Tropical Getaway

by Roxanne St Claire

  Ava ran her hands over her bare arms. “A curse? You sound like Marjory, saying the ship was ‘marked.’ Next you’ll tell me they’re seeing ghosts where the ship went down.”

  “They will, I assure you.”

  “I’m not interested in your theories or sailors’ superstitions. I’m interested in the truth. If Paradisio wasn’t navigated into the storm, then why did they sail in that direction? Why didn’t they follow orders?” Urgency strained her voice.

  “The captain is the ultimate authority on a ship. Not the company owner on a satellite phone.”

  “I know what your defense will be, Dane. What is the truth?”

  The truth was at the bottom of the Caribbean Sea. And she just stormed into St. Barts without a thought to the exhaustive search going on a hundred miles southeast of here, where he had spent the last grueling twenty-one days. “If you’re so hell-bent on finding out what happened to Marco, why didn’t you come down here sooner? Why not during the search that’s been going on for three weeks? Why not, for God’s sake, when he was still alive?”

  She didn’t withdraw from the force in his voice. Instead she leaned closer, her voice seething with restrained temper. “Don’t you dare answer a question with a question. I’m not the one on trial here. You are.”

  She very nearly sizzled, and for one unbelievable second, Dane imagined how passionate this woman would be undressed and in his arms. Shoving the thought away, he simply smiled at her. “I’m not on trial anywhere, sister.”

  “Not yet.”

  3

  A va had dreamed of Marco. A different dream than the one she’d had so many times over the past five years. Marco had blue eyes in this dream; haunting aquamarine eyes that saw through her as she floundered uncontrollably in a black sea.

  It didn’t take Freud to figure that one out. Especially considering the memories of Marco churned up by this visit and, of course, the picture Dane Erikson had shown her. How different the two men were, Ava mused as she took a cup of aromatic French coffee to the tiny balcony of her hotel room. Marco had been passionate and funny, but she couldn’t remember any overwhelming need to control. Dane, judging by his success, undoubtedly manipulated everything that mattered in his world. Even the loss of one of his precious ships.

  From the balcony, Ava could see the rolling hills of Gustavia. Beyond the small harbor town, dozens of small boats floated in the crystalline teal water. Creamy stucco buildings topped with terra-cotta roofs dotted the curved streets and cliffs. A few bold seagulls dove past her balcony, undoubtedly accustomed to handouts of fresh croissants. Too bad she couldn’t just relax and enjoy the pleasures of the island.

  She closed her eyes and imagined taking in paradise on the arm of a sinfully attractive man like Dane Erikson. Women must fall at his feet and in his bed in droves. A shiver waltzed through her at the thought and Ava shook her head at her girlish musings over a man she planned to ruin. It must be island fever.

  That afternoon she would finally meet Grayson Boyd. After a few brief conversations with the man, she was certain she wouldn’t like him. His cocky personality had irritated her from the moment he’d contacted her in Boston to suggest the Santori family seek retribution for Marco’s death. She recalled his first icy words: your brother was murdered.

  Dominic had been furious she’d even taken the lawyer’s call, and Mama had been too distraught to discuss it. Nearly as much as the negligence issue, Boyd drove home the settlement problem. He believed Utopia Adventures would offer the victims’ families only the standard settlement required by law, about one thousand dollars per family. It was a crime, he insisted, saying each family should be entitled to at least a million dollars.

  Grayson Boyd had posed enough questions to make Ava want the answers that a lawsuit and inquiry would provide. She wanted to do something right for Marco in death, since she had failed him in life. Marco may never have been on this island or that ship if not for her. That knowledge had given her the strength to face the demons that she might find in paradise.

  She took a last sip of coffee and squinted toward the horizon, where the two giant sailing ships rested. The bigger one, she now knew, was Valhalla. With Maurice Arnot, of all people, on board. A genuine attraction, but also a wonderful excuse to get on one of the ships and talk to some of the crew. People might be more forthcoming and open in their own element than under the intimidating eye of their boss.

  Ava turned to find her bag and caught her reflection in the mirror. She touched the fragile skin under her eyes, noting the shadows. She’d dressed in white capri pants, not at all sure what to wear on a luxury sailing ship. She tugged the cotton tweed of her sweater so that it wasn’t quite so tight around her bosom and tried to smooth her willful curls, habits she’d had for so long she barely noticed the actions. A light tap on her door interrupted her self-assessment.

  “Who is it?”

  Cassie’s cheery voice called out. “Your personal driver, luv.”

  Ava whisked the door open with a smile that came from her heart. “What are you doing here?”

  “I couldn’t let you go on board alone, so I thought I’d play escort. D’ya mind?”

  The gesture touched Ava. “Not at all, I welcome the company. I’ve never been on any kind of cruise ship, you know.”

  “Well, brace yourself. This isn’t any kind of cruise ship. And I haven’t been on one since I climbed off the Paradisio…”

  Ava knew from the reports she’d read that all passengers and nonessential crew had disembarked in Barbados when it became obvious that Hurricane Carlos wasn’t turning north, as most storms did, but heading east.

  “Well, you’re not technically sailing today.” Ava closed the door behind her, and they walked out into the brilliant sunshine.

  “I know.” Cassie climbed easily over the half door of the vehicle while Ava opted to use the door. “But I’m on the schedule to work Nirvana in a few days. Quite frankly, I’m kind of dreading it.”

  Ava squeezed her eyes shut as they started down the first impossibly steep road toward the harbor, preparing herself to find out more about Marco’s world.

  From his familiar place on the grandstand sundeck overlooking the bridge of Valhalla, Dane watched dozens of crewmen and prep teams hustle across the main deck of the four-hundred-foot sailing ship as they equipped her for departure. Five masts stood in various states of readiness, with giant canvas sails being checked and tightened in preparation for the seven-day cruise through the Windward Islands of the Caribbean.

  By sunset Valhalla would have motored out of the port. Her polished brightwork and brass railings would shine with a blinding finish. The first of forty-two sails would unfurl with a deafening snap accompanied by Utopia’s signature orchestral performance of “Ride of the Valkyries” piped through the sound system. The intoxicating aromas of Maurice Arnot’s artistry would waft from the galley of the clipper deck, and the well-heeled guests of Utopia would begin their dream vacations. Under his watch, it would all come together.

  The launch approached port side, and he could see Ava and Cassie in animated conversation as the crew man secured the lines. An unfamiliar sensation of anticipation tightened his usual steel gut.

  Gripping the railing and squinting against the sun, he watched a young deckhand struggle with a mizzen sail halyard. The boy, no more than eighteen, looked directly at Dane, obviously aware he was being watched by Utopia’s owner. Dane read the doubt in the kid’s eyes.

  Grayson Boyd had gotten to most of the crew and their families, all so closely intertwined within Utopia. Nearly everyone who worked for him was related to or close to one of the victims of Paradisio. Men he’d known and employed for years weighed the millions Boyd was dangling against their loyalty to Dane.

  It was a tough call, but loyalty could win. Unless an outsider, with no loyalty and a five-year-old guilt trip for her dead brother, really got them going. Then, he could lose.

  He wished desperately that he had all the answers
Ava needed. For now, he’d do everything to keep her close.

  Which won’t be a hardship, he thought as she crossed the main deck with Cassie. The wind caught her shoulder-length hair and whipped the long waves back from her heart-shaped face. Her hand shading her eyes, she scanned the grand ship.

  He couldn’t resist admiring her body. She had shapely legs shown off by white slacks that tapered to her calves. Her hips had a delicious curve, not too round but definitely not the stretched skin and bones of most of Valhalla’s visitors. Her generous breasts moved with every step in a natural, sexy bounce. The twinge of male response didn’t surprise him, but the knock in his chest did.

  “Welcome aboard.” Dane greeted them as they stepped up from the main deck to the sundeck.

  Ava looked around but didn’t catch his eye. “It’s lovely,” she said coolly, her arms crossed in front of her.

  “It’s a she,” he corrected, “not an it.”

  “Don’t start a sailing lesson on the spot,” Cassie warned. “I’ve just learned Ava’s only been on a few motorboats. And I promised her that on a Utopia adventure—even just a visit—you don’t have to do a thing but enjoy the amenities.”

  He watched Ava take in a towering mast and winding snakes of white lines wrapped around it.

  “Don’t the guests pitch in with the coming about and all that?” Ava asked.

  Cassie snorted. “Not these guests and not at these prices.”

  “These aren’t the barefoot cruises you may have heard of,” Dane added. “There’s very little rum swilling and absolutely no serenading the captain with pirate tunes. As you’ll see, we go for a more sophisticated adventure.”

  “Too bad. I’d pay a lot to see Maurice Arnot belt out ‘Tis a Pirate’s Life.’”

  Ava’s dry delivery caught him by surprise, and he chuckled. “Come and meet him. You could probably talk him into anything.”

  Cassie moved away with a wave. “I’ve met the Great and Powerful Arnot, thank you very much. I’ll go down to housekeeping and tell the girls what they’re doing right.”

  The familiar lilt in Cassie’s voice still hadn’t returned. Dane reached out and took her hand. “You okay, Cass?”

  She nodded and patted his hand. “I’m fine, luv. I’ve missed the sea under my legs. Thanks.” She took a step toward the stairs and threw back a grin. “Don’t bore her to death with legends and tales, Dane.”

  Dane turned to Ava. “Could I give you a quick tour before I lose you to the magic of Maurice Arnot?” He held out a hand to guide her. She preceded him toward the main deck, pointedly refusing his assistance.

  “Valhalla is unquestionably the jewel of the fleet,” he told her as they rounded the bow and stopped at the navy blue Olympic-size pool that was being cleaned and refilled by two brawny crew members. “It’s our largest and newest. And the most luxurious.”

  “I read you started this business on a bet. Is that true?”

  Her directness teased a smile from him. How much propaganda on Utopia, and him, had she been fed? “Not exactly. The Paradisio was my first ship. I won it in a poker game from a man in St. John named Nathaniel Giles.”

  “Giles? Any relation to Genevieve?”

  How quickly she picked up the connection.

  “Yes. Nathaniel and Elizabeth are Genevieve’s grandparents. I met Nat almost twenty years ago. I was barely out of my teens, sailing around the Caribbean doing…whatever kids do when they drop out of college and escape the bonds of their parents.”

  “Playing poker, in your case.”

  He chuckled. “Among other things. Anyway, he was a cocky player. Had a full house and put Paradisio on the table. Not that he didn’t have the money. I had a straight flush and Nat was good on his word.” He remembered the look of satisfaction in the older man’s eyes when he looked at Dane’s cards. Definitely satisfaction. “I don’t know what the hell I’d have done if I’d lost. Been his indentured servant, I guess. But I think he was hoping the ship would help me find that missing ‘thing’ in my life if I owned her.”

  “Did you?”

  He paused to wipe a smudge off the railing as they descended another set of stairs, then glanced at her, feeling an unfamiliar desire to tell her more than he usually shared. “I found a way to make my own life, apart from my parents. I avoided the confines of the Erikson Hill Hotel business, which held no appeal to me. I prefer the open air to a boardroom, and I prefer the freedom of a private company to a public one.” He pulled open a cut glass door. “Right through here is the spa—”

  “I really don’t need the five-dollar tour. I just wanted to meet Arnot.”

  “Five dollars won’t get you much on this ship, I’m afraid.” He let the spa door close and shook his head a little at her ineffective attempt at being bitchy. “I thought you might want a glimpse into Marco’s world. Didn’t you say that was one of your reasons for coming down here? To discover who he had become over the past five years?”

  “In the spa?” She sighed heavily and folded her arms, deepening an enticing shadow between her breasts. “You know damn well why I came down here, so let’s get on with it. All you’re doing is showing me how much luxury you offer while the children of your sailors live in squalor.”

  “Squalor?”

  “They make a thousand dollars a month. What do you call it?”

  She knew nothing of island life. Should he enlighten her that his employees earned three times what other cruise lines paid? That some of his people had been with him since he had only one ship, loyal for many reasons? Most of them would be deeply involved with selling or using drugs if not for the generous salaries he paid. But her dark eyes sparked with accusation, and he knew an economics lesson would be lost on her. He’d have to show her another way. His gaze dropped to her feminine figure as she turned from him. The thought of seducing her into agreement flashed in his mind, but he knew he’d be better off with a more sensible approach. Less appealing, but sensible.

  “Perhaps you’ll take the time to get to know some of the Utopians while you’re here. Even check out their ‘squalor.’”

  “I plan to.”

  “Good. Then let me be your guide, not Grayson Boyd.” He opened a door to another hallway. “The galley’s this way.”

  An awkward silence accompanied their footsteps and Ava stole a glance at him. He really didn’t merit such a snotty response, but he was melting her resolve, and she had to fight it.

  She didn’t want to respond in any way to his towering presence of lean, roped muscle and his masculine scent of soap and salt. Or his tales of poker games. She didn’t want her every sense to react to this man, to his cool control and subtle sense of humor. She tried to ignore his perfectly formed mouth and forced herself not to look at the few golden hairs that peeked out of his open collar and begged to be touched. But every womanly instinct was betraying her.

  How easy it would be to fall under the spell of his mesmerizing eyes and silken voice, lost in the opulence of his majestic ships. She wanted to ask him where he got the slight British accent. She wanted to abandon the hostility and explore every inch of this amazing ship alone with him. Marone! What the hell was the matter with her?

  “How many ships are there in the Utopia line?”

  “There are five, now. The others, Olympus, Celestia, and Utopian Dream are all in dry dock. I decided to use the downtime to give them thorough physicals.”

  She remembered Grayson Boyd’s claim that Paradisio hadn’t been dry-docked for two years, and his suggestion that the ship could have weathered the storm if it had been properly maintained.

  “Nirvana is the smaller ship that’s in port right now,” he told her, stopping for the second time to pick up a minuscule piece of lint from the carpet, perhaps in an effort to show her that poor maintenance could never be an issue on his ships.

  “I saw it—her. Hardly small.”

  “Well, the other ships are only two hundred and sixty feet and carry about a hundred and fifty passengers a
nd crew. Valhalla is four hundred and thirty-nine feet, and she generally holds well over two hundred people.” His blue eyes sparkled with a parent’s pride. “There’s only one other five-masted passenger sailing ship in the world. It sails the Greek islands.”

  “Are you planning to steal that one too?”

  He laughed a little, or tried to hide a choke of surprise.

  “They say you got this for a song. From a competitor in financial trouble who was in the middle of building it when he ran out of money.” One of the few articles she’d dug up had painted him as a ruthless entrepreneur determined to build a unique and highly profitable business.

  He leaned closer to her and whispered, “Most definitely. At gunpoint. With an eye patch and gold earring.”

  Something fluttered in her stomach at the close contact. “I’m serious,” she said defensively.

  “So am I.” He winked at her, further unraveling her nerve endings. “But that’s called business. Not piracy.”

  Oh, he was a pirate all right. A rogue, with magnetic eyes and a heat wave of sexuality that emanated from every cell. She turned to a magnificent double staircase leading to the first level of a three-tiered dining room, refusing to succumb to his tricks. She knew better. A man like Dane Erikson wouldn’t flirt with her unless he needed something. Unless he wanted her to close her mouth, drop her lawsuit, and flee his private island.

  She turned her attention to the grand rooms in front of her. “This is a fitting stage for Arnot’s artistry,” she commented, running a hand along the curved wrought iron railings. “I’m looking forward to meeting him.”

  He led her down the dramatic staircase through the Euro-elegance of the darkened dining room and flipped open a swinging door to the galley. Not surprisingly, given the rest of the ship, it resembled the most active and modern kitchen of any large, high-end restaurant.

  The galley’s blinding fluorescent lights were a harsh contrast after the dim hallways and dining room. Ava’s senses quickly adapted to the familiar environment. She recognized the scent of bay leaves and thyme simmering in an aromatic veal stock. A sea of stainless steel counters gleamed below rows of glistening salamander ovens and magnetic knife racks. The rhythmic chop of knives on wood and the clatter of pans relaxed her.