“Walk with me a little?”
She smiled, but it bore no relation to the hearty laughter and happy grins that he’d grown to love. He held her hand as they left the dining room and, when they passed a florist, he tugged at her hand.
“I want to go in here.”
She looked at him inquiringly, but didn’t ask his motive. He hoped the starch hadn’t gone out of her. If it had, he reflected, though he’d rather the thought hadn’t arisen, it would mean that she’d known all along that she had a problem and what it was. If so, her condition could be more serious than he thought. He bought a red-tipped yellow rose and handed it to her, testing her. She reached for it, but failed to touch it. He pretended not to notice, but he no longer doubted that she had a problem with her peripheral vision.
“Would you like to see the floor show?” he asked her.
“Should be fun. Why not? I don’t care to go to the casino, and I’m not a good bridge player.”
He splayed his fingers at her waist and guided her back to their table. The floor show held little interest for him, but it would give him an opportunity to observe her closely without her knowing it. He helped himself to a snifter of fine VSOP cognac when the waiter offered it, and watched anxiously as she eyed it longingly, shook her head and settled for a cranberry rickey.
* * *
Jeannetta tried to concentrate on the show and to ignore Mason’s intense scrutiny. Her furtive glances didn’t tell her whether his gazes were of admiration or curiosity. Maybe she’d fooled him but, if she had, he couldn’t be much of a specialist; she’d shown every symptom in his presence except fainting, and she’d nearly done that twice. She wanted to direct some inquiries toward his profession, to prompt the right questions from him so she could give him the answer that she must. She’d had the chance twice, but the timing had been wrong. If she asked him about himself, he’d take that opportunity to begin delving into her life, and he’d tell her nothing about Mason Fenwick.
Billowing smoke and the reverberation of ancient brass striking brass gongs got her attention, and she watched a young belly dancer swish onto the stage and begin her monotonous, twirling undulations. Most of the crowd, particularly the men, found it entertaining for the first five minutes, but when minutes became half an hour, she noted with satisfaction that the Western men became bored. The Asian men sat in rapt attention.
“Are you enjoying this?” Mason asked her.
“Not as much as the different reactions, especially those of the men.” She nodded toward an Asian at the next table. “He’s really having a bang out of this. I don’t get it.”
Mason’s smile, tender and intimate, warmed her heart. “He’s not going home to a woman like you. If he were, he’d be as bored as I am.”
The words had barely left his tongue when the belly dancer plopped into his lap. His gawk brought a laugh from Jeannetta, and she marveled that he sat without touching the woman, without showing a smile or a grimace or indicating in any other way his reaction to her impertinence. The dancer managed to move, after her cool reception, but Jeannetta noticed her smile became real when she saw the tip he gave her.
An orchestra reminiscent of 1940s bands began to play, and couples flocked to the dance floor. She felt cherished when he held her hand and adored her with his mesmerizing black eyes, and she didn’t know whether to feel hurt when he didn’t ask her to dance.
“Mason, I hope you don’t mind if I take this lady for a spin around the floor,” Geoffrey said, though he didn’t wait for a reply before extending his hand to Jeannetta.
Mason grinned, shrugged elaborately and replied, “A man doesn’t have the right to give another permission to put his arms around a woman and dance with her, not even if that woman is his wife.”
Geoffrey, who by then held her hand, retorted, “Sorry, I must’ve thought I was talking to a man of my own age. I forgot chivalry’s expiring with my generation.”
Mason glared at him, but whatever he’d planned to say would probably have been an anticlimax, Jeannetta decided, when Lucy Abernathy walked over to her and bowed.
“Jeannetta,” the woman said in a soft voice, “do you mind if I have this dance with Mr. Fenwick?”
She’d never danced with Mason, but that didn’t matter. Lucy had provided the brightest spot of the evening, and she intended to enjoy it.
“Of course I don’t mind, Miss Abernathy, but I wouldn’t get into those fast dances with him if I were you. You’d have to watch your toes, and he wears a size eleven.” The sounds of Mason clearing his throat and of Geoffrey’s down-home laugh emboldened her, and she risked a glance at Mason. He’d taken Lucy’s hand, but she could all but feel the hot sparks that blazed in his eyes. She nudged Geoffrey onto the dance floor; she hadn’t seen Mason lose his temper, but she suspected he soon would.
“Now, Miss Jeannetta, something tells me you went a mite too far with your teasing. ’Course I aim to speak to Lucy about her manners, too.”
“You dance a mean fox-trot,” she complimented, and added, “Miss Abernathy showed the two of you the ridiculousness of the whole business. She carved a permanent place in my heart when she did that.”
“It’s no use trying to understand women,” he huffed. “They want you to love ’em and cherish ’em, but if you try to protect ’em, they throw a fit. Don’t y’all know it’s one and the same to a man?” The fox-trot ended, but the band started a rhumba, and Geoffrey hardly missed a beat before he swung into it.
“You’re a wonderful dancer,” she told him.
“Thanks. My Nettie loved to dance, and she taught me. That’s what we did on Saturday nights. This is the first chance I’ve had to dance since she left me. Now, she was some dancer, but you’re a fine dance partner yourself.” They walked back to the table, and Mason stood as they approached. He nodded to Geoffrey, and Jeannetta felt herself flush warmly at his intimate look.
“I expected to get drenched from these sprinklers,” he told her, gesturing to the red cylinders lodged high above in the ceiling. “You and Geoffrey put on quite a show out there with that rhumba. I’ll have to stop by some of those nightclubs next time I’m in Augusta.” He glanced upward again.
“Out where I lived, we didn’t go to clubs,” Geoffrey corrected. “We went to dance halls.”
“And I don’t remember having set a boat or any other place afire,” Jeannetta told them, “although I may have steamed up a few rooms.” They sat down, and she shifted her gaze from Mason’s rapt stare to his long, thin fingers, dark brown against the starched white linen cloth on which he strummed rhythmically. He leaned back in his chair and looked at Lucy Abernathy.
“I thought we were talking about dancing, didn’t you?” Mason asked Lucy.
Jeannetta couldn’t help marveling at the changes in the woman in one month. Maybe love wrought miracles.
“They’re both of them showing off,” she heard Lucy say, and it occurred to Jeannetta that she wouldn’t have had the courage to utter such a remark as recently as a month earlier.
“Not me. I don’t show off. I do what comes naturally,” Jeannetta said as she dared him with her eyes to take it any further.
“We’re still talking about dancing, I presume,” Mason said, mainly to Jeannetta. A slow smile played around his lips. “What comes naturally is what I do best,” he parroted her.
“Stick to claims that can be verified,” she challenged, and her pulse accelerated as she watched his eye color change in seconds from black to that brownish-green that made saliva pool in her mouth. He stuck his hands in his pants pockets, rocked back in his chair and fixed her with his hot gaze, desire vibrating from him like atomic waves. She glanced nervously toward their two companions, a part of her wanting to be rescued, and the other part wanting to test him. Lucy and Geoffrey had left. Embarrassment suffused her when she thought of what they might have wit
nessed. She made herself look at Mason, and saw that the heat hadn’t diminished—that, if anything, it had intensified.
“Do you want to eat those words now? Or later?” he asked, accepting the dare. With so many people around, what did she have to fear? She leaned back, as he did, and refused to hide the effect that his drugging masculinity had on her. If he could singe her with part of a table between them and a room full of people all around them, how soon would he have her rocketing to heaven once he got her clothes off? What a man! He brought his chair upright and leaned forward, his chiseled brown face harsh and unsmiling.
“Well?”
She decided to bluff. “Can’t say offhand. I’ll have to think about it. I don’t remember having tasted my words.”
“Jeannetta. You’re playing with fire. You’re... What the devil?”
The slight sensation passed, and she managed a smile. “I got a headache all of a sudden. I’m not trying to get out of anything. I really did.” She tried to avoid pressing her hand to her forehead. Immediately, he came to her.
“Come on. I’ll walk with you to your room.” He draped an arm around her, and his fingers lovingly cradled her to his side.
“Where’re we going?” she asked, when he walked them past the staircase.
“We’ll take the elevator.” She had intended to discourage intimacy when they reached her room, but he didn’t offer it. Instead, he opened her door, brushed her forehead with his lips and admonished her. “Call me, if you need me. Don’t hesitate. You understand?” She wondered at the expression of deep concern that marred his handsome face.
“I will. I promise.” She let her hand dust his cheek, forced a smile and closed the door.
* * *
She tossed her evening bag on the bed, kicked off the red satin shoes and sat down. Geoffrey had nearly worn her out with his fast, sexy rhumba; she’d have to avoid spinning around like that, but it had been such fun. Thoughts of the heat in Mason’s eyes when she’d returned to their table sent her blood racing, and she hugged herself. After taking a couple of aspirin, she unzipped her dress and stepped out of it.
His fingers feathered down her arms, eased over her back, unsnapped her bra and freed her round, tight breasts for his pleasure. She threw back her head as his lips possessed first one and then the other until her knees buckled, and she cried out, “Oh, Mason. I need you so. If only you knew!”
She looked around, almost expecting to see him there beside her. The experience, the pleasure had seemed so real. She sat on the edge of the bed and let the steady sloshing of the waves calm her. Her headache eased, and she walked to her window and looked down at the deck. The moon had drifted from behind the clouds, and she could see a woman, her chiffon dress billowing in the southern wind, reach up to the man beside her as he gathered her in his arms and kissed her.
A dull ache of longing coiled in her breast when the man lifted the woman and carried her until she could see them no longer. She walked back to the bed and looked at her tape recorder. Suddenly, she kicked her shoes across the room and slammed her fist against the mattress. Why her? Why, now that she knew at last what it was to love a man, to want him and to yearn for his children beneath her breast...why this? Why couldn’t she be open with him, share her dreams and fears with him? Why couldn’t she reveal herself and level with this strong, caring man? The telephone interrupted her reverie.
“Hello?”
“Hi. You alright now?” His low, husky voice wrapped around her, settling her.
“I’m fine. I looked out a minute ago. It’s so beautiful out there—nothing but moonlight, sky and waves as far as I could see, and not a man-made thing in sight. It’s unbelievable.”
His silence unnerved her.
“I take it your headache’s gone.”
“No, but it eased. Where are you?” Did he want to come to her? Still raw and vulnerable after that spooky experience a few minutes earlier with what she’d only imagined, she didn’t know how she’d feel about that.
“In my room. I wanted to know how you were before I turned in. Would you care to join me tomorrow morning around six-thirty to see the sunrise? A view from this boat in this part of the world can’t be matched. How about it?”
“Six-thirty?” She knew he could hear her groan. “Okay.”
His laugh, warm, deep, and rich, floated to her through the wires, thrilling her. “Who’d have thought you were mush-brained in the mornings? Six o’clock air is good for you. I’ll call you at five-fifteen and knock on your door at five minutes to six.”
“You’re a cruel, heartless man. You’ll do that, and I’ll have no way to get even.”
“Sure you have. Tomorrow evening, you’ll tell me goodnight and close your door.”
“What?”
“That’s exactly what you’ll do,” he said dryly, “instead of kissing me good-night, reaching over and turning out the light. Hmm?”
“I was way ahead of you, if you remember an evening somewhere between Vienna and Istanbul, Mr. Fenwick. Don’t tell me you’ve changed your tour rules,” she baited.
“You and I are the only tour members on this corridor.”
“What does that have to do with your rules? I accommodated myself to them, because I figured a man of lofty principles such as you wouldn’t demand more of his charges than of himself. And I’m right, aren’t I?” She didn’t want to vex him, but she didn’t want him in her room. If he crossed that threshold tonight, she wouldn’t let him out of her sight until she’d drained him of every bit of energy. And she’d have the rest of her life to pay for it.
“I see. So what kind of relationship do you think we should have? Before you answer, keep in mind everything that’s happened between us since we met, and include what you wanted to happen that didn’t.”
Keep it light, she told herself, wishing she could see the wickedness in his wonderful obsidian eyes.
“Let’s see,” she stalled. “How about a nice warm friendship?”
“That’s it?”
“Yes. Good friends. That’s what I want for us.”
“Hmm. I’ll bet. See you in the morning. Sleep well.”
She remembered that she hadn’t spoken with her sister in several days, and telephoned her. It amazed her that, in seconds, she could speak with someone half a world away and hear that person as clearly as though she were in the next room.
“Rollins Hideaway. Laura speaking.”
“Hi, sis. How’s everything there?”
“Jeanny. Bless you, honey. I’ve been worried about you, since you didn’t call. Where are you now?” Jeannetta brought her up to date.
“What about him? Have you mentioned it to him yet? What did he say?”
She expected the questions, and she had no choice but to tell Laura the truth.
“I’m having a hard time with this, Laura, because I’ve fallen in love with him, and I don’t know how to bring it up without his thinking I’ve been leading him on just to obligate him.” She was glad of the distance between them. When Laura got comfortable on her soapbox, she could preach for hours, nonstop.
“You’re not serious. Do you know what you’re risking? You give me his name and phone number. I can ask him. You watch what you do off there in the middle of nowhere, and for heaven’s sake keep that man out of your room. You girls nowadays don’t have a crumb of sense. If it was me, I’d have asked him before that plane left JFK.”
“If you’re worried about my getting pregnant, forget it,” Jeannetta told her. “One of my symptoms is amenorrhea—”
“What’s that?”
“No monthly period.”
“Well, there’re other reasons for you to stay away from him. I sometimes wonder if there’s a thirty-year-old single woman in this country who’s still a virgin.”
Jeannetta laughed. “I s
ure hope not.”
“Jeannetta Rollins, shame on you. It’s a pity what this world’s come to.”
“I’ll call you in a couple of days. Go out and have some fun.”
“You grab that man and tell him your problem, you hear? Take care of yourself, now.”
Jeannetta mused over their conversation. In some respects, her sister took conservatism to the extreme. How could a normal woman be content to live a whole life and die without having loved a man? It occurred to her that her sister might be smarter than she. Laura wouldn’t have gotten into the mess she’d made with Mason.
The sloshing of the waves had a bluesy rhythm, and she hummed along. Her good mood partly restored, she took out her recorder and began describing the evening’s events. Recalling Mason’s phone call and their conversation made her choke up, but she pushed back the tears. She tossed the recorder into a chair, slapped her fist into her right palm and got up. Just standing felt good. She’d do something; she had to. She’d never been one to passively accept whatever came her way, and she wouldn’t do it now. She grimaced as she passed the mirror. With her life depending on Mason’s help, why had she chosen this occasion to behave as though she was merely doing research for one of her novels? “This is your life, girl,” she repeated to herself, “and you’d better shape up.” She’d tell him, and she’d do it before the ship docked in Thailand.
She stopped pacing the floor, crawled into bed, and turned out the light. Darkness flooded the room, and the vision of him all over her, around her, caressing her, making passionate love to her assaulted her senses. She sat up. When she told him everything, he wouldn’t believe that she loved him, and even if she got her life back, she’d lose her heart’s desire.
* * *
For the nth time, Mason looked at his watch and wrestled with sleep, longing for daylight. Disgusted, he stripped the sheet from his body, walked over to the window, and gazed out at the clouds that raced over the full moon. He found no comfort in it. If he had the answer to one question, he’d know the nature of Jeannetta’s problem. But if he asked her anything so intimate, he’d have to give a reason and, unless he told her that his concern was professional, she’d have every right to consider him audacious. But if he told her that, he’d have to tell her everything, and he wasn’t prepared to do it. That life was behind him, and he intended to leave it there.
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