“Of course,” she said dryly. “Such as the ones you’d make for her.”
He pondered, then laughed shortly. “I guess you’re right about that. But I believe most women secretly like the idea of the man’s being the man, being in charge, at least of … some things. You know, I’ll be the captain, you be the mate.”
“Me Tarzan, you Jane.”
He shrugged. “Something like that. Not that it matters. I don’t think my ideal woman exists and if she did, she wouldn’t want me. What about you? What kind of man are you looking for?”
Tall, lean, blond and green-eyed. Somewhat blind when it comes to what’s good for him. Stupid, you could say, at least about some things, things that should be staring him right in the face.
“What makes you think I’m looking for a man?”
“Every single woman is looking for a man.” His tone was impatient, as if he were stating the obvious for an idiot.
“I’ve been married.”
He rolled his eyes. “I remember. You broke your parents’ hearts with that little episode, baby-doll. Elopement from college and six weeks together! What kind of marriage was that, anyway?”
“One that taught me a great deal.”
“Like what?”
“That he was much too old for me, that some of the things he thought were normal I found disgusting, and that my taste in men was as lousy as my judgment.” And he taught me never to show a man exactly how much I love him, to tell him how desperately I want him, until I know those feelings are returned one hundred percent. A man has too much power over a woman that way.”
“I’m assuming that must have changed in the what … three, four years since you were married?”
She shook her head. How come she’d paid so much attention to his life when he had no idea what hers was all about? “Eight years, Rolph! I was twenty. He was twenty-eight. We were worlds apart, even in—We weren’t compatible. And yes, of course my taste and judgment have both changed, but I’m not certain that means they’re any better, either of them.” How can they be, when I can’t help being attracted to a man who treats me with the all affection he’d offer a St. Bernard puppy?
Rolph was surprised, and in an odd way, touched by the genuine uncertainty in her tone. “You’re young and beautiful,” he said gruffly. “You shouldn’t have any trouble finding the right guy.”
“Maybe not,” she said teasingly, “except that my boss makes it difficult.”
He stiffened, got off her desk and straightened a framed lithograph of Earle G. Barlow’s White Ghost on the wall. “I didn’t mean to make things difficult for you,” he said, returning to his own desk. “I simply reminded you that we were meeting with clients that evening.”
“Funny,” she said, propping her chin on her fist as she gazed at him. “But neither the clients nor I knew we were seeing them that night. They thought the meeting was for the next evening—with you alone—and were on their way out when we arrived.”
“All right, so I made a mistake about the date. It saved you from making a worse one. Talk about someone too old for you! Kevin Durano is forty-five years old, thrice-married and likes to think of himself as a playboy.”
She could have said that what was true for a girl at the age of twenty was not necessarily so for a woman of twenty-eight. Then, eight years had been close to half a lifetime. Now, even the seventeen years separating her from the “thrice-married playboy” didn’t seem such a great gap. Not that she would be the slightest bit interested in Kevin Durano, whether he was two, eight, or all those seventeen years her senior, except in a casual way. But Rolph certainly took him seriously. Maybe that was good. At least Kevin had made him aware that other men were aware of her as a woman.
“I don’t know if he’s my type or not, but he did say that when he got back from the business trip he’s on he’d like to take me to Estevan’s.”
Rolph’s green eyes flared. “The hell he did!”
“Why shouldn’t he? It’s reportedly the top place in town for seafood and, as a private club, it’s hard to get into. The waiting list for memberships is a mile long; even with his membership, Kevin told me, he sometimes has to wait days for a table. I’m looking forward to dinner there.”
“Fine. Then that’s where we’ll take the Mastersons when they’re in town tomorrow. I hold a membership. A charter membership,” he added pointedly, “so I can get reservations with only a day’s notice.”
Marian’s heart did strange things in her chest. This was the first time he’d asked her to attend a business meeting other than the one with the Levines, which she liked to believe he’d dreamed up on the spur of the moment out of pure jealousy. “The Mastersons?”
“Clients. They’re flying in from Barbados to look at a couple of boats we have listed. I think Windrider will be the one they prefer, but I’m going to show them Neo Cleo as well. It’ll be too late when they arrive to show them around, so I plan to wine and dine them, tell them about the boats, let them sleep on the information then take them over both boats in the morning when they’re feeling well-rested.”
“And when the tide’s high,” she murmured.
“You have been paying attention, haven’t you?”
“Of course. I have an excellent teacher who makes every aspect of the business interesting. Paying attention to you is no hardship, Rolph.”
Rolph gazed at her thoughtfully for a moment before he smiled slowly. “Thank you,” he said, and reached out to run the backs of his fingers down her cheek. “That’s … nice to hear.”
While her heart went still in her chest, Rolph went to his desk and sat with his back to her, his feet on the windowsill. He seemed, she thought, to be doing nothing but stare out the window at the ever-present wheeling seagulls and the sunlit cityscape. Presently, he put his feet on the floor, swiveled his chair back around and bent over some work on his desk.
Marian, her chin on a fist, gazed at his quarter-profile. It must have been with her all her life, this need for Rolph, though she hadn’t been aware of it, anymore than she’d been aware of her biological clock, until Max and Jeanie’s wedding. Then, seeing Rolph so tall and straight and, well, the only word for it was “solid”, not to mention “gorgeous” in his superbly fitting tuxedo, had triggered a response in her that couldn’t be denied. Though she’d tried to tell herself that weddings arouse those kinds of feelings in people, and none more than Max and Jeanie’s, considering how close the couple had come to death in that coal mine, she knew deep inside that what she felt for Rolph was more than wedding-induced sentiment. She thought, the way he danced with her that night, maybe he’d felt it, too.
That hope, along with her mother’s failing health, had gone a long way toward her decision to come back to Victoria shortly after the wedding. But, though she’d been home for over a year, and for the past six of those fourteen months, lived right next door to Rolph, he’d shown no signs that he shared her feelings. Oh, he was friendly enough whenever their families got together, which was often, but he certainly didn’t seem to care for her any differently than did Max.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this, was it? One person knowing, yearning, aching, the other completely oblivious?
Dammit, as much as she hated to admit it, Jeanie had been right that day about her response to Rolph’s reception of the idea that she go to work for him. She’d been mad, certainly but she had to face it—she was hurt, too, because some small, stupid part of her had really believed that if she went to him, offered to work with him in building his business, some of the closeness they’d shared when she was a little girl would be regained. In rejecting her business offer, he was unwittingly rejecting her other, unspoken offer. Maybe she should come straight out and tell him how she felt.
She contemplated that for a moment, then shuddered at the idea. Because if he really were incapable of feeling that way about her, it would mean the end of their valued friendship as well and she knew she was going to need that friendship and strength in t
he months to come. Besides, she had experienced masculine rejection once and though it had been a long time ago, the memory of it continued to make her cautious. That kind of hurt lingers on.
Not only that, she didn’t think she could put into words what she felt. Was it merely sexual attraction or did it go deeper than that? What she truly wanted was an opportunity to find out. Just when she thought she might have that opportunity, living next door to him, Rolph had done the unexpected, moved out of the huge house he’d long shared with his parents and brother and more recently, his brother’s wife and son. Though he’d had his own private apartment in the McKenzie home, he’d built the place down at his marina, using half as his business offices, the other half as his home. From that point onward, she knew she’d never see him, not unless she found another way.
Marian drew her gaze back to her own desk and the listings waiting there to be categorized.
“What are you looking for?”
Crouched by the filing cabinets, Marian glanced up at Rolph. “The specs on Windrider and Neo Cleo.”
Rolph leaned back in his chair. “What do you want them for?”
“So I can discuss them knowledgeably, of course.”
He looked startled, then puzzled. “Why do you want to?”
She got to her feet as she blew an exasperated breath outward. He was content to let her research the listings for boats that would meet the needs of certain clients. He liked the way she wrote up reports of those boats, and had complimented her on her ability to find exactly the right points that would sell a certain person on a certain ship. He had taught her much in the weeks she’d been here, and every day there was more. He commented often on how quickly she picked things up, yet he still resisted letting her get out there to deal with individual clients on a one to one basis.
“Rolph, why do you want me at your meeting with the Mastersons tomorrow night?”
“I … you said you wanted to go to Estevan’s. And there’s a good dance floor, a fine band. My … our guests might like to dance and it’s easier if there’s four.”
“I see. And what am I going to do while you’re discussing the boats with them? Sit there and look decorative? And did you plan to introduce me as your assistant—a business associate—or as your date?”
His guilty look was her answer, but he managed to say, “I’ll introduce you as my assistant.”
“But you won’t treat me as that,” she accused him. Marching back to her desk, she flopped down in her chair. “If you merely want someone to dance with, someone to sit and look pretty and maybe talk recipes and fashion with Mrs. Masterson, while the big-shot businessmen discuss the important stuff, I suggest you look elsewhere. I’ll wait and go to Estevan’s with Kevin.” She glared at him. “There now. I’ve given you ample reason to fire me. So go ahead.”
Rolph fixed her with an injured look. “Hey, come on! What’s got your back arched? I invited you out for dinner at a place you said you wanted to visit. I didn’t make it a term of your continued employment.”
“I know that!” She glared. “And I resent being invited along simply because you find it difficult to get a date when you need somebody to dance with.”
“Suit yourself,” he snapped and swung back to his desk.
“Rolph?” He looked over at her. Several quiet hours had passed since they’d spoken last. She looked tired, her face drawn, her mouth drooped at the corners. She’d taken her hair down so it tumbled around her shoulders and she sat rubbing the back of her neck as if it hurt. “I’m sorry,” she said. “That was a lousy thing for me to say. I know you can get all the dates you want.”
“I’m sorry too,” he said, getting to his feet and coming up behind her, pushing her hand away, parting her hair as he massaged her neck. Her muscles were tight. He prodded them with his thumbs, making small circles on her skin. Lord, but it was silky! He shouldn’t do this, but hell, he’d given her massages before. Yeah, said a voice inside him. When she was a skinny twelve-year-old killing herself to make the swim team. She wasn’t skinny, and she wasn’t twelve, and a lot of things had changed. But for all that, he didn’t stop touching her skin.
“I wasn’t treating you fairly,” he continued. “Of course you need to be able to discuss the boats intelligently and I know you’ll be an asset at the dinner; maybe even clinch the sale. You take the paperwork on the boats home tonight and go over it, then we’ll have a look at them together in the morning.”
“Okay.” She swallowed. “And I really would like to go with you and the Mastersons tomorrow night if you mean it.”
“I mean it. I want you to,” he said, “but because I’d like you to be there with me, not only because I find it difficult to get a date.”
“I know you don’t.”
“But I do. Or, maybe I should say, if I can get a woman to go out with me, I can’t hold her interest for more than five minutes. Like I said before, I don’t know what women want.”
While his thumbs worked on the taut muscles at the back of her neck and on top of her shoulders, his fingers circled over her collarbone, doing incredible things to other parts of her anatomy far removed from the places he touched.
“You offered to teach me,” he said presently. “Did you mean it?”
Marian tried to breathe. It was nearly impossible, but she managed to suck in air enough to speak. “If you gave every woman you dated a … massage like this,” she said faintly, “you’d never get rid of them. You’d have them stacked up in your closets.”
“You think so?” He didn’t sound convinced. He spread his hands wide and worked farther down her back. She wished she weren’t wearing a blouse. She wished she weren’t wearing anything. She wished she knew how to help him and that in doing so, she could help him see that she, for one, wouldn’t leave after “five minutes” if only he’d give her a chance.
She sighed. “Why do you think they don’t stay interested for very long?”
“Oh, sometimes they do,” he said. “I was exaggerating when I said that. But it’s finding a woman willing to make a commitment I’m having trouble with.”
“What … kind of commitment?” Dammit, her voice was too squeaky!
“The usual kind. You know, marriage, home, family.”
“Oh. You … want that?” Oh, lordy, now it was too husky, throaty, all but purring.
“Of course I want marriage.” He sounded surprised that she would ask. “I’m thirty-six years old, Marian. It’s time I settled down. Not that I expect you to understand that, not at your age, and with your personality, your lifestyle, but it’s what I want. A wife, babies, picket fence covered with roses and all that. Oh, I wouldn’t insist on the family right away, of course. I like the idea of a couple being a couple for a year or two or three before the babies come along. Time to travel, time to take life easy, time to drift a bit.”
She twisted her head around and looked at him from under a fan of hair. “Really? I thought you considered drifting a waste of time. I thought you were married to your business.”
“I guess maybe I am, but that would change the minute I found the right lady.”
She swallowed hard. “I see. And are you actively searching?”
He paused and she saw him looking off into a distance she couldn’t see. “Probably not. Not yet, at any rate. Ideally, I’ll have someone fully trained to leave in charge here for a few months, then I’ll find my permanent lady, get married and take a nice long honeymoon, sail Sunrise up to Alaska, or maybe down to Mexico, even through the canal and into the Caribbean.”
“Oh. Sounds heavenly,” she murmured, and dropped her head down to her desk, rested her brow on her folded arms, letting herself relax into his massage, letting dreams swirl and collide in her mind. She and Rolph, a house, a picket fence, babies and roses and other sweet, growing things. But first, the ocean, the solitude, each other, drifting … sharing Sunrise.
“Don’t kid yourself.” His voice broke into her beautiful dream. “You’d hate it.”
“The sailing part, sure, but it’s what comes after the honeymoon you’d hate, and don’t try to deny it.” His laugh sounded strained. “You’re a tumbleweed at heart, little one. We both know it.”
“Not—” Not any longer, she was going to say, but his hands curved around her back, warm through the fabric of her blouse, thumbs moving downward along the sides of her spine, fingertips dangerously close to the sensitive sides of her breasts. Air escaped her in a long sigh and she lifted her head, sat erect, letting her hair fall down over her back.
With an impatient gesture, he gathered up her hair and twisted it into a rope, flipping it forward out of his way, then astounded her, thrilled her, by stroking his hand very slowly and sensuously down over the thickness of it as it lay across her shoulder and chest.
“Your hair—” She heard him swallow, felt him jerk his hand back. Both his hands, taking them off her. “It … feels like satin.” he said. “And it smells … good.” For just an instant, he touched it again as if he couldn’t help himself.
She was melting inside as she half-turned, gazing up at him. “Does it?”
He moistened his lips with his tongue. He put one large, warm hand under her chin and tilted her head back, looking down at her, his green eyes luminous and filled with desire—as well as liberal amounts of confusion and doubt. “Yes,” he said softly. “It does.”
“Rolph …” Her voice was little more than a whisper. She lifted a hand and touched his face, curling her fingers around his jaw.
He shuddered. “I … I think we better go home now, Marian. It’s late.”
She dropped her hand. “All right,” she whispered, and smiled at him. Her heart stopped as his thumb lifted and traced the smile.
“When did you get so beautiful?” he asked huskily, surprising her yet again.
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