“Were you encouraging him, Maura?” The question was quiet, almost reflective.
“No, I was not. Like another high-handed Greek I know, he didn't ask what I wanted, but told me he would meet me last night after dinner. I had forgotten the appointment until only a few minutes before Alexandros came upon us, and I thought he had too."
“You forgot?"
“I—there was your grandmother's illness and—everything.” She made a great show of bending her head to reset her tortoiseshell hair clasp, trying to confine the tendrils that curled around her face as her hair dried. That it also made it unnecessary for her to look into his face was secondary, naturally.
“I see. That doesn't sound as if you are very interested in Alexandros."
“I'm not interested in him at all."
“You seemed to enjoy being with him,” he suggested, a tentative shading to his tone.
“I barely know him; I've spent much less time in his company that I have in yours. He was pleasant to be with until he became so—so possessive. If you mean to say I told you so, then go ahead, get it over with."
“You dislike this possessiveness?"
“When I have given him no cause to think he has the right to feel that way."
“And if you were to give him, or any man, cause?"
Maura reached for her own filled plate, taking up her fork. “I—don't know,” she said.
They finished their meal, throwing the crusts of the bread and other scraps to the gulls and sandpipers. When they had finished the last of the wine, they stretched out to rest. Now that they had grown used to the heat, the wind sweeping in from the sea tempered its strength, making their position in the shade more than comfortable. Its sound was a pleasant murmur, a counterpoint to the steady wash of waves against the sand. Above them, the dark green leaves of the palms, fretted by the wind, made angular patterns against the blue of the sky. The floating clouds that passed now and then in front of the sun were gray shadows of coolness.
“We had better get back to the ship,” Nikolaos said.
Maura turned her head. He was sitting up, his dark eyes narrowed as he stared at the horizon. Following his gaze, Maura saw a dark bank of clouds lying on the sea. The waves that broke near their feet were becoming stronger, and as she pushed herself to a sitting position, sand kicked up by the rising wind stung her face.
“I see what you mean,” Maura said. Scrambling to her feet, she began to repack their picnic things. Nikolaos knelt to help her, then carried the loaded chest to the car while she gathered up her sunscreen and paperback book, and shook out her towel. Above her, the palm fronds clattered and creaked, and she had to squint against the fine sand. The day was growing darker with incredible swiftness. Their paper tablecloth, weighted until now by her damp towel, lifted at the edges and went flying.
Nikolaos caught it as he came toward her. Wadding it into a ball in his fist, he stuffed it into the plastic bag with the rest of their refuse. “Is that everything?"
Maura nodded. Thunder rumbled toward them, a jarring sound. Lightning streaked down the dark, gray-black cloud, striking into the sea. There was dampness in the wind. When the thunder died away, there was a muted roaring in its place. A rattling noise began in the palms overhead. And then the fury of the tropical torrent swept in upon them, the rain like a curtain of silver fringe churning the water to froth.
Nikolaos put his arm about her waist, and with bent heads, they ran for the car. He snatched open the door, and they tumbled, breathless and laughing, inside.
There was scarcely room for one on the bucket seat of the sports car, much less two. Maura was wedged between Nikolaos and the console, lying half in his lap. She tried to move, to slide across the console to the other seat, but the muscles of his arms tightened.
She lifted her green eyes to his dark gaze. There were drops of rain like rainbow hued jewels clinging to his hair, and a spatter in the shape of a star lay on the ridge of his cheek. He was so close she could see the gold flecks in the depths of his eyes, and her own reflection there. The rain drummed on the roof of the car and ran in sheets down the windshield. It blotted out the landscape, enclosing them in the dry car still warm from the heat of the sun, creating an aura of intimacy.
“This—this is ridiculous,” Maura said, her voice husky. “A little while ago we wanted nothing more than to get wet, and now we break our necks to get out of the rain."
“Yes,” he said, “ridiculous."
With a feather touch, he leaned to brush a raindrop from the bridge of her nose with his lips. His fingers moved to her cheek, trailing down its tender curve to her jawline, smoothing her hair. He probed its softness, and she felt her hair clasp give at the nape of her neck. Carefully, he spread the silken strands with their red-gold highlights upon her shoulders.
Maura was still, caught in the stealing languor of a treacherous longing. As his mouth took hers, molding it to the strength of his need, she felt her will receding. Her eyes fluttered shut. He tasted her lips, exploring their sweetness, probing deeper. The ridged muscles of his arms and his thighs beneath her were evidence of the stern control he held over his desire. She was pressed against him, but she wanted to be closer still, to feel their bodies merging. She turned toward him, spreading the palms of her hands over his bare chest. As she felt his touch at the neckline of the top of her bikini, sliding the strap from her shoulder, a shiver rippled over her skin. Her senses reeled. There was fire in the kisses he trailed from the sensitive corner of her mouth, and along the tender curve of her neck, to the soft flesh he had bared. She drew in her breath, holding it with aching tightness in her chest as her body seemed to glow with internal heat.
“Sweet Maura,” he whispered, his breath warm against her breast. “I want you so. Come with me, to Greece. Stay with me."
Fierce gladness rushed in upon her. She lifted her hand to touch the crisp, rain-curled waves of his hair. “Oh, Nikolaos —"
“I will give you whatever you want, your own villa on the island, an apartment near mine, a car. I will be generous, I swear, only come with me."
Maura stiffened. Sickness rushed over her, lodging in her throat with the tight pain of unshed tears. The strength returned to her hands, and she pushed against his chest with slow but unmistakable resistance.
He straightened. “What is it? Maura?"
She turned her head away so he could not see the hot brightness of her eyes. “Take me back to the ship, Nikolaos."
“I don't understand."
“Don't you? I'm sorry, but I can't go to Greece with you. Take me back to the ship now. Please?"
If she held her eyes wide, the desolation rising inside her would not press the tears past her ability to hold them. A villa on the island, but not a place in his home, an apartment near his, but not a place at his side. Generosity. These were the things a Greek might offer a woman who attracted him, a woman he wanted for his mistress. They were not the promises he gave to the woman he loved, the woman he wanted for his wife.
He had asked her to go to Greece as his pillow friend. It would not matter, would not be so near to more than she could bear, if she were not in love with Nikolaos Vassos.
Chapter 10
It was not a comfortable trip back to the ship. Maura struggled into her clothes as best she could. She felt rumpled and disheveled, but it could not be helped. Nikolaos did not bother. Unconscious, or so it seemed, of his near nakedness, he sat in frowning thought, his scowl deepening as they drew nearer town. He glanced at her once as she tried to drag a comb through the tangled mass of her hair. His black gaze stabbed into her green eyes with a look of such brooding rage that she felt the blood leave her face, though she lifted her chin in defiance. It was a relief when be turned back to watch the road beyond the windshield with its clacking wipers.
His silence disturbed her. She would have expected him to demand further explanations for her refusal. That he did not could mean he was well aware of her views and standards, or it could also mean
he was disgusted because he felt she had given him reason for expecting compliance.
Had she? She did not like to think so, and yet her response to his caresses had not been such as to discourage him. If she were scrupulously fair, she would have to admit that doing so had been the last thing on her mind—until he had put his dishonorable proposal into words. Perhaps she should be grateful to him for that, for stating his position before he took advantage of her weakness. Did he know he had come so close to victory? Had he sensed it? If so, it might also be that his anger was directed at himself, for his blunder.
The downpour ceased as abruptly as it had begun. By the time they reached the Athena, it was over, though water still dripped from the hawsers and lay in puddles on the dock, and steam rose in thin eddies from the ship's decks.
Nikolaos climbed out of the car and reached to pluck his shirt from inside, shrugging into it. He would send someone to unload the chest and other things, then place a call to the rental agency to pick up the car. Maura gathered up her tote bag and, as he came around to open her door, stepped out.
“Thank you for taking me to see Rose Hall,” she said. The words were stiff, with the prim and proper sound of a little girl at her first party, but Maura could think of nothing else to say, and it seemed some acknowledgment must be made.
“I will see you at dinner,” he answered, his voice even.
Maura gave him a quick glance. Did he mean to pretend that nothing had happened, that nothing had changed between them? An instant later, she saw his point. For them to suddenly begin taking their meals at separate tables would be to advertise the rift between them. His grandmother would want to know the cause, and it seemed likely that she would be upset at the explanation. In addition, it would call for speculation among the crew and passengers, something that would be of little concern to Nikolaos personally, but that he might deplore in connection with his position as managing director of the line.
It would not be easy. There were still three nights and two full days of shipboard travel ahead, a total of seven meals, eight counting breakfast before they disembarked in New Orleans on Saturday. They would have to be endured, somehow.
Or would they? Why should she undergo such torture to suit his convenience? But no, she would not like to cause Mrs. Papoulas distress, nor would she be comfortable as the object of such speculation.
With an abrupt nod, Maura swung around and moved up the gangplank.
It was hot in her cabin. Maura closed and locked the door. She set her tote down and kicked off her sandals. Moving to the vanity table, she unfastened the clasp holding her hair and put it carefully away in the drawer. Lifting her hands, she massaged her temples. She felt headachy and tired, drugged with the effects of too much sun. She would have liked to lie down for a while in a place that was cool and dark, but already perspiration was dewing her upper lip and beginning to trickle from her hairline.
What was the point in hiding away? She could not retreat from herself. There was no escaping the knowledge that she was in love with a man who cared nothing for her.
Well, perhaps he felt something. He had asked her to go back to Greece with him. He had wanted her near him. Was that to be her only consolation?
She felt so stupid. She should have seen it coming, been on her guard. She had known she was attracted to him, and he to her, but somehow she had thought the shortness of the time they would have together, his initial distrust of her and impatience to get back to Greece would be adequate protection. She had never been in love before; she hadn't known it could come in the space of a moment. She had been caught defenseless, so that the pain of both the illusion and the disillusion had gone straight to the heart.
As tears rose in her eyes, she swung from the mirror of the vanity and dropped down onto the bed, pressing her hands to her face. She took a deep, trembling breath. No. This would get her nowhere. She would not feel sorry for herself. She would take a shower, wash the stickiness of the salt water from her skin and hair. Hopefully, she would be a little cooler then. She would put on a change of clothing, something light and simple, and she would go up on deck. And she would smile and look carefree. Especially if she saw Nikolaos Vassos.
In the tub in the tiny bathroom, Maura let tepid water from the hand-held shower splash over her hair and face. It was strange, she found, but the salt mixed with the water that ran over her lips tasted exactly the same as tears.
A marching band from one of the Montego Bay schools, dressed in khaki uniforms that featured skirts for the girls and shorts for the boys, performed for the passengers for the last quarter hour before they sailed. The high deck of the ship was an excellent place from which to watch their intricate maneuvers, and listen to the music that floated upward on the warm air. Maura stood at the port rail overlooking the dock until the boat carrying the pilot that would lead them out of the harbor streaked across the water toward the ship. Then she moved to the bow.
Alexandros, standing ready with his radio transceiver to direct their departure, saw her and lifted a hand is greeting. She returned the gesture politely. There was no time for more as the side thrusters of the Athena were switched on, and the powerful water jets began to beat against the dock, forcing the great ship away from it.
Once more they were leaving a port behind. The difference was when they reached open sea this time they would be headed north, in the direction of New Orleans. Montego Bay, Jamaica, was their last port of call. Maura, watching its green palmlined shores begin to slip past them, could not be sorry.
Maura stayed on deck for afternoon tea. Shortly thereafter, the title of the movie just starting in the theater was announced. Since it was a new film, only recently released, and one she had been planning to see, she decided it would be as good a way as any of passing the time until dinner. The fact that she was unlikely to run into Nikolaos in the darkened movie might also have had something to do with her decision.
Coming out of the theater on deck two hours later, Maura paused to glance at her wrist watch. At the sound of her name, she looked up to see Mrs. Papoulas coming toward her. The older woman was already dressed for the evening in a black gown of simple, draped styling. Summoning a smile, Maura went to meet Nikolaos's grandmother.
“Maura, my dear. I was wondering what had become of you. I called your cabin and you were not in, nor were you on the lido. I never thought of the movie."
“Was there some special reason you wanted to see me?” Maura asked.
Mrs. Papoulas smiled, not quite meeting her eyes. “Must there be a reason? I was just tired of my own company, and thought we might chat for a few minutes."
“Yes, of course,” Maura agreed.
“I believe the lounge is open. I expect you would rather go there instead of coming back to the suite?"
Maura sent the older woman a quick glance. Did she know what had happened between Nikolaos and herself? There was only one reason she could think of for Mrs. Papoulas to assume she would not like to go to the suite, and that was to avoid him. With great effort, Maura said, “Anywhere that is convenient for you will be fine for me."
The older woman gave Maura a small smile, reaching to take her aim. “I think the lounge will be better."
There was a tremor in the grasp of Nikolaos's grandmother, and she leaned a little heavily on Maura; still her color was good and the look in her eyes bright.
“You are looking well tonight, I might even say handsome,” Maura told her.
“I would have liked to wear Greek costume for the occasion, but I did not think to bring it with me."
“Oh, yes, this is Greek Taverna night."
“And there will be a display of Greek dancing in traditional and national costume afterward. You will enjoy that."
“I'm sure I will."
“In Greece, it is the men who dance in the tavernas. You know this?"
“Like Zorba?” Maura asked, smiling.
“Ah, yes, like Zorba. That movie was good for the taverna business in Greece, for al
l tourist businesses."
“Do the women in Greece never dance?"
“What a question! Of course we dance, just not in the tavernas. Those places are for men; they eat, they drink, they talk, endlessly they talk. What is the American expression? ‘Shoot the breeze'? This they do. The women do not care. They visit each other in their houses. For the men, the tavernas; for the women, the houses which belong to them, a part of their dowries more often than not. It makes for harmony."
It was quiet in the lounge at this time of day. A game of bridge was underway in one corner, and there was a young couple with their heads together in the other, but the other tables were deserted. Maura and Mrs. Papoulas took seats to one side.
“It's rather warm in here,” Mrs. Papoulas said.
Maura agreed. “Nikolaos explained the purpose to me, however."
“He told me. And you argued for the comfort of the passengers. I was glad, even though I do not think the policy can be changed under present conditions."
“I expect the way the drastic increases in the price of oil dictated by the Middle Eastern countries does have an enormous effect on the shipping line."
“It does, but that isn't why I wanted to talk to you. I may have misled you a little to get you here, my dear, but I am concerned about what took place today between you and Nikolaos."
“Took place?” Maura queried with an attempt at lightness. “I wasn't aware that anything had."
“Oh, come. I am not a fool. Nikolaos has not had two words to say for himself since he returned. He sits on the private deck outside our suite drinking ouzo and watching the water go by. He does not snap at me when I question him, but I see in his eyes a great longing to do so. So much ill temper for nothing? Bah! And where do I find you? Sitting in a movie in the dark, you with the look of fever in your face and eyes that have been crying."
“I—must have stayed in the sun too long."
The older woman shook her head. “Your skin is not burned. You have acquired a little golden tan and there are spots of color on your cheeks, but beneath it you are pale. If you were to tell me you do not feel well, I might believe you."
Love at Sea Page 14