She reminded him of a child’s ice-cream bar—a Creamsicle—dressed in a cool tangerine halter top that showed off well-defined arms and a short flippy skirt that revealed shapely legs. In high-heeled sandals and her hair loose and free, Ava definitely looked good enough to eat. He suddenly envisioned her on her back, ready to be tasted and taken.
His arousal was instant and strong, and he tried to will the response away, but his brain wasn’t working at the moment. He couldn’t stop looking at her, and their gazes met across the deck.
Her slight flush might be a little extra makeup, but he doubted it. Something told him their thoughts were traveling down the same dangerous path. She walked directly to him, undaunted by his stare. He liked that.
He stayed at the railing, resisting the urge, the constant urge, to touch her. He couldn’t resist dropping his gaze over her top, though. Not tight, but not overly modest, either, it revealed more than a hint of cleavage. His grip tightened on the rail.
“How’s the cabin?” he asked.
She broke into a grin. “Outrageous. I’m sure you have more than a few well-heeled guests who would pay real money for it.”
“They’re used to the good life.” He glanced at the groups of people around them and then back to her. “I wanted to show off Utopia to you.”
“Thank you.” She smiled slyly. “Anyway, I’ve thought of a way to pay my freight.” At his questioning look, she added, “Taste the tapenade. The chef put me to work in the galley.”
He stepped back, surprised. “You don’t have to work on this cruise.”
“I know. It was fun, and I don’t know any other way to repay you for the luxurious accommodations.”
His gaze slipped down again to the tantalizing rise of her breasts but didn’t linger. He really didn’t want to seduce her, he told himself. She was still reeling from the death of her estranged brother. His best friend. And she was still threatening to sue the company. His entire world.
But he couldn’t resist touching her silky shoulder. Her skin was as soft as it looked. “We’ll consider you a celebrity guest chef. But don’t spend too much time down there. Arnot’s a wolf.” He let his fingers follow the curve of her back, wanting to continue the path they were on, imagining the pleasure of melting this Creamsicle. “Let’s go up to the bridge. It’s the best view.”
As Ava felt his warm touch on her back, Cassie’s words echoed in her ears. Don’t underestimate him. How many have done just that, she wondered as she fell into step with him across the teak deck. How many had fallen for the impossibly deep blue-green eyes and tempting face? How many had longed to explore the symmetrical muscles of his stomach and chest, and listen to him describe just how he got that hint of a British accent?
Ava swallowed hard. One meaningless kiss and a bouquet of roses and she couldn’t control the direction of her thoughts. She glanced at him, determined to see the man who might have sent Marco to a watery grave, but her gaze fell on his lips, and she remembered how warm they’d been when he’d kissed her. A hot, unexpected shudder teased her, making her want to swear under her breath.
A waiter approached with crystal champagne flutes on a tray. Dane thanked him, taking two drinks and handing one to Ava.
“Champagne is part of the ritual. You’ll anger the gods if you don’t have a sip.”
She held up the glass and offered a shaky smile, thinking the only thing godlike here was the Viking in front of her. “I certainly don’t want to anger the gods.”
“Captain Guy’s nearly ready to get under way. Come with me.” He guided her up a short set of stairs to an observation area on the sundeck. From there, she could see into the bridge and across the entire length of Nirvana. Brilliant colors against more than a dozen unfurled canvas sails, four towering masts, and miles of nautical white ropes wrapped around brass and wood railings. The chatter and laughter of excited passengers mingled with the sounds of a steel drum band from another part of the ship.
Dane’s gaze swept the magical view and he fairly glowed. “Everything looks good. We’re ready to sail. There’s Captain Guy.”
Ava watched an imposing man in a crisp, white uniform step onto the bridge to start the ceremony.
“Do you always set sail at sunset?” she asked, inhaling the clean, pungent salt air, and the sweet smell of champagne nearly overpowered the subtle, masculine scent of Dane.
“Generally. But never on the day of a full moon, never on the thirteenth, and never without champagne open.”
“Angering the gods, again?”
“Sailors take superstitions very seriously. It’s considered terrible luck to launch a ship or set sail with any of those conditions. Did you realize that the ship has turned almost a full circle since you boarded?”
She shook her head.
“A clockwise rotation is an acknowledgment of the sun. For good luck.”
She tilted her head and smiled. “You are serious.”
He grinned, not admitting whether he was or not. “There’s usually a bit of truth to superstitions.” He glanced at the sky, then back at her. “I try to appease the demons and deities.”
The steel band that had played softly suddenly stopped and a hush suspended over the ship. Dane slipped behind her, trapping her between his body and the rail. His fingers touched her hair, lifting the curls to whisper in her ear. “Just listen, now. Don’t think of anything else.”
Captain Guy’s shout echoed over the decks. “Raise the sails!”
More than a dozen crewmen, dressed in matching royal blue and white uniforms, scurried about the deck, and four massive triangular sails dropped with a whoosh and hundreds of feet of white ropes uncoiled in harmony with the canvas. The sails caught the first gust of salt-scented wind, curving gracefully with a crisp, loud snap.
The heady and inspiring opening notes of Wagner’s “Ride of the Valkyries” boomed through the speakers as the remaining sails dropped in unison, a whipping, cracking of wind against canvas that shocked everyone into a spontaneous shout of delight. The majestic ship began to dance over the waves, picking up speed in time to the rising drama of Utopia’s musical signature.
Tears threatened in Ava’s eyes as she reveled in the spectacle. In another life, in another place, she might lean against the man behind her and lose herself to his world. The urge to nestle into his rock hard chest and arms was so compelling that she gripped the railing harder to keep from giving in to it.
She could feel his breath on her cheek, warmer and softer than the tropical wind that carried them off to their adventure. Spellbound, the pounding of her heart kept a rhythm with the music. She turned to look up at Dane. He was staring at her, his unreadable face just inches from hers. His mouth curved slightly. The rolling of the ship, the champagne, something made her feel as though warm liquid shot through her entire body.
“Bon voyage, princess.”
She forced her gaze off his mouth and back to the aquamarine eyes. Very few escape unscathed.
7
O ne hand on the wheel, a firm foot on the gas pedal, and a cell phone pressed against her ear, Genevieve charged down a mountainside road, trying to keep the alarm out of her voice.
“Look, the search isn’t over yet. I know the son of a bitch. He’s persistent as hell. He’ll stay out there six months until he finds a frigging hair dryer, okay?”
“You can’t panic, Genevieve.” The man’s voice crackled on the line, but she could hear the force behind it. “I will negotiate more time on the payments for the loss. You just make sure everything is in order and the money goes into the right accounts. Dane will find nothing at the bottom of the sea. Nothing that can incriminate us. I’m certain of that.”
“You don’t know that for sure—”
“Genevieve!” he barked at her, the sound reverberating in her fearful stomach. “I’ve got much bigger problems. I’ve got to go.”
He clicked off. She thrust the phone on the passenger seat, narrowly missing a Moke turning in front of her. H
er heart skipped a beat and she laid on the horn full force and got the finger in return.
“Fuck you too, pal.” Palpitations escalated into a pounding against her ribs. Her sweaty palms could barely hold the slippery steering wheel as she headed toward Dane’s house. Please, Marj, be there.
She was certain Marj cleaned on Saturday mornings. Marj would let her in. She wouldn’t care if Genevieve went into his precious study. She wouldn’t question Dane’s executive vice president searching his desk.
Damn, why had she let him take that paper? Why had she changed the subject by talking about Arnot’s stupid salt? Now he had names and freaking addresses all over the Caribbean.
She’d scoured his office in Gustavia that morning, thankful that the ever-efficient Claire didn’t work Saturdays. He couldn’t have taken the list, could he? But his desk was clean, no list in sight. It had to be at his house. She’d handled the little vendors for years now. Why, all of a sudden, did he care where they got their fucking spices?
At the top of the familiar drive, she blew a breath of relief when she saw Marjory Hemingway’s dilapidated Dodge Dart. How that thing made it up these hills, she’d never know. Or care. Just let me in, Marjie. Let me in.
The Jamaican woman was in the side yard beating the life out of an Oriental carpet and singing an island blues melody, off-key, at the top of her lungs.
“Marj!” She poured warmth into her greeting. “Hi, hon. How are you doing?”
“Oh! Miss Genevieve.” Marj dropped a corner of the rug. “You scared me!”
“I’m sorry, dear.” Genevieve looked anxiously at the house, not wanting to spend one second more than necessary on the pleasantries.
“Mister Dane’s on de Nirvana, Miss.” Marj raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you know dat?”
Of course I do, you idiot. “Oh, yes, I just talked to him.” She waved her cell phone as proof. “But I have a little administrative problem and he told me you could let me into the study to find something he forgot.” She smiled and reached for the fallen end of the rug. “Here, let me help you.”
“Dat’s all right, Miss Genevieve.” She pulled back the rug and looked hard at Genevieve. “He didn’t call me about it. Sometimes I fax to him on de ship.”
“I know, Marj. That’s precisely what he wants me to do. But I’m looking for one little piece of paper. You’d probably never find it.”
Marj nodded toward the utility room door. “Go ahead, Miss Genevieve. It’s open.”
“Thanks, sweetie.” Genevieve flashed her most genuine smile. “I’ll just be a second.”
“De fax is on,” Marj called to her as she headed toward the door. “I can help you send it if you like.”
“No, I know how to do it. Thank you.”
The house was cool and dim. And silent. Genevieve paused for a moment in the kitchen, taking in the polished granite countertops and wall of windows overlooking the water. She squeezed her eyes shut against the longing that always tormented her when she stepped into his private domain. How happy she would be here. How satisfied she’d be as his partner. His legitimate partner.
Stop it, she scolded herself. Just find the damn list. You’ve got to save yourself, girl. Take care of Genevieve, because he isn’t going to.
The achy feeling lingered in the hall. In the vestibule outside the study, she stopped to run a finger along the carved Botticino marble top on an antique side table. He had exquisite taste for a man who generally considered shoes and shirts optional. Exquisite and complicated. Didn’t he see how much alike they were?
She picked up a delicate Baccarat crystal dolphin. She had given it to him when they acquired Valhalla. Sailors loved dolphins. They signified good luck and great prosperity. He had treated her to that dear little boy smile when he opened it. Her gut twisted as her fingers squeezed the crystal animal.
Just find the list and get out of here, you idiot.
As soon as Miss Genevieve’s Jeep rumbled down the drive, Marj marched right into the study. She shouldn’t have let her in the room.
Something troubling dat woman for sure, she thought. And now it was troubling her. Miss Genevieve had spent a long time in Mister Dane’s study and nothing looked quite de same when she was gone. Papers moved all over his desk. His sea maps all piled up in a different place. And dat pretty glass fish broken in the hallway.
Marj shook her head and looked closely at the fax machine. She pressed the Redial button and bent over to peer at the number on the machine. The Utopia office fax in Gustavia. Not de long number of de ship’s fax. She knew for sure, because she had all Mister Dane’s important numbers memorized.
Marj didn’t want nothing on her conscience. Her baby Mitchell was in heaven watching her, along with his daddy. A guilty conscience is de devil’s tool.
Picking up the study phone, her thick fingers dialed another number she knew by heart: Mister Dane’s cell phone number. He never minded when she called.
Ava felt a little foolish as capable hands rubbed her feet into a state of pure bliss. She looked at Cassie in the pedicure chair next to her, and the two shared a smile.
“Your guilt’s written all over your face, luv. Just let Miranda do her job and enjoy it. I do this on every cruise my first afternoon off.”
Ava dropped her right foot back in the bubbling warm water and lifted her left for Miranda to dry. “I’ve never had a pedicure in my life.”
The exotic-looking woman holding her foot laughed out loud. “It is a necessity to most of Utopia’s guests, not a luxury.”
“Well, I’m not the usual guest.” Ava leaned back into the leather chair, enjoying the gentle mechanical massage it offered as part of the service. “But I could get comfortable faking it.”
Cassie’s appointment was nearly over and she wiggled her red-tipped toes as they dried, examining them for imperfections. “You certainly looked like you belonged last night.”
Ava popped her head up from its comfortable repose. “I didn’t see you last night.”
“Of course not, darlin’. The help is invisible.” She leaned over and whispered, “But who could miss the lady in orange? The one dining at the captain’s table?”
“I tried to keep a low profile, but Dane insisted I join them for dinner.” Not that she required a lot of persuasion.
“Was it fun?” Cassie asked casually.
Ava refused to give in to the temptation of girl talk. “It was fine. Captain Guy is funny and warm and Dane was very…very kind to me.”
“Kind again, was he?” Cassie stood, carefully stepping around the footbath so as not to smudge her ruby toenails. “Ah, this was fun. I don’t get another break until Nevis. We’ll be in Antigua in about an hour, and then the merry maids go into full swing while you all plunder the island.”
“I’m not plundering, remember?” Ava knew she sounded defensive, determined to remind Cassie that her vacation had an important purpose. “I’m going to visit some families. Two, he said last night.”
Cassie frowned. “Oh, in Antigua. That would be Michael Steele’s wife and three kids. She’s sweet. And…”
“Christa Brier,” Miranda supplied. “She’s pregnant with her first.”
Ava marveled at how all the Utopians, as they referred to themselves, knew one another and their families. British, Creole, Jamaican, West Indian. It didn’t matter in their company culture.
“Pregnant? That’s a shame—” Ava stopped, remembering Cassie and looked at her guiltily.
Cassie offered only a wistful smile and reached down to ruffle Miranda’s hair.
“Give her the mystic mauve, Miranda, it’ll look beautiful on her sexy little feet. And tell Bree thanks for squeezing me in. I owe her.” She blew a kiss to both as she reached the door of the private treatment room. “Bye, girls.”
Ava dropped back into the headrest, the sadness in Cassie’s green eyes still vivid. What was Cassie going to do? She couldn’t go off on weeklong cruises as a housekeeper and leave a baby behind. How long could she
work in this physical job before the baby was born? And then, would Dane pay her while she stayed home and raised a child? Maybe she could have a day job in the office, Ava thought. Yes, he would probably be amenable to that.
He certainly hadn’t turned out to be the ogre Grayson Boyd had painted him to be. He was kind. He had treated her like an honored guest among the chosen few at the captain’s table. He had deftly kept conversation light and animated, away from the recent tragedy and the reason for Ava’s visit. And he’d walked her to her cabin in the moonlight with merely a reminder that they would meet on the deck at noon for their mission in Antigua. Although, for a moment, she had thought he was going to kiss her. When he said good night, just for one second, she thought his mouth would…
Her body tightened, as if she were on a roller coaster chugging up to the first drop. As it had last night when she closed her cabin door. Fear, anticipation, adrenaline pumping wildly. What was wrong with her?
After the topcoat was dry, Miranda pulled the white cotton from between Ava’s toes, and they shared a smile. An ultrafeminine sensation tickled her right down to their mystic mauve tips. Did he know it would make her feel nothing less than completely sexy to have her toenails painted?
She had no doubt who was behind the early morning phone call from the spa informing her that she had an appointment for a massage and pedicure. Cassie seemed surprised to see her walk in, so she hadn’t arranged it. Maybe it was an automatic perk for the Owner’s Suite tenants. Maybe not.
It seemed she questioned his motives at every turn. Did he really want to take her to see the families today…or control her access to them? Did he really want her at the captain’s table last night…or away from the kitchen crew? Did he really find her attractive…or was he just flirting with her to get her on his side?
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