Not.
The speed at which Max had left the cabin after their whatever you wanted to call what happened in bed . . . probably indicated how uncomfortable he was. She was uncomfortable, too. But not in a bad way. More of a confused, uncertain, butterflies-in-the-stomach, wondering-what’s-next kind of way.
Maybe Max was right—they were two ships passing. So why not enjoy each other for the moment and when it was over, just say good-bye and walk away. She could do that. Sure, she could. She could.
I can, Daisy insisted.
“Of course, Max doesn’t know I can do that,” she mumbled to herself, taking the first stair. “He probably thinks I’m all smitten and ga-ga over him.”
Smitten and ga-ga? The man sizzled and she was hot for him.
The point was, Daisy could be as carefree and breezy about sex as Max. She was the new Daisy Moon—remember?—moving on, taking chances, letting go. She would be fun and—
How had Max described Tina? Easy?
That’s what she would be. Fun and easy. She’d prove to Max there was nothing Victorian about her!
As Daisy climbed the carpeted stairs toward her deck, she felt the vibrations of the Columbia’s engines as they pushed the ferry into open waters.
At the top of the stairs, she slowed and pressed the wall, allowing space for the passengers behind her to go around. In a matter of seconds, she’d be at her cabin and be face-to-face with Max Kendall. What would happen then?
“Get dressed and get out!” Max shouted, flicking on the lights. In a whirlwind, he snatched Inga’s clothes from various locations around the cabin, then forced them into her arms.
“But I have no shower yet.”
“No time. Daisy will be back any minute. You have to get out.”
Inga had an armful of clothes but seemed in no hurry to put them on. “What is Daisy?”
“The woman I’m with, sort of, but not really,” he said, trying to clarify in his own mind exactly what Daisy was now that they’d crossed into that landmine of sexual intimacy.
“Ah, Daisy is CIA partner,” Inga said. “Your cover?”
“Yes,” Max agreed, remembering the lie he’d told. “And she will be very upset if she finds you here”—with a pained expression, Max looked upon Inga’s perfect body—“like this.”
“But you say partner is gone.”
“Apparently I was wrong,” he said, wondering why Daisy wasn’t gone. And she wasn’t gone, Max knew, because no way would she leave Elizabeth behind. “Now, please”—he turned her toward the bathroom—“most beautiful, sweet Inga. Get dressed!”
“I think Max lie to Inga,” she said as Max eased her into the bathroom and shut the door behind her.
“Well, duh,” he mumbled. In the next instant, he was fluffing the pillows on the bed. Then he pulled the sheets taut and grabbed the spread, letting it settle before he straightened the corners.
It had been years since he’d juggled women, although this time it wasn’t his fault. Daisy was supposed to be on a southbound ferry . . . wasn’t she? Hadn’t they talked about this last night at dinner? Isn’t that why she’d given him her cabin?
Max struggled to remember anything she might’ve said, but all that came to mind was her discourse on table settings. Unfortunately, with his focus on Inga, he’d tuned out Daisy. Surely he would’ve picked up something indicating her change of plans . . .
Obviously not.
Then again, maybe Daisy had decided at the last minute to keep going north. Maybe—and Max started to sweat—maybe she had read too much into their moment between the sheets. Maybe she had decided to stay because of him!
In spite of his Catholic upbringing, Max wasn’t particularly religious, but he was making all sorts of promises to the Almighty in exchange for a little help.
Max breathed. Just calm down. He’d tempted death too many times to count, yet Daisy had him cowering like a new recruit. He’d sort this out later—when he wasn’t neck-deep in Sweden.
The bed looked reasonable. Not like Daisy had left it, all tucked and prim, but passable. And if he could just get Inga dressed and out—
“Holy shit.” He was still naked. Surveying the room, he found his crumpled jeans by the sofa where Inga must’ve tossed them after pulling them from his legs. But where were his boxers?
He was just about to forego underwear when he spotted the wad of cotton between the bed and the nightstand. And lucky he did, because in the same locale was an empty Trojan wrapper. But only one. He scrambled to the opposite side of the bed and found the second incriminating foil. The contents had already been flushed.
Grimacing at the pain in his knee, he tugged the faded denim over his boxers and carefully zipped up. He stuffed the torn wrappers into his front pocket for a later disposal where Daisy wouldn’t find them. Then he scrambled for his sweater, pooled on the vanity stool.
Fingers through his hair, another calming breath. “Inga, honey, how’re you doing?”
The bathroom door opened. “Inga done.”
“Wonderful,” Max gushed, not really registering the sexy capris and the cute sailor top that had captivated him before. “Let’s see if we can get you outta here.”
“Inga need shoes.”
The two started looking as if on an Easter egg hunt.
“Got one!” Inga proudly held up a stacked sandal.
“Here’s the other.”
While Inga strapped on her sandals, Max limped to the door, his knee aching from the various contortions Inga had required. But there would be plenty of time to ice his knee as soon as Inga was safely out of the cabin.
He turned the knob. Ever so slowly, he eased the door open . . .
Snuggled against the hallway wall, Daisy rummaged through her purse. Key in hand, she froze as the cabin door slowly parted from its frame. She caught a glimpse of Max. “Max?”
He froze along with the door. “Daisy.” And then louder. “Daisy!”
Daisy left the wall and faced the door, bending slightly to see Max. “What’re you doing? And why are you yelling?”
“Am I yelling?” he shouted.
“Yes.”
“I think my ears are plugged up. I might be getting a cold.”
She pushed on the door but Max didn’t budge. “Will you let me in, please?”
“I can’t move. I’m, uh, having a back spasm.”
“A back spasm? Are you kidding?”
“I, uh, could use some help walking it off.”
“Shouldn’t you lie down instead?”
“No! I mean, walking always helps.”
Daisy huffed. “Okay, fine. Let me check on Elizabeth—”
“I just checked on her. She’s fine. But my back is killing me.” Max eased the door open just enough to fit through. Hunched and limping like an old football player, he quickly shut the door behind him, then looped his right arm around Daisy’s shoulders, leaning into her. She glanced back at the cabin, torn between staying or going, then together they started slowly toward the stairway.
“Did you like Ketchikan?”
“It was absolutely beautiful. There’s a park downtown—”
“Whale Park,” Max interrupted, then quickly added a moan.
“Are you sure you don’t want to lie down?”
“No, no, I’m fine. Tell me more.”
“The flowers were amazing. Geraniums, delphiniums, petunias. Absolutely beautiful. And I saw all the totems—”
“Totem Park.”
“Actually it’s called the Totem Heritage Center.”
“Only turistas call it that.”
“And I walked along the boardwalk—”
“Creek Street.”
“—where all the whorehouses used to be.”
“Where both fish and fishermen went upstream to spawn,” Max said, reciting local history.
As they took the first step down, she said, “So is that where you went spawning?”
He smiled, enjoying the congenial moment, forgetting
his ulterior motives. “Actually, they closed down the brothels in the fifties.”
“Too bad.”
“Yep, that’s what the men thought.”
“Now there are some cute little shops. For the women.”
“And what did you buy?”
“Nothing.”
“What’s in the bag?” Max asked, nodding toward the large, flat paper sack clutched in Daisy’s right hand.
“Just postcards.”
“So you had a good day . . . ?”
She looked at Max, feeling none of the discomfort she thought would surely be there. “I did. I really did.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I guess, in a way, I am. This trip hasn’t exactly been a walk in the park. It’s always nice to find pockets of sunshine.”
“That’s Alaska for you. She’s too grand, too beautiful, too wild, too intense, too laid-back and too awesome. Problems pale in comparison.”
Daisy glanced into the cool, glacier-blue of Max’s eyes and wondered if Alaska was only part of the reason for her rising spirits. “I suppose that’s possible.” After the last step, they paused for traffic, then headed for the deck. “How about you? How was your afternoon?”
“The truth?”
“If you can tell it.”
“I would’ve had more fun in Ketchikan.”
“Except for your—” Daisy stopped and pulled away. “Where’s your brace?”
“I thought I’d try walking without it,” he said, grimacing. For real.
“That’s not very smart, Max.”
Tell me about it. “Let’s just keep going.”
She again tucked herself under his arm and they went outside and into the wind. Her hair scattered. “How long before your back relaxes?” She winced as her curls assaulted her face.
“Once around the deck should do it.”
“By the way,” Daisy said as they headed toward the bow, “your sweater is inside out.”
Chapter Sixteen
Daisy dabbed her lips with the linen napkin and laid it neatly beside her empty dessert plate. “Are you sure you didn’t leave it somewhere?” she asked for the third time.
“For the third time, I didn’t buy anything so I never used it.”
“Then you must’ve left it in the cabin.”
“But I didn’t take it out of my back pocket,” Max insisted.
“Maybe it fell out when you took off your pants.”
“What makes you think I took off my pants?”
Daisy stared at him. “You took off your pants at least once today.”
It was the first time either had referred to their late-morning whatever. They’d managed to finish their walk, return to the scene, and get through dinner and dessert without either of them so much as alluding to what had occurred between them that morning. Daisy had even showered and changed while Max lounged on the bed, icing his aching knee. Not once was there an awkward moment, until now.
“Oh. Right,” Max said, with an expression on his face Daisy couldn’t quite read. “But I’m pretty sure I had it when I left the cabin.”
More like when you fled the cabin. “But if you didn’t use it . . .”
He shrugged. “Maybe you’re right.”
“Really?”
“I don’t know where else it could be.”
“When we get back to the cabin, we’ll do a thorough search. I still have the money you gave me. We can pay the check with that. I’ll just finish my coffee—”
“I’m heading back to the cabin. I’m not going to relax until I find my wallet.”
“Do you have your key?”
Max patted his front jeans pocket. His brows lifted slightly—that damn Trojan wrapper. “I’ve got it. I’ll see you back at the cabin.”
The evening sun still shone above the horizon, tinting the port windows orange and casting a glow over the restaurant. Daisy watched Max wend his way around the tables of first-seating diners, most with gray hair, although a few families with small children were also seated. Like she and Max, most diners had finished their meals and were leaving. It had been a little early for dinner, but neither she nor Max had eaten since breakfast.
And speaking of breakfast . . . Max’s exit came to an abrupt halt at the hostess station. Daisy craned her neck. Waitstaff and diners challenged her view, but even so, she was sure it was the blonde from breakfast whom Max ushered out the door.
Her red velvet cake soured in her stomach. She hated these reactions that gave away her true feelings. No matter how much she wanted to pretend otherwise, she was not easy.
“Give it back,” Max growled to Inga. Clenching her upper arm, he led her to a deserted nook.
“Max hurt Inga,” she whimpered.
“Cut the crap and give it back. Or you’ll be spending the night in the brig.”
Inga smiled as if she understood. “Max strip search Inga, ja?” She pressed against him. “Max think Inga spy?”
“I’m serious.” He squeezed her arm.
“No hurt Inga, Max. I do what you want. We go your cabin, ja?”
“What’re you talking about?”
Inga cocked her head at him. “What’re you talking about?”
Her speech was suddenly American. Out of sheer surprise, he released her. “So much for being Swedish.”
She stared at him harder. “Yeah. Like you’re CIA.”
Max shook off his disbelief at being trumped. “I want my wallet.”
“I don’t have your wallet.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I don’t care.”
Max struggled to connect the dots.
“Look, Max, I didn’t take your wallet. I’m just a bored wife enjoying a harmless fantasy. I figured you were doing the same.”
“You’re married?”
“Please don’t tell me you actually thought I was an au pair. How dumb are you?”
Max wasn’t dumb—his summa cum laude graduation from Annapolis proved that, not to mention his many subsequent successes. But since Daisy had come into his life, he felt like he was flying in fog with only a joystick.
“Look, Max, I love my husband,” Inga said. “But he’s thirty years older. Howard and I have an understanding. Which obviously you and your wife do not.”
“She’s not my wife.”
“Wife or not, you don’t want her to know about me—”
That was true. But why did it matter? There were no promises, nothing to imply a future. In fact, Daisy had said straight out that he was free to make any side deals with whomever he wanted. But that was before . . .
“—so if you want to keep this secret, take her to bed and do what you do so well until she forgets every suspicion. If you feel like confessing, find a priest.”
Max smirked. Nothing says love like lying. “Advice for advice?”
Inga shrugged.
“I’ve seen the way Howard looks at you. This sex-on-the-side? It’s not harmless.”
Inga pulled back. “You’re one to talk.”
“Actually, I am.”
Daisy nursed her second snifter of Grand Marnier. Should she confront Max with her suspicions . . . or turn a blind eye, as she’d done with Jason?
Of course, this situation was different. She and Max had no commitment, no promises, no future. They barely knew each other. It was premature to start making demands on him, let alone ultimatums. Considering she would never see him again after she got to Otter Bite, why was she entertaining this dilemma?
It was ludicrous, this idea of fidelity among strangers. And she, Daisy Mae Moon, would have no part of it. Max Kendall could do whatever he wanted and whomever he wanted, as long as she didn’t know about it.
Daisy drained the last sweet puddle of liqueur, used a meal voucher for her dinner and paid cash for Max’s, meandered out of the dining room, and ran smack dab into Deputy SO Keller.
Max closed his book for the fourth time. Where the hell is Daisy?
He checked his wat
ch against the nightstand clock—did that belong to Daisy? He refocused. Forty minutes was plenty of time to pay the check and be back at the cabin. So where was she?
His knee throbbed—like a steel drum. Easing out of bed, he retrieved a bottle of painkillers from his shaving kit, took one capsule, then washed it down with a palm of water from the bathroom faucet. He returned to the bed and his book, although the words on the page didn’t register.
This was so unlike him . . . and he didn’t like it. Of course, he could’ve just confessed his dalliance to Daisy. But then he wouldn’t be lying in this bed. After an unfaithful fiancé, Daisy wouldn’t be inclined toward forgiveness. Inga was right about confessions, even though this situation was clearly not the same as with Jason. Max and Daisy had no commitment, no words of love between them. They barely knew each other.
Still . . .
Maybe it was time for a stroll around the ship.
He rushed on the same clothes he’d taken off forty minutes ago. A few steps later he turned the doorknob and—
“Mr. Kendall?”
—jerked back.
Purser Smith glanced at the numbers on the door, confirming she was at Daisy’s cabin, then looked again at Max . . . and smiled. “I guess you don’t need that other cabin.”
Chapter Seventeen
How sweet, Daisy thought, of sleeping Max. The soft light from the bedside lamp stole gently across his face and bare chest. A Louis L’Amour western had fallen to the side, atop the sheet draping his abdomen and legs. Even the sudden rattle of a lone snore and the shadow along his cheeks didn’t alter her perception—undoubtedly clouded by the two snifters of Grand Marnier followed by the two drinks she’d had with Deputy Security Officer Keller, now known to her as Steve. Their chance collision had been serendipitous right when Daisy was feeling inadequate. But Steve had buoyed her spirits, plying her with compliments about her determination, tenacity, and pluck. Which any woman in competition with a curvy blonde really wanted to hear. Oh well. If she couldn’t be beautiful, blond, and buxom, at least she was determined, tenacious, and plucky. And a good speller with a great vocabulary. Let’s not forget that. In fact, Daisy could probably out-spell Max’s blonde sinistrodextral and dextrosinistral.
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