalked away, leaving Benjamin to stare after her indomitable figure.
After luxuriating beneath first a hot and then a cold shower, Jane felt almost human. Using some of the emerald-green shampoo she found in the holder by the shower nozzle, she washed her hair until it was squeaky clean. Wrapping the towel around her torso and another around her hair, she left the cubicle and crossed to the bed. She settled cross-legged on the bed and examined her knees. They were definitely swollen, and faintly purple. By tomorrow it would be like kneeling on knives to rest her weight on them, she thought gloomily. Why hadn't she unbent and asked Benjamin to change her duty? She instinctively shook her head at the thought. No, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her beg, no matter what the consequence.
A brisk knock sounded at the door, and she called out, “Just a minute.” She grabbed the improvised toga she'd fashioned from a bed sheet. Ripping off the towel and slipping on the toga, she padded barefoot to the door.
Simon Dominic stood on the other side, his arms piled high with various articles of clothing. He grinned as he beheld her toga-clad figure and turbaned head. “That's very exotic. I doubt if anything the boys contributed will be as alluring.”
“Oh, Simon, thank you,” she said gratefully, reaching for the clothes. “Won't you come in?”
He shook his head. “Your cabin is officially out of bounds, per Captain Benjamin,” he said. “I just brought these by. I hope some of them will do.”
“They'll have to,” Jane answered lightly. “Thank everyone who donated to th
e cause, will you?”
Simon nodded, his blue eyes sympathetic. “I'm afraid that I've got bad news for you.” He spoke hesitantly. “Captain Benjamin told me to give you a message when he knew that I was coming down here. You're to report to the lounge in thirty minutes for your secondary duties.”
For a moment Jane didn't realize what he meant. Then she understood. Secondary duties. Jake Dominic must have sent for her to play court jester. Well, he was not going to find her very amusing tonight, she thought tiredly. She would probably be back in her cabin in an hour.
Simon's face was grim. “There's absolutely no call for this,” he said indignantly.
“These duties will be very light,” she assured him soothingly. “Thank you for caring, but it will be all right. Honestly. I'll see you at breakfast tomorrow, Simon.”
“Right,” Simon said, turning away with a comradely wave of his hand.
When Jane appeared in the lounge some forty-five minutes later, she felt that she fully resembled the buffoon of Jake Dominic's original simile. Her khaki pants were rolled up in thick, bulky cuffs, but there was nothing she could do about the baggy seat or the looseness of the waist. The thin cream sweater that she had teamed with it came almost to her knees, and the long sleeves kept slipping down from her elbows, where she had pushed them. Her hair was still slightly damp, and curled in wild ringlets all over her head. Jane had smiled philosophically when she'd caught sight of herself in the mirror in the cabin. There was no way she could compete with the gorgeous and well-dressed women of Jake Dominic's acquaintance even when she was at her very best. What difference did it make if she looked like something out of a circus?
Jake Dominic was sprawled in an enormous brown leather easy chair, his feet propped on the matching hassock. She noted with some disgruntlement that he looked devastatingly attractive in dark fitted pants and a red crew-neck sweater.
He looked up absently from the script he'd been studying, as she came in the door. His dark eyes widened, and his lips twitched uncontrollably as he leisurely looked her over from her water-stained canvas tennis shoes to the unruly red curls. He tossed the script aside and said mockingly, “I must admit you present an amusing spectacle, but you really shouldn't have gone to all this trouble.”
Jane strode forward to stand directly in front of him, her hands planted belligerently on her hips. “Mr. Dominic, I'm very tired. I haven't had any dinner yet, and I have a wretched sunburn that's not improving my disposition. You know very well that I have nothing to wear, and I would appreciate your not making cheap jokes at my expense.”
He arched an eyebrow quizzically. Then his eyes narrowed and the laughter was abruptly banished from his face. “I'm a bit tired myself, redhead,” he answered softly. “I've been working on this awful script all day trying to draft some cohesion into the greatest hodgepodge of symbolistic tripe it's ever been my misfortune to read. I'm not sunburned for the simple reason that I've not stuck my head out of this room all day. I will grant, however, that I do have one advantage over you other than my sartorial elegance. I have eaten dinner.”
He rose with swift grace and, taking her by the wrist, pulled her behind him as he strode with long steps to a beautifully carved mahogany bar. Pushing her firmly onto a cushioned stool covered in antique-gold velvet, he went behind the bar and said briskly, “We can remedy that if you'll settle for sandwiches and coffee. Will ham do?”
She nodded dazedly. “That… that will be fine,” she stammered, as she watched him kneel before the copper-toned portable refrigerator under the bar and withdraw an oblong plastic container that opened to reveal pink ham sliced paper-thin. He brought another container from a side cabinet that contained deliciously crisp hard rolls. He built her a sandwich with quick practiced movements, adding tomato, lettuce, and mayonnaise at her request. He poured her a cup of coffee from a thermos jug at the end of the bar and set the lot before her with a little flourish.
“Anything else?” he asked blandly. “I believe there's some caviar and pâté de foie gras in the refrigerator.”
“No, thank you,” Jane said, making a face. “That sounds perfectly dreadful. I've never understood how anyone could really enjoy caviar.”
“Neither have I,” he confessed, his dark eyes twinkling. “But my chef is an incurable snob and insists that no self-respecting multimillionaire should have a refrigerator unstocked with caviar.”
Dominic poured himself a cup of coffee, and, leaning his elbows on the bar, watched her wolf down the sandwich with every evidence of enjoyment. “You were hungry,” he commented. “What caused you to miss dinner?”
Jane looked up to meet his eyes before she replied noncommittally, “I was busy.” She was not about to complain to Mr. Dominic about her treatment at his captain's hands.
He touched the tip of her sunburnt nose with a light finger. “I see Marc's found you something to do outside,” he said casually. “That should be a welcome change after burrowing in college classrooms all winter.”
Jane's mouth curved in a wry smile. It was obvious from his remark that Jake Dominic was ignorant of the precise nature of the duties Captain Benjamin had assigned her. Well, why should he be apprised of such pedestrian arrangements? It was the duty of the captain and the crew to see that everything ran with clockwork efficiency on the Sea Breeze so that its owner would not suffer a moment of discomfort or displeasure.
“Yes, it's quite a change,” she agreed dryly. She took a sip of the excellent coffee. “Why are you working? I thought you were supposed to be on vacation.”
“I want to get these script changes out of the way and get it back to the producer,” he said, lifting his cup to his lips. “It should only take a few days, and then I'll be free to relax.”
Jane looked thoughtfully into the restless dark eyes. Did he ever really relax? she wondered idly. She'd seen no evidence of it in the brief time she had been acquainted with him. He seemed charged with a leashed vitality and a crackling virility that should have been disconcerting to a girl of her limited experience of men. Oddly enough, this was not the case. Perhaps it was the unconventional nature of their first meeting that had dispensed with the usual reservations that would have beset a relationship between two such opposites. At any rate, she felt as completely at ease with this man as if she'd known him from the cradle.
“If you're so busy, I'm surprised you bothered to send for me,” she remarked as she finished the last bite of the sandwich and pushed the plate aside.
“All work makes Jake a dull boy,” he misquoted audaciously, his black eyes gleaming. “After working all day on that mish-mash of a script, I felt the need for the soothing pursuit of pure logic. In short, Jane Smith, you're going to give me a game of chess.”
She grimaced ruefully. “If you're looking for a game involving logic, you've made an unfortunate choice for a partner. My grandfather used to nearly tear his hair out in frustration at my game.”
“All the better,” Jake Dominic said promptly, with a tigerish grin. “It will be a little like destroying that damn screenwriter in effigy.”
“What a charming idea,” she said with sweet irony. “With my being said effigy, I assume?” A glint of determination shone in the golden eyes as she cradled her cup in her hands and looked him directly in the eyes. “It may not be as easy for you as you believe. I don't give up easily, Mr. Dominic.”
“I'd be disappointed if you did. I don't enjoy victory if it's handed to me on a plate.” He finished his coffee with one swallow and put his cup on the bar. “Shall we get to it?” he asked politely, gesturing to a game table in the corner.
“Why not?” Jane felt a thrill of anticipation run through her that was far in excess of the challenge involved. What was it about the man that made a simple game take on such excitement and significance?
Setting her empty cup on the bar beside his, Jane slipped off the stool and followed him to the game table, her eyes flitting curiously around the large lounge.
It was a singular
ly beautiful room. Its focal point was the magnificent Persian carpet that covered the highly polished wooden floor. The conversation center consisted of a long couch crafted in rich, tufted brown leather, and two huge easy chairs with their own matching ottomans. The walls were paneled in the same gorgeous walnut Jane had noted in the other cabins. On the walls were several paintings that were obviously originals.
Jane paused in front of one particularly fine El Greco, admiring, as she always did, the astonishing excitement he could convey in a simple landscape.
Jake Dominic retraced his steps to stand beside her, his eyes on her absorbed face. “You like El Greco?” he asked, his crooked eyebrow arching mockingly. “I should have guessed. He, too, was something of a revolutionary.”
Jane ignored the gibe as she continued to gaze enthralled at the painting. “He cared so passionately,” she said slowly. “You can see it in every brushstroke. Thank God you didn't have this in your cabin. I had nightmares about spraying one of your masterpieces by accident,” she confessed with a shudder.
“If you had, I would have broken your reckless little neck,” he told her with grim sincerity.
“I tried to be careful,” she said defensively. “I examined the entire area before I sprayed.”
“It was so dark you couldn't see a thing,” he said tersely. “How could you be sure?”
“The same way I knew you were naked,” she said unthinkingly. “I ran my hands over it.”
Then, as she realized what she had said, scarlet flooded her face. She avoided the spark of amusement in Dominic's dark eyes and rushed on desperately. “I'm ready to play now.”
His lips twitched as he said solemnly, “It's a pity you weren't ready to play then. If you'll recall, I was more than willing.”
Jane lifted her chin, swept with regal dignity to the game table, and seated herself sedately. “You know what I mean,” she said severely.
He nodded as he seated himself opposite her. “I hope your game is more concise than your words, Jane,” he drawled. He opened a drawer in the table and drew out a carved teak box. “You could be in deep trouble in no time at all.”
Stormy Vows Page 22
