More than anything, she wanted to shout at him – what business of his was it – and to say that not every woman was as crass as his girlfriend – and she was thankful that she had been raised to be able to hide her true feelings. What an arrogant asshole, she thought, how nasty he was, what in the world had her mother seen in him? His looks? Okay, his looks.
“My ex-fiancé can do, or not do, as he likes,” she said, smiling; but once more he had confirmed her opinion of men. Then she again turned her attention to preparing the meal.
“You’re not going to poison me, I hope?” “Good idea, but I have to be pretty clever about it – I’ll see.” He leaned toward her to look over her shoulder; he was quite a bit taller than she, particularly when she wasn’t wearing high heels, like now. She smelled of something that always reminded him of the South Seas – coconuts and peaches? Her hair reminded him of vanilla, and Gregor felt quite strange in her presence. He briefly closed his eyes and breathed deeply.
He gave Zara a start; he was so close. She could feel his nearness, the warmth of his body, and moved back a bit. But there wasn’t much room to get out of his way. Would it be easy to lead him astray? “I advise you not to poison me; you would regret it,” he whispered, reaching over her to the vegetables. He snatched a carrot and went on his way.
Zara was relieved once he was gone; she had to plan her next steps more carefully, otherwise he could get the upper hand, like with her mother. He was dangerous, very dangerous.
Gregor wasn’t the only one enthusiastic about her meal. Catherine and also Marc and Antonio praised her cooking skills. To Gregor’s relief, Zara had not cooked any pork. That was the only remnant of his past. He hesitated making an issue of it, so it was easier to be a vegetarian than to bring up his religion in a group of actors. Of course, everyone was very tolerant, how could one be anything else, but . . .
Catherine loved to eat and had to diet regularly so that she would keep her figure. Zara put almost nothing on her plate, which no one really noticed, since she was up and down a lot, back and forth between the kitchen and the table on the deck -- except for Gregor, who also offered to help her clear the dishes. She didn’t say anything, which he took to mean that she had accepted his offer. Zara tried not to be in the little kitchen with him, and succeeded in avoiding him. She wanted to make herself unattainable, which was what fascinated him – the cool, somewhat distant princess.
The two actors remained on deck, discussing various films, but Catherine disappeared quite quickly into her cabin with Gregor. She practically dragged him from the table and he shrugged his shoulders in apology. Antonio and Marc grinned from ear to ear and Marc said: “Enviable; the woman has vitality.”
Zara had been watching the two constantly; they were flirting with one another openly and Catherine seemed quite smitten. She was glued to Gregor, and her hand roamed over his extraordinary body. One really couldn’t fault her for it.
Zara was still straightening up the kitchen when Gregor returned. He was only wearing shorts. No wonder that the man had been a top model – he appeared to be made of muscles, finely formed, beautiful muscles.
She swallowed and put the glasses away. She couldn’t just stare at his chest; what would he think – that she was already hopelessly lost?
“Are you searching for something?” she asked, since Gregor was looking around helplessly. “Catherine would like something to drink; I think Champagne.” Of course, what else, Zara thought, reaching into the refrigerator and pulling out one of the bottles that she had brought with her. He took the ice-cold bottle. “Oh, thank you – your name is here on the label,” Gregor noticed in amusement. “Yes, so it is. And it’s very good. Don’t be frightened, it’s not poisoned.” Of course, what did he think? She gestured with her hand – “Now disappear and have fun with your French lesson.” Gregor laughed; she had a sense of humor. “Thank you.” Before he left the kitchen, he turned and looked at her thoughtfully one more time. “Dinner was really good.” She didn’t smile, just looked at him with her large green eyes. “And there was no pork,” she said. He smiled. “Yes, no pork.” She apparently sensed it. How unusual she was. And there was that feeling again, which he couldn’t explain and didn’t like.
Zara wouldn’t have given him the bottle had she known what would follow. She had hardly gotten into bed in her cabin, when she heard them. It was impossible to ignore since she had the neighboring stateroom on this boat and the walls were thin, too thin. First there was laughter and then loud moans, screams.
She could tolerate the first loud moans. She had expected that from Catherine, although not from Levy, who made the somewhat aloof impression of the cool blond guy. Now, after an hour, they should have had enough, but after a short pause, it began again, from the beginning.
Zara put a pillow over her head and cursed Antonio, Gregor Levy and Catherine. What kind of stamina the man had, it couldn’t be true! She sighed and thought that she should really have poisoned him, since the two were having such a good time in the next cabin, all night long. At some point, Zara fell asleep with her pillow on her head.
Early in the morning, she found Antonio at the wheel in front of the radar. “Morning, Antonio!” He looked up from the nautical chart. “Did you sleep well?” he asked, sensing nothing. “You must trade cabins with me, I can’t sleep, our lovebirds are too loud,” she whispered. Antonio laughed loudly. “I almost expected that; Catherine has the reputation of being really wild.” He laughed and laughed, and tears ran down his cheeks. “Antonio, now control yourself!” Zara felt he wasn’t taking her very seriously and gave him a little punch in the chest. With a single gesture, Antonio wiped his tears away. “You poor thing, alone and lonely next to our turtledoves.” “Tomorrow, you’ll be lying there.” She looked at him crossly and disappeared into the cabin.
Gregor saw Zara disappear in anger, and went to Antonio. “What’s wrong with the princess, bad mood?” Antonio grinned. He liked Gregor. “She’s staying in the cabin next to you both . . .” he explained. Gregor didn’t quite understand – or at least not immediately. Antonio grinned. Then Gregor understood. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I guess we were too loud!” he murmured, embarrassed. He ran his hand through his hair, but as he turned away, he smiled. Now see here, there’s a possibility after all that this reserved brunette’s composure can be disrupted.
Zara retired to the deck with her Notebook and her books, and wanted simply to have some peace and quiet.
Catherine seemed not to be able to keep her hands off Gregor; the two lay not far from her in the shade of the sail, and actually Catherine lay on Gregor most of the time. How does it feel? No, don’t think about that. God, she desperately needed sex.
Toward evening, as the sun slowly set, she heard Gregor speaking with Marc in French, since apparently Catherine wasn’t supposed to understand.
“Do me a favor, and please keep Catherine away from me for an hour, I need a little time to myself.” Gregor liked Catherine, he found sex with her to be wonderful, sensational, but he wanted an hour of quiet to read a book, to have a conversation with someone else. If he was honest with himself, he thought about Zara, who sat on the deck all day, writing in her Notebook and surrounded by books.
What the devil was she writing? He was curious and he wanted a diversion.
Marc understood and it seemed like a good idea, since he thought Catherine not only to be very beautiful, but they shared the same profession.
He slapped Gregor on the shoulder. “This evening Catherine belongs to me.” Gregor nodded. “Great, but afterwards I’d like her back,” he responded and smiled. Marc laughed and went over to Catherine, who was squinting into the sun.
Zara was writing an article for a professional journal in France about one of her favorite topics, ethics in the business world and women’s rights initiatives.
Gregor sat down next to her and she pretended that she hadn’t noticed; he picked up one of the thick books, looked at the cover and couldn’t believe his eyes.
Women’s Rights Initiatives? Oh, dear. Pity the world’s men!
“Oh, I think you’ve chosen the wrong seat,” she said and put her book down. She looked at the Notebook screen.
“I think you’ve chosen the wrong field.” He put the book down. Zara was dumbfounded.
“What do you mean?” she asked, taken aback, and pressed the “save” button on her Notebook. Gregor stared at her naked, flat stomach.
“Feminism? Really? I thought your specialty was business law!” Gregor laughed.
“You probably have your little world in which everyone has his place – here, Christians; there, Jews; and women, who don’t just think horizontally, are difficult for you to understand,” she said sharply and pushed her sunglasses back on her head – the sun had gone down here. Should he answer her? He felt a little trapped.
Zara gathered her books together, and an application to a doctoral program at Harvard fell out of the pile. Before she could push it out of the way, Gregor snatched the form. “You want to go back to Harvard?” he asked. She was ambitious, which he already knew. It impressed him more than he would have liked, and his heart began to beat significantly faster.
She took the piece of paper away from him. “That’s none of your business!” What was he doing here anyway, where was his girlfriend, he should be taking care of her, since she obviously needed a lot of care and was so hungry – for a lot more than food.
“I always thought that you were happy being an attorney,” he said then. He had an inkling that she wanted to leave because Goodmann had clipped her wings in the case against him, which she didn’t comprehend or didn’t want to, and in a way he could understand.
He picked up one of the heavy books again. Strangely, bound books always reminded him of his childhood. His parents’ house was always full of books. Books were everywhere; they were even scattered in the kitchen because his father was often very absent-minded and left them lying around all over.
Zara noticed how pensive he became as he was looking at the book. “Is your father really religious?” she asked. She couldn’t imagine such a thing, as she saw him sitting there half naked, with a great tan.
Gregor looked up and gazed at her, reflective. “Yes, very, in fact. My father is a rabbi, as was my grandfather. He teaches in Germany.” Why is he telling her this, he asked himself, immediately upon saying the words.
Zara leaned against the side of the boat, and he could see that she was taken aback, probably because he looked nothing like what she imagined a rabbi’s son should.
“Shocked?” he asked and had to smile. She couldn’t have been more disconcerted than he had been earlier. “That’s why you also speak Hebrew,” Zara murmured. Gregor smiled but said nothing. This girl had two faces and there it was again, this feeling, this pounding heart, when he looked into her serious green eyes. He didn’t have this strange feeling with Catherine, with any woman.
“Your father must have been disappointed when you became a model,” Zara said finally, and tried to imagine him as a little Jewish boy, which she found difficult.
“More than that, believe me.” Zara took the book from him, lightly touching his hand, and he flinched. “Or would you like to read it?” Gregor shook his head and grinned, “No, that’s not for me.”
Zara stuffed her Notebook into her bag. “Antonio is cooking pasta – we should go.” She got up and looked down on Gregor, who remained seated and seemed to be lost in thought. “Don’t you want to eat?” Zara asked again. What was going on with him?
Gregor thought about his parents who now lived in Jerusalem, and he always had a guilty conscience because he had the feeling that they would not approve of the life that he had chosen. They’d probably have contempt for it, as if all that he had done had been a failure, and everything he had achieved was nothing in their eyes. But a woman like Zara would certainly not understand that.
The next day Zara avoided Gregor until late in the afternoon when the storm-warnings came and everyone began to prepare frenetically, except Catherine. Zara remembered the sailing-trip with Marc and panicked a little, but kept her feelings to herself. She only gave Marc a look -- he had also become a little pale, and was feverishly searching the nautical chart in an effort to locate the closest island, but found none.
Catherine only noticed that bad weather was arriving as the boat was noticeably rocking and Zara handed her a life-jacket. “Why do I need this?” she asked, frightened. Zara laughed. “In case we drown!” “You have to have it,” Gregor interrupted and looked at Zara accusingly. She really mustn’t cause Catherine to panic.
“What?” Catherine looked at Gregor, frightened. “Oh, her highness is exaggerating.” Zara laughed and shrugged her shoulders. She had changed her clothes in the meantime, and had Capri-pants and a T-shirt on, with her boat shoes and life-vest within reach nearby.
Gregor took Catherine into the cabin and calmed her down. When he returned, Zara was standing in front of the radio equipment and had accessed some kind of weather station which gave her information regarding the direction the storm was taking. “That was really unnecessary. Catherine has never been sailing before and becomes easily frightened anyway,” he said reproachfully when Zara had ended her conversation. Zara laughed. “I have tranquilizers in the cabin, perhaps we should give her some. The Coast Guard has just told me that it’ll be pretty severe.” Gregor sighed. “That’s just great – I’ll never get her on another sailboat!” But he also had to laugh. “And you’re not afraid?” he asked Zara, who was looking at the turbulent sea and watched the black on-coming clouds.
“Hey, I’m a descendent of warriors who were at the front of the brigade, leading it into war. And you?” Gregor looked at her. “My ancestors were cut down by such warriors, your ancestors, and I don’t see fear the way you do!” Zara pressed her lips together and said quickly: “They were Huguenots, not Jews!” Gregor laughed; she had an answer for everything.
“But not only,” he added. Did he always have to have the last word? she asked herself. “You really don’t want to argue with me about the sins of my ancestors here and now, do you?” she asked. This little girl, who just about came up to his shoulder, really always wanted to have the last word.
The boat was tossed back and forth thoroughly, the waves pounded higher and higher, and Zara was afraid, really afraid, as the first wave sloshed over the boat, but she didn’t show it, she was too proud. Catherine was asleep, she had taken the pills, which everyone thought was better for her; otherwise, she would probably have suffered a nervous breakdown.
The storm and the bad weather lasted the whole night through and despite the great amount of coffee she had drunk, she fell asleep, practically on her feet, at some point. Antonio wanted to carry her to her stateroom, but Gregor took her from him and smiled. Antonio understood. He wasn’t blind; he had noticed for some time how Gregor looked at his step-daughter when he thought she wasn’t looking. And he seemed to enjoy the arguments with his step-daughter more than they annoyed him.
Gregor took her in his arms and lifted her up. In her sleep, she put her arms around his neck. She was wet from the saltwater, and strands of her hair had come loose and now curled around her face.
She was so light, he thought. He laid her on her bed and covered her with a blanket, and she murmured something, but slept on. He couldn’t resist bending over, to stroke her hair and to gently caress her lips with his finger. How soft her lips were! He had always liked challenges, otherwise he wouldn’t have become so rich and successful, and this was by far not the end, he wanted much more. He saw her sleeping, those beautiful girlish features that magically attracted him, and he knew that she was a part of what he still wanted. She was such a challenge! He wanted her and admitted it to himself here for the first time.
Other women were easy to get, much too easy; with the usual tricks he got every one that he ever wanted. But this young woman was different, completely different, he just didn’t know yet how he would do it, but she would lie in his
arms. Not just for one night; with this woman he could imagine much more. Since he had known her, she attracted him like a magnet, even if he shielded himself against it.
Zara had not slept so soundly or so long for quite some time. When she awakened, the sun was already shining, and as she looked out of the porthole, she saw an island. There were still a few dark clouds in the sky and the ocean was still somewhat restless, but it was no comparison with last night. How did she get to her cabin? She was still wearing her Capri-pants.
Antonio found her in a good mood at breakfast. “Antonio, how did I actually get to bed yesterday?” she asked. “I brought you there,” he said and bit into a piece of toast. He wanted to avoid unnecessary questions, because he sensed that she would become upset if she knew who had really brought her to her cabin.
Catherine came out of her cabin wearing a pretty summer dress and sat down next to Antonio. “Well, the storm wasn’t all that bad,” she said, and looked at them both. Antonio laughed. “No, it wasn’t.”
The island actually was just a small fishing village, with a couple of bars and and several brightly painted houses. In the evening everyone went to one of the bars that served fish, but prepared only one way.
Catherine and Marc were hungry and made it known quite loudly. Zara thought that the two would soon burst if they continued to eat so much every day.
The sun set on the horizon and after the meal a bottle of rum was placed on the table. Catherine, who was sitting next to Zara, looked at it. “I don’t like this stuff,” she mumbled. Even the thought of drinking it disgusted Zara too.
Catherine leaned over and gave Gregor a kiss on the cheek. “I’m going to take a little walk.” She got up and took Zara by the hand. “Come with me – let’s get into a little trouble.” Zara smiled. Better than sitting here with a group of men drinking.
Love under contract Page 6