“See you later,” Lizzie murmurs over before leaving. She is mortified that her body has betrayed her so. Or more so than usual. At last she knows her body is capable of making heat as ferocious as that, so why is she always so cold?
* * *
The lower cabin is dark and stifling and the men huddle around a solitary table with a single dim bare lightbulb illuminating the baize and cards. Lizzie stands in the doorway just watching the scene and listening to the manly banter. She’d popped back to the cabin first to freshen up and change her bikini just in case James might suspect anything. Guilt still rages through her in an irrational destructive loop she just can’t break.
“Hello there, love.” James lays his cards down and pushes the chair out behind him.
It squeals across the floor in that ear-shuddering way and Lizzie is instantly irritated and cold standing in the shadows.
“Hello.” She takes a breath and matches his beaming smile as he strides toward her, taking her in his arms and ushering her to the table. The sun and blush have totally left her now and she lets him pull her in close, so she can take what heat she can from him.
“Come and meet the guys,” he says, friendly and happy. They all turn and smile up to her in the same open way that James has. Meekly, she raises her hand in a little wave and James pulls her onto his lap at the table. “I’ll teach you how to play.”
“I know how to play bloody poker,” she snaps a little too quickly and wishes she could suck the air that carried the words back into her lungs. “I did go to an all girls’ school after all,” she says brightly and nudges him playfully, hoping to disguise the previous irritability.
“Wish I’d gone to an all girls’ school,” a large bearded man in overalls says, laughing.
“Okay, whose deal is it?”
They play a few hands with Lizzie perched with one of James’ thighs jammed between her legs. When their stake is finally lost, he picks her off his knee and stands to shake his new friends’ hands.
“Well, you’re too good for us, gents. I think we’ll call it a day.”
“Same time tomorrow?” the bearded man calls after them as they make it out to the deck.
“Maybe, we’ll see. Don’t want to lose all my travel money now, do I?”
Chuckling diminishes as they fall in step along the deck and up to the upper level to the bar.
* * *
“Why are you so quiet and distant?” he asks.
She twists the straw around in her gin and tonic and tries so very hard to lift her gaze to meet his. The gnawing guilty feeling hasn’t left but she is recognising it as something that’s always been there now—but she had managed to keep it hidden even from herself. She tries out an excuse.
“I don’t know,” she speaks slowly and quietly, focussing entirely on her libation. “I think I’m just nervous—you know, new country and all.”
Reaching over, her gently cups her chin and lifts it.
“We’ll be fine, Lizzie. More than fine. This is an adventure, a once in a lifetime opportunity.” He ruffles her hair. “It’s what we always talked about.”
It’s what you always talked about. She keeps the thought inside and plasters on her best smile. “I know, I know. Just let me get used to it. It was all very sudden.”
A few gin and tonics and a foxtrot later, Lizzie is feeling like she’s finally thawed out. She is holding her strappy heels in curled fingertips as he guides her along the listing corridor to their cabin.
“I had a lot of fun tonight,” she says and she feels the glow coming from deep within her chest.
“I could tell.” He closes the door and reaches around her to lock it, pinning her as he does. “I was so happy have to my Lizzie back with me again.”
So he has noticed.
“I’m sorry I’ve been a little frosty recently…” she manages to say before he presses up against her.
“The cold I can deal with, love.” He nuzzles into her neck and the effect is instant; she melts between her legs just as he forces his knee hard between them. Her thighs part automatically and she rocks her pelvis onto him. “It’s the distance I can’t bear.” He is barely whispering into her hair just behind her ear and she stills, holding her breath to hear what he will say next. “Where do you go?” His voice is so sad and draws a melancholy alongside the arousal she’s feeling with his thick thigh clamped between hers. “Where do you go that takes you so far away from me, even when you’re in my arms?”
She crumples. He catches her and she sobs, tears she knows wouldn’t be flowing if it weren’t for the gin. She’s glad she is crying and he lifts her up as she wraps her legs around him, gripping him tight and suddenly her mouth finds his and she is kissing him hard and passionately. He responds as if he’s never kissed her before this moment. Tears mingle and seep between their lips and the taste is pure love. She wants him like she used to. There’s a yearning throb building in her sex and it centres in her clit, welling and peaking until her desire leaks from her and she undulates her pelvis onto his belt buckle. The sharp metal catches her delicate flesh and she whimpers.
He hoists her up a little higher and reaches under her buttocks with both hands, raking her skirt up with frantic fingers into the ripe soaking space inside her knickers.
Lips still hugging lips, she breathes hard through her nose, kissing him as if she wants to eat him whole. And she does. She suddenly wants to have him inside her, all of him. She is ravenous for him and grinds herself up and down his trousers, which barely contain his hard desire. She feels like she could come like this, just humping up and down, as his fingers probe her from behind smearing the slippery liquid over her sex. Her heart is racing and she pulls away from his lips. If she doesn’t say it now, she doesn’t know when she ever will.
“Fuck me, James.” Her breathy words, thick with desire, hang in the air as he hesitates. She sags. She shouldn’t have said it. He hates her to curse. But she does want to be fucked. Not made love to, fucked. Hard. Her eyes are on his chest and she wants to cry again.
Fingers vacate her and she is suddenly thrown onto the bed, her dress flouncing up over her face. The click and slide of a belt being drawn though its loops has her frantically dragging the fabric off her to see what’s going to happen next. Is he going to beat her for being so crass? His face looks hard, determined and full of lust. She’s never seen that look before and for a moment she fears he will strike her with the belt. She is instantly afraid but for the second time that day, her sex betrays her and her clit peaks and wells again and she feels empty and hollow.
The belt falls to the floor and she is relieved and disappointed. His trousers land with a gentle thump and he stands before her erect as he unbuttons his shirt, staring directly between her legs. In a moment of bravado, she parts her thighs and invites his eyes to feast on the soaking treasure. She can’t quite believe it when she finds her own fingers exploring the hot fleshy lips, pulling them apart to give him a better view. The ache is unbearable and she could roar and scream and writhe but instead, she says it again.
“Fuck me, James.”
He whips off his shirt and crawls onto the bed, pausing for a moment to inhale her wet fragrance, then up to her face. She can’t see it but she knows he is holding his erection, guiding it to her entrance. She also knows there’s no need for that; she’s so wet, it will find its own way easily.
Silently, he places the tip of himself at her opening and stretches it just a little then plunges in, fucking her hard and rough. He’s grabbing great fistfuls of her hair now, baring his teeth and growling as he stares at her chest. Grabbing her dress with both hands, she rips it open to expose her breasts. He bites down on the flesh and thrusts inside her harder and faster. Squeaking, yelping noises are coming from her throat and they heighten her want even further. The sensations are tunnelling right up inside her and she’s never felt it in there before—it’s always been on her clitoris, but this, this is something else entirely. She squeezes her vagina wall
s hard around him as he ravishes her and the mounting, building, welling, and peaking continues until everything stills and she feels like she’s falling into blackness. A black hole. Her own black hole. Then she comes hard with him still thrashing about on top of her. Finally in a convulsing spasming groan, he comes too and falls exhausted onto her. Their chests heave together and Lizzie feels like she is going to suffocate. Heartbeats bang so hard she can’t tell whose is who.
In the slowing and stilling, she feels the familiar rising hesitation and guilt. What has she just done? He is a gentle man. Her alcohol- and sex-fuelled glow begins to subside and she fans out her fingertips, reaching about for a blanket to pull up over herself.
“Are you all right?” she whispers, terrified of the response.
He rolls off and out of her, dragging the covers over him.
“Yes, Lizzie, I’m fine.” He reaches behind and pats her on the arm. “I love you, Elizabeth,” he says and she knows she’s in trouble.
Chapter Three
She can’t sleep. The gentle puff of snoring as he exhales is grating on her nerves and the sweat on his back from their lovemaking has cooled, leaving her damp and cold. Carefully, she picks her way out of the love-twisted sheets and pulls on a pair of slacks and a sweater. The wool is soft against her puckered cold flesh and she rubs her upper arms vigorously, trying to stimulate the blood flow. Not that that would help, being cold-blooded and all. Smiling at the thought, she wonders when she might shed this reptilian skin.
Draping a travel blanket around her shoulders, she quietly leaves the cabin.
Up on deck, her breath catches as she suddenly seems to understand the infinity of the stars. They aren’t purely up above where she expects them to be but all around to every horizon. The moon has bowed out of the scene to a fine sliver, graciously allowing the stars to dazzle on their black stage tonight.
Letting her head fall back, Lizzie pulls the blanket closed. She exhales and the sight of her breath hanging in the air makes her fancy a cigarette. Yes, she could see how that would fit. James would be disgusted. He doesn’t approve of anyone smoking, least of all his wife, but in her youth, she’d enjoyed a puff or two, feeling fashionable and decadent, like a Parisian lady staking her claim to her own sense of self and doing exactly what she wants to do, when she wants to do it. She envies this imagined picture of freedom and sophistication.
“Nice night for a stroll.”
A voice alarms her and she starts, all illusions of poise shattered as she splutters in fright. A large hand rests on her back between her shoulder blades.
“Sorry, miss, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Her jangling nerves turn to bubbling excitement as she looks up and recognises the sailor from earlier.
“No, no, I’m the one who should be sorry; I was miles away, that’s all.” She makes sure to smile at him reassuringly, hoping it doesn’t come across as a grimace. The blush from earlier has also made a return and she is so grateful for the cover of darkness.
Her heart jumps as he brings out a tobacco tin and deftly starts rolling a cigarette. Her gaze follows as he lifts the paper spill to his lips and flicks his tongue along the gummed flap. The image plays over in her mind instantly like a déjà vu on loop after loop and the welling in the pit of her stomach rises until she realises he is saying something.
“Would you care for one?”
“Oh, yes, please,” she says, regaining her composure. “If it’s no trouble.”
“No trouble at all,” he says, flashing a dazzling smile and cocking his head to the side the way they do in the movies.
He has her enraptured. She can’t quite believe how he has altered her chemistry so much just by being in close proximity. She has gone from pondering infinity to feeling the intense arousal and closeness of the here and now.
As quick as before he is licking the cigarette and hands one to her. Her fingers are trembling, as they usually do, only this time it isn’t from being cold. She places the cigarette to her lips and leans in as he holds a cupped flame to her face. Her hair falls forward and she has to clasp it in her other hand, worried about catching on fire.
“You look gorgeous in this light,” he says, holding the lighter in place long after the tobacco is lit. The tremble has made it up her arms and the swell in her womb suddenly floods out into her sex. Arousal sweeps through her vagina and she is wet again. Wet from the mingled juices of lovemaking with her husband and a new feral arousal from this perfect stranger. Her cheeks feel like they are on fire and their eyes lock for a moment. She pulls away first, trying to find something else to focus on.
“Isn’t the night sky stunning out here?” she manages, then takes a long drag on the rollup. It is exactly the sensation she is looking for and her tension releases on the outbreath and she sags a little against the wooden banister. The smoke surrounds them, cocoons them in a surreal bubble and it feels like it is only they who exist in this here and now under the vast expanse of sky and ocean.
For a while they stand silently smoking, she sizzling just beneath the surface.
“If you were my wife, I wouldn’t let you out of my sight at any time, let alone above deck in the middle of the night sharing the company of a stranger.”
She shudders. His tone is jokey and friendly yet there is the slightest edge of a threat to it. Lizzie suddenly feels insubstantial, just a brittle outer shell with a molten middle, ready to split and spill at any moment. Taking a deliberately brazen drag on her cigarette then flicking it over into the sea, she turns to him.
“It’s just as well I’m not your wife then, isn’t it?” With feigned confidence she bids him goodnight and turns on her heel, terrified that he might follow her. Even more terrified that he might not.
Back in the cabin her discontentment lingers as she folds the sheets in around herself, drawing close to her husband’s perpetually hot skin. He shudders in his sleep as his body protests at being touched by her icy frame. Like a vampire she steals all the heat she can, then turns her back to him and curls up in the foetal position, knees bent, toes tucked in to protect her still aroused sex.
Twitching and muttering, she finally falls asleep, dreaming of fires floating on top of the ocean, cresting with the waves then being smashed and extinguished back into dead calm.
* * *
At breakfast she seems even more distant that usual, pushing her scrambled eggs around the plate and staring out to sea. He thought she’d be happier now that they were on their way, but she’s not. If anything, she’s worse. A colder version of his ice maiden. It is yet another beautiful day aboard the Carinthia.
“I wonder where they keep the chickens?” he tries asking and she distractedly mumbles as if she didn’t hear him properly.
“Hmm?”
“I asked where do you suppose they keep the chickens?”
Irritation flashes across her face and she waves her empty fork at him.
“What are you talking about, James; honestly, you can be so inane at times.”
He shrugs to himself in surrender, confused again as to what he has done to offend her so. He had been uncharacteristically rough when they had made love last night—he wonders if she is angry at him because of it. Has he hurt her? Shame and guilt flood through him and he needs to get away from her. Either that or slap her cold mean face. It was she who encouraged his feral behaviour—had she not asked him to ‘fuck’ her? The shame plummets quickly to his crotch and turns to arousal at the memory of her polite red lips wrapping themselves around such a crass word. Tightness spreads through his groin and he shifts in his seat to accommodate the swelling.
“I think I might go for a stroll,” he says, tossing his bundled napkin onto his plate.
She finally looks up at him and offers a faint smile that makes no attempt to reach her eyes.
“See you later then. Lunch maybe.” Her gaze has shifted back out to sea and he leaves without another word. He seeks the comfort and simplicity of male company. It’s not a po
ker day though—all hands on deck day—as the crew members had mentioned yesterday. James will be left to his own devices for the next four hours—Lizzie has been very clear on her feelings about spending time with him.
He wanders aimlessly, picking his way among the passengers—some reclining on sun loungers, though it’s not as hot as it was, others walking arm-in-arm along the decking, a few on their way to the cinema room. It really is a super ship, he thinks and confusion settles again—the best tickets they could afford. Most women would be delighted by this, wouldn’t they?
Opening the heavy ornate door to the piano bar, James makes his way into the now dingy room—a far different place from the vibrant light- and laughter-filled space from last night. Now, dust scatters in the dim lighting, pungent with the odour of stale cigarettes and sweat. The pitted dance floor looks dull and lifeless without the flowing gowns and shoes of couples waltzing and foxtrotting. He makes his way over and stands in the middle, lifting his hand as if to take his partner. He closes his eyes and mentally rewinds to that delicious five minutes of music where he and his wife had ignited something that burned all the way to the bedroom. He begins a slow waltz, moving and smiling along, letting his memory flood his senses. He stops abruptly when a piano takes up the soundtrack.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he mumbles, embarrassed as the musician winks over.
“No, you carry on, it’s good to have a little company for once.” The pianist begins the tune again and James self-consciously shuffles a few steps before joining the man at the piano.
“Do you mind?” he asks, tentatively sliding onto the stool alongside the man.
“Hell, no,” the pianist replies, shifting along to make room. “Do you play?”
James can smell last night’s whiskey on his breath and faintly wishes he could have a shot right now.
Her Stern Gentleman Page 2
