Steam Me Up, Rawley

by Angela Quarles

  Everyone seemed fine with the adjustment, the ladies pouring sherry and the men brandy, although Adele was amused to note the ladies naturally gravitated to one end of the parlor, the gentlemen to another. Old habits were hard to break. After about twenty minutes, without any visible signal she could discern, the groups mingled back into the center and cards were brought out and parties of four formed.

  Having no wish to play, they joined a small group who had declined cards and were in a lively debate about the imminent war with Spain over Cuba.

  Her great-aunt pulled on her sleeve. “Adele. I heard there’s a game getting up in one of the saloons, low stakes. You two have fun. I trust you will be fine on your own.” Her eyes danced, giving a lie to her spoken wishes.

  “Aunt Linette—”

  “Bye, dear!” And she left, swishing through the small crowd before Adele could stop her.

  “What was that about?” came Rawley’s deep voice beside her.

  Heat suffused her neck and face. “She, uh, has gone off to play low-stake cards...” She shook her head.

  “I’m seeing a new side to your aunt on this trip.”

  “I am, as well, Rawley. I am, as well.” She took a deep breath. “So what should we do now?”

  What an open-ended question that was. Her face grew warmer. She kept her gaze trained elsewhere so as not to infuse the question with any subtext. Hopefully, it sounded as innocent as she’d intended.

  “I’d like to see more of the Gulf through the dome. Would you care to take a stroll with me through the main promenade? I believe the Grand Ballroom is on that level as well. I would be delighted to claim your hand for a waltz or two.”

  “That sounds lovely.” And safe.

  “My lady?” he asked and held out an elbow. She clasped it, and they descended to the main promenade.

  They found a bench along the edge and leaned against a cabin wall so they could look up. Gas lights attached to the dome at intervals lit the Gulf waters. Sea life, attracted to the submarine’s light and movement, swam along, darting in and out. Such bright colors! And such a variety of shapes and sizes!

  They sat in peaceful silence, Rawley or she alternately nudging the other to point out some marvel. It was like they were in a fairy, magical land. His hand lay near hers, and she clasped it, entwining their fingers. He gave it a squeeze, and they continued their observation of the aquatic world around them.

  Slowly though, awareness of his presence stole over her, his thumb rubbing her hand in slow circles, his body heat beside her. A growing warmth suffused her, making the space between them pulse with potential, with meaning. Her chest tightened.

  Oh, no. What was she about?

  She stood. “So about that dance? Should we seek the ballroom?” Her voice sounded a little panicky, but he didn’t appear to notice.

  “By all means.” He scrambled to stand. “There’s one of those helpful blue armband fellows. Let’s ask him for directions.”

  Turned out it was around one of the corners, and they needed only follow the corridor to its end to find the ballroom. The other corridor on the same side also led to it. The ones on the other side of the ship terminated in an observation lounge and the pool, respectively.

  Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, illuminating the interior, one whole curved side of which was a glass wall providing a view of the Gulf. Fish darted by, so colorful in their markings, they looked like they’d dressed up as much as the ladies for the ballroom.

  Potted plants dotted the periphery. They’d learned earlier the profusion of greenery assisted with the air purification in place.

  A waltz was already in progress, the orchestra arrayed against the back wall to their left.

  “May I have this dance?” Rawley bowed and held out an arm.

  She smiled and tucked her hand under his arm and let him lead her onto the dance floor. He paused, waiting for a break to appear in the swirling crowd of dancers, and swept her into a quick tempo waltz.

  At first, she was thrown by the slight difference in his moves, the British obviously dancing the waltz slightly differently than their American counterparts, but she soon relaxed.

  “I do so love to dance,” she said, smiling up at him. Her heart thumped harder as their gazes locked and he swirled her around the room.

  “It is rather invigorating.”

  “Invigorating? It’s exhilarating!”

  “Semantics.”

  “I disagree. Your word implies healthful exercise—”

  “—which it is.”

  “—whereas, my word implies something which uplifts the spirit.”

  He smiled down at her, threw her into a spin, and pulled her back tightly to his body. “Invigorating.”

  She fought to catch her breath. “Exhilarating.”

  The waltz ended, and Rawley led them to the curved wall. Having the water right in front of them underscored how simply magical this whole ship was. Much more so than seeing the water overhead.

  “What is that?” asked Rawley.

  Adele followed where he pointed. “That’s a manatee. They look like ugly mermaids, don’t you think?”

  “Rather.”

  The orchestra struck up a slower waltz, and Rawley held out a hand. She took it, and he swept her into the dancing couples. This time, with the slower pace, she was more acutely aware of him, his body, his heat. His eyes never left hers, and as she stared, enthralled, his eyes darkened. She had to remember to breathe.

  The soft lights reflecting from the chandeliers overhead cast mysterious shadows across his handsome face. She studied his nose, his cheeks, his lips.

  Breathe.

  They said nothing, but their bodies said everything which she’d not allowed herself to voice—their attraction, their camaraderie, their compatibility. At this moment, she was glad her great-aunt conspired to get them alone, for she wouldn’t trade it for the world. She could just enjoy it, enjoy him, without it going further. Her bubble outside of reality.

  The waltz ended much too soon, and Rawley led her in silence back to the window. A servant passed with a tray of champagne in fluted crystal glasses, and Rawley snagged two.

  His eyes held hers with an intensity that had her leaning forward. “To you,” he whispered.

  A spike of longing speared down her chest to her belly. Confusion followed in its wake—she couldn’t toast to herself. She stood there, and he clinked his glass against hers, a little smile playing on his lips.

  She took a sip.

  No way could she let him fluster her. She raised her glass. “To you.” She smiled and tapped his glass, enjoying his eyes flare in surprise.

  She faced the window and watched as bright colors darted back and forth. “You know, I think my aunt was right.”

  “About?”

  “I think this evening is the first time I’ve ever stayed still long enough to fully appreciate what was happening around me. Usually, I want to be doing. To be involved in what’s around me. Be a part of it. We’re doing that, but we’re also just watching.”

  “That’s new to you.”

  “Yes. I’ve always been a little afraid I’d find it boring, but I don’t.”

  He laughed. “Thank God.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I think I do.”

  He raised his glass. “To observing and not finding boredom.”

  She laughed and clicked his glass.

  “Rawley? Do you mind terribly if we retire for the evening? I find the day’s excitement has left me rather tired.”

  Was that disappointment flitting across his eyes? She hated to be the cause of it, but she was feeling fatigued and they had five more nights, after all. Plus, she didn’t trust herself to being still, being in the moment, with him for too long. She had to make sure she didn’t put herself into a position where interesting and exciting things happened with Rawley. Like at the river. She didn’t trust herself to be alone with him because it had been too exquisite, and that could
n’t lead to anything good right now. No. That way led straight to being shackled.

  “Of course.” He took her champagne glass and handed them to a passing server. “I will escort you to your cabin.”

  “Thank you.”

  A part of the convivial mood from earlier still surrounded them, which she was glad of, but it felt wrong to puncture it with chit chat. It was nice to be able to be quiet around someone and not worry about how she came across or having to fill the silence with idle chatter to prove she was interesting.

  They took the lift to her deck and walked along the corridor. As they neared her door, she spoke. “Rawley, thank you for a wonderful—aaap!” She sprawled forward, her foot having inexplicably stayed behind. A painful twist wrenched her ankle. She went down in a heap of skirts.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  On The Wonders And Vagaries Of Passion

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, that hurts!” Adele grabbed her ankle and rubbed, wincing.

  Rawley was instantly beside her. “What happened?”

  “My foot twisted, caught on something.” She waved back down the corridor.

  Rawley stood and crouched a foot away. “Part of the metal decking here is loose. Your foot must have caught in the hole.” He came back and held out his hand. “Let me see it.”

  “Oh yeah, you’re a doctor. That’s handy.”

  “Just let me see it.”

  She leaned back on her hands and allowed him to touch her ankle. His warm, strong hands gripped it firmly and felt around, and she ignored the thrill that shot through her despite the pain.

  “Can you move it?”

  She rotated it.

  “That’s a relief. I believe it’s just a minor sprain. Should be fine by tomorrow. Let’s get you inside, though, and see to it.”

  He clasped her arms and lifted her. Then his strong arm gripped her shoulder and took some of her weight. Being this close to him again, alone in the hallway, brought up all kinds of inappropriate thoughts. “Hand me your key,” his voice rumbled in her ear.

  He soon had the door open and walked her to the sitting area that faced the glass wall. He grabbed one of her trunks, since all of the furniture was bolted to the floor, and dragged it to lay in front of her. He propped her foot on top.

  “Aunt Linette, are you here?” Adele called.

  “I’ll go check.”

  “Scriiitch rii rii.” Loki came bounding up to them, brandishing a recording cylinder.

  “Loki, that’s not yours. You shouldn’t play with it.”

  Rawley took it from him. “Where’s the recorder?”

  “I left it in the vestibule.”

  His footsteps crossed the sitting room, then a distant knock sounded.

  He returned shortly. “I believe your aunt is still carousing.”

  “Imagine.”

  “Did you leave the recorder case open?”

  “No, confound that monkey. Too smart by half.”

  “I’m going to find a cloth and wet it. Don’t go anywhere.”

  She refrained from commenting on the absurdity of his last direction.

  He returned, slid a pillow under her heel, and laid a cool, damp cloth on her ankle.

  “How did you get it so cold?”

  “That’s how it came out of the pump in the lavatory. They must keep the pipes close to the hull and let the natural coolness of the surrounding Gulf chill it.”

  “Well, however they do it, I’m grateful. This feels divine.”

  Loki careened back into the sitting room, screeching and jumping from couch to chair to the floor and back, brandishing another recording cylinder.

  “Loki, what’s gotten into you?” She took the cylinder from him. “Did you close it back?”

  “Indeed, I did.” Rawley eyed Loki, who screeched and ran in circles.

  “Poor thing, I’ve been neglecting him, but I can’t pay attention to him right now. Can you put this away again and put him in his room? It’s the one normally reserved for a lady’s maid. I can’t risk having him break that recorder.”

  Rawley gave a half bow and scooped up Loki and took the cylinder.

  “Can I do anything else for you?” he asked when he returned.

  “No, you’ve been wonderful.”

  He looked at her for a minute. “Well, then. I suppose I should take my leave.”

  The resolution to be strong skedaddled with the threat of being alone. Alone with her own mind. In the quiet and unable to move. Then her thoughts would turn to her position at the paper and her prospects. And if she were truly unlucky, her thoughts would twist to Rawley, to his magnetic pull, to her flimsy excuses.

  She held out a hand. “Wait. There’s something you can do.”

  He bowed. “Whatever you need...”

  “Keep me company for a short while? Sit with me?”

  Some kind of emotion crossed his face. He nodded, face now perfectly in control, and settled beside her, bringing his warmth and scent back to her. He clasped her hand. “Well,” his deep voice said. “You wanted to be still and observe. Looks like here’s your chance to practice.”

  She chuckled and squeezed his hand. She leaned against him, and he shifted so he had one arm over her shoulder and held her hand with his other.

  At first the inactivity, the stillness, made her jumpy. She told herself to relax and be in the moment. She took a measured breath and snuggled closer, resting her head on his shoulder.

  She could hear his breathing, and soon their breathing became a shape in the room, growing loud. It seemed to match the rhythm of the swimming fish outside. Time and space telescoped down to just them, their breaths, their heartbeats, and the view before them.

  She felt a part of the life out that window in a way she never had before. She’d always tried to be a part of life by splashing around in it. Never as a passive observer. The feeling, the revelation, was strange. She felt part of the infinite.

  How long they sat there in silence, she had no idea. Long enough her ankle stopped throbbing.

  And then a soft brush along the shell of her ear. And another.

  Rawley.

  She stilled. Was he aware of what he did? She felt like someone who’d received a hint of a possibly exciting, chest-swelling gift but dared not betray her suspicions for fear of being wrong. Inside, her heart pounded, pounded. Outside, cool, calm, collected.

  A pull she couldn’t name tugged at her, a pull toward him.

  His fingers stroked down her neck. Languid strokes, heated strokes. Her breath hitched—those strokes had to be deliberate. Across her collarbone. And back. Up again to her ear.

  She felt so cherished. He continued for several more minutes, while her blood pump-pump-pumped, urging her to move, move, move. His hand cupped her jaw, and he gently pulled her face away from his shoulder.

  His hooded eyes, unreadable in the varied light from the window, held hers. “I think I had better—mmmpf.”

  She’d captured his delectable mouth, desperate for him not to leave, desperate for the sensations, desperate for him. Oh, she’d known this would happen if she tempted herself by being alone with him. He tasted of champagne and brandy and excitement. No way could she stop. She threw her arms around his neck. His lips parted, and her tongue slid against his.

  He groaned, the vibration rumbling in his throat and mouth, and his hands whipped around her waist and pulled her flush against him. Oh, the hard planes of his chest felt exquisite against her body, but—she twisted in his arms and fell across his lap—ah, much better. Her foot thunked onto the floor, and a stab of pain flashed up her ankle and calf, but she quickly forgot it. So many other feelings crowded it out.

  He smoothed a hand up her torso, slow, like he counted each rib through her close-fitting bodice, then his hand stilled, resting right below her breast, his heat seeping into her there, her heart nudging it on each beat. Oh yes. She arched toward him in a silent plea and grabbed a fistful of wavy, dark hair at the back of his head.

  Final
ly, his hand and the heat moved, up, up, and cupped. She jerked and his hand’s warmth permeated her skin and swirled through her blood, pooling below. He gently squeezed, and she gasped and increased the tempo of her kisses.

  He broke their kiss on a groan and looked down into her eyes, the blue intensity somehow surreal from the Gulf’s reflected light. “Oh, Adele.” Something warred in their depths, and she waited, waited for the words he wrestled with. But a spike of heat flared in his eyes, and his gaze dropped to her mouth, her neck. He bent, and his lips brushed her neck below her ear, sending shivers across her skin, his hot breath fanning across her flesh, eliciting another shudder.

  His fingers tugged at the top of her bodice and shifted her corset a fraction, but its restriction rewarded him with only slightly more of the swell of her breast, her nipples now hard and chafing against the fabric. That sensuous mouth of his dragged down her neck to that curve of flesh and placed a kiss, there. And another. His warm breath and the soft stroke of his lips made her shiver and more heat pooled in her belly. Then, his tongue eased beneath the fabric, the tip grazing her aching peak. She jerked, and fire flared from the point of contact, and between her legs grew a dull, aching, greedy pulse.

  He eased her flat against the settee, her back sinking into the soft cushions, his body stretched beside her. His warm hand inched under her skirt and cupped her sore ankle through the silk stocking.

  He looked up, eyebrows angled in concern. “Your ankle...”

  “It’s fine,” she panted. She grasped his neck and yanked him down for another of his kisses, and their tongues tangled, stroked, further stoking the warmth within.

  What was she doing?

  She swatted away the tiny voice of reason with assurance that later she’d deal with the aftermath. Now. Oh, now. The rush.

  He dragged his mouth along her jaw to her ear, his hot breath scooting delicious chills across her skin. He sucked on her lobe, pressed a delicate kiss behind her ear, and she gasped.

  “Oh, that. More of that.”

  He chuckled, shifted, and captured one of her breasts in his mouth, suckling through the layers of cloth, and she almost shot out of his arms. Hoo! She tightened her grip on the back of his head, not wanting him to leave that spot ever.