Sally Wentworth - The Sea Master

by Sally Wentworth

  'What the hell are you trying to do?'

  Guy's grim voice close by brought her instantly awake. He was standing beside her, towering over her, hands on his hips, his body cutting out the sun and casting a dark shadow across her legs. Michelle's heart began to beat erratically, but she managed to look up at him without betraying it.

  'Oh, hello, Guy,' she stretched voluptuously, 'I must have fallen asleep. Is it time for lunch?'

  'You heard me,' be repeated harshly. What are you trying to do?'

  Michelle put her hand up to shield her eyes and thought of pretending not to understand him, but one look at his steely cold grey eyes made her change her mind. 'Trying to get an even tan, of course.'

  Tut the top back on,' he commanded, picking up the bikini and tossing it to her.

  It landed by her left hand, but she made no attempt to pick it up. Instead she pouted up at him. 'Oh, Guy, don't be so old-fashioned! All the girls sunbathe topless nowadays.'

  'Not on this boat they don't. Put it on, Mitch.'

  She gazed back at him defiantly. 'No, I won't.'

  His eyes narrowed and her heart skipped a beat, afraid of what he might do.1 So she was almost disappointed when, after a moment, he merely said mildly, 'You'll burn up.'..

  Pushed into recklessness, Michelle answered thickly, 'So why don't you put some sun-tan lotion on for me?'

  She thought his jaw tightened, but he gave no other sign whatsoever as he said equably, 'All right. Stand up.'

  Slowly, keeping her eyes on his face, Michelle picked up the bottle of oil and got to her feet. Silently he took the bottle from her and unscrewed the caps poured some of the oil into his hand. Michelle's pulse began to race as she waited for him to touch her, her eyes still on his face, afraid to look down at his hand. His mouth was set into a thin line, but his eyes were completely impassive. He turned aside to set the bottle down and then turned back to her. Suddenly she was afraid again and had to look away. k Her skin was already hot, but even so his fingers seemed to burn into her as he cupped her left breast and slowly began to massage in the oil, his hand moving almost rhythmically around the high, firm peak. And then his other hand was there too, spreading the oil, making her stifle a gasp of pleasure. It was the most wonderfully sensuous experience she'd ever known. She glanced down under her lashes and saw his hands at work on her, saw her own breasts, pale against her tan, harden under the manipulation of his strong, firm hands. A wave of sheer yearning, more violent than anything she had felt before, shook her, she .gasped and turned her head to him, her face naked and vulnerable with desire.

  The cold, almost bored look on Guy's face acted like a bucket of cold water being thrown in her face. For a moment she couldn't believe that touching her had no effect on him at all when it was doing such wonderful things to her, but then she quickly stepped away and turned her back on him, her heart beating painfully.

  'Enough?' he asked calmly.

  'Yes. Yes, thanks.' She managed to answer although her voice stuck in her throat.

  'I'll get back on the bridge, then.'

  He turned away, but she stopped him before he began to climb the ladder. 'Guy…' there was- a note of entreaty in her voice.

  'Yes?'

  Instinctively her hands covered her breasts as she looked at him. 'I… I…'

  'Well?' But she couldn't go on and his mouth twisted mockingly. 'What's the matter, Mitch? Why so afraid all of a sudden? You were confident enough' a moment ago.'

  'I know, but I…' It was no good, she couldn't put it into words.

  He came back to stand beside her, lifted his arms suddenly and pulled her hands away from her breasts.

  'No!' She gave a cry of protest.

  'What's the matter? You were eager enough-to flaunt them in front of me before. Why cover them up now?'

  'Don't.' She tried to break free, but his hands were like steel bands circling her wrists. 'Please, Guy, don't!'

  'Why not?' he insisted.

  " 'Because… because it's different now.' She mumbled out the words, afraid to look at him.

  'Different? Why? Because your little ploy to try and provoke me didn't work? Did you really drink I was going to go berserk or something at the sight of them?' he demanded scornfully. 'My God, you're naive! I may have been at sea a long time, but not that long.' .

  Tears of humiliation came to her eyes and she tried to wrench herself free. 'Stop it! Let me go.'

  But his voice continued, coldly and cruelly. 'It's not as if I hadn't seen them before.' Deliberately he pushed her wrists back behind her and let his eyes dwell on her breasts, the oil on them making them glisten like gold in the sunlight. 'Your breasts aren't bad,' he told her brutally, 'quite a good shape, in fact, but let's face it, Mitch, when you've seen one woman you've seen them all. And it hardly matters what shape they are in when they're in…'

  But Michelle had heard enough. With a supreme effort she wrenched herself free of his hands and with a sob of shame and humiliation she ran down through the galley and along to her cabin, to lock herself in and weep out her mortification on the pillow.

  Later she dropped into a deep sleep and didn't awaken until she heard Guy moving around in the galley late that evening. Then she went into the bathroom to shower, carefully washing off what was left of the oil, trying not to drink about it. When she went into the galley, dressed in his tee-shirt and jeans, Guy hardly glanced at her, instead nodding towards the window.

  'Go up on deck and take a look,' he told her.

  Automatically she obeyed him and clutched at the rail in surprise as she saw clustering pinpoints of light strung along the western horizon.

  Guy had followed her and she turned to him in some agitation. 'What is it? Are they ships?'

  'No. It's the Bermudan Islands. See that larger cluster towards, the right? That's Bermuda itself. We'll heave to here for the night and go in on the morning tide.'

  He waited for her to say something, but when she didn't he shrugged and went below again.

  Michelle stayed on deck for a long time gazing at the lights, realising that their voyage had come to an end at last. At the beginning when her hatred of Guy had been at its height, she had actively longed for this moment, and this afternoon, when she had made such a fool of herself, she had wanted it then; to be able to walk away and never see him again. But now, now that the moment had come? She searched her emotions, looking for relief at being free of the close confines of the Ethos, of being free of Guy and his arrogant masculinity for ever. But she could find none, relief just wasn't there. She tried to find the satisfaction she had expected to feel when she revealed her identity and her parents came to collect her. -But that too was missing. She recognised now , that she had been childish and stupid, that her parents would have to be told and that they had a right to be angry, but somehow that was immaterial.

  She thought of her fiance and realised that it was the first time she'd thought of him in days. Her face flushed with guilt at the understanding of what her foolishness had done to those people who cared for her, but at least she understood it at last. Maybe Guy's rough and ready methods had forced her to do some, growing up on this voyage after all.

  Would he be relieved that they'd reached their destination? she wondered. He had taken her on with much different plans in mind than teaching a spoilt teenager how to grow up. But he had taught her some salutary lessons, today's being perhaps one of the most important. And just by being with him, she had learned a lot about men. In fact she felt a whole lot older and wiser than she had two weeks ago. She could steer a boat and cook a palatable meal, she knew how to clean quickly and efficiently and she could manufacture a bikini out of a couple of tea-towels. That last made her think again of this afternoon, and it was strange that remembering that made her aware,-quite suddenly and definitely, that she wasn't going to marry Peter, that she had never loved him and had only got engaged to him because he offered an escape from her old life. Just as much of an escape as persuading Guy to take her on th
is voyage had been.

  The decision made, Michelle expected to feel a great lifting of her spirits, but the lights of Bermuda were still close, still lighting her way to her last day on the Ethos. A sense of loss, almost of desolation, filled her and she gripped the rail hard, not wanting to leave, not ever wanting to leave. Realisation that she was in love with Guy, and that it was him she didn't want to leave, came slowly. It crept into her mind and grew, to fill it with joyful wonder. So that was what her restlessness and crazy moods had all been about? She was in love with the man and hadn't even realised it! A tremendous, glowing happiness filled her, and with it came a great sense of peace and lightness. It didn't matter that Guy had spurned her cruelly that very day, that he had given no sign of caring for her. The worries and the fears would come later; right now all she wanted or needed was to lose herself, to drown deeply, in this, the most magical emotion of her young life.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  After so long on the open sea, the last few miles into Bermuda seemed to be thronged with traffic. Two large cruise Diners passed them on their way home to America from the island, the decks thronged with casually dressed holidaymakers, some of whom "waved to them as they passed. There were small cargo boats sailing to and from the various islands and several fast motorboats heading for the open sea to spend the day in trying to catch blue and white marlins or perhaps, if they were lucky, a great barracuda. As they turned into the vast bay formed by the various islands there were also ferryboats to contend with, plying between the main harbour at Hamilton, the capital of Bermuda, and across the bay to the smaller islands forming the north-western peninsula of the bay.

  Guy navigated between and around the traffic with efficient confidence and still-had time to point out the various places of interest they passed. Michelle had gone to stand at his side on the flying-bridge as soon as they'd finished breakfast, drawn there like a magnet, and trying in vain to keep the happiness and excitement out of her face. But luckily Guy must have put it down to the thrill of reaching Bermuda and made no comment.

  The lush greenness of the land seemed strange after the continuous blueness of sea and sky. There were houses along the beaches and set into the hills, painted in bright pastel colours, pink mosdy, with white roofs that sparkled in the sun, like icing on a birthday cake. Guy pointed out to her the tall tower of the lighthouse on Gibb's Hill, but they turned to the left before they got near it and began to thread their way through the maze of shipping, both pleasure and commercial, that filled Hamilton Harbour.

  Guy cut the engines right down and they slid slowly through the plethora of pleasure craft towards the mooring that Guy had already arranged over the radio.

  'There are so many boats here that Bermuda has the nickname "Land of Water",' he told her with a grin.

  'Have you been here many times before?

  'Quite a few. I was anchored here quite often when I was in the Navy.'

  She looked at him in surprise. 'I didn't know you were in the Navy. Why did you leave?'

  He grinned. 'I didn't always take kindly to discipline.'

  Michelle smiled with him; she could well imagine him fretting for the freedom to sail where and when he pleased, to have his own deck under his feet instead of having to obey the commands of others.

  'Why did you join, then?'

  He shrugged. 'I come from a Naval family; it was expected of me. I tried to stick it out, but…' he shrugged again, 'I suppose I just prefer small boats to large ones.' Changing the subject abruptly, he lifted his hand to point towards the land. 'See that building up on the hill? That's the Cathedral. And those pink, Italian-looking towers farther along belong to the Sessions House.'

  'Are those shops along by the harbour?'

  'Yes, that's Front Street.' Guy saw the hungry expression on her face and laughed. 'Don't worry,

  you'll be able to buy some clothes.' He carefully steered them between a rusty, fussing little cargo boat heading out to sea and an anchored motor-yacht, then told her to go down to the bow and stand by with the rope.

  Michelle did as she was told and stood with the breeze lifting her hair, bleached to a lighter shade by the sun, and blowing it back from her head. She could see the harbour clearly now, the traffic along the main road that was directed by a white-uniformed policeman standing on a sort of high birdcage structure in the intersection, the numerous horses and carriages grouped together under the lush shade of tall palm trees, and the groups of tourists boarding lines of taxis waiting for them at the foot of the gangplanks of the two huge cruise liners that were moored right alongside the dock, their giant superstructures casting thick blocks of shadow over the main road itself.

  But Guy steered the boat into a marina just before the dock where there were a great many other visiting boats moored, and Michelle threw the rope to a boy who made it fast. They were there, the long voyage from France was over.

  She expected Guy to go ashore at once, but he spent some time fussing over the boat arid making sure it was properly moored first. Whereas once this would have annoyed Michelle and made her impatient, now she saw that it was simply attention to detail, the wish for his boat, his creation, to be shown off to perfection. And, of course, he didn't let her sit idly by; he found her a dozen different jobs to do before he was through.

  He nodded in grudging satisfaction at last. 'Okay, I think she'll do. I'll get changed now and go and check in at Customs, then I'll go and contact the broker I deal with here' I don't expect he'll be able to come and look her over right away, but he might. If he can't I'll go up to the Post Office on Queen Street and collect your passport so that you can go ashore and buy some clothes.'

  Michelle looked hastily away, then covered it by saying, 'Can't I come with you?'

  Guy shook his head, 'No. Not until you have your . passport.' .He glanced at his watch. I'd better get a move on.'

  He disappeared below, leaving Michelle to hang on the rail and stare out at the busy scene in the harbour. She had often been abroad before with her mother, of course, but they had always flown to their destination because of her mother's busy schedule; never before had she approached a country by sea, and somehow she found it infinitely more exciting. To see the blur on the horizon grow into individual islands, to make out hills and trees, then the individual buildings, and finally the people, going busily about their lives, quite unaware of the new boat that had supped quietly into their harbour. There were a great many people wearing Bermuda shorts, and it seemed very strange to Michelle's eyes to see smart dark-suited businessmen with briefcases tucked under their arms and their legs bare below the knees!

  But it seemed even stranger when Guy came up on deck again twenty minutes later, also dressed in a crisp grey suit, his shirt startingly white against his tanned skin, a striped tie knotted at his neck. He looked a different person from the man who had stood at the helm a short time ago in his faded and rather frayed denim shorts and nothing else.

  His eyebrows rose sardonically as he saw her staring at him in open-mouthed astonishment. 'Your mouth looks like a Venus flytrap looking for food,' he informed her tartly.

  Hastily Michelle shut her mouth, but she was still bug-eyed as she watched him walk purposefully ashore. And she wasn't the only one of that opinion; she saw several people turn to look at his tall, broad figure as he passed, and the other pedestrians seemed to make way for him, instinctively moving aside as he approached, his self-confident bearing carrying him quickly through the crowds on the jetty until he wais lost to sight by the Customs shed. Michelle found that her throat had gone tight and that she'd been gripping the rail hard. She took a deep breath and let go, but the memory of his big, muscular body was still there in her mind. How strange that it should affect her more when he was fully clothed than when he was in just shorts. Perhaps it was because she'd never seen him in anything but casual clothes before, never imagined that he could look so devastating urbane and attractive.

  Thinking of him drove everything else from her mind for qu
ite a while, bur eventually, and reluctantly, she dragged her thoughts back to her own affairs. She had no doubt whatsoever that Guy was going to be mad as fire when he found out that no passport had arrived for her. He was going to start demanding explanations and she had better make up her mind before he came back on just what she was going to tell him. All she did know for sure was that she had no intention of telling him the truth, because then he would send her back to England willy-nilly, no matter how much she wanted to stay. And she did want to stay with him, wanted it desperately. It didn't matter that he had been cruel to her, didn't matter that he showed no sign whatsoever of caring for her even a little; she clung to the hope that if she could only stay with him; then somehow, some time he might come to care about her in return. So she would go on bluffing her way along and pretend that she had no idea why her passport hadn't arrived. She smiled to herself gleefully; and there was nothing he could do about it; if the authorities wouldn't let her ashore without a passport then Guy would have to keep her with him until she finally told him the truth or he took her back to England. But there was still the problem of her parents. For almost the first time, Michelle's conscience smote her; she had never intended that the game would go on as long as this when she had persuaded Guy to take her with himj and had fully intended to end it in Bermuda, but now she had to find a way of letting her parents know that she was safe without giving away her whereabouts. The answer, she found, was ' simple. She merely sat down and wrote three short letters: one to each of her parents stating that she was quite safe but didn't intend to come home yet, and the third, most difficult letter, to Peter, telling him that her feelings had changed and that she no longer wished to marry him. They all sounded rather curt and she was sorry about that, but there was so much that she didn't want them to know that she was afraid of giving something away if she wrote too much. The letters done, she stole some English money that- she found in a drawer in Guy's' cabin and gave it to the Bermudan boy who had helped them tie up and who was still lounging on the jetty. She asked him to stamp the letters for her and to send them surface mail. She stressed the surface mail bit because she didn't want the letters to arrive before the Ethos was safely out of Bermuda and on the way to America. She watched the boy rather worriedly as he. unconcernedly pocketed the money