She took one last glance at the elegant dress lying on the couch. These lounging pajamas were not even in the same league, and certainly not appropriate for the kind of party that “the Dress” would attend. But just then her stomach interrupted again, giving a long, forlorn growl of starvation, and her mind was made up.
In minutes Cathy stood in the hallway in the red silk pajamas and a pair of borrowed sandals. She had run a comb through her tangle of curls, pinched her cheeks, wet her lips, and was ready. She looked up the wide carpeted steps. From the delicious odors wafting down the staircase, food was but a few steps away. A tingle of excitement raced through her. An Adventure, she thought, and with a capital A! She might as well follow Gap’s advice and make the most of it.
She crept up the steps and rounded a corner. Ahead of her, through a wide doorway, was the grand salon. It filled one end of the yacht and was framed by panel after panel of curved windows that looked out onto the mystery of the sea. Inside all was elegance.
Her eyes widened. It was lovely. Amazing. A room like this floating right in the middle of the ocean. Over two dozen elegantly dressed people milled around holding drinks that were constantly being refilled by the stewards. Cathy scanned the room and then her eyes focused on the far side. There, curving along with the windows, was what she was looking for: a linen-draped table holding silver platters of cheeses and fancy fruits, huge, pink shrimp, and thin slices of rare roast beef. Truffles, small cakes, and enough assorted pastries for a small army decorated the end of the table.
Cathy gave her red pajamas a quick glance. Then, realizing that no one was paying her the slightest bit of attention anyway, she skirted the edges of the room and made her way toward the table.
Fortified with a plate filled with food, Cathy found her way to a small couch in a corner. Not far to her left a young man was playing slow, romantic dance music on a baby grand piano. Cathy settled back. Nice. Comfortable. And the food was almost as good as the Nashville House back in Brown County, Indiana.
“People-watching?” the piano player asked during a break.
Cathy nodded and smiled.
“There’s plenty to watch,” he remarked.
Cathy followed his glance to a woman near the salon doors whose slinky dress was similar to “the Dress,” except the dip in front extended all the way to her waist. Each time she laughed at her companion’s remarks, the split widened until nearly every inch of her perfect, evenly tanned breasts was exposed.
Cathy blinked, then began a long, curious investigation of the rest of the occupants of the salon, with their easy, elegant gestures, the practiced hugs, and the smiles that seemed to fuse together into one long, upturned line. Beautifully gowned women and handsome men in crisp white shirts and tuxedos flirted and chatted and then collected in small clumps, where their faces took on the serious looks of real estate moguls buying Staten Island.
“Is this your first time on La Cygne?” the musician asked.
Cathy grinned at him. “Yes, it is. And my last. I was pulled out of the sea—”
“So you’re the one,” the young man said. “Well, hi. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Danny, and you were the main topic of conversation at dinner tonight.”
“You mean a roomful of sophisticated people like this found nothing better to talk about than me?” Cathy laughed.
“Probably the fact that the man of the hour was your hero helped a little.”
“You mean Michael,” Cathy said softly.
The piano player nodded toward the far side of the room. “The one and only—”
Again Cathy followed his glance. And then her heart made a funny little jump. Michael had just come in from the promenade deck surrounding the salon. There was a glamorous blonde draped around him like ivy, but Cathy paid her little attention. It was Michael, Michael in his black tuxedo and bow tie, who captured her attention. He looked every inch the magazine’s cover story. Michael, with his thick dark hair wind-ruffled and his sea-blue eyes flashing, who stopped her heart.
“Oh, he’s handsome,” she murmured.
Danny laughed and then shifted on the polished bench and began to play again. Strains of “Stardust” filtered across the room and mixed with the clink of glasses and the party chatter.
Michael’s gaze met Cathy’s. He stared at her for a long moment, and then smoothly disentangled himself from the woman next to him. With a grace Cathy found mesmerizing, he wound his way through the people to her side.
“I’m glad you came,” he said.
“I was hungry.” Cathy smiled up at him and lifted her empty plate for him to inspect.
“I see. Would you care for more?” He signaled a steward without waiting for an answer.
“I guess I do,” Cathy said with a slight laugh.
“By the way, you look terrific.”
Michael had spotted her immediately when he came into the room. She stood out, set apart by her fresh, natural beauty and those brilliant red pajamas. Obviously she’d vetoed the dress he’d sent! The thought had amused him, and then right on top of it he had felt a stirring of desire so strong it propelled him across the room to her side.
“Thanks for sending that dress,” Cathy was blushing and explaining, “but I just couldn’t do it. It was beautiful, I’ll grant you that, but I’m afraid I would have wobbled in here so self-consciously that my shaking would have caused it to fall right off.”
“I like your choice,” he answered softly.
She had been talking too fast and now she had to draw a quick little breath. It was because he was so close. If he gave her a little breathing room, she would feel much better.
She slid over on the bench toward the piano and put her plate down next to her. “Would you like to sit down?” she asked, pointing to the other side of her plate.
“For a minute.” He settled down and stretched his long legs out in front of him. “Then I should take you around and introduce you to people.”
“Why?”
Michael shrugged. Why indeed? What he’d like to do right then was carry her off to his stateroom and keep her all to himself. That would give all those reporters something to write about. But it would also scare the hell out of Cathy Stephenson, and he had no intention of doing that—yet. Instead, he thought back to her question. “Because I’m sure they’d like to meet you.”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” Cathy quipped without the slightest hesitation. “Do you know what I have in common with these people, Michael? The shrimp, that’s what. We all nibbled on the same batch of shrimp. That’s about it.”
“Is that fair? You might have thought that of me, but we’ve found a lot to talk about.”
Cathy looked at him candidly. “Unusual circumstances, Mr. Winters. If our paths had crossed in any other way, on the streets of any city or even at adjacent tables in some restaurant, we would never have spoken two words to each other.”
“Lucky for me things worked out as they did.”
She smiled, dazzled by his compliment, then had another thought. “You know, I don’t think luck can really be given any of the credit. From what I’ve seen of you, and the little I’ve read, you make things happen.” Her smile slid into a wry grin. “My being here right this moment certainly proves that.”
“You’re not angry anymore?”
She laughed. “Not at this instant.”
Around them the party ebbed and swirled. The gaiety, the noise, the cocktail talk, were just a faint annoyance on the periphery of Michael’s vision. He was watching her.
And Cathy was watching him. “Why don’t you like parties?” she asked him. “Especially when you’re the guest of honor?”
“Who says I don’t?” he asked, one dark brow dipping low in consternation.
She laughed softly, dropping her hands on his shoulders. “Your whole body says it wants to be somewhere else, out of that tux. And the way your brow swoops—”
“Swoops?”
“Swoops,” she repeated firmly. “And th
e way you glare when the noise gets too loud. I hope you have more of a poker face when you’re negotiating a business deal.”
That comment made him laugh out loud. “I seem to do all right.”
“Glad to hear it.” She grinned at him. She accepted the plate the waiter brought and looked delightedly at the assortment of tiny sandwiches. “You know, swimming in the ocean really makes you hungry. Want some?”
“No thanks.”
“Good!”
He laughed again, then cut it short. One of the things reporters liked to dwell on was his “brooding look,” as they called it. Enigmatic. Inscrutable. “The Unknowable Michael Bradford Winters,” they had dubbed him. If they saw him with Miss Indiana laughing like a college freshman they would be crushed. And that thought made him laugh again. He shook his head. “Cathy, you’re wonderful.”
Cathy stopped eating long enough to frown at him. “What a strange thing to say. Interesting, I’d buy. Or charming,” she teased. “But wonderful? Compared to all this, my life is very ordinary. I’m a very ordinary person. That’s how they grow ’em in Indiana.”
“Believe me, what you’ve done to a weekend I was beginning to find suffocating is definitely extraordinary. And that makes you quite wonderful.”
“Which reminds me of something not so wonderful.” Cathy put down her plate. “And that’s this predicament. Now that I’ve eaten, I want to figure this out.”
“It’s no problem and it’s all figured out. We get to the Abacos tomorrow morning. I have some business to attend to and you can be off to Orlando on a plane if that’s what you want. You’ll be home by bedtime.”
“Just like that?” Cathy fell quiet.
A whole carload of emotions barreled around inside her, but that sharp stab of disappointment threw her for a loop. Blame it on him! Michael Winters’s world was too fast for her. The easy commands, the snapping of fingers and having things appear and disappear, the total disregard of things like the cost of her plane ticket and the fact that she had probably lost her job, her instantly replaceable wardrobe—all that shadowed her heart-stopping excitement with confusion.
She shook her head.
But before she could speak, he rose. “Excuse me a moment, will you?”
“Certainly.”
Now she was free to catch her breath. She sat and watched him as he stood talking nearby with a group of men. It was fascinating. They all wore ad-perfect tans and seemed to be forceful and confident, with deep, commanding voices and sure gestures. Yet, Cathy decided, each paled a little next to Michael. He had presence. And the women … they all seemed determined to seduce the Great American Bachelor. Oh, well, Cathy thought, that was probably to be expected. After all, his title wasn’t the celibate bachelor! Certainly a man like Michael Winters had been around the block a time or two.
But still, with the tiniest flicker of jealousy, she was happy to see how cool his response was. He treated each one exactly the same: with polite, gracious indifference. Maybe he was just tired tonight. She grinned to herself. After all, saving someone’s life was bound to take something out of a person!
“Any requests?” the piano player asked.
She had forgotten about Danny, but now he was leaning toward her, smiling.
“How about ‘Good Night, Ladies’?” Cathy said.
“I don’t think the fine folks would appreciate that; the party is still young.”
“But not for me.” Cathy stood, smiled at him, and stifled a yawn. “I’m beat. It’s been a busy day.”
“That’s the understatement of the decade,” the young man said. “Unless you drive cars into oceans frequently.”
Cathy shook her head. “I try to keep it down to two or three a year.” She yawned again, and they both laughed.
“G’night, Danny.” She waved at the young man and wandered across the room.
She decided to take the outside route back to the stateroom and let the ocean lull her on the way. Slipping through the open door, she saw that the wide wedge of deck outside the salon was softly lit with lanterns and scattered couples were standing or sitting in shadows, enjoying the evening air. The wavering lights lit her way as she walked over to the railing and looked out across the water.
It was incredible. There was nothing but the dark, rolling ocean for as far as she could see. The world she lived in had disappeared completely. Above her a few stars distinguished the sky from the water, but except for that, it was a continuous blanket of deep, thick, impenetrable blackness.
Cathy wrapped her arms around herself and smiled out at the majesty of such vastness. She felt small, insignificant, and strangely at peace.
“You’re not thinking of jumping, are you?”
Cathy jumped.
“Sorry.” Michael wrapped his arm around her. “Didn’t mean to scare you. I saw you head for the door and wanted to make sure you were all right. I didn’t mean to leave you earlier, but someone wanted to see me.”
“Understandable, since you’re the man of the hour.” She laughed lightly. But the peace she’d felt a minute before was shattered. Here he was, one arm tossed lightly over her shoulders, and she was undone. The ocean had vanished. The ship had vanished. There was only him, standing so close, his breath on her face. She felt her heart leap and hammer at her throat. Her skin went hot and cold and hot again. She had never felt anything like this fierce desire. It was crazy. Crazy! She was going to have to stop this!
“Are you having a good time?”
“Lovely. The food was delicious, the company charming. And now I’m on my way to bed.” She tried to walk away, but his arm stayed firmly around her shoulder. “Michael—”
A flashbulb lit the darkness. “Hey, Michael, there you are!”
Cathy and Michael turned together, and it was a face she recognized from earlier, though she had not noticed the camera then.
“Cathy, this is Nick Mendello with Time. He’s doing the follow-up story.”
Cathy nodded and smiled while Nick pumped her hand, continuing to talk to Michael as he did so. “Michael, I need a couple more shots before I close up shop here. You with a guest would be great. Female, of course.”
Michael nodded but Cathy saw the lines of tension tighten around his blue eyes. No poker face now; his annoyance was obvious.
But, holding his temper, he slipped his arm back around Cathy’s shoulder and moved so they both faced the camera. “Okay, how’s this?”
“Michael, I—”
He overruled her objection. “This’ll just take a second.”
Nick Mendello shifted his camera, adjusted his lens and looked up again. With a professional glance around, he waved to a woman standing near the doorway.
Cathy recognized her as the woman whose dress had astonished her earlier.
“Michael, why don’t you put your arm around the countess there?”
Cathy could feel Michael’s anger ignite. “Mendello, don’t bother Fran. I said to take this shot—” He pulled her closer.
“I just thought …” Mendello began. “I mean no offense, ma’am,” he said, bobbing his head toward Cathy, “but this shot’ll go with the party spread. I thought they might want someone more—”
Sophisticated? Cathy finished in her head. Beautiful? She could feel the flush of her own anger rising in her throat.
“… recognizable,” the photographer finished lamely, but Michael cut him off.
“I want her.”
Cathy had had just about enough of the two of them! Dying of embarrassment, she tugged free of Michael’s encircling arm. “Did either of you think of asking whether I want my picture taken?”
“Cathy, I just—” He touched her arm.
“The answer is no, I don’t want my picture taken!” Her piercing gaze flicked between Michael and the photographer, and then settled for another brief moment on Michael. “And furthermore”—she poked one finger into his starched tuxedo shirt—“I don’t know how you usually operate, but I am not about to take orders f
rom you. Good night!”
Before Michael or Nick could speak, she was gone, a red streak through the black night.
Four
At dawn the next morning, a candy-striped light-house was shining out over a turquoise sea.
The sight made Cathy gasp in delight. This was not Indiana. Not anything she had ever seen before, or even imagined. This was a fairy tale.
As the yacht cut a wide, curling wake through the Atlantic, dolphins lured from the deep jumped and leapt in pairs like ballet dancers on tailfins instead of toe shoes. A flash of silver and a wide, dark eye, and they disappeared behind the ship. Cathy leaned over the rail for one more look, just a glimpse to freeze in memory. “Hello!” she called. “Hello, you beautiful things. Hello—”
Her waving arm drew the gulls, hungry for a handout, to whom any lifted arm meant a fish head or a piece of bread. They soared and swooped and soared again, and Cathy covered her head and laughed aloud at their bullying. “Go away, you bandits. Shoo!” she shouted.
No one heard. The captain and crew were at their posts, guiding the ship toward its early morning rendezvous. The guests were all predictably asleep, recovering no doubt from the previous night’s party. And Michael was nowhere to be seen.
Which was fine with Cathy.
A lovely night’s sleep, accompanied by the comforting lullaby of the engines and the gentle rocking of the ship, had chased away all her annoyance. How could anyone be angry at anything on a morning like this, she mused happily. And when would she ever get another chance to step inside a fairy tale like this? But she was not quite ready to let Michael Winters off the hook. Let him think she was still furious. Let him think she disapproved. Let him think …
She laughed aloud, a soft, musical sound of rippling notes that winged across the water. If he thought of her at all, it would be a miracle! More likely he was sound asleep in a not-so-empty bed, or getting ready for his big business deal. She shrugged. She was not the kind of girl to get her feelings hurt by fairy-tale princes on yachts or shining white horses. She was a practical Indiana farm girl who knew the salt wind in her face was a gift she should enjoy while it lasted. So she did.
The Great American Bachelor Page 4