Sharing Sunrise

by Judy Griffith Gill

  “I … don’t know. I didn’t know I was.” Men had told her she was. She’d never really believed it. “Beautiful” was just what a man on the hunt said when he wanted a woman to succumb to his charm. Yet, when Rolph looked at her that way, when he said it, she had to accept it as fact. She wanted to accept it. She did. She moistened her lips; they tingled from his touch.

  “You are. Take it from an old connoisseur of women, you are very, very beautiful.” His hand moved down her throat an inch or two. One finger stroked the skin just below her left ear. “And your skin is incredibly soft.” His thumb grazed across the hammering pulse in her throat, hesitated, returned and pressed lightly. Her head grew light as her breath caught and held in her throat. He was going to kiss her. And if he didn’t, she was going to faint from wanting it.

  Again, she lifted her hand, her fingers wrapping around his thick, hard wrist. “Rolph?”

  Suddenly, he jerked his hand away from her skin, balling it into a fist at his side. “And I shouldn’t be doing this, dammit!”

  “Why not?” she asked in a small voice.

  He stared at her for a long, poignant moment then unclenched his fists and stepped back from her, his eyes suddenly cold as ice, angry, disappointed, she thought. In himself? In her?

  “Because we work together. Because we’ve been friends too long to screw it all up by succumbing to a moment’s … lust. And because we have different goals in life.”

  He spun and went to the filing cabinet on the other side of the office. “Here,” he said, taking a thick folder from one drawer, and another from a different one. “The specs on Windrider and Neo Cleo. Go home and read them. Meet me at berth 18, Seven Oaks Marina at nine o’clock in the morning.”

  Without waiting for her to reply, he went out of the office, closing the door that led to his private quarters. She heard the lock snick.

  When her knees would bear her weight, Marian got to her feet and gathered up her purse and jacket, and ran nearly all the way to her car.

  How in the world was she going to convince Rolph McKenzie that not only should he have done what he did, he should do a whole lot more besides?

  She was stopped, waiting for a light that seemed destined never to change, when she was struck by the thought that she was the one being trained to take over so that Rolph and his “committed” lady could take off on an extended honeymoon aboard Sunrise VII. That wouldn’t do at all! Somehow, her plans and his were going to have to get onto the same track, and going the same direction.

  Trouble was, she didn’t have the faintest idea how to make it all happen.

  Chapter Three

  “MAX, I NEED TO talk to you.”

  “Sure, Rolph. Phone do, or do you want it personal and face to face?”

  Rolph’s palm was slick with sweat on the phone. He needed answers and he needed them now. He didn’t want to wait to drive all the way across town. “This is fine,” he said, then said nothing more, not knowing where to begin.

  “You have a problem or something?” Max prompted when the silence had become uncomfortable.

  “Yeah. I guess so. It’s just a … dilemma I find myself in.”

  “Uh-huh. What’s up.”

  “It’s Marian.”

  “Not working out? You didn’t expect her to, so what’s the big deal? If she’s screwing up, tell her so and let her go.” He chuckled. “Of course, you’ll have to deal with the Wrath of Jeanie. And,” he added sternly, “you’ll have to replace her at once. Remember my investment.”

  “It’s not that. Actually, she’s doing a hell of a lot better than I ever anticipated.”

  “So? What’s the problem?”

  “It’s nothing to do with work. It’s more on a personal note.”

  There was silence for several seconds before Max said carefully, “Yes?”

  “She’s my responsibility and I’m not protecting her properly.”

  “You feel responsible for Marian?” Max sounded incredulous. “Why the hell should you feel responsible for her?”

  “I just feel it’s my place to take care of her, and I’ve been doing a pretty poor job of it.”

  “Again, why should you? She’s no kid, Rolph.”

  “I know that, but she’s a girl … a woman. Against my better judgment, I let myself be forced into bringing her to work in the marina. I mean, it would be different, her working for me if I still had my office at the house, the way you do, and she wasn’t exposed to the kinds of guys who live and work down here, whistling and shouting and treating her like …”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Just all that whistling and shouting. They make comments.” Actually, that hadn’t happened since the first day, but Rolph knew the guys were all thinking things. “They try to date her. It’s insulting.”

  “Marian feels insulted because guys ask her for dates? Haven’t guys been asking her out since she was too young to shave her legs? Now, all of a sudden she’s complaining? That doesn’t sound like the Marian Crane we know and love, big guy.”

  “Well, to be honest, she’s not complaining. In fact, she’s never mentioned it. She just walks on by as they all ogle and doesn’t even seem to notice that any one of them would have her body if she gave him half a chance.”

  “Then why worry about it? Besides, are they all after her body? I mean, it’s not as if she’s exclusive in the marina, or her body’s the only one to whistle at. It’s a nice little body, and all that, but what the hell, it’s just another female shape. Nowhere near as good as Jeanie’s. Guys whistle at her, too, if she walks past a construction site. I think she enjoys it. Is that what’s got you in a sweat?”

  “What? That maybe Marian likes it? Of course not! I told you. She doesn’t appear to notice.” What the hell was the matter with Max? Marian’s body was far more attractive than Jeanie’s. That must be what love did to a guy, blinded him to the very real attractions of other women.

  “Then what?” Max interrupted his thoughts. “Why should you care if they whistle?”

  “I told you that, too. I’m responsible for her, dammit. You’d feel the same way, if you’d brought her to a place like this. Hell, she’s been the nearest thing to a little sister we’ve ever had.”

  “A place like what? That’s a marina you’re running, not a skid row poolhall! Hey, come on, Rolph. Loosen up. That was years ago you made yourself responsible for her.”

  “We both did. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t feel the same way if someone were threatening her.”

  “I am telling you that. I think she can take care of any threats that might come her way. Hell, a guy’d have to be crazy to take on every man who showed an interest in Marian Crane. It’d be a full-time job.”

  The silence that followed those words was filled with thoughts which fortunately remained unspoken until Max ventured, “Unless, well, unless he was interested in her himself? Was maybe thinking of taking her on as a full-time commitment?”

  “What the hell does that mean?” Rolph barked.

  “Nothing, nothing at all,” Max said quickly. “Look, just relax and go with the flow. I’m pretty sure Marian can deal with whatever the boating community down there dishes out.”

  “Maybe. But … there’s this guy who, well, suddenly has the hots for her. A guy who’s too old for her. What would you do if you felt responsible for a woman’s safety and well-being and some guy started coming on to her and you knew she didn’t feel comfortable with it?”

  “How do you know she doesn’t feel comfortable about this guy’s interest? Has she said she doesn’t like him?”

  “No. I guess she likes him okay, but when … I saw him touch her she turned deathly white in the space of two seconds, and started shaking, so I know she hated it.”

  “Well, if you’re sure of that, and just as sure that the guy might make another move that she’d hate, I’d take him aside, explain to him that I looked upon her as a sister and if he touched one hair on her pretty little head without her exp
ress permission, I’d break both his kneecaps and anything else I could reach with my sledge hammer,” said Max. “But if, on the other hand, there was a possibility that she got pale and shaky because she found the guy’s touch disturbing for other reasons, then maybe it would be best to let nature take its course.”

  Rolph said nothing. His mind was whirling frantically, spinning out of control.

  “Well?” Max asked, after a moment.

  “Well, what?”

  “You gonna do it?”

  “Let nature take its course? Hell, no!”

  “Then, I guess it must be kneecap time,” said Max cheerfully.

  Rolph blew out a long breath. Easy for Max to feel sanguine. He wasn’t faced with a … complication like this one. Because what if she had turned white and shaky for the reasons Max suggested? What if she was as interested in him as he was in her? Why not find out? Why not go for it? The thought, when he dwelled on it for more than three or four seconds, was breathtaking. But … it was an insane idea.

  Marian’s staying power was about as long as that of a marshmallow on a bonfire! And he wanted someone capable of commitment, therefore, he was not interested in her. He couldn’t afford to be. So if he was, if his body was, he was simply going to have to curtail it.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Right. Kneecap time. You can consider it done.”

  As he hung up, though, Rolph’s mind was whirling again, with images of the day’s events flipping over and over like a film out of whack. Marian, standing on the deck of Windrider as fresh and as bright as the morning. Marian, bent over, her adorable bottom thrust high in the air as she poked her nose into Neo Cleo’s bilges. Marian, with a smear of grease on her face, standing before him while he wiped it with a rag soaked in solvent. He could still feel the delicate bones of her cheek and chin as if they were imprinted on his hand.

  He groaned, considering what it was going to be like that evening, holding that slender, supple body in his arms again while they danced. It had been torture the last two times he’d tried it, and then he was in a hell of a lot more control of his hormones than he was now. Now, they were raging like starving lions. He drew in a deep breath. Would dancing with her be enough? Oh, hell, he asked himself, why take the risk? Why not simply call her and cancel? Why not lie and tell her the Mastersons couldn’t make it?

  With a heartfelt sigh, he reached for the phone.

  “My God,” said Rolph slowly, his eyes sweeping over Marian as she stood in the doorway. He scarcely saw the hair swept back on one side and held with a big, gold clasp, the other side tumbling over a pale, golden shoulder. “Is that a dress or are you still in your underwear?”

  “A dress,” she said sunnily, clasping her hands high over her head and turning in a circle before him. “Like it?” She smiled as if knowing he did, letting her arms fall to her sides. “Come on in. Can I get you a drink before we go?”

  “No,” he said, then cleared his throat and said it again. It came out just as strangled. “We’re meeting the Mastersons in less than half an hour.”

  A dress. She was planning to go out with him tonight wearing that dress? She was planning to sit across a table from him and eat dinner, wearing that dress? She was planning to dance with him, for heaven’s sake! The damn dress was the color of lime Jell-O and had three tiers of fluffy gathered stuff that formed a very short, extremely flirtatious skirt and he’d seen swim suits that didn’t fit as well on top. Or as scantily.

  He swallowed the sudden dryness in his throat and forcibly reminded himself of what Max had said, keeping in mind sledge hammers and kneecaps and, and with no difficulty at all, brought back Marian’s words when discussing her former husband: I was twenty. He was twenty-eight. We were worlds apart … Worlds apart, and eight years … Exactly the age difference between himself and Marian. Eight years, in the normal course of events was nothing. But … this was Marian. She was special. And he wouldn’t just have Max to deal with if he put one finger on her against her will, but his parents and hers and hell, let’s face it, his own guilty conscience.

  But … what if it weren’t against her will? Lord! Did he want to find out? Did he dare to take a chance on that? What if this thing that he was half-convinced was only physical turned out to be more? What would he do when Marian upped-anchor again as was inevitable?

  But yes, dammit, he liked her dress. He liked it far too well. “I … uh, well, it’s sort of … revealing, isn’t it?”

  “Would you say that if it were a date wearing it, or are you only saying it because your assistant’s wearing it?” she asked pertly, the tilt of her chin showing a certain disdain. Right. And so it should.

  And she was right to remind him of their working relationship as he’d reminded her yesterday. If he’d thought for a few minutes then that she might be growing interested in him as a man, he’d been wrong. And he couldn’t permit himself to think of her as a woman. He never had, not until recently. Well, except for a couple of times. Why couldn’t he control his feeling better than this? He didn’t want her to be a woman to him, only … Hell, she looked like a woman, and smelled like a woman and, when she smiled, he reacted just like a man.

  All because that damned dress looked like a slip. Or one hell of a nightgown. In his mind, he replayed his having reached for the phone to call her and cancel, saw himself hesitate, saw himself withdraw his hand, turn and walk away, still full of questions to which there were no answers. Now, he looked at her, at her dress, and wished he’d carried out the thought.

  “Don’t you … uh, don’t you have something to put over it?”

  “Of course,” she said, and picked up a soft, sheer white thing that felt, as she handed it to him, about as substantial as cobwebs. He draped it around her shoulders, gaze lingering on the light, golden tan of her smooth, creamy skin. For just an instant, he let himself touch her. She smiled at him over her shoulder and he quickly dropped his hands, trying not to breathe too deeply because the scent of her perfume did things to his libido that had no business happening.

  Scooping up a tiny white purse, she opened the door and preceded him out. Her hair gleamed like polished gold in the low-angled rays of the sun sweeping through a window at the end of the hall. Rolph clenched his teeth and followed her down the stairs. Her tiny waist looked even smaller, just the right size for a pair of hands the size of his to encircle. Her sweetly rounded hips swayed as she walked. Her long, beautiful legs were smooth and would feel like satin to the touch, as would that deep vee of bare skin revealed by the open back of her dress. For the sake of his own sanity, he would not, absolutely would not, dance with her tonight.

  Rolph swung Marian aside to let another couple pass on the dance floor and the motion brought her soft breasts against his chest. She wasn’t wearing a bra. He’d known that, of course. The back of her dress, cut low the way it was, made the wearing of one impossible. He drew in a deep breath and set her back several inches, only that had the effect of letting her thighs brush against his.

  “Mmm, you’ve always been a wonderful dancer,” she said. “Remember when you taught me how to slow dance?”

  He’d been thinking about that since they’d come to the dance floor. When he was teaching her all those years ago he hadn’t once felt even a glimmer of what he was suffering now. “No,” he said brusquely, and after a confused glance into his eyes, she lowered her head.

  “I remember,” he said, stroking her back by way of apology. “It seems so long ago, though, it makes me feel old thinking about it.”

  Damn! How could he have let himself be goaded into dancing with her by watching Slim Masterson do what he was trying so damned hard not to do? Slim was old enough to be Marian’s father and clearly in love with his wife of thirty-some years, yet a wave of intense jealousy had washed over Rolph when he saw Slim’s broad, blunt hand planted squarely in the center of Marian’s bare back. There was, of course, no other place to put it while waltzing, except maybe on her hip, so Slim had had no choice. Neither did Rolph. Bu
t the feel of her warm skin, the supple muscles, the slender strength he found there, threatened his equilibrium.

  He had to get off this floor. He strained to see if their main course was by any chance being delivered to their table, but knew it would not be as long as they and their guests remained on the floor.

  “Looking for someone?”

  Her smile stilled his breath in his chest. Every time she smiled at him like that, it was as if he were suddenly in free-fall. Her eyes were so big and deep he wanted to drift away in them. Her voice, humming the tune the band was playing, vibrated in his blood. Oh, hell, what was he going to do? Marian’s delicate, soft fingers lay lightly in his hand. He wanted to tuck them up under his chin. Her other hand rested on the center of his shoulder. He wanted to draw her into him so she would wrap her arm higher around him, maybe touch the hair at the nape of his neck, run her fingers into it …

  “Wondering about dinner,” he said. “We old folks need sustenance.”

  “You?” she blinked at him. “You’re not old.”

  He swallowed, let go of her hand for just an instant to tug at the knot of his tie, and said, “Compared to you I am.” With her hand set free, she stole that opportunity to place it on his shoulder then link it with its mate behind his neck, leaning back from him, bringing their hips into alignment, letting their thighs touch again, smiling up at him, innocent and carefree. “I’m thirty-six, and you’re twenty-eight, though I find it hard to remember that,” he said. “I tend to think of you as just barely out of your teens.”

  Her subtle movement against him snatched the breath from his lungs. “I’ll just have to find ways to remind you, then, won’t I?”

  He stared at her. Had she meant to move like that? She did it again. He swallowed a pained gasp. “Are you trying to flirt with me, Marian?”

  She laughed. “Now, really, Rolph, why would I do a thing like that?”

  “How do I know? How does anybody ever know why you might do anything? You’re a law unto yourself, a free spirit, a butterfly touching the edges of life. I don’t ask why about you anymore.”