Ethan's Song

by Jan Carol

  Standing before the small mirror, she took her hair out of the ponytail holder. The thought returned to her. Cut it, half of her said. No, don’t, the other half argued back.

  Hoping the brightness wouldn’t bother Jenni, she opened the door, letting the bit of light from the smaller room be the only thing to help her locate the small sewing basket in her second drawer, and the pair of scissors in it. She was going to do it. It would grow back if she didn’t like it.

  In the bathroom again, she closed the door. Putting her hair back in the elastic band, moving it down a little past her shoulders, she held it with one hand while positioning the other hand holding the scissors. Closing her eyes, she used her sense of feel, cutting it two inches above the holder. With a deep sigh, she brought the ponytail in front of her. It was done. It couldn’t be put back.

  Laying the hair across the vanity, she shook her head, feeling as if she had lost a hundred pounds off her neck. Carefully she trimmed what was left until it looked even to her.

  Washing what remained of her hair was a new experience. Towel drying it felt good. As she used the blow dryer, she shaped it with the brush. It had a natural under curl, barely reaching her shoulders when she was finished.

  After climbing into her bed, she found sleep very quickly. As she was drifting off to the other side, the thought of her hair laying in the bathroom entered her mind. She knew she should put it in a drawer, but she couldn’t get her body to move. She would take care of it when she woke up.

  <<<< >>>>

  IT WAS a squeal that brought her from the deep sleep. The room was dimly lit, what light she could see was coming from the small room in the back. Sitting up, she found the ceiling rubbing the top of her head.

  "What is it, Jenni?" The sleepy voice went through the room.

  "You cut your hair!" was the answer, as the woman came in from the bath holding the two feet plus of ponytail in both hands. Her eyes were wide as she stared from the woman to the hair. "You cut your hair!" she repeated, still unbelieving.

  "Yes," she slowly answered to the crime. "I did, didn’t I?" She lay back down, hoping to get more sleep. "You can have it, if you want. I’m just going to toss it out. It’s almost your color. Make a wig." Her voice was soft, speaking of the need for more rest.

  Jená, how could you?" As if it was breakable, she laid it on the dressing table with great care. "I just can’t believe you did that." Her words were drowned out when she went into the smaller room, shutting the door.

  When she opened her eyes again, she pushed the small button on her watch for the light. It was after eleven. If given the opportunity, she could really enjoy a dark room all the time for sleeping. The undisturbed sleep, after Jenni’s outburst, had done her a world of good.

  After dressing, she took her guitar out to the staff lobby. There had been two whole days gone by that her fingers hadn’t touched the strings, nor had her voice been properly stretched as it should have been.

  With no one around, she felt she had the needed space to warm up and sing to her heart’s content. Strumming the familiar cords, she began humming a tune. As she opened up, her voice rang out, and some of the staff began coming out to see who had the CD player up so loud. Westley was in the crowd, she noticed. He had heard her sing in different places, having met her at The Orange Paradise, where she had been engaged about ten weeks before.

  After she ended her fourth song, the gathering crowd again applauded, calling for yet another encore. She was very aware that Westley had moved behind her. When her fingers began picking at the strings again, she felt his fingers in her shortened hair. She shook her head, letting him know she wanted him out of it, as her voice picked up once again.

  As she put the guitar away, having had all the exercise she wanted for a while, she stood. Several complimented her, others said she should go to the studio with her voice. She smiled and started walking to her room.

  "Delilah get hold of you during the night?" His words came from close behind her. When she didn’t answer, he moved between her and the door she was about to open. "What happened? I mean, it looks great and all, but..."

  "I got tired of it. I decided if I didn’t like it, it would grow back. So far, I like it." She put her case against his side, trying to move him out of her way. "If you’ll forgive me, I’d like to get changed before I go to work." She was wearing shorts and a tee-shirt.

  "Too bad the uniforms can’t be more..." His eyes went hungrily over her body. "The boss might change his mind if he got a look at you now." With the guitar case pushing against him, he decided to step aside.

  "Speaking of bosses... I hope he told you off last night." She turned in her open doorway, blocking it so he couldn’t enter behind her, hoping to hear that he had heard the worst.

  "Who? Mr. Ayers?" He laughed as he spoke. "That bit about rules, dear sweet thing, is old Flap’s rules, nothing more. The boss sees nothing wrong with grabbing what you can, when you can. He isn’t the ‘doas-I-say-not-as-I-do, kind of guy."

  Her expelled breath was in disgust. "Well, I see a lot wrong with that philosophy." Jenà slammed her door as hard as she could. The nerve of some men. Was it really like that? Her thoughts were so loud in her mind, she wondered if she had actually said the words. Was her employer a ruthless playboy, as Westley had indicated prior to the cruise?

  Thinking back on the night before, she remembered how Mr. Ayers had laughed at Westley’s unsuccessful attempts. Thank goodness she was hired help, she found herself thinking again. She had the feeling her boss would enjoy a challenge like her. Would he see her as that? Would he change his rules and go after her? She wasn’t snobbish, but she knew she looked good, and had had her fill of men who thought she should be falling all over them.

  "Of course not." She finally spoke aloud. "He has his hands full of rich women upstairs." Why would her thoughts turn to Mr. Ayers in such a way? Was she looking at him as a challenge for herself? She had her hands full keeping Westley at a distance. Ethan Ayers didn’t need to be added to the problems she already had. Besides, Ethan Ayers was way above of her league, if she was in one to begin with.

  Actually, she wasn’t looking for anything, she reminded herself. Sitting on the bottom bunk, she surveyed her life as it was. She was almost twenty-four. Maybe it was time she started looking for a man to settle down with. If she wanted to raise any kind of a family, and enjoy them, she had better start looking seriously. As soon as she got back home she would, she promised herself.

  All through the evening she scurried here and there, doing for others, wishing for fresh air. She thought about asking to trade with one of the staff assigned to the deck, but didn’t have the courage. The closer time got to her off-duty hours, the more she thought about sneaking outside before retiring to her room for the night. She knew the only staff allowed out in the fresh sea air were those who were serving the guests who lounged on deck. Even off-duty, it was off-limits to the workers.

  Getting the last of her work done, she found Westley behind her. "All finished?" She answered him with a nod. "I’ll be finished in about ten, fifteen minutes. Care to wait for me?"

  "No, I do not." Jenà’s words were anything but nice. "I’m sorry, Westley." She turned as she apologized. "I shouldn’t take it out on you. I’m tired and I want to get out in the air. What would happen if I was found out on the deck?"

  "I’ve never been caught, so I couldn’t tell you." He walked her to the diningroom door. She stored away the information, with a slight smile, that he had said he hadn’t been caught, not that he hadn’t gone out there. "I’ll meet you out there and if we get caught, I’ll take the blame, tell the boss I forced you out there, alright?"

  "No. I couldn’t let you do that. Maybe I should just go to bed. Goodnight, Westley." She was stopped before she took her first step toward the stairs.

  "Meet me outside. I need some air, too. What can I do to you out there?" His smile remained with her all the way down to her room.

  Quietly she changed into
a pair of jeans and knit pullover, slipping out of her work shoes for tennis shoes. Closing the door quietly, she headed up the stairs again. Westley would be about finished, she was sure, or most probably already waiting for her.

  The front of the ship’s deck was empty when she arrived, all lights had been turned off, telling her all the guests were down in their suites. Taking a deep breath of salty air, she leaned against the four foot rail, watching the movement of the water against the ship below her. She had never seen the sky so bright with stars. The moon, just coming up, was a small sliver. It was a night for romance, she thought. She could imagine herself out on a night like this, being part of the cruise as the hostess, with the man she loved. How could she go back downstairs? How could anyone be so cruel as to make his servants stay below, inside?

  As she was thus with her thoughts, his hands came to her arms, turning her around. She didn’t have time to say anything, or even catch a glimpse of him, before her lips were covered. Her sharp intake of air told of the pleasure his kiss was bringing to her, and unconsciously she arched her body toward him. Never had Westley kissed her like that. Never had he felt so muscular.

  It’s the night, she told herself. Feeling his hands run down her back to her buttocks, her instincts kicked in. The arms that were around his neck pulled back, her hands going to his strong chest, though there was hardly any room between their bodies. She began to fight him.

  He was stronger, more knowing how to bring out experienced, and she began to enjoy. No she began to crave what she was feeling. He kept her pinned against him, demanding that she relax, to part her lips even more and let him take control of her emotions. Slowly her fight did leave, her hands remaining on the powerful chest muscles, as she let him take control. Her senses weakened, those that were there to warn her of the dangers she was allowing in. The other senses she knew nothing about were sharpening.

  She knew her heartbeat must have been beating as if she were running the New York marathon, and her hands felt his quicken also. The knowledge that she excited him weakened her more. So weak were her knees, that he was holding on to her to keep her from falling to the deck. The kiss continued, as he explored within her mouth, tangling with her tongue. He held her so close to him, she felt a part of him.

  When he ended the kiss, she knew she couldn’t have, she laid her head on his chest. She listened to the galloping heartbeat inside him. With that kind of kiss, she knew he would completely weaken her defenses that were keeping her innocent. She moved her hands from his chest, running them around his middle, clasping them behind his back. He was still very much holding her up.

  "I didn’t expect that." His voice was deep the words spoken slowly, huskily. It wasn’t Westley’s voice. The familiar baritone was the one she had heard the night before, after she had turned Westley down.

  experienced than she, feelings she’d never

  Her hands were back on his chest, pushing with all the strength she could find, her eyes trying to focus on his face. The gasp from her now, seemed to bring added strength. The trembling she had felt with the weakness he had produced in her, didn’t compare to how she was shaking now.

  "My. Ayers!" Jená couldn’t think straight. "I’m sorry. I thought you were Westley."

  His voice held a slight chuckle, one he was trying to hold back. "I don’t know how to take that, Miss Wisdom." His eyes were sparkling with the laughter that hadn’t yet come out vocally. "I didn’t think he had that kind of touch with you."

  "He doesn’t." She shook her head, then realized what she had implied. "I mean... I..." Frustration was holding her prisoner now, and she couldn’t put the words out to him as she would like. "I should be downstairs."

  His smile grew by the second. "Yes, you really should. You do know you aren’t supposed to be out here?"

  "Yes, sir. I know. I just got so... I don’t know." She needed him to release her so she could concentrate on what she was saying. "I needed some fresh air, and I thought it was late enough that no one would know." She sighed, starting to struggle against his hold, which he wouldn’t relax a bit. His hands were still where they shouldn’t be, holding her hips pressed hard against his.

  "You were planning to meet Westley out here?" At his question, she ducked her head, nodding her answer. "I see." His voice was thoughtful. "And you thought he would try doing just what I did?"

  Again she nodded. "With the night sky... I thought I had let it get to me," her cheeks flamed, though it was too dark for him to see, "not him." She finished the last two words so quiet, she wasn’t sure he had heard them.

  "So, I got to you?" He spoke as though he was amused, surprised, but she knew he was not. Then he changed the subject. "Do you feel better having gotten some fresh air?" As if he had finally read her thoughts, he moved his hands up her back, keeping her within a few inches of him.

  "Yes." She whispered. "Well, I was beginning to feel better." Her voice grew louder than the whisper. "Now I’m just confused as to how I feel." She should learn how to put a hold on her tongue, she told herself.

  "Confused? Did I do that, too?" His question was mocked innocence, for he knew damn well what he had done to her. She, in fact, had the same effect on him, a new experience for him. No woman had such power over his senses before. "Should we try to undo that?"

  So inexperienced, she looked up into his eyes. "Undo?" His arms were pulling her closer, his head was bending down to hers. Her struggles did nothing to stop his advance.

  In less than a second, the fight she had felt was gone. She let her body be held as he had before. He commanded, she obeyed. There was a strange feeling, as if she were being lifted, but so engrossed was she in the way they were nearly one, that she ignored the feeling. Though the sensation changed to being carried off, her thoughts were on what his lips were doing to her, she couldn’t have thought of much more.

  The movement stopped and her mind was alerted to his having opened a door behind her. She wasn’t standing on her feet, he had carried her to his suite on the second floor. She couldn’t remember, not really, how she had gotten there. This time, it was she who ended the long kiss.

  "Put me down this minute, Mr. Ayers," she demanded in indignation. "I’m not one of your women. I’m not in your league. I’m part of the hired help." The words tumbled off her tongue, she couldn’t have stopped them if she’d been trying.

  He still held her, looking down at her with genuine amusement at her words. His brown eyes held more than just distraction, which frightened her. "Where on earth have you heard all that?"

  She was blushing, so much she could see the red from her cheeks reflecting on his white shirt. "The staff talks, Mr. Ayers," she quietly supplied. "First I was warned to beware of you, because you devour women like me. Then I was told you stuck to rich women, putting the make on every one you come in contact with, but never the hired help."

  "Hm-m-m." He kissed her just below her ear, whispering as he did. "You mean like this? And maybe this?"

  "Please, Mr. Ayers." She couldn’t keep her voice from sounding weaker as he continued assaulting her very sensitive skin. "Please put me down. Let me go to my room where I belong."

  Using his foot, he closed the door to the hall, walking into the spacious room. If her eyes had been open, she would have seen that it was a sitting room. She’d have also known he was walking through another doorway, going into his bedroom, where he closed that door, too.

  The sound of the second door broke the trance he had put her in. "No, Mr. Ayers." She shook her head quite hard, trying to clear her mind as she let him know she meant it.

  "It’s Ethan, Jenà. And, yes." He tried to kiss her lips again, but she moved her head to the side. "I feel the want in you, as much as in myself. I know you feel it." At his bed, he set her down. The mattress beneath her moved. Seeing the expression on her face, he grinned. "Have you never made love in a waterbed?" He sat beside her, as she tried to get up.

  "No!" Her squeal wasn’t meant to come out so squeaky and loud.
"And I’m not going to, Mr. Ayers."

  "After leading me on the way you did?" He watched as her blue eyes widened, her mouth trying to form words, her cheeks flaming with the renewed blush.

  "Leading you on?" She was finally able to squeak out. "I wasn’t leading you anywhere, Mr. Ayers. It was you who took control." Her attempts to get away from him were getting her nowhere.

  Jená." He whispered her name as his arm came around her. He laid her back and joined her, despite her struggle to get up.

  "I really didn’t mean to give you the impression you got." Her voice had fear surrounding each word. "Honestly, I didn’t."

  He sat up, keeping his dark brown eyes on her, his hand resting on her stomach ever so lightly. "Just how much experience do you have teasing men, Jenà?" He spoke quietly, though there was an anger beneath his composure, feelings he was allowing her to see only a glimpse of.

  With difficulty, then with his helping hand, she sat, then stood. "I’m sorry, Mr. Ayers. I can’t claim any experience with men, in that way." She turned from him, hiding the tears that had come to her eyes. How she wished she could run from him, but where could she go? This was his ship, and they were out in the middle of nowhere.

  When his large, warm hands touched her arms, she stiffened as she wiped at her wet cheeks. "I’m sorry, Jenà." His whispered words were sincere. "I had no idea." He turned her to him, bringing comfort with his arms this time. "The way you kissed me... There’s usually a lot of experience coming from that kind of..."

  She could hear his heart beating, slower now, as she again rested her face against his chest. "I’ve never been kissed in that way. I’m sorry I responded to you in such a way."

  His chuckle deepened her blush, he could feel the heat through his shirt. "Let’s not say that. I certainly am not sorry." His moving hands on her back were creating feelings in her that only deepened her confusion. "You’ve done something to me, Jenà. I can’t put my finger on it, but I like how it feels." His voice deepened as he spoke.