by Janet Dailey
“What would you like to drink?” Gard asked and let his gaze skim her nearly Victorian dress. “Sherry, perhaps?” he mocked.
“I’ll have a gin and tonic,” she ordered.
There was a subdued cheer from the officers. “A good British drink.” They applauded her choice. “You’ll fit right in with the rest of us chaps.”
By the time Gard had mixed her drink, other guests had begun to arrive for the private cocktail party. It wasn’t long before the large sitting room was crowded wall-to-wall with people. The captain stopped in for a few minutes, entertaining Rachel and some of the other guests with his dry British wit.
It seemed the party had barely started when it was interrupted with the announcement that dinner was being served in the Coral Dining Room. There was an unhurried drifting of guests out of the suite. Rachel would have joined the general exodus, but she had been cornered by Hank Scarborough and found herself listening to a long, detailed account of his life at sea.
The last guest had left before Gard came to her rescue. “You’ve monopolized her long enough, Hank,” he said and casually curved an arm around her waist to draw her away. “I’m taking the lady to dinner.”
“I suppose you must,” Hank declared with a mock sigh of regret. “I’ll have the steward come in and clean up this mess. The two of you run along.”
Rachel became suspicious of the glance they exchanged. As Gard walked her out to the elevators she eyed him with a speculating look.
“You arranged it with Hank to keep me detained so you could take me down to dinner, didn’t you?” she accused with a knowing look.
His mouth was pulled in a mockingly grim line. “I’ll have to have a talk with Hank. He wasn’t supposed to be so obvious about it,” Gard replied, virtually admitting that had been his ploy.
She laughed softly, not really minding that it had all been set up. The elevator doors opened noiselessly and Rachel stepped into the cubicle ahead of Gard.
Dinner was followed by a Parisian show at the Carousel Lounge and, later, dancing. All of which Rachel enjoyed in Gard’s company. A midnight buffet snack was being served in the aft portion of the Riviera Deck. Gard tried to tempt her into sampling some of the cakes and sweets, but she resisted.
“No.” She avoided the buffet table and kept an unswerving course to the stairs. “It’s time to call it a night,” she insisted, tired yet feeling a pleasant glow that accompanied a most enjoyable evening.
“Would you like to take a stroll around the deck before turning in?” Gard asked as they climbed the stairs, stopping at the Promenade Deck, where her cabin was located.
“No, not tonight,” Rachel refused with visions of last night’s embrace on the outer deck dancing in her head.
When they reached the door to her cabin, Rachel turned and leaned a shoulder against it to bid him good night. Gard leaned a forearm against the door by her head, bending slightly toward her and closing the distance between them. She tipped her head back in quiet languor and let it rest against the solid door while she gazed at him. There was a pleasant tingle of sensation as his glance drifted to her lips.
“You could always invite me in and ring the steward for some coffee,” he murmured the suggestion.
“I could.” Her reply was pitched in an equally soft voice as she began to study the smooth line of his mouth, so strong and warm. Rachel knew the wayward direction her thoughts were taking, but she had no desire to check them from their forbidden path.
“Well?” Gard prompted lazily.
Regardless of what she was thinking, she said, “I could, but I’m not going to ask you to come inside.”
His rueful smile seemed to indicate that her decision was not at all unexpected. “Maybe you’re right. That single bed would be awfully tight quarters.”
A little shiver of excitement raced over her skin at such an open admission of his intention. When his head began a downward movement, blood surged into her heart, swelling it until it seemed to fill her whole chest. Her lips lifted to eliminate the last inch that separated her from his mouth.
The hard, male length of him was against her, pinning her body to the door with his pressing weight. His hand lay familiarly on her hip bone while his kiss probed the dark recesses of her mouth with evocative skill. Beneath her hands she could feel the warmth of his skin through the silk dress shirt. Some sensitive inner radar picked up the increased rate of his breathing.
The tangling intimacy of the deep kiss aroused an insistent hunger that made her ache inside. Rachel strained to satisfy this trembling need by responding more fiercely to his kiss. But a much more intimate union was required before the aching throb of her flesh could know gratification.
She sensed his shared frustration as Gard abandoned his ravishment of her lips and trained his rough kisses on the hollow behind her ear and the ultrasensitive cord in her neck. She gritted her teeth to hold silent the moan that rose in her throat. It came out in a shuddering sigh.
His hand moved up her waist and cupped the underswell of her breast in the span of his thumb and fingers. The thrilling touch seemed to fill her with an explosive desire. The deep breath she took merely caused her breasts to lift and press more fully into his caress.
There was a labored edge to his breathing when his mouth halted near her ear. “Are you sure you don’t want to change your mind about that coffee?” Gard asked on a groaning underbreath.
Inside she was trembling badly—wanting just that. But she was afraid she wanted it too badly. It was the desires of the flesh that were threatening to rule her. She’d sooner listen to her heart or her head than something so base.
“No,” Rachel answered with a little gulp of air and finally let her closed lashes open. “No coffee.” Her hands exerted a slight pressure to end the embrace.
There was an instant when Gard stiffened to keep her pinned to the door. His dark eyes smoldered with sensual promise while he warred with his indecision—whether to believe her words or the unmistakable signals he received from her body. Rachel watched him; slowly he eased himself away, his jawline hardening with grim reluctance.
“You make things hard for a man,” he muttered in faint accusation.
“I know,” she admitted guiltily. “I—”
He put his fingers to her mouth, silencing her next words. “For God’s sake, don’t say you’re sorry.” His fingers traced over the softness of her lips, then moved off at a corner and came under her chin, rubbing the point of it with his knuckles.
“All right, I won’t,” Rachel agreed softly because she wasn’t truly sorry about the open way she had responded to him.
“Good night, Rachel.” There was a split-second’s hesitation before he caught the point of her chin between his thumb and finger, holding it still while his mouth swooped down and brushed across her lips in a fleeting kiss.
“Good night,” she managed to reply after he was standing well clear of her.
Under his watchful eye she turned and shakily removed the key from her evening purse to insert it in the lock. Before she entered the cabin, Rachel glanced over her shoulder once and smiled faintly at him, then stepped inside.
For a long moment she leaned against the closed door and held on to the lingering after-sensations, trying to separate emotional from physical pleasure. They were too deeply merged for her introspective study to divide.
Slowly Rachel moved away from the door into the center of the room. All the preparations for her retirement had already been made by the night steward—the bed was turned down and the drapes were closed. The next day’s issue of the Princess Patter was on the table.
Rachel slipped off her silver-gilt shoes and set them on a chair cushion with the matching evening purse. She reached behind her neck and began to unfasten the tiny eyehooks of the dress’s high collar. The first one slipped free easily, but the second was more stubborn.
“Damn,” she swore softly in frustration, unable to see what she was doing and obliged to rely on feel alone.<
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“Need some help?” Gard’s lazy voice sounded behind her.
Startled, she swiveled around, her fingers still at the back of her collar. He stood silently inside her cabin door and calmly pushed it shut. Wide-eyed, she watched him, certain the door had been locked and the key replaced in her purse.
“How did you get in here?” She finally managed to overcome her surprise and shock and ask him the question.
“I had a key to this cabin to start out with—remember?” There was a glint in his eye as he crossed the room to where she stood. “For some reason I . . . haven’t remembered to turn it in.” He held it up between his thumb and forefinger to show her. “I decided it was time I removed temptation from my pocket.”
It hadn’t occurred to Rachel that Gard still might have a key to the cabin they had shared so briefly. When he offered it to her, she extended an upturned palm to receive it. The metal key felt warm against her skin when Gard laid it in the center of her palm. Her hand closed around it as her silently questioning gaze searched his face.
“You could just as easily have knocked,” Rachel said.
“I could have,” he admitted as his glance went to the hand still clutching the back neckline of her dress. No apology was offered for the fact that he had let himself in. “I guess I didn’t want to have the door shut on me again.”
Her eyes ran over him, taking in the masculinity of his form and finding pleasure in the presence of a man in her room ... in her life.
“I think you’d better leave now.” Her suggestion was completely at odds with what she was feeling.
“Not yet.” His mouth quirked. “First I’ll help you with those hooks. Turn around.”
Rachel hesitated, then slowly turned her back to him and tipped her head down. Her stomach churned with nervous excitement at the firm touch of his fingers on the nape of her neck.
“If nothing else,” Gard murmured dryly, “I’ll have the satisfaction of doing this . . . even if it means the cold comfort of a shower afterward.”
The material around her throat was loosened as he unfastened the three remaining hooks that held the high collar. An aroused tension swept through her system when she felt his fingers on the zipper. He slowly ran it down to the bottom, the sensation of his touch trailing the length of her spine. With a hand crossed diagonally, Rachel held the front of her raspberry dress to her body.
His hands rested lightly on each shoulder bone. She felt the stirring warmth of his breath against the bared skin of her neck an instant before his warm mouth investigated the nape of her neck, finding the pleasure point where all sensation was heightened to a rawly exciting pitch. Her mouth went dry as a weakness attacked her knees. Somehow she managed to hold herself upright without sagging against him.
“I think you’d better leave, Gard.” Rachel didn’t dare turn around, because she knew if she did, she’d go right into his arms.
Disappointment welled in her throat when he moved away from her and walked to the door. But he paused there, waiting for her to look at him. When she did, Rachel was glad of the distance that made the longing in her eyes less naked.
“I never did get around to giving you a tour of the owner’s suite,” Gard said. “It has a double bed.”
“Does it?” Her voice was shaking a little.
“Next time I’ll invite you to my place ... for coffee,” he added on an intimate note and opened the door.
When it had closed behind him, Rachel discovered she was gripping the extra key in her hand. She looked at it for a long moment, almost wishing he had it back. A degree of sanity returned and she slipped the key into her purse with its mate.
Rachel stood at the bow in front of the wheel-house as the ship steamed into the inlet of the bustling Mazatlan Harbor. High on a hill, the massive lighthouse of El Faro kept a watchful eye on the ship while shrimp boats passed by on their way out to sea.
“Are you going ashore when we dock?” Gard asked, coming up behind her.
She really wasn’t surprised to see him. In fact, she’d been expecting him. “Yes, I am.” She cast a glance at him, the vividness of last night’s interlude still claiming her senses.
In denims and a pale blue shirt, he looked bronzed and rugged. Those hard, smooth features were irresistibly handsome. Rachel wondered if she didn’t need her head examined for taking it so slow.
“Did you sign up for one of the tours?”
“No.” She shook her head briefly and tucked her hair behind an ear, almost a defensive gesture to ward off the intensity of his gaze. “I thought I’d explore on my own.”
“Would you like a private guide?” Gard asked. “I know where you can hire one—cheap.”
“Does he speak English?” She guessed he was offering his services, but she went along with his gambit, albeit tongue-in-cheek.
“Sί, señorita,” he replied in an exaggerated Mexican dialect. “And español, too.”
“How expensive?” Rachel challenged.
“Let’s just say—no more than you’re willing to pay,” Gard suggested.
“That sounds fair.” She nodded and felt the run of breathless excitement through her system.
“We’ll go ashore after breakfast,” he said. “Be sure and wear your swimsuit under your clothes. We’ll do our touring in the morning and spend the afternoon on the beach.”
“Sounds wonderful.”
When they went ashore, Gard rented a three-wheeled cart, open on all sides, to take them to town. As he explained to Rachel, it was called a pulmonia, which meant “pneumonia” because of its openness to the air.
Their tour through town took them past the town square with its statue of a deer. Mazatlan was an Indian name meaning “place of the deer.” Gard directed their driver to take them past the Temple of San Jose, the church constructed by the Spanish during their reign in Mexico. Afterward he had the driver let them off at El Mercado.
They spent the balance of the morning wandering through the maze of stalls and buildings. The range of items for sale was endless. There were butcher shops with sides of beef and scrawny plucked chickens dangling from hooks, and fruit stands and vegetable stands. And there was an endless array of crafts shops, souvenir stores, and clothing items.
For lunch Gard took her to one of the restaurants along the beach. When Rachel discovered their seafood had been caught fresh that morning, she feasted on shrimp, the most succulent and flavorful she’d ever tasted.
Later, sitting on a beach towel with an arm hooked around a raised knee, Rachel watched the gentle surf breaking on shore. After the morning tour and the delicious lunch, she didn’t have the energy to do more than laze on the beach. Gard was stretched out on another beach towel beside her, a hand over his eyes to block out the sun. It had been a long time since he’d said anything. Rachel wondered if he was sleeping.
Off to her left an old, bowlegged Mexican vendor shuffled into view. Dressed in the typical loose shirt and baggy trousers with leather huaraches, he ambled toward Rachel and held up a glass jar half-filled with water. Fire opals gleamed on the bottom.
“Señora?” He offered them to her for inspection.
“No, thank you.” She shook her head to reinforce her denial.
“Very cheap,” he insisted, but she shook her head again. He leaned closer and reached into his back pocket. “I have a paper—you buy.”
Gard said something in Spanish. The old man shrugged and put the folded paper back in his pocket, then shuffled on down the beach. Rachel cast a curious glance at Gard.
“What was he selling?” she asked.
“A treasure map.” He propped himself up on an elbow. “This harbor was a favorite haunt of pirates. Supposedly there’re caches of buried treasure all over this area. You’d be surprised how many ‘carefully aged’ maps have been supposedly found just last week in some old chest in the attic.” There was a dryly cynical gleam of amusement in his eyes.
“And they’re for sale—cheap—to anyone foolish enough to buy
them.” Rachel understood the rest of the game.
Turning the upper half of her body, she reached into the beach bag sitting on the grainy sand behind her and took out the bottle of sun oil lying atop their folded clothes. She uncapped the bottle and began to smooth the oil on her legs and arms.
There was a shift of movement beside her as Gard again stretched out flat and crooked an arm under his head for a pillow. His eyes were closed against the glare of the high afternoon sun. With absent movements Rachel continued to spread the oil over her exposed flesh while her gaze wandered over the bronze sheen of his longly muscled body, clad in white-trimmed navy swimming trunks.
The urge, ever since he’d stripped down, had been to touch him and have that sensation of hard, vital flesh beneath her hands. It was unnerving and stimulating to look at him.
“Enjoying yourself?” His low taunt startled Rachel.
Her gaze darted from his leanly muscled thighs to his face, but his eyes were still closed, so he couldn’t know she had been staring at him. His question was obviously referring to something else.
“Of course.” She attempted to inject a brightness in her voice. “It’s a gorgeous day and the beach is quiet and uncrowded.”
“That isn’t what I meant, and you know it.” The amused mockery in his voice had a faint sting to it. “I could feel the way you were staring at me, and I wondered if you liked what you saw.”
Rachel was a little uncomfortable at being caught admiring his male body. She concentrated all her attention on rubbing the oil over an arm.
“Yes.” She kept her answer simple, but some other comment was required. “I suppose you’re used to women staring at you.” It was a light remark, meant to tease him for seeking a compliment from her.
“Why? Because I could feel your eyes on me?” Gard shifted his dark head on the pillow of his arm to look at her. “Can’t you feel it when I look at you?”
The rush of heat over her skin had nothing to do with the hot sun overhead. It was a purely sexual sensation caused by the boldness of his gaze. It was a look that did not just strip her bathing suit away. His eyes were making love to her, touching and caressing every hidden point and hollow of her body. It left her feeling too shaken and vulnerable.