Cathy dreamed she was in her grandmother’s house back in Indiana, wrapped in the warm, plump arms of the wonderful woman who always smelled like berries and wild corn.
Gap was rocking her slowly, rhythmically, in the large oak rocker next to the fireplace in her living room.
The motions were wonderful and comforting, except Gap had forgotten to light the fire, and Cathy was so terribly cold that her body ached. But Gap knew that, and she held her close, murmuring that she’d be all right.
Cathy smiled and pressed closer. “G’night, Gap—”
“Nightcap?” The voice was deep and laced with a relieved sort of laughter. “She wants a nightcap. Harry, grab that brandy decanter.”
Cathy paused in her dream. Gap’s voice should be light and melodious, not deep and rumbling.
“You’re going to be all right,” the voice continued, and when Cathy pressed her head into Gap’s chest, it was hard and strong … and flat. She forced open her heavy eyelids.
“What …?” The small word was spoken against warm, damp skin that smelled vaguely of open air and saltwater and aftershave.
“It’s okay.” The man’s dark head bent down until his forehead almost touched hers. “You sure scared the hell out of us.”
Voices in the background murmured, but all Cathy could see were the dark blue eyes that matched the deepest part of the ocean. He was holding her, and she seemed to be wrapped in a towel or blanket. She was freezing. And wet. At a loss for an alternative, Cathy smiled weakly. “Hello.”
“Hello yourself.”
“I’m soaking wet.”
The stranger smiled. “That you are, mermaid. Swimming at night, and fully dressed, is not a good idea. One does get wet.”
Cathy moved one hand up to her chest. Her hands spread out beneath the blanket until she could feel her dress. It was still there, thank heaven, but when she wiggled her feet, she knew her shoes were gone. Her new sandals. Frowning, she gave a small sigh of dismay. And then it all came back in a flash: the gator tail. Her date. And the car flying off the end of the dock.
Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, my God!”
Michael looked up at the others. His smile broadened. “She remembers. She’ll be fine.”
Cathy turned her head and looked around. Through the haze she could see that she was in a small, richly decorated room with round windows and low furniture. It smelled of polished wood and the sea. That was all her mind and senses could sort out. The lights were dim and the muscular arms of the man holding her prevented her from seeing much more, but she knew there were people around, more strangers.
Michael, who had not taken his eyes off the lovely sea nymph’s face for more than a second, saw the flash of fear in her eyes. He turned to the other people in the room. “Someone order some soup. I’ll take care of the rest. You can get back to the party.”
There were voices and shuffling feet, doors opening and closing, but Cathy was numb to it all. Her head was filled with a collage of action: the car flying through the air, the jolting impact of hitting the water, and then the slow, sinking sensation as water poured into the car as it went down. She remembered Rod screaming just before they hit water, and she remembered the feel of him leaving the driver’s seat almost immediately, his legs kicking madly as he pushed himself through the window. And she had followed frantically, blindly, trying to swim but too scared, too tired.
“I was drowning …” She shivered, hearing the words and knowing how true they were.
“You’re all right now,” he assured her.
“Am I? Am I really?” She trembled, remembering the panic, the darkness, the water in her eyes and mouth and throat.
“Yes.” His voice was low but commanding. He tipped her chin up so she had to meet his eyes. “You’re safe and you’re fine. Trust me.”
“All right,” she whispered, and snuggled against him. And then she suddenly realized that she was cradled in some man’s arms. She tried to push herself away from him, but the movement sent sharp spears of pain through her head.
“Hey, it’s okay. Take it easy. You swallowed a bit of the ocean before I got to you. You must feel like hell.”
Her fingers found their way to her head and she rubbed it gently. “It hasn’t been one of my better nights,” she admitted.
They were on a small couch, and Cathy inched herself over slowly until she was no longer so close to him. The room was cold and she shivered, pulling the blanket tight. The man kept his arm at her back, supporting her, and she found the strength of his body next to hers undeniably comforting.
“How did you get yourself into such a mess?” he asked.
“I was on a blind date.”
His laughter was rich and genuine, rising from deep down in his chest, filling the shadowy room, bringing warmth to her wet bones.
She smiled and ducked her head. “I know it’s crazy. And the truth is, I never get into situations like that. Honest!”
Afraid she was babbling, she bit her lip and stared down at her lap. The numbing fear had nearly subsided, replaced by an awkward awareness of how she must look, soaking wet, a transparent sundress clinging to her breasts beneath this stranger’s plaid blanket. Maybe if she knew his name she’d feel more at ease. “I’m Cathy,” she said firmly. “Cathy Stephenson.” She held out her hand.
Michael closed it in his. “How do you do. I’m Michael Winters.” Her hand was still cold from her plunge into the ocean, and he rubbed it lightly, watching the bluish color turn pink beneath his fingers.
Cathy’s eyelids fluttered closed. The heat that began in her hand, where he touched her, spread smoothly and quickly up her arm and through her body. She shook her head slightly and forced herself to focus on her situation. “The car … Rod … is he all right?”
“Fine,” Michael said shortly. But seeing the worry in her wide brown eyes, he touched her cheek reassuringly. “He’s probably sitting in a shore bar right now, drying off, telling his story to a rapt if somewhat drunken audience. And I wouldn’t bet on him mentioning you. Except for his drowned TransAm, the bum’ll be fine.”
Tears gathered on Cathy’s lashes. “Oh, he is a bum! But what if … what if you hadn’t been there? What if you weren’t there to save me …?” Her chin trembled, and the tears spilled down her cheeks.
Michael brushed them away with his strong fingers. “But I was. And you’re fine,” he insisted. “No sense scaring yourself now.” His eyes were gentler than his voice, so Cathy looked deep into them to find her courage.
“You’re right.” She nodded quickly.
“Of course I’m right.” He hid the unexpected discomfort he felt under those tears and that trusting gaze.
Cathy gave a little smile. His arm had not moved; it was tight on her back, a warm brace holding her shivering body. She licked her lips and gave a little shrug. “I don’t know quite the right thing to say here. I’ve never had to do this before.”
“What’s that?” Michael brushed a stray wet curl from her face.
“Thank someone for saving my life.”
“You haven’t?” One dark brow lifted straight up in mock surprise.
“No,” she answered, knowing she was being teased and liking him for it. “This is my first time.”
“I can see you’ve led a sheltered life,” he replied smoothly.
She laughed. “True. Until tonight!” And picturing the letter she’d write home to Indiana, she had to laugh out loud again. Gap had told her to go have an adventure, but surely she could not have meant this! Then, worried that Michael was going to think she was crazy, she stole a glance his way. He was still watching her with that calm, steady look.
“Relax. It’s all over now,” he said.
Cathy nodded. “I know. But even if this is all some strange sort of dream and I wake up tomorrow in my brand-new apartment and find out I’ve imagined this whole thing, I still want to thank you before it ends.”
Michael watched her as she spoke. Her eyes seemed to re
flect the lifts in her voice, lighting up then widening as she became animated. She was enchanting, a curly-haired mermaid without a pretentious bone in her lovely body.
“Then before it ends,” he answered softly, surprising himself, “let me offer to drop into a few more of your dreams and rescue you from quicksand … swamps … you name it.”
Cathy laughed, startled by his intensity. “Then you think it’s a dream too?”
“I don’t know, Cathy. I do know that in real life I don’t often have this much unexpected pleasure.”
Cathy blushed. This gorgeous dark-haired stranger looked like he wouldn’t have anything but pleasure in his life. Yachts? Of course. And beautiful women and fast cars and private jets and …
“Why, you’re the man from the restaurant! The one at the bar!”
“I thought you realized that—” he began, but she cut him short.
“So you saw everything! All night! I mean, you were like my guardian angel, watching over me!”
“I wouldn’t put it quite like that.” Michael grinned. “I just couldn’t help watching a beautiful woman.”
“Me?” She laughed, waving away the compliment. But she leaned forward, eyeing him carefully, studying him intently.
He frowned. “What are you doing?”
“Now, this is crazy. Maybe my brain’s just water-logged, but I know I know you. I thought so even in the bar. I know I’ve seen you, heard your name—”
She stopped, head tipped to one side. And then she grinned and tapped his chest with one finger. “I know! I do know you. You’re Michael Winters!”
“I just told you that.” He laughed. But his eyes were narrowed, his body tense.
“Yes, but you’re Michael Bradford Winters. The Michael Winters. You were just on the cover of Time: The Great American Bachelor! Oh my!”
“Oh my what?” he asked, leaning back so that a great space opened up between them, eighteen inches that felt like eighty. His arm rested along the sofa back. One leg was crossed over the other. He was the perfect image of elegant nonchalance.
“Oh my goodness,” she answered softly, dismayed by this sudden coldness. “That’s all I meant. Did I say something wrong?”
“Nothing.” But he seemed to be waiting.
Cathy shrugged. “Nice place you’ve got here,” she offered gamely.
His mouth twitched into a smile. “It’s not mine, it’s the publisher’s. The company yacht. This stateroom was empty, so we brought you here.” His eyes searched her wide brown eyes, watching for something he didn’t find there, coyness or calculation.
Unexpectedly he smiled. “I told them to bring you something to eat. Something warm. Is soup all right?”
“Fine,” she murmured, feeling flustered. “I … I don’t want to put you to a lot of trouble. Really, don’t bother. I can—”
Michael’s grin cut through her objections. “You can what? Swim back to the restaurant? Call a cab?” he asked, teasing her until she smiled again.
“I guess not.”
“Do you live near the beach?”
Cathy’s hand flew to her mouth. “No, no, I don’t. Nowhere near. I live in Orlando.”
“Hmmm. Now, that’s an interesting problem. It’s quite a hike to Orlando.”
Cathy straightened up. It might be a problem, but it was her problem, and she was not going to drop one more ounce of trouble in this man’s lap. “Nope, no problem. I’ll rent a car.”
“Cash or credit card?” His grin flashed wickedly.
Cathy groaned. Cash, credit card, driver’s license—everything was in her purse at the bottom of the ocean! “Now what am I going to do?” She bit down hard on her lower lip and pulled the blanket back around her.
“No problem.” The irrational urge to protect her overwhelmed him again. “I’ll take care of everything. Later. It’s no bother.”
Cathy thought about that for a minute. She already owed this man her life. Adding a few more hours and a rental car were mere drops in the bucket. “All right. That would be nice, Michael.” She offered him a half smile. “Thank you. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”
An interesting thought crossed Michael’s mind, but he pushed it away, biting back the sensual smile that had climbed to his lips. Instead, he drew a deep breath, crossed both hands behind his dark head, and narrowed his eyes. “You don’t owe me a thing; it’s my pleasure.”
While they talked, a steward left a silver tray with something hot and aromatic on the table near the windows. Michael glanced at it. “Looks like soup’s on, Cathy. How about having a bite to eat while we talk about what to do next?”
“If you don’t mind, I’d love a hot shower first, and something dry to put on.” She looked hopefully around the room, willing something to appear.
“No problem. I’ll get you my robe. I’ll be right back, okay?”
“Great. Thanks.” She pulled the blanket tight around a new layer of goose bumps. The minute he left she scurried into the bathroom and only reached an arm out when he knocked. “Thanks. Out in a minute!” she called, and locked the door.
While she showered, Michael poured two glasses of wine.
When the magazine had arranged this weekend celebration, he had felt compelled to accept, squeezing it into an already painfully overloaded agenda. And, he had to admit, he had wanted a first-hand look at this ship. La Cygne, the swan, as she was so aptly named, was a one-hundred-and-thirty-foot oceangoing yacht with a steel hull and a cruising speed of 12.5 knots. And inside it was as elegant as the Plaza, the food as wonderful, the service as fine. There was even a rosewood baccarat table from Monaco and a hot tub large enough to hold twenty people with room left over to wiggle toes, or whatever else there was to wiggle. And the publisher had agreed to route the trip so it included his business appointment tomorrow morning in the Abacos.
But Michael had been bored. He had been bored often lately, in the midst of multimillion-dollar real estate deals and acquisitions, and it worried him because he considered it an ungracious state of mind … and a weakness.
Cathy’s appearance had changed all that, at least for a few hours. This girl, with her wide brown eyes and curly brown hair, her lovely long legs and her beautiful skin, made him feel unexpectedly, crazily, like the boy next door. Young. Hopeful. Expecting great things to happen in a great and wonderful world. He had felt like that once, years earlier, before he had gotten everything he wanted and found out it wasn’t enough. But this girl, she still had dreams behind her dark eyes. She had a smile that knocked a man over, it was so filled with joy and spontaneity. Give me a little of that, he thought, taking a sip of the wine. Give me a taste of that again.
He placed his glass back next to hers on the table. Who knew, maybe Cathy Stephenson would provide enough fuel for him to get through the next couple of days? And there was no doubt in his mind that he would enjoy repaying that debt.
“Hi,” Cathy said from the doorway.
Michael looked up. She was standing still, her slender shape almost lost in his terry robe. The light from the bathroom behind her cast a shimmering glow around her head, and her face was flushed from the heat of the shower. Her lips were parted, her eyes shining. A bead of water dripped off her cheek onto the rise of her breasts and disappeared.
Michael felt a surge of desire rise in his groin, and his imagination raced through the familiar moves that would end in a moment of passion. Guaranteed. A word, a look, a touch … all combined with who he was, what he owned, what he controlled. It always worked. But he knew he would not use it tonight, not with her.
Instead, he cocked his dark head to one side and studied her, the delicate features of her face revealing the vulnerability that played like some inner light across those gently sculpted bones. The softness, the openness in her expression, caught him off guard. He found himself in the impossible position of still wanting, on the one hand, to sweep her up in a passionate embrace and carry her off to bed … and, on the other, to offer her a glass of warm m
ilk.
Cathy tipped the scales. “Umm, something sure does smell good.”
“Hungry?” Michael managed to ask around the tightness in his throat.
“Well, I tried, but I really couldn’t eat much in that restaurant.”
“I noticed.”
She smiled, padded across the floor, and sat down at the table. “Please eat with me. I hate to eat alone.”
“Do you eat alone often?” Michael pulled out the chair across from her and sat down.
“Never! I’ve always had family or roommates before. Before now, that is.” She stirred her soup absentmindedly.
“And now?” Michael prompted her.
“Well, now I’ve moved into my own apartment in a strange city, so yes, I’ll probably be eating alone a great deal.” Cathy paused, holding her soup spoon in midair, considering her new life. “But I won’t like it, I know that. I’ll have to find some soup-eating buddy. Or get a cat.”
“And before this? Where did you move from?”
“Bloomington, Indiana. A small town nearby, really. I grew up there. My grandmother, I call her Gap—”
“Gap?” He had heard it wrong then, earlier. The realization of what she had really said tugged his mouth up at the corners.
Color flooded her cheeks. “It’s … it’s an endearment,” Cathy explained. “Anyway, Gap raised me after my folks died. We lived on a farm until I went to college, and then we moved into town with my aunt Tisha. After that, once I was working at the University Press and could afford the rent, I shared an apartment with some friends. So there was always someone to cook soup for, and share soup with.…” She pressed her lips closed, letting her eyes alone smile at him. “I do tend to talk a lot. Sorry.”
“No, I’m really interested,” he insisted, leaning back in his chair, his gaze steady and intense. “Then what?”
“Then I read about this opening at Tower Publishing in Orlando. I interviewed. They hired me. And now I’m the proud leasee of a brand-new apartment with lots of flowers and walls thin as tissue paper.”
“And you’re an editor?”
The Great American Bachelor Page 2