Jerry threw his head back and laughed. "You're jealous!"
Andrea looked at him, aghast. "Are you serious? What on earth is there for me to be jealous about when there's a man aboard with a villa in Majorca, the body of a Greek god, and the charm of Cary Grant, who's interested in me?"
"Wake up, Andrea. The man's a gigolo. All he's interested in is your money."
Andrea started to tell him that Val pegged him as her next sugar daddy then decided to let things ride. After he'd make a fool of himself, believing Val was after him for his engaging personality, somewhat good looks, and reasonably fit body for a man his age—actually somewhat above average—she'd hit him with the truth. Still, the thought of him in bed with Val was disturbing, but after twenty-five years of having him all to herself that was to be expected.
"We're the Danforths," the woman across the table said. "I'm Lillian, and this is my husband Charlie, our son Ned, and my father-in-law, Edward. We're from Charleston."
Andrea realized she and Jerry had been so caught up in throwing verbal barbs that they'd completely ignored a family that would be joining them for all their meals for the rest of the cruise. "I'm Andrea," she said, omitting her last name. If she and Jerry were both Porters, it would require an explanation she wasn't prepared to give.
"Jerry Porter." Jerry stood and stretched across the table, offering his hand. Charlie stood and gave him a solid handshake.
"Then you two are traveling alone?" Lillian asked, eyes shifting between them.
For a few moments neither spoke, but when the silence became awkward, Jerry said, "We were acquaintances before the cruise, and we have some mutual... friends."
Three daughters to be exact, Andrea almost announced.
Lillian Danforth gave them a puzzled look, which was to be expected, considering the fact that the couple sitting across the table from them had acted like strangers when the people arrived, and within five minutes got into an argument about Jerry's waxed chest.
"Well there's not a better place to get to know each other than on a cruise," Lillian said. "Who knows what might develop?"
Andrea glanced at Alessandro, who was looking steadily at her, and said, "Yes, who knows? I'm looking forward to it."
"I'll just bet you are," Jerry mumbled under his breath.
Andrea ignored him, concentrating on what lay ahead after dinner. Perhaps she and Alessandro would follow their after-dinner drink with a stroll around deck, and when they came to the stern of the ship, Alessandro would take her by the shoulders and kiss her on the forehead, then turn her around so her back would be against his chest and wrap his arms around her, and they'd watch the phosphorescent glow from the wake of the ship as it moved through the water.
Her heart gave a little patter of anticipation.
A smile tugged at her lips. Little could she have dreamed, the week before, that she might be spending her twenty-fifth wedding anniversary with a tall, sophisticated, incredibly handsome, Italian with bedroom eyes, and who knows what next year might bring? Possibly a first wedding anniversary at a villa in Majorca, or on a luxury yacht cruising the Mediterranean or beyond?
Oddly, that thought made her just a tiny bit sad.
***
Andrea looked across the small, linen-covered table at Alessandro, who stared steadily back at her. Thirty minutes before, room service rolled in a table bearing an assortment of elegant pastries. It bothered her that Alessandro's shirt was unbuttoned to mid-chest, and she began to wonder if Jerry was right.
"You're a very beautiful woman," Alessandro said in his smooth Italian accent. "I'm entranced by you, by your charm and your quick wit. I believe you are attracted to me too."
"Well, yes," Andrea admitted, "but I'm sure you're used to women being attracted to you."
Alessandro let out a soft laugh. "Maybe at times, but I'm not used to a woman of your charm being so." Something about the way he said the words made her feel he wasn't being absolutely honest. After all, Italian men were known as Casanovas. Feeling suddenly anxious about being alone with him, she set her napkin aside, and said, "This has been a lovely evening, Alessandro, but I'm tired and I need to go." She stood abruptly and started for the door.
Alessandro was up from the table, and in an instant, he positioned himself between her and her exit. "I hope you did not read anything into my inviting you here tonight," he said in an apologetic voice. "We have ten days to get to know each other. You're a desirable woman. Beautiful, charming. But it's what's here—" he placed his hand over his heart "—that attracts me to you as a woman."
Andrea was relieved he was putting no pressure on her. She wasn't prepared to have another man's hands on her or his lips on places that had been Jerry's alone. "Thank you for the pastries."
Alessandro placed his hands on her shoulders. "You are welcome, cara mia, and I hope this will give you something to remember me by until tomorrow." He kissed her on the forehead, a short sweet kiss that made her heart flutter, then he dropped his hands, and she quickly stepped out of his stateroom and made her way back to her quarters. But as she passed the honeymoon suite, the sound of a woman's voice caught her up short. She listened for a moment and was certain she heard Val. Angling her ear to the door, the words became distinct.
"It's a win-win arrangement for both, sugar pie," she heard Val say. "As your sugar baby, you can come to me any time day or night, and we'll talk business, or we'll talk about this..." her voice trailed off, and Andrea thought she heard Jerry grunt, though it could have been the ship.
"Sugar pie?" Val said. "Don't go getting soft on me now. Take a look at me, honey bun. Don't these please you?" Val let out a long moan, and Andrea could imagine her running her hands over her ample bosom for Jerry's perusal.
The sound of voices coming from the end of the passageway made Andrea jump with a start. Glancing around, she saw a man and a woman turn the corner and start toward her. She quickly moved away from the door and continued down the passageway while trying to dismiss thoughts of what was happening behind the closed door to the honeymoon suite. But tomorrow she might consider letting Alessandro kiss her, and who knows where that might lead. And to be ready, if things progressed to the point where things had obviously progressed with Jerry and Val, she'd go to the ship's novelty shop and buy the pair of bikini briefs she'd seen earlier. It had been all she could do to keep from bursting out laughing at the image of an octopus with tentacles stretched across the front pouch.
When she saw the briefs, she'd visualized Jerry prancing around the room with an octopus clinging to his male part. But she'd be buying the briefs possibly to give to Alessandro at some point, though she couldn't bring that image to mind. The sight of Jerry strutting his stuff kept emerging. Then maybe she'd simply buy the briefs and put them away for another time, another man. She sighed. Taking a lover was more complex than she'd anticipated.
CHAPTER 5
Two-hundred-and-three, two-hundred-and-four, two-hundred-and-five...
Hands clasped behind his head, Jerry increased the pace of his sit-ups. He'd go to four hundred if that's what it took to keep his mind off Andrea. Damn her, and damn his body for humiliating him when Val was primed to give it her all. But when Val stripped off her clothes and stood in front of him, and he saw her smooth stomach and silicone breasts, all he could think of was Andrea and the tiny stretch marks on her belly, each one representing the culmination of their love—a son, who had been a challenge, and three beautiful daughters who'd brought him more joy than he could express. And when he looked at Val's implants, what he saw was Andrea with Megan at her breast, not a breast filled with silicone, but one filled with milk for their first child, tiny and newborn, and the most beautiful little thing he'd ever seen.
By then he had no desire to touch Val, much less complete the job she'd started. All he'd wanted was to send her on her way, which he had. But he'd have to come to terms with things. The marriage was over, they'd be signing divorce papers in the near future, and somehow he'd have to
start functioning as a man or he'd wither and die.
Two-hundred-and-fourteen, two-hundred-and-fifteen, two-hundred-and-sixteen...
The sound of Andrea's voice broke his concentration. He stopped in a sitting position with his hands clasped behind his head and saw her climbing onto a state-of-the-arts exercycle while talking to the fitness instructor, who was explaining how to use the thing.
Andrea wore a pair of white stretch shorts and a snug white tank top that clung to her from dampness so she'd undoubtedly been jogging on deck. A terrycloth headband held her blond hair off her face, which was flushed and damp. In fact, her whole body glistened beneath the florescent lights of the gym, and for the first time since hell-and-gone, he was getting aroused by just looking at her.
Two-hundred-and-seventeen, two-hundred-and-eighteen...
Andrea let out a giggle. Which caught his attention again. He glanced over to see the fitness instructor—a well-muscled guy in spandex shorts and a tank top—with his hand on Andrea's knee, pressing down to make her foot push against the foot pads on the machine. She giggled again and said it tickled. The man moved his hand and patted her thigh while looking at her with a meet-me-later-baby expression on his face.
Two-hundred-and... Two-hundred-and...
Jerry paused. Two-hundred-and what? He'd lost count. Glancing over, and noting that the fitness jock had left to hit on another woman, Jerry dragged himself up to stand, reached for a towel, and walked over to where Andrea sat pumping the foot pads while staring at the digital dials on the machine. Rasping the towel over his chest, which was beginning to itch with the new growth of hair, he said, "Since when have you been interested in fitness?"
Andrea pushed harder against the foot pads, quickening her pace on the machine as she replied, "Since I decided I don't want to get old and flabby."
Jerry watched the smooth muscles in her thighs flex as she pumped. He had an irrational urge to climb behind her on the machine and see if he could distract her like he used to. It never took much back then. He'd glide his hands over her, do a little teasing, cover her mouth with his, and that's all it took. She'd be his for as long as he wanted, which never had a cut-off time. Not with Andrea. In years past she'd been as eager as he. The splashing and horsing around in the Jacuzzi afterwards more often than not got things going again.
"Thinking about your sugar baby?" Andrea asked, pausing mid-push to stare at his crotch.
"What are you talking about?"
"Your flag. It's up." Andrea started pumping the foot pads again. "Val said she had a knack for getting men back into action and she apparently worked her magic on you last night." She gave a wry laugh. "Don't worry, sugar pie, I wasn't peeking in the window, but I couldn't help hearing moans of ecstasy coming from your stateroom when I passed on my way back from having an after-dinner drink and pastries with Alessandro in his stateroom."
Jerry glared at Andrea as she sat pumping the foot pads, sweat sliding down her temples and glistening on her chest, causing her damp tank top to cling tight. With her lips parted and her tongue appearing often to swipe along them, it reminded him of those times when she was eager and ready for him. He ought to yank her off the bike and throw her on the floor, and show her what a real man could do, and for the first time in months, he felt like a real man, and Andrea hadn't done a damn thing except pump a machine to get in shape for an Italian sugar pup who'd screw her over, feather his Majorca nest with her half of the divorce settlement, and drop her flat.
Hellfire and damnation!" he hissed. Turning abruptly, he headed for the bench press.
***
Andrea took her place at the dining table beside Jerry. The Danforths had not yet arrived for lunch so she'd be forced to endure Jerry's presence alone for a few minutes. It was even more awkward now. The session in the fitness center earlier that day troubled her in a way she hadn't expected. Her legs held up miraculously as she'd pumped the exercycle, all the while she'd been trying not to notice Jerry's muscular chest. He was in better shape than when they first married. Barely into his twenties then, he hadn't filled out to the man-in-his-prime specimen he was now. But it came to her, as he'd stood watching her peddling the exercycle, that at forty-eight, he had a body like a man in his early thirties. It had been years since she'd noticed. Why a latent desire for him had to come during a workout while he stood watching, pistol cocked and ready for his sugar baby, had been humiliating. But tonight would be her turn with Alessandro, her chance to be completely free of Jerry before their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary tomorrow.
Neither she nor Jerry had talked about the upcoming event and she hoped the day would pass unnoticed. Tonight, with Alessandro, she was certain she'd forget she was Mrs. Jerry Porter, because she was, for all practical purposes, no longer Jerry's wife.
She could do it with Alessandro. All she'd have to do would be to strip off her clothes, shut her eyes, think about Jerry bumping and grinding in the octopus briefs, pretend Alessandro was Jerry, and try to enjoy the ride. Who knows? Maybe Alessandro would bring out the fire and passion that Jerry once did, but with Jerry, lovemaking had also been fun. And free. Things just happened. Wild, crazy things. A little oddball perhaps. Inane, most definitely. And incredibly satisfying. Until Scott hit his teen hears. Then things changed. Jerry changed. She changed.
But maybe that was the way things happened. When one love faded, it was time to build another. Alessandro was put together right, definitely a man in his prime, and tonight she'd make an honest attempt to enjoy what she and Jerry once had.
"Having cocktails with your I-S again tonight?" Jerry asked.
Andrea looked at him, puzzled.
"I-S. Italian Stud," Jerry explained.
"Now who's being trendy?" Andrea quipped. "And yes, Alessandro is expecting me. He's really a very charming and interesting man. I enjoy his company immensely."
"So he turns you on, does he?"
Andrea draped her napkin across her lap. "I don't believe that's any of your business."
Jerry let out a short guffaw. "Baby, it's written all over your face. I know that look. It comes when you let go of your South Carolina inhibitions. But does your stud get you to strip and dance on the bed, or slither your way up his naked body?"
Andrea looked at Jerry, stunned. She couldn't deny having done those things in the past, and she couldn't imagine doing them with any man but Jerry. Why it was that way, she couldn't explain, just that it was. Lifting her chin, she said, with an air of calm, self-assurance, "My relationship with Alessandro is on a much deeper level."
Jerry's loud laugh had heads turning their way. He gave the onlookers a contrite smile, then said to Andrea in a sober tone, "If you haven't figured it out yet, sweetheart, the man will go as deep as your pockets will allow."
Andrea bristled. "And I know for a fact that Alessandro appreciates me as a woman, and you can't stand the thought of that."
"Keep believing whatever you want, but while you're in La La Land you might ask yourself if Alessandro Cavallaro would have given you a second glance if he'd passed you in a grocery aisle. Then ask yourself the same question if he saw you pulling your BMW up to Daddy Ellison's twenty-two-room mansion in Mt. Pleasant."
Thoroughly miffed by Jerry's condescending attitude, Andrea said, "Not every man is after me because of my father's money. You noticed me my first day at college when I was wearing my roommate's old jeans and tee-shirt because my bags hadn't arrived and you thought I was a poor college coed who didn't have two dimes to rub together."
"Hell, Andrea, that was twenty-five years ago. You're not eighteen anymore, and Cavallaro's a man in his prime who's at least ten years younger than you."
"Many younger men in their prime like older women," Andrea said with reserve, determined not to become defensive.
Jerry let out a short guffaw. "Sure they do, as long as the older women have money. Take a look around at the single women aboard. Any one of a dozen in this room have more going for them for a man in his prime than yo
u, but Cavallaro's not just a man in his prime. He's a gigolo, which eliminates all the hot little numbers ready to crawl in bed with him and narrows the field to you and a half-dozen other older women aboard. Compared to them, sure he'd rather have you in his bed while picking your pocket. You're still reasonably good-looking for a middle-aged woman."
Hand gripping her water glass, Andrea was primed to hurl its contents in Jerry's face when the Danforths arrived. Lillian Danforth looked from one to the other, and said, "I hope we're not interrupting something."
"Actually, you're just in time," Andrea said. "Jerry and I were having a disagreement about the way society views a relationship between an older woman and a younger man, as compared to an older man and a woman young enough to be his daughter. When it's an older woman, it's assumed she has money, but when it's an older man—"
"Andrea's touchy about her age," Jerry said, cutting her off, "but I think we can all agree she's not bad for a middle-aged woman. At least I find her attractive."
Lillian Danforth smiled. "So does that tall young Italian I saw her with earlier, which, I assume was what prompted the disagreement."
Jerry eyed Andrea. "She got a little testy when I brought it up, but I was warning her about gigolos. An attractive older woman travelling alone is a prime target."
"You're absolutely right." Lillian looked at Andrea for confirmation.
Andrea laughed lightly. "I have my Frommer's Guide along. I know all about gigolos, purse snatchers, and walking alone at night and all the other dangers lurking out there, so there's no reason for anyone to worry." She shot one last glare at Jerry, who gave a little grunt of disgust before stabbing a cherry tomato in his salad.
The Danforths took their places at the table and ordered their meals, and while everyone ate, the subject of shipboard relationships never came up again, the conversation jockeying between Edward Danforth's years in the Army, and Charlie Danforth's memories of growing up as an Army brat. Fond memories, it seemed.
Coming To Terms Page 4