“Ixnay with the uckinfay in publicpay,” Kyle warned.
Armani actually blushed, although Gina just giggled as he stood quickly, grabbed her hand, and hustled her out of the room.
The sommelier cleared his throat, examined the words carefully again and shook his head. “Scusi, but who wrote this, sir?”
Mark grinned, glad that the mystery would soon be solved. “Like it says, Sophia wrote it.”
Sophia came the refrain from several voices.
“So this is Miss Mission to Mars yesterday?” Jones asked.
“More like Heaven, I’d say, right, Mark?” Christy flashed him one of those legendary smiles.
He was proud he could nod and get the catcalls as a result. “Moved her enough to write this poem here,” he said.
“Is not a poem, sir,” the sommelier huffed.
“Go ahead, you might as well tell us. We’re all dying to know,” said Cooper.
He cleared his voice again and began. The Sommelier read the passage in Italian. “Vorrei poter scoparti cinque volte a notte per il resto della mia vita. Mi mancherai, purtroppo. Amore, Sophia.”
“Sounds nice,” Mark said. He’d heard the “amore” at the end and was encouraged. “What does it mean then?
“I wish that I could fuck you five times a night for the rest of my life. I’ll be missing you sadly. Love, Sophia”
“You sure she didn’t say ‘make love?’ There’s a difference, you know,” said Devon.
“No madam. We are Italian. We know the difference.”
He dropped the book in Mark’s lap and departed quickly.
Mark thought he ought to feel happy. Now he had to find this mystery woman. She was probably hundreds of miles away by now, stuck onshore, and would be thousands by the end of the cruise, but somehow he’d find her again.
NEXT DAY WAS spent at sea, and it was unusually sunny. The cruise staff had arranged a dance party by the covered pool area. It was warm enough for bathing suits and flip-flops, the SEALs looked like a cadre of Roman gladiators with their tattooed crosses, symbols and bulging muscles. They hung out in the outside corner, very close to the bar. They’d made friends already with several of the Thai help staff, and Sanouk helped with the translation and became a sort of celebrity with the waiters. He was getting attention from the several ladies as well, which Mark could see was making him feel a bit uncomfortable.
“You have any questions, you let me know,” Mark whispered.
“Mr. Mark, I’ve had sex. I know what to do.”
“Not what I’m talking about, Sanouk. You want to be careful. These ladies have been around the world more than a few times. Customs and polite behavior are sort of out the window. I’m not sure your mom prepared you for this. I sure as hell know Gunny didn’t.”
“Oh, yes, he did. He told me not to do what he had done.”
“Which part, the serial marriages or the dotting the world with offspring?”
“He told me to find something of value to do in life first. Then find the woman who will fit into that. Not the other way around. He told me I’d be miserable if I chased without knowing what I wanted.”
“That’s a fact.” Mark couldn’t agree more. Old Gunny had way more common sense than he’d ever given him credit.
See you upstairs someday, Mister. Not too soon, I hope.
A band had set up on deck and a heavy drumbeat began, making all conversation stop. A tall black dude with orange hair, reminding Mark of Dennis Rodman, walked out wearing a long purple robe, and carrying a staff of glittering streamers that fluttered down from a green satin skull with horns of Satan.
He was kind of a crazy scary guy, and in any other place they’d have been on guard for the women, but Devon and Christy lead the ladies in a line of dancing in their hopelessly tiny bikinis purchased in Savona. Armando’s Gina had the dance moves down, along with some belly dance techniques aimed in the guys’ direction. Wasn’t more than two seconds before Armando swooped in, grabbed Gina’s hand, and hustled her out of sight.
Mark was happy for them.
He was still chuckling about his black book incident when a flash of red caught his eye. He turned to see the back half of a beautifully proportioned—he’d have to say perfectly proportioned—woman in a tiny red crocheted bikini. When she stood, he saw the bikini bottom was made of little hearts, and hugged her perfect little ass.
Mark never considered himself an expert in ass recognition, not like his skills in the language and signals field, or some of the medic training he’d had, but he knew, just knew he recognized that ass. Her hips undulated as she held her long mahogany hair up on top of her head. She turned her head in profile just like she’d done to him in bed, and her expression was the same. And how dare she show it to a crowd of overweight, middle-aged guys who were drooling over the view.
Mark thumped his beer down and jumped up. While he was on his way over to her she turned, looking down. Two little red hearts covered her areolas, but just barely. Her tanned, toned body was practically naked. Her hips undulated in a figure eight and he could see those unbelievable abdominal muscles flex and curl beneath her satiny skin. If she was getting ready to do a lap dance for someone, that person would wind up in the deep, blue sea, Mark decided.
She rolled her eyes up to his and then stepped back in shock, dropping her hair and nearly falling on her perfect ass. Her look of ecstasy was replaced with a definite frown. Was she not happy to see him? Sure as hell, he was happy to see her.
With the ridiculous Brazilian music as a backdrop they stood motionless in front of the crowd and searched each other’s faces.
She was every bit as beautiful as she’d been in her bed, in his arms. The sunlight showed all the golden highlights of her hair, even lighting up the delicate tips of her eyelashes. He was hungry and shocked at the same time. Thrilled to see her, but feeling betrayed. His anger and confusion began to wrap around him like a dark blanket.
“How is it you are here?” he asked, finally finding his voice.
“I work here,” she said in perfect English.
“You speak English after all? You let me say all those things?” He had to look away but couldn’t stay away for long. “Why did you pretend—why did you—”?
“It’s complicated. And obviously I never thought I’d see you again.”
One of the dancers, a tall tanned guy nearly Mark’s size, came up to her. “Sophia, everything all right?” He put his hands around her waist, stood too close. Mark felt his hands fist.
“No problem, Roberto. He’s an old friend.” She gave her fellow dancer a sweet smile to send him away. Mark felt lucky he’d never seen that smile aimed at him before.
“I want you to put something on.” It was the first thing that popped into Mark’s head. He felt stupid and totally ill equipped to communicate with words at this moment. His tongue felt dry as leather.
He stepped close to her, so close he smelled her lovely scent again, felt her heat and, inside, felt the vibration of her need. She didn’t retreat. He’d loved the Italian she’d spoken while he enjoyed her body with everything he had. But her English words were even more seductive.
And so dangerous. He was left stunned in the middle of a firefight without protection. Out of ammo, his mates too far away to help.
Why had she created this charade? Was his heart a plaything she’d picked up on a whim, only to discard later? How could he have been so wrong about what they’d shared?
But the evidence of her betrayal stood before him, lovely and just as deadly beautiful as it had been yesterday. How he desperately wanted her to say something.
And then his desperate wish was granted when she said, “And I want you to take something off.”
Chapter 6
‡
SOPHIA COULD HARDLY believe her eyes. She’d not been able to concentrate for the past twenty-four hours, ever since she’d parted ways with Mark, her Marko, the man who was destined to haunt her dreams forever. And now here he was.
The look on his face, the hunger and betrayal in his eyes, the croak in his voice when he spoke to her, made all the color and passion of their lovemaking come alive again. And she felt the strong presence of her fantasy man, suddenly there, real flesh and blood before her.
He stood completely still, and for a few desperate seconds she thought he might turn and walk away, which would have been smart on so many levels. But in matters of the heart people were rarely smart. Seeing his stunned hurt was the last thing she’d ever thought she’d have to do. And he was making it very clear that he wasn’t going to go away until he got a complete explanation.
How can I do this when I don’t even know myself what has happened to me?
She was on her way to meet the man she was supposed to marry. How could she explain to this wonderful man that she was already taken? That she’d dallied briefly in a life that could never be?
“We need to talk,” she finally said.
“Damned straight we do,” he said, grabbing her hand while using the other to throw the first towel he could find around her shoulder. As they walked through the automatic glass doors on the deck he gave the finger to catcalls coming from the far corner.
Away from the prying eyes of his teammates, he stopped and asked her again, “Sophia—is that even your real name? What’s going on?”
“I’ll do my best, Mark. Let’s find some place private.” She kept his hand in hers, desperate for the strength she felt in his touch, as if it would be the last certain thing in her life, a life of indecision and torment. Even if he was angry, and he had every right to be angry, the feel of his fingers threaded with hers gave her the courage to tell him, even though he’d probably hate her afterwards. But in the few minutes it would take to get him to a place they could talk, she let the wonderful feeling of his touch continue the fantasy of a happily ever after.
She led him to the disco lounge, which was empty this time of day. The brilliant colors almost mocked her heavy heart. Shiny blue tiles like the glistening seas outside wrapped large columns. The ceilings were amber mirrors, and the chairs a bright combination of blue, neon yellow and orange leather. There was a full bar and a small dais with a grand piano on it.
She pulled him to the corner hidden from the opened glass doors, and sat down on the bright fabric at a black marble cocktail table. Mark sat next to her on the upholstered bench seat that wrapped the seaward side of the room.
He had dropped her hand and sat back with his fingers drumming his thighs. She leaned on the obsidian tabletop, clasping her hands together, bracing herself to speak words she’d never expected she’d need to say. Her body still ached for the touch of the handsome giant next to her. He deserved more. So much more. But he also deserved the truth.
“Mark, I’m engaged.”
She could feel the hitch in his breathing, and then the smoothing-out process he did to keep himself calm. She could sense the vibration inside him. God, she didn’t want to hurt him, but she’d deserve anything that resulted.
“I am traveling on this cruise to Brazil, where I will meet my fiancé, his family, and we will be married. All the plans have been made.”
Mark started to stand, but she stopped him with a hand on his forearm. He did sit back down, but he crossed his massive arms over his chest, leaning back into the couch and looking away from her.
“I know none of this makes sense. Not sure I do, either. I thought that—well I just thought a little night of anonymous sex with no strings would be something—and I admit it was totally selfish,—I thought I could just have…” This was going to be much harder than she’d believed. Everything she wanted to say sounded wrong. “I just wanted one more night being single, being free to choose, being with someone without complications. And I’m sorry. I realize now that that was a huge mistake.”
His passive, hulking frame and dispassionate stare into the distance broke her heart.
“Please Mark, look at me.” He did, but his eyebrows were raised, his eyes clearly saying he thought she was full of crap. She mustered her courage and added, looking into his sky blue eyes, those eyes she’d gotten lost in, eyes she would remember forever, “I am truly sorry. I am not a good person at all. I did this without any regard for your feelings.”
Their eyes did connect, and for a second she could see the hurt there, the little dream in his heart that was dying, too, just as hers was. Instinct told her to reach over and kiss him, hug him, tell him how sorry she was, but she knew that was the wrong way to handle it. As much as she wanted to touch him and let him know how awful she felt, she needed to keep her distance.
Just tell him the truth and get out.
Mark hadn’t dropped his eyes. He was searching for something in her face she hoped didn’t show. He was looking for evidence that she cared for him. Wouldn’t it be wiser to show coldness? Let him fully understand there was no future for them?
But was that the truth? Really the truth? Did all this happen because of her niggling doubts about Matheus and the life she would have with him in Brazil? If she were certain of her decision to marry him, would the night with Mark have happened? She honestly didn’t know the answer.
“It was the most beautiful afternoon I’ve spent in my entire life. I will never forget it. Never, Mark,” she said.
His crooked smile…with a dimple just to the right of his full lips…was sexy as hell, and softened the mask of his face.
“It was a pretty incredible afternoon, but, hey, no worries, Sophia. I’m not looking to get hooked up with anyone. I’m getting ready to deploy. This is just a little R and R before we go. It kind of worked, in a sick sense of the word.” He looked at his palms.
She hadn’t expected that.
“You aren’t angry?”
“For an afternoon of the best sex of my life? Fuck, no.”
It was a nice thing to say, but she felt the blunt force of a verbal slap. “I think it was more than that, is what I’m trying to say,” she said, her voice low and husky.
Mark shot up, shoved his hands into his cargo shorts. “I’m glad. While you’re working your way through the cruise ship males, I’ll be having beers with my buds and probably swearing off Italian girls for a while.” He turned to walk out of the bar.
She had to do something. She ran up and stood in front of him, to stop him.
“Wait a minute. What I meant to say is that it wasn’t just a hookup for me. I mean, it started that way, but it became more, I guess is what I’m saying.”
“Well, that’s fine, honey. And if you get that itch again, I’ll scratch it. No worries. I’m not going to get pissed off and ruin another good time.” His brilliant white teeth and blue eyes melted her bones.
“So it wasn’t—”
“You don’t have the right to that privileged information, honey. You’re engaged to someone else. I don’t gotta tell you anything about me or how I feel about anything, remember? But if you want another anonymous hookup, I’m not going anywhere for the next few weeks. We’ve got, like, twenty days together. We’ve already proven we can let our bodies do the talking, since the words seem to get in the way.”
He left the bar. She felt her heart drop to her ankles.
It wasn’t easy to put it out of her mind, the look on his face as he turned, bowed slightly and walked out of her life. She’d already cried for him once when she walked away from him in the piazza. She’d left a part of her with him that day, and now, today, he took away another piece as he stalked down the marble foyer, pushed the up button and left in the elevator.
For several seconds she just stood in the elevator lobby, completely stunned. Then reality set in. They’d be asking about her up on Deck 12 with the other entertainers. Besides, they weren’t supposed to mingle with the passengers, she reminded herself. Being seen talking to him could cost her the job she’d waited two years to get.
As she took the chrome and glass elevator up to the party deck, she wondered what her mother would have said.
; I was young, Sophia. The man I was supposed to marry was from a good family. Our mothers were friends.
Sophia thought it odd this could happen in Italy during the wild 1960’s. Men immigrated out of the country for work, and were especially in short supply. Women and children were left alone, fending how they could, and usually trying to work full time as well as tend the family. Her mother was the youngest of five girls and she watched as every one of them made poor choices from the lack of a good gene pool. But just as in ancient times, her family needed the help and assistance of his wealthy family. He was older, but had lost his wife to cancer and had been crazy about her.
Much like Sophia, her upcoming marriage still worried her.
He walked into the little disco with two of his Air Force buddies from the base nearby. They wore their bomber jackets and their hats back on their heads and they owned the room. Not a single woman in the room could resist them.
When he asked me to dance, I declined, trying not to look at his handsome face. My girlfriend, Paulina, jumped in and he held her in his arms, occasionally looking over at me. Paulina did everything she could to distract him, but he was fixated on me, Sophia.
Somehow he found out where I worked. We tried to speak, but honestly I couldn’t think of Italian, let alone the little English I’d learned in school. He pretended to need flowers for someone every day. Every day he’d bring me a cappuccino and we’d talk while I made the bouquet for him.
He’d watch my hands. When I’d hand him the bouquet, our fingers would touch. He knew about the engagement, too. Sophia, somehow I just knew he would become the love of my life, just in the quiet way he waited for me to smile, waited for me to feel comfortable enough to go on one little walk with him on one rainy afternoon I dared to close the shop early.
Sophia looked over the flabby bodies burning in the warm sun on deck. Her dad might have looked like one of these, she thought, if he had survived the plane accident that took his life when she was just twelve.
She glanced over at the Americans in the corner with their beautiful wives. She quickly searched the group, but did not find Mark among them.
Cruisin' for a SEAL Page 4