Last Chance at Love

by Gwynne Forster

  “I wasn’t goading you, at least not intentionally. Thanks for showing me your room; except for the colors, it’s just like mine.”

  “Now wait a second. You have no right to be angry. I put my cards on the table. What was wrong with that?”

  “Nothing. I’m going to unpack, have a nap, and get dressed for dinner. Go read your notes.”

  “Right. I’ll phone you at seven. We have an eight-thirty seating.”

  He wasn’t anxious to spend the afternoon with me. If he’s planning the nights for himself as he did in New Orleans, he can kiss a relationship with me goodbye. I’m not holding still for that. In her stateroom, she unpacked, showered, and stretched out on the chaise lounge to watch television. After a few minutes, she switched it off. So far, she had no reason to distrust Jake. If only she could wash that experience with Farr out of her mind. Was she going to let it rule her life forever? She jumped up. “I’m wasting precious time. I should be scouting out this boat for background information.”

  She dressed in a yellow T-shirt, white shorts, and sneakers and headed for the main deck. “Everybody on the main deck for life raft and safety drill. Bring your life vest with you,” a voice over the loudspeaker admonished the passengers. She retraced her steps and reached her stateroom at the same time as Jake.

  After the drill, he suggested they watch the ship pull away from shore. “You should see the seabirds out there.”

  She had thought seagulls and water fowl only hung around northern waters, but they covered the Florida pier. As the Saint Marie coughed out its booming signal, she stood on deck with Jacob Covington’s arms wrapped around her—a pair of lovers to the eyes of all who saw them.

  Jake gave her his lecture and book-signing schedule. “I’ll be busy a part of the time gathering information for my next book, which will have several scenes on a ship. Hope you won’t mind.”

  She gazed at him, reading him and refusing to flinch beneath his appraisal. “In that case, I’ll work on my introduction to this story on you. Bill told me it will take up four full pages of the weekend ‘Living Section.’ That’s a lot of writing for a journalistic account of a man’s daily activities.”

  The fingers of his left hand rubbed his chain. She’d seen him do that several times and had yet to discern the meaning of it.

  “As long as you keep your promise, I don’t care what you write.”

  She hoped he didn’t notice how she flinched at that remark. Don’t surprise me, and I won’t surprise you. Knowing she could never be callous about anything relating to Jake, she said a silent prayer that she wouldn’t uncover anything he didn’t want known.

  * * *

  Jake went to the head porter’s officer and introduced himself as a writer. “I’m thinking of setting my next story on this ship,” he told the man. “How many passengers did you check in?”

  “Twelve hundred thirty.”

  “Quite a crowd. How do you manage to get all that luggage to the right passengers?”

  The man beamed with pride, as Jake knew he would. “Most women bring two pieces of luggage plus hand luggage, and men bring one piece. We have five hundred males and 730 females, all ages included. We screen every piece.”

  Jake made himself seem impressed. “What a job. Do you screen when passengers reboard after doing ashore?”

  “Well, we haven’t been doing that. Maybe we should. I’m going to speak with the captain about it. It’s a great idea, what with terrorism and all.”

  “Yeah,” Jake said. “That’s what I was thinking about. A guy likes to know he’s safe.”

  He headed for the kitchen to make friends with the chef and scrutinize his crew. If packages and passengers weren’t screened at reboarding, anybody could smuggle anything on board, perhaps even illegal aliens. And ship stowaways needed food and water, for which they had to have the help of the kitchen staff.

  After Jake introduced himself as a writer who hoped to use the cruise ship as the setting for his next novel, the chef gave him free access to the kitchen and permission to interview the staff. The only man to refuse him an interview—a United States citizen of slight build and shifty eyes—aroused his suspicion at once. He returned to his stateroom, satisfied with what he had accomplished, and phoned the chief.

  “Get me what you can on this guy. The kitchen help called him ‘Ring.’”

  “You’ll get an email tomorrow morning. Good job.”

  * * *

  It amazed him that about two hundred people jammed the lecture hall for his first talk at ten the next morning. He had planned to read from his book, but instead he told them a story about a young man who pulled himself up from poverty and anonymity to national fame. Frequent glances to Allison verified her amazement. She didn’t write, but listened with her gaze glued to him and hardly moving a muscle, as if spellbound.

  Following his thirty-minute talk, his listeners crowded around him, wanting to shake his hand and clamoring for his autograph. He couldn’t believe the reception they gave him.

  “On a cruise where people come to be frivolous, I’m surprised that they appreciated anything that serious. It’s amazing,” he told Allison when they were at last alone. “I didn’t plan that, but once I started talking, I went with it.”

  “I’m not surprised that the people enjoyed it,” she said. “I knew some of your life story, but this morning...well, you were riveting.”

  “They’ll bring our lunch to our deck, if we ask for it,” he said. “Shall we?”

  She nodded. “What haven’t you done that you have always wanted to do, or that you long for?” she asked him.

  He draped his right foot over his left knee, leaned back, and locked his hands behind his head. “I want to be scholar-in-residence at my alma mater, settle down there, write, and teach our youth.”

  “You’ve mentioned that before. Is there a real chance?”

  “I think so, provided I maintain a squeaky-clean reputation. I’ve been nominated, but the university has only one such chair. We’ll see.”

  “You would certainly get my vote.”

  “Thanks. The boat docks Thursday morning. What’re you doing over the weekend?”

  “My aunt wants me to visit her in Idlewild for the annual barbecue picnic, the second biggest community function of the year. Want to come?”

  “I’d love to, but I’m not sure I can. I promised my mother I’d get to see her before I took this trip, but like you, I got almost no notice of the departure date, and I had to disappoint her. We’ll see.”

  They ordered lunch, and two waiters appeared with large round trays and racks upon which to rest them. The order of shrimp scampi teased her nostrils before she saw the food. They ate with relish as the boat glided over the Caribbean waters and a soft breeze brushed their faces.

  “I could live like this forever,” she said.

  “You really could?” he asked her, savoring a crab-and-shrimp cannelloni.

  “Not really, I guess. It’s not domestic enough. But it sure is wonderful being out of my boss’s reach,” she said, moving the conversation away from her.

  “If you dislike him so much, why don’t you quit and get another job?”

  She wasn’t yet prepared to tell him about Roland Farr and what the liaison with him had cost her. “It’s a long story, Jake. I hope that one of these days I can tell you about it.”

  “Is it too painful, or are you sworn to secrecy?”

  “Painful.”

  His arm encircled her shoulder. “I’m a big guy, and not just in size. If it gets too heavy, let me help you carry it.”

  As a child, she had leaned on her brother, Sydney, but from the day she’d graduated from college, she had fought her own battles. She didn’t want to lean on Jake, but she gloried in the knowledge that he was there for her.

  L
eaning toward him, she asked, “How many ways can you endear yourself to me?”

  His lips brushed hers, and then he let the back of his hand graze her cheek, making her wonder how such a big man could be so tender.

  “As many as you will permit. Want to walk around and see some of the boat? I understand there’s a movie in the theater, but I wouldn’t like to spend my time here sitting in the dark.”

  With her hand in his, they strolled through the lounges, past the gaming rooms, closed until the boat was once again on the open sea. “Will you get off at the next port?” she asked him. “I wouldn’t mind seeing Martinique.”

  “You bet. I’m anxious to...see it,” Jake said.

  She wondered why he stopped in midsentence, but when she followed his gaze, she saw nothing unusual.

  “I’m going in there and get some frozen yogurt,” she told him when they passed one of the restaurants. “Want some?”

  “Thanks. And while you’re getting that, I’ll duck in here.” He pointed to the men’s room.

  She got a cup of black cherry for Jake and raspberry for herself and walked back to meet him. She waited fifteen minutes, threw the yogurt into a refuse basket, went back to her stateroom, turned off the telephone, and tried with little success to work on her story.

  If she could, she’d box his ears. Unless he was deathly ill, spending twenty minutes in a public bathroom made no sense. It occurred to her that Jake might have secrets that he didn’t want to share with her. Well, if he thought she was going to pout, he’d get a surprise. When she met him for dinner, she meant to smile if it killed her.

  Chapter 7

  Only the Lord knew what she’d think of him now, leaving her standing by the men’s room with two cups of frozen yogurt. But he had to move. That shifty little cook bumped into him, looked as if he’d seen a ghost, and slipped around the corner. Jake took out his government-issue cell phone, hoping to find an email from the chief. With unsteady fingers he opened it.

  Ring may not be your man, but he served eighteen months in a Missouri prison for accessory to a crime. He didn’t have any drugs on him, but his partner did, and he was driving the car. Word is that when he’s lying low, he gets a job on a boat. We haven’t yet been able to get “Mr. Harasser” to talk, but he will. 312.

  He followed the cook to the laundry room, where the man spoke at length with a passenger, but the cook neither gave the passenger anything nor received anything from him. That wasn’t grounds for indictment, only for suspicion. Jake started for the elevator and tripped over a couple making out in a corner.

  “What the...” His gaze went immediately to the woman’s left hand; he saw the rings there and said nothing more, pitying her poor husband. A call to Allison in her room yielded no response, but he knew she was there. He also knew he was in trouble. He passed the florist shop and ordered a bouquet of lavender calla lilies and pink orchids.

  “Deliver them to Ms. Wakefield, 303 Deck, please.”

  “Yes, sir.” The man handed him a white card. “If you wish to include a message.”

  I’d rather hurt myself than you, he wrote. It couldn’t be helped. Love, Jake. He put the card in the envelope, addressed it, and hoped for the best. That cook was up to something, but what? If Jake encountered drug smuggling on the ship, he would of course report it, but his assignment was to identify smugglers of human beings, and he had to focus on that. He’d watch the shifty little man, but he didn’t believe that man was his quarry.

  On the way back to his stateroom, he encountered the delivery boy who had obviously just delivered his flowers to Allison. He waited until he thought she’d had time to read the note, then, fearing that she wouldn’t answer the telephone, he knocked on her door.

  To his amazement, she opened it and stood in the open door, looking up at him with watery eyes. Wordless. He waited for her reprimand or even for her to slam the door shut. She did neither. Only stood there looking at him.

  “I’m more sorry than you can imagine,” he said. “May I...come in?”

  She stepped back, giving him access. If only she’d say something. He looked first at the vase of flowers on the table beside her bed and then at her. Never had he seen her so fragile or so vulnerable, and as badly as he wanted to hold her, he didn’t dare touch her, for she still hadn’t said a word to him.

  “It couldn’t be helped,” he said, unfamiliar with the desperation he felt. “Are you going to... Allison, can you forgive me?”

  She held out the card that she had obviously been holding in her hand, but which he hadn’t noticed. “Did you write this?”

  “Yes. I wrote it.”

  Her lips quivered, and she seemed to battle with herself. “Did you mean what you wrote?”

  He took a step closer to her, and when she didn’t move he shortened the distance between them until he stood inches from her. “I meant it. I didn’t ask for it. I didn’t want it, and I tried to avoid it. Yes, I still have reservations. There’s a hot fire burning here, but we haven’t tended it properly, at least not to my satisfaction. And it may blow up in our faces, but it is what it is. I’ve never lied to you.”

  Her eyes finally released the tears that had glistened there, shimmering through her smile, brilliant and forgiving. He didn’t know when she opened her arms or how he got into them, but he was there, and he was home. Yes, home.

  Holding her away so that he could see into her eyes, with his heart in his mouth, he asked her, “Do you... How do you feel about me?”

  “You’re right in here,” she whispered, pointing to her heart. “Deep in here. And I’m scared of what it might do to us both. First time I ever saw your face, I knew I would never forget you. I hope fate has collected all the pain it plans to get from me.”

  He’d better not question that statement. That and other things he didn’t know about her, not to speak of his own secrets, prevented his wholehearted acceptance of his feelings for her.

  “Thanks for the flowers, Jake. They’re the most beautiful ones I’ve ever received or seen.”

  “I’ve got good taste,” he teased. “After all, look who’s in my arms.”

  She brushed the tips of her fingers over his cheek, stroking and caressing until he tipped up her chin to look into her face. Her dreamy, passion-filled eyes sent his blood racing, and he locked her to him and bent to her mouth.

  “Open, baby, and let me in.”

  She parted her lips, and when he thrust his tongue deep into her mouth, her moans sent desire plowing through him with stunning force. He wanted her at a gut-searing level, but he knew her well enough then to back off; if they made love, she would question his motives and perhaps destroy the progress he’d made with her. Besides, he hadn’t checked their rooms for hidden cameras.

  As if she was second-guessing him, a rueful smile played around her lips when she said, “I guess we have to learn how to kiss without creating an explosion. Every time we’ve kissed, it’s like pouring gasoline on a fire.”

  “Yeah, and one of these times... Sweetheart, it will beat landing on the moon. If I can, I’ll join you at Idlewild this weekend, but I won’t stay with you at your aunt’s house. Come to think of it, we ought to go someplace where we can have privacy.”

  “We have privacy here.”

  “I’m not so sure. I didn’t choose these staterooms.” Making a quick recovery from that faux pas, he said, “My publisher may not like paying for a tryst. I keep my personal life separate from business.”

  He looked at his watch. “This is the only day on open sea; the ship docks tomorrow morning in Martinique. My last lecture and book signing is at four this afternoon. After that, I’ll be checking out the place, getting information for my book. The lecture’s in the theater. Can you be ready in half an hour?”

  “Sure. But I would like a course in how to shift gears as fast as you
do.”

  * * *

  At the end of the lecture, Allison stood, looked around, and gasped; the crowd filled the aisles and the hallway outside the door. “If I wait till you sign all these books,” she told Jake, “I won’t have time to dress for dinner. I’ll be ready at six-thirty. You were fantastic.”

  “Thanks.” As he looked at her, his eyes sparkled with affection and a frank admission of his feelings for her. “I hope I’ve finished here by that time. This is some crowd.”

  She had to save one gown for the gala—the last night on the ship—but for this night she wanted to look special. She inspected a pale yellow strapless chiffon gown and, satisfied, laid it on her bed. After showering, she refreshed her manicure and pedicure, donned a silk robe, and stretched out on the chaise lounge to read and correct her notes. A knock on the door awakened her.

  Allison jumped up with a start. “Who... Oh, my goodness. Jake?” she called through the door. “What time is it?”

  “Six-thirty. Why?”

  “Give me fifteen minutes. I just woke up.”

  “Need any help? I’m great with zippers.”

  “Yeah, I’ll bet you are.”

  “I can slip things on as well as off. Sure you don’t need me?”

  “Not for this, I don’t. Now go away and come back in fifteen minutes.”

  She twisted her hair into a French knot and secured it with a sequined comb, slipped on the gown that made her think of waltzing, put the diamond studs—her father’s gift on her twenty-first birthday—in her ears, dabbed Arpège perfume behind her ears, at her cleavage and wrists, grabbed her gold lamé evening bag that matched her shoes, and walked out of her room.

  “Whew,” Jake said, leaning against the rail with his back to the water. “All this and one minute to spare. Beautiful. I wish I had a corsage for you.”

  “You’ve already given me flowers today. Better not spoil me; I could get to liking it.” Her gaze swept over him. “What a figure you are in this white tux!” His wide grin told her that her comment pleased him.