The edginess in his last remark made her throw up her palms. “Sure, Skin, have fun. I’m not your guardian. Don’t let me rain on your parade—”
He tapped the side of his head. “Got it.”
“Just remember, Daniel’s hosting a cocktail party in the Caribe Cabaret at six. It’s for all the entertainers on board. One of the Empress Cruise line reps in L.A. will be there, so you’ll want to show up and schmooze the guy a bit. Y’know, for future gigs. Casual dress, as far as I know. We should go.” Good lord, she was sounding like a nagging big sister. She clamped her mouth shut.
“Yeah, Mom. I’ll meet you there.”
In her silk pajamas, she stood and approached him. Rumpled and disheveled, Tess ignored how she appeared. She caught his hand and detained him at the door. “Thanks for the breakfast. It was a great idea. I appreciate it.”
“I aim to please.” He raised her hand in his and brushed his lips over the back of her knuckles. Through his tan, his cheeks colored. He looked embarrassed, mortified even, at his sudden impulse. Her lips parted, heat rising up her neck, Tess wanted to say something, but words failed to materialize in her mind. A moment later, he let go and left the cabin.
It was so unlike Skin to treat her with kid gloves. He’d always been kind to her, even gentle, but they’d done enough verbal sparring over the years to last lifetime. The kind of arguments and teasing brothers do with sisters they are fond of. Of course, she’d given as much as she’d gotten. Maybe it was their way of getting past the misguided passion of their teenaged years and moving on to a new and different level of platonic friendship.
So what was going on with him now? His behavior confused and worried her. It might have something to do with his new musical play. In any event, she’d have to make a point to ask him what was going on inside that handsome head of his. She was easy to figure out, in her opinion. Porter said he’d known what she was all about by their second date. Compared to her arithmetic, Aaron was advanced calculus.
* * * *
Tess’ nails glittered, her skin shone and her long hair hung in spiral curls across her shoulders and down her back. There wasn’t a tense muscle in her body after her long full-body massage. The tall, umbrella drink she was sipping slowly—mostly laced with fruit juice and a smidgen of tequila—had loosened the last vestige of nervousness. She’d fudged on her rule against drinking, but it helped her chat up the party goers. Standing with the Empress rep for a few minutes, she had praised Aaron’s musicality to the hilt. In addition, while waiting for Aaron to show, she was enjoying the attentions of the handsome singer from the theater cast. The troupe’s first musical revue was scheduled for the Empress Theater that night at eight and a second show at ten. Which was why Daniel Devore’s cocktail party began at six.
So where was Aaron? By six-thirty, Sherry had shown up. Excusing herself, Tess discarded her Tequila Sunrise—what little tequila was in that thing had gone straight to her head—and made her way over to the blonde girl, dressed in ship’s uniform the same as Daniel and the rest of his crew.
“Did you and Aaron have fun today?”
The girl beamed at her. “Oh yes! We snorkeled and took a two-hour scuba lesson. Tons of fun!”
“Where is he? He’s supposed to be here.”
Sherry frowned suddenly. “Oh, yes, I forgot to tell you. Aaron got sick from something he ate. Might’ve been the burrito he bought from that stand in town.”
Tess narrowed her eyes in exasperation and anger. Exasperation at Aaron—sounded like him, all right, unable to pass up cheap food—and anger at the blonde for her cavalier attitude. “Look, tell Daniel I left to check up on Aaron.”
Tess hurried to the buffet café on the Sun Deck, put together a tray of items and then scurried down the six flights of stairs to their cabin, rejecting the clogged elevators. Inside, she found a feverish Aaron, on his knees and vomiting into the toilet. Groaning between heaves, he looked terrible. His hair was plastered to his forehead and temples, his eyes glazed over. His sunburned neck felt hot to her touch, so she pressed a cool, damp washcloth to its nape. When his heaves turned dry, Tess helped him to his feet and held onto him as he staggered to his bed. He was fully clothed but barefoot.
“Aw, Skin, you should know better—”
“No lectures, Red…” He grunted and lay back on the pillow. Pain made him clutch his stomach and double over. “I’m cold…and burning up. Damn, my stomach feels like someone shot me full of B.Bs.”
“Here, I brought you some crackers and hot tea.” She’d put the tray on their bedside table, and after she propped him up, she held the cup of tea to his lips. “Drink.”
Visibly in pain, Aaron took a few swallows, then fell back. “No more…can’t…”
“Okay, we’ll try again later.” She pulled the covers over him and continued to wipe his face. All of a sudden, she thought of the emergency medicine she always packed in her carry-on bag. “Skin, I’ve got something that’ll help. If you’re not better by morning, I’ll call the ship’s doctor. But try this stuff first.”
A minute later, she gave him two pills, one an over-the-counter painkiller, the other Immodium. He washed them down with more tea, then collapsed.
“I wanna die…” A wan smile curled one side of his lips. His sense of humor, still intact, heartened her. Exhaling with relief, Tess pulled the covers up to his chin. “Thanks, Red.” For the first time, his blue eyes focused on her. “Your hair…I like it straight better.”
“Thanks, these curls only cost me two-hundred bucks,” she groused, jumping up to cool the washcloth again. Worry over Aaron shoved aside all other concerns. When she returned, Aaron appeared to have dozed off.
She stared at him. That Aaron could suffer or be in pain distressed her more than she ever thought possible. Of course, it was understandable. While her brother, Mac, a Seaman First-Class with the Fifth Fleet’s Navy band in Bahrain, traveled on duty, Tess worried. Whenever one of Aaron’s musicals failed, Tess worried. And probably suffered an equal amount of disappointment and heartache.
Easy to explain. Besides Aaron’s folks, he and Mac were the two people she loved the most. If anything happened to either of them, Tess was certain she’d curl up and die.
Assuming he’d fallen asleep, she gingerly eased herself down on her side next to him, on top of the coverlet, forcing him over a bit. He stirred.
“Sorry, I woke you up,” she said.
“No…but if I have to get up quickly, look out.” He grew silent although he’d stopped clutching his stomach and groaning. “You’ll make a good mother.”
She snorted softly. “Don’t think so. My own mother wasn’t. What about, like mother, like daughter?”
“Not true…”
“Y’know, Skin, I’ve always felt…kinda cursed, like I have her genes. And you know her, what a mess she is. Has been for a long time. A physical and mental wreck.”
Her mother had gone off the deep end and lost custody of Tess and Mac when they were twelve and fifteen, after their father abandoned them all, lost in his own world of drugs and New Age philosophy—his rationale for not taking responsibility for raising his own children. Now settled in a rehab group home, Tess’ mother, Lisa, was clean and sober but still frail and barely hanging onto life. Tess could hardly bear to visit her. In the back of her mind was always the fear that she would succumb to the same self-destructive tendencies as her mother and end up losing herself, too.
“That’s not you, Red…no comparison.”
“Tonight I had half of an alcoholic drink. Tequila and juice.”
“Don’t be afraid. You’re not her. You’re as strong as my mother…and she’s a mama grizzly.” Tess listened to his steady breathing, his stronger voice, and sighed with relief. He was feeling better. “So, Red, are you going to have kids with that old man?”
Typical Aaron—the very topic she loathed to think or talk about, he zeroed in on and hit like a bull’s eye. Still, there was no avoiding it.
“
I don’t know. Probably not,” she murmured softly against the curve in his broad back, “He doesn’t want any more. He already has five.”
“Can’t blame the guy,” Aaron whispered, “but he has no business marrying a woman who’s never had any.”
Tess said nothing. Life was not perfect and her get-rich plan was indeed flawed.
“Get some sleep. We have to work tomorrow night and you have to feel better. If not, I’ll get some meds from the doctor.”
“I’m…freezing. Get under…warm me…” She could hear his teeth chattering. This time, Aaron seemed to be drifting off despite the trembling of his body.
Complying, Tess slipped in beside him, spooning his body when he rolled to his side to face the wall. It was a tight squeeze and not very comfy, but he needed her. Soon, Aaron’s shivers subsided and she heard his shallow breathing. Her arm draped over his middle, the palm of her hand settling on his muscled chest. The curve and feel of his firm buttocks against her lap stirred something inside her. She scolded herself. Getting aroused by Skin—no, too incestuous to even consider!
She thought he was asleep.
“Marry me…have kids…”
What?
A moment later, his shallow panting turned to soft snores. Tess had to smile. So like Aaron to try to save her, just as he did when they were younger and there was a bully at the school who used to pick on her. Delirium and brotherly concern didn’t mean he was serious, however. But it did mean he cared for her…deeply. She had two brothers who loved her. For Tess, that was enough. She could endure a loveless marriage if necessary…if,somehow, she found herself incapable of loving Porter in the way that he wanted—expected—her to.
On the other hand, confusion and doubt now racked her mind. She was very good when she knew what she wanted. Like a laser-guided missile, she never wavered from her target.
But she was lousy when the target grew fuzzy and she lost her focus.
Oh, stop thinking, Tess!
She needed complications like she needed nodules on her larynx. But try as she might, she couldn’t turn off her mind or quash the fear that rose in her heart. To others, that fear might seem irrational, she knew. The fear of poverty and helplessness. For Tess, that fear was a constant, oppressive emotion that squeezed her chest and made her pulse race. All the pleasure she felt in the warmth and planes of Aaron’s body warred with that rising fear inside her. For hours, she lay awake until finally, mercifully, her mind shut down.
Chapter Five
The next morning Tess returned to her cabin at the same time as the arrival of the breakfast tray. After she opened the door for the steward, she took the tray from him and thanked him. The aroma of heavenly coffee drifted up to her, but she suspected Aaron’s stomach couldn’t tolerate anything stronger than hot tea, which she’d already ordered. Chamomile, to be precise.
Aaron’s empty, rumpled bed greeted her, but retching noises in the bathroom signaled his location. She set the tray down and arranged the pills, which the ship’s doctor had given her early that morning, on one of the cloth napkins.
“Ugh, food,” groaned Aaron when he emerged from the bathroom and spied the breakfast tray. Although his face was still pale, his eyes were clear. A definite good sign. Sometime during the night, his fever had broken and she’d slipped out of his bed, undressed and had managed a few hours of sleep in her own bed.
“Good morning to you, too, Skin.” Like a stern mother, she handed him two capsules and a glass of water. “The doctor says these’ll do the trick.”
“Y’mean, take me out of my misery? Good, it must be cyanide.” His self-deprecating grin vanished as he washed the pills down. His eyes, though, shone with gratitude as he glanced over her tank top and shorts outfit.
She flashed him a wry smile. “Black humor—also a good sign. Now sit down and drink some tea. Try and eat some toast, too. These pills are strong so whatever you do today, you need someone with you. In other words, no scuba, no water-skiing, no driving motor bikes or ATV’s.”
He slumped onto his bed but did as he was told, appearing too weak to offer resistance. Steam curled up from his cup, which he sniffed cautiously with a grimace. Then, sipping the hot tea, he closed his eyes and sighed raggedly.
“I swear to you, Red, I’ll never eat junk food again. No more taco stands for me. Today we’re in Acapulco? Damn, I wanted to rent a motorbike and go out to see those famous cliff divers.” Aaron glanced wistfully at the cloudless, cerulean sky outside their cabin window and frowned. His disappointment touched her.
“Look, Skin, if you feel better—” she consulted her watch—“in one hour, we’ll go on that motorcoach excursion to the cliffs. I’ll watch over you, make sure you don’t throw up on your new, little girlfriend…who, by the way, is one callous bitch. In fact, let’s not invite her to join us.”
Despite his obvious battle with nausea, his expression took on a more chipper cast, even though he ignored her barb about Sherry.
“Okay, you’re on. Give whatever-the-hell-these-pills-are one hour to work. They say we stumble to our destinies with blind faith…so let’s see what happens. Either you hate me and those are poison or you love me and I’ll get well. Hey, Red, it’s almost medieval intrigue.”
She laughed at his wit and took up her coffee. That was Aaron. Although there were times she could kill him, his cleverness always made her laugh. God, how she’d missed him this past year since she’d begun seeing Porter!
“Jeez, I smell like a corpse…and not a fresh one, either,” he added, standing up and stripping off the tank top that he’d slept in. “I’m in dire need of a shower.”
“Feel up to it?” she asked. The dubious look she threw him broke off as his bare chest distracted her. The hair in his armpits was dark blond, a shade darker than his head hair, but, strangely, lighter than his sideburns. The same dark blond in the hair that arrowed between his pecs to a fine line down his chiseled abdomen and disappeared beneath the waistband of his shorts. Had she noticed this before? All the shades of blond and brown hair on his body? She watched him as he wiped his chest with his sweat-stained shirt. A flush spread up from his neck to his cheeks when he caught her staring.
“I look that bad, huh? Well, here goes. If you hear a crash, Red, promise you’ll come in the shower with me…and help me out. Y’know, soap up my back, my ass. I don’t know if I can do it by myself…I’m so weak.”
The sly smile on his face made her wave him away with a smirk. She attacked one of the muffins between sips of strong, chicory-tasting coffee. Caught off-guard when he continued to stand there, she looked up. His hands on his hips, he suddenly stared down at his cup of tea as if trying to read the tea leaves. His guarded look, the one she’d seen lately on him, reappeared. Apparently, something was on his mind.
“I was out of it last night…my head, y’know. Did I say something stupid or offensive?”
“Stupid, probably. Offensive, no. In fact, it was sweet. In a slightly insane sort of way.”
“Insane? Yeah, well, that sounds like me. What did I say?”
Tess repressed an outrageous teasing remark, but her resolve cracked and she ended up giggling, anyway. “I think you proposed to me. That’s happened only twice to me.”
Aaron’s handsome face scrunched up and, with his knuckles, scrubbed the blond stubble on both cheeks. His eyes studying her, he took a long sip of tea.
“Proposed what? Sex? God, Red, if I did, I apologize.”
She grinned. “No, not sex. Something worse. Marriage. Marriage and kids. The whole enchilada.”
Aaron coughed, spraying the tray with tea. With a fist, he pounded his sternum to make himself stop. Meanwhile, Tess broke up in soft laughter.
“Aw, bullshit. I did no such thing—” he insisted.
“Well, Skin, you sure did. But don’t worry, I turned you down.” Reflexively, she glanced down at her ring finger and the huge diamond solitaire. Too late, she realized what that silly motion would imply to Aaron. That he could
never measure up to what she wanted. It was not something she meant to imply, for she sensed at some level he’d be hurt by it. To cover her misstep, she added jokingly, “Not that I wasn’t flattered. I was, and if things don’t work out for Porter and me, I’d love a rain check.”
A series of emotions played over his face, so rapidly and subtly that Tess wasn’t certain she could read his reaction. Whatever it was, he covered his expression with an exaggerated look of disbelief and humor.
“Good thing you turned me down,” he said, wiping his hand over his forehead, “I couldn’t afford you, baby. You’re too high maintenance.”
He unzipped his khaki shorts, turned his back and stepped out of them. This time he was wearing white briefs and these clung as nicely as the black ones to his buttocks. He turned to the side and tossed them on his bed as if he were shooting a basket. Her eyes strayed to his groin and the partial erection that made his briefs poke out a little in front. He darted her a cavalier wink before disappearing behind the wall divider.
“You don’t have to be so snotty,” she said around a mouthful of banana-nut muffin. There went her diet and she didn’t even give a hoot. She swallowed hard and cried out, “You should talk. You’re so not husband material. A girl would have to be crazy to accept your proposal.”
The next thing she heard was muffled swearing and the sound of his shower turning on.
Yep. She knew it. That was Skin the Savior talking last night. Feverish and delusional, her own personal Sir Galahad only wanted to save her from a loveless marriage and a childless future. He wasn’t really serious. Certainly not about her.
Scheming and Dreaming in Los Angeles Page 5