by Nic Saint
She turned her remarkable green eyes down to the roiling waters below, the choppy waves of the Gulf of Alaska lapping at the ship’s bow, whitecaps indicating the water was whipped up by the wind, the temperature probably near freezing point. What would happen if she simply leaped off the ship now? It would be so easy. Simply vault the railing and she’d hit the water’s surface, the waves closing over her in moments. Would it hurt? Would she suffer? Not with these temperatures. Her body would go into shock, and before she knew it, she’d have found mercy in death. Oblivion. No more pain—no more hurt—neither to herself nor the people she loved…
She shivered as she contemplated the move, surprised she was actually considering ending her life.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a gruff voice sounded next to her, and before she knew what happened, strong fingers had closed around her wrist and jerked her around. With a gasp of shock, she found herself facing the bearded man, and for a few moments was speechless as she gazed into his steely blue eyes, his face hard and unreadable.
She managed a startled yelp of pain, and tried to jerk her arm away from the fingers digging into her fine-boned arm.
“Death by drowning is not a merciful death, in spite of what some might claim,” he went on, completely disregarding her angry jerks and twists. “It’s a horrible way to go, lady, trust me.”
She finally found speech. “Let go, you brute! You’re hurting me!”
“It would have hurt a lot more if you’d gone through with your plan.” His eyes bored into hers, his lips a slash of disapproval. “Don’t try to deny it, honey. I could see it in the way you were staring at that water, an eagerness for the watery grave. For death.”
She swallowed convulsively. That anyone had seen through her like that, even a complete stranger, shocked her. Was she really that desperate? Was she really ready to take the final plunge?
Her eyes stung both from this sudden realization and the cold wind lashing at her face. “This is preposterous,” she heaved. “You don’t know anything about me!”
He suddenly released her, and she was flung against the railing, her legs rubbery and weak, and she almost went down. He reached out a steadying hand, and this time his eyes regarded her with more softness, compassion even. “Trust me, lady. I’ve been there myself. I know what it’s like to be down and out and feeling like there’s no way out. I recognized it when I saw you.”
He quickly helped her up and laid a protective arm around her shoulder. She darted a questioning look up at the man mountain, her annoyance at his intervention waning and giving way to curiosity. “Who are you?”
“Jackson Rappaport. Not that it matters.” He walked her over to the door leading in. “Let’s get you out of the cold. You’ll catch your death standing out here.”
Miserably she thought he was exactly right. Catching her death sounded more appealing to her than it should have, and she eagerly allowed him to take her in where it was warm.
A cruise to Alaska might have sounded like what she needed right now, but perhaps Roland had been wrong. Perhaps what she really needed was the warmth and comfort of being in the presence of a true friend.
She looked up at the man. “Are you… a friend?” she heard herself ask, and instantly blushed at the utter silliness of the question.
For the first time since she’d laid eyes upon him, the bearded giant displayed a smile. “I could be one, if you’d like.”
And before she could stop herself, she was saying, “I’d like that.”
Chapter 2
“I haven’t really thought this through.” Chloe was absentmindedly rubbing the spot on her wrist where Jackson had grabbed her, and he eyed the action ruefully. He shouldn’t have squeezed so hard. Sometimes he didn’t know his own strength.
“I bet you haven’t.”
She pushed a hand at her hair, and he thought he’d never seen a more gorgeous display of copper abundance than hers. I wasn’t merely her hair that arrested his attention, though, it was her whole being. Her green eyes were both enchanting and captivating, and he felt he could look into those twin pools of emerald for hours and never grow bored. And then there was her pixie face, heart-shaped with a delectable mouth to top it off, a mouth that now quirked upward at the corners.
“I mean, I’m not suicidal, you know. I was just…” Her voice trailed off and she held up a delicate hand, her skin pale and, he now knew, soft as silk. “It’s been a rough couple of months for me, If you have to know.”
He was surprised to find that he did have to know. He had to know all there was to know. Every last detail of her life before they met, and he felt with a surge of sorrow how much he’d missed by not having met her before. “Tell me,” he simply said.
Her eyes suddenly grew weary and she fell silent once again.
“Or not,” he offered. “I’m fine either way. It’s just that when I saw you standing there, I thought you looked like a jumper.”
“So you jumped in.”
He smiled. “I guess I did.”
They were seated in the downstairs cocktail bar, he nursing a preprandial martini while she sipped from the hot cocoa with a splash of rum he’d recommended. She gestured at the drink.
“Some people say a martini is a girlie drink.”
“Some people are full of shit,” he shot back.
She seemed to agree, for she grinned, and he thought she looked even better when she wasn’t about to hurl herself into the Pacific Ocean. Some color had returned to her cheeks, and her eyes were lively now, not the dark harbingers of desperation he’d discovered when first laying eyes on her.
It’d been the first day of their journey, and he’d seen her walking the deck, lost in thought and looking like a hauntingly beautiful ghost from some gothic novel—a mere wreath of the girl he instinctively knew was still lurking in there somewhere. Then and there, he’d sworn he’d make her acquaintance, anxious to discover the secret behind those eyes and, perhaps foolishly so, with the nebulous intention of returning life to her haunted demeanor.
He was gratified to find he’d done both, though he’d probably gone about it all wrong. Well, that was because he was a brute, of course. There was no denying the fact. She’d called him out on it, and she was right.
“How come I haven’t seen you around?” she was saying, and he drew his wandering mind back to the conversation. “We’ve been on this cruise for three days and yet we haven’t had the pleasure.”
He shrugged. “I guess I like to keep to myself.”
“Not really the party animal, huh?”
She was referring to the parties hosted each night in the downstairs club. “Not really,” he agreed wryly. “A bunch of fools getting wasted is not my idea of fun.”
“So what is your idea of fun, Mr. Rappaport? Long walks on the beach with your wife? A trip to Disneyland with the rug rats?”
If this was her idea of asking him about his love life he had to admit it was pretty neatly done. “No wife, no kids,” he grunted, swirling his martini and avoiding her gaze. “What about you?”
His brusqueness took her aback, and her mouth opened and closed before she shook her head. “Nope. Me neither.” Suddenly her gaze drifted to the window and beyond, and he saw some of that sadness play a return date. “Almost but not quite,” she said softly.
Some jackass had left her at the altar, huh? What kind of idiot would leave a woman like this? Only an absolute moron, he reckoned. He decided to steer the conversation to safer waters. “So what brings you out to Alaska, Chloe? Holiday?”
She regarded him curiously, wondering how much to tell him. It was obvious now that he hadn’t recognized her, didn’t know about her predicament, and if she were absolutely honest with herself, she preferred to keep it that way for now. Perhaps later she could confide in him, but not now. So she shrugged noncommittally. “Yep. Just thought I might, you know. My brother offered me tickets and I took him up on it.”
“Your brother, huh? Didn’t occur to hi
m to keep you company?”
She stiffened, but thought the remark was probably made in honest ignorance. “Ro—my brother figured I needed a vacation. I’d been working way too hard and was getting a bit stressed-out, so…” She shrugged.
“What line of business you in, then?”
She bristled slightly, but then figured he was just being nice to her. Making conversation. I was just that every question seemed to trigger an event from her recent past she’d rather not be reminded of. Be reasonable, Chloe, she chided herself. That’s your problem. Not his. “I’m an interior designer specializing in shop design. I’ve been working for my father. He owns several stores in New York.”
“Your dad a ball-buster, huh? Making you toil and slave?” He pointed to himself. “Same thing here. That’s why I told mine to shove it and set out on my own. I’d rather be my own man than be bullied by my old man.”
“So what is it that you do, Mr. Rappaport?”
He took a swig from his drink. “Jackson, please. I’m a contractor nowadays.”
“You build houses? What a wonderful job.” Her interest was piqued. She’d always admired people who could work with their hands and build the kinds of places others eventually called home. The notion was intrinsically romantic to her.
“I like it,” he agreed. “Going from a patch of land to a home ready to move into has a kind of magic, don’t you think?”
She nodded, her cheeks suddenly glowing red. For whatever reason, she suddenly pictured herself and Jackson building a dream house together, applying the skills of his trade and combining them with her own to build the perfect home. She stared across the table, suddenly mesmerized by his ruggedly handsome good looks, then let her eyes drop to his large calloused hands, the strength of which she’d already experienced firsthand, and wondered how it would feel to be held by him.
Then a cork popped behind the bar, and the moment passed. She smiled and lifted her cocoa cup to his martini glass. “Looks like we have a lot in common, Jackson.”
“How’s that?”
“You build homes and I design their interiors. We should go into business together.”
He laughed, then, and she was surprised to find his whole face light up.
Chapter 3
“I don’t know where you got that idea, Jackson,” she told him with a laugh, ”but you’re dead wrong.”
“Oh? So you’re not a party girl then, huh?”
She eyed him curiously. “Why? Do I really look like one?”
“You could be,” he said with a smile in his eyes, “if I hadn’t just caught you staring longingly at that icy water out there.”
She wavered again, wanting to confide in someone—wanting a friend she could open her heart to. She decided she really shouldn’t. She didn’t know this man. Didn’t know him from Adam, and her privacy was now very dear to her—more so than at any point in the past. So she merely shrugged. “I like a party just as much as the next girl.”
“But not today.” He eyed her intently, seemingly trying to figure out the truth about what had just happened out there.
“Just had an off day, I guess. It happens to the best of us, right?” She didn’t dare look up, fearful he might detect the lie in her eyes.
“Right,” he said dubiously, and she had the impression he wasn’t fooled by her evasive manner. Not one bit.
Jackson leaned back in his chair, prey to mixed emotions. On the one hand, he wanted to pry, to find our everything there was to know about this girl, for she was obviously not being truthful with him. On the other hand he respected her desire for privacy. She’d embarked on this voyage to be alone, that much was obvious—to escape her past, possibly. No, very probably. And then some stranger came along and started to ask a lot of personal questions? No, he figured she needed her space and that was what he would give her. As much space as anyone could have on a vessel at sea, of course.
They were bound to run into one another, and if not by chance, then by design. His design.
But for now he would give her was she so obviously craved: space.
So he dropped the interrogation act. Staring out the window, he abruptly changed tack. “You ever been this far north before?”
She was grateful for the change of topic, and followed his gaze as it drifted across the icy waters. “No, never,” she admitted. “I’m an Alaskan virgin, in fact. But I’ve heard so many people sing its praise that I decided I should head out here at least once in my life.”
“Once isn’t enough, honey,” he said conversationally. “The state asserts a powerful attraction to all who visit here for the first time. Alaska has a habit of converting first-timers into firm believers in a surprisingly short time.”
She eyed him with interest. She could sense from the way he talked that he must like it out here a lot. “Have you lived here long?”
He raked a hand through his curly mane. “Going on, oh, ten years now I reckon?”
“And never bored with the cold and the ice and snow?”
He grinned and wagged a finger. “Now there’s a common misconception if I ever heard one. Alaska isn’t all ice and snow, missy. We do have seasons around here, you know. And let me tell you that the summer is quite pleasant. And beautiful. In fact it’s one of my favorite times of the year.”
“Quite warm? You mean like in the low fifties? That’s what you Alaskans call warm, huh?”
He laughed. “Eighties more like. I’ll have you know we actually walk around in T-shirt come summer, so don’t you mock Alaskan clement weather.”
“Oh, God, no! In T-shirt and all! You’ve got to be kidding!”
“I’ve even been known to walk around in my boxers and nothing else,” he added with a grin.
She held up her hands. “Stop, Jackson. You’re making me want to throw all caution to the wind and order a U-Haul.”
“Why? Because of my naked chest? You haven’t even seen it!”
“I can imagine it must be quite a sight for sore eyes. I bet all the Alaskan girls go nuts when you strut around all buff and manly.”
“You bet they do. If there were any girls to begin with, that is.”
“How’s that?”
He brought his martini to his lips for another sip. “Place where I live? All women are either married or elderly or both.”
“What, no eligible bachelorettes?”
“Last I looked? None.”
“That’s sad, Jackson.”
“Tell me about it.”
She studied him, and wondered for the first time why she’d never had a boyfriend with a beard. In fact she couldn’t even remember ever having a friend with a beard. And now she wondered how it would feel like to kiss this bearded giant. What it would feel like to be kissed by him. Suddenly she felt so wrapped up in his company she realized she’d forgotten all about her predicament—the dark cloud of gloom had vanished quite miraculously.
“So why haven’t you ever, you know, done the mail-order bride thing? I’m sure there would be plenty of women interested in a guy like you—even if he does live in Alaska.”
He rolled his eyes. “There you go again, missy, dissing my home state. I’m telling you, the forty-ninth state is a hidden gem.”
“I bet she is.”
“Just give her a chance. You’ll see.”
“I notice you very conveniently managed to dodge my mail-order bride question.”
He laid his hands on the table, palms down, and studied them. “Ah. The mail-order bride thing. Yeah, well. I have actually tried that approach. I even had a lady come up all the way from Alabama.”
Her eyes went wide in mock surprise. “Come all the way from the south no less! And then what? Don’t keep me in suspense, Jackson.”
He shrugged, eyes still riveted on his hands. She now also studied them. They were very large and obviously used to the hard work of building a house. She remembered how they’d felt on her and suddenly experienced an impulse to touch them, to feel his hands on hers. She valiantly
resisted the urge.
“Well, she came and then she went.”
“That’s it? That’s the whole story?”
He seemed almost embarrassed, and she wondered what had actually happened there, for a sadness had come into his eyes. “That’s it,” he said a little gruffly. “She said she hated it so I let her go.”
“That’s a very sad story, Jackson.”
“I guess it is.” He looked up and gave her a smile. “Her loss, right?”
She found herself agreeing wholeheartedly. “Her loss,” she echoed, and then their eyes met, and she felt herself irrevocably drawn in, and when he leaned across the table, his eyes never leaving hers, she didn’t move a muscle, time suspended and her body frozen in place. And when he placed his lips on hers and stole a kiss, she closed her eyes and reveled in the warmth of his touch.
Chapter 4
The kiss lingered, and Chloe felt swept up in it in a way she hadn’t in a long time. Jackson’s beard tickled slightly, and his lips were full and warm on hers, and she felt wrapped up in his scent, a faint cologne that escaped identification but was definitely masculine. And then it was over, he being the first to break the spell, and when he returned to his seat, he eyed her with a sparkle in his eye, and she felt a blush creeping up her cheeks, as if she was a young maiden, kissed for the very first time.
She eyed him with surprise and a sense of wonder. What had just happened? She didn’t know, but she was sure she liked it and wanted more of the same.
“Sorry about that,” he said a little gruffly. “Don’t know what came over me.”
She was silent, not knowing how to respond. Something had come over him, that much was clear, and over her as well. As yet indefinable, she knew it meant something. Meant something profound, for the both of them.
“Jackson, I…” She faltered, started again. “I haven’t been completely honest with you.”