The song came to a thundering end, and the audience broke into wild applause.
"Thank you. Thank you very much," Tristan said in his best Elvis impersonation, and then he leaped off the stage to rejoin Juliet at their table. Still no sign of Bullfrog or Emma.
"So what do you think?" he prompted, plopping down in the plush seat awaiting him.
"Not bad," Juliet replied. But her eyes glinted with admiration that turned him warm from the inside out.
"Your turn," he invited.
"Oh, no," she protested with a laugh. "You don't want to hear me sing. Emma's the singer in the family."
"You should go and get her," he suggested.
"What time is it?" She peered upside down at the tactical watch he always wore.
"Twenty-three fifteen—quarter after eleven," he amended, switching to civilian-speak.
Juliet shook her head. "She won't come out now. It's getting past my bedtime, too. I need to collect my niece from Kids' Zone and hit the sack. It's been a long day considering we flew out of Dulles at dawn this morning. That seems like days ago!"
Disappointment ambushed him, but her reasons for retiring were valid, so he stood up to pull out her chair.
"Thank you." Her tone made it clear his actions weren't necessary or particularly welcome.
"We didn't compare itineraries yet," he persisted. "How are we going to get Bullfrog and your sister together?"
"I'll meet you in the Fiesta Galley at 9 a.m.," she suggested. "We can talk about it over breakfast."
The prospect of seeing her in less than ten hours gave him something to look forward to. "Cool," he agreed with a grin. "I'll see you then."
She regarded him a moment with a deer-in-the-headlights look. Then, without another word, swiveled on her strappy sandals and strode out of the Lizard Lounge with her shoulders back and her head held high. Maybe she didn't like him. Maybe he was the only one who'd enjoyed himself.
Puzzled by her aloofness, he stood there wondering if he ought to try to pick up some other woman. His gaze flickered over the gathering, and he discerned at least two ladies who appeared to be single. Both of them were watching him with hopeful expressions.
Nah. They were pretty enough, but he realized he was already focused on his target—without having realized Juliet even was one. Whether they hooked up or not, her spunk and smarts had captivated him. And he wasn't about to switch gears, not just to soothe himself for a night.
Glancing again at his watch, he smiled wryly but headed out of the lounge all the same. By SEAL standards the night was still young, but it wouldn't hurt to store up his energy in order to get the most out of the days ahead. Besides, he wanted to find Bullfrog and chew him out for being such a pansy.
* * *
Emma laid her book on the bedside table and glanced at her cell phone, only to recall that she'd turned it off to avoid roaming charges. Rolling out of bed, she hunted for the watch she had slipped into her luggage.
It was thirty minutes to midnight. Sammy was still hanging with her friend, and Juliet was out with the hunky Tristan. Under normal circumstances, Juliet could be counted on to bring Sammy back to their cabin before Kids' Zone closed. But these weren't normal circumstances. Emma had peeked into the Lizard Lounge to find her sister talking to the SEAL with a look on her face Emma didn't recall seeing her sister wear before.
Juliet was used to men. She dealt with hardnosed cops and smartass lawyers on a daily basis. But none of them had ever caught her interest—which Tristan apparently had, whether her sister wanted to admit to it or not.
Furthermore, Jeremiah's absence had been glaring. If he hadn't shown up by then, he wasn't going to. His decision to avoid her made her want to throw in the towel on having fun.
With no desire to hamper Juliet's good time, she'd returned to her cabin, stopping at the ship's library on the way back to check out a book. Then she'd changed into her nightie and started reading. It had been easy to lose herself in the non-fiction account of the Mayan culture, especially since she would soon be visiting the ruins of Tulum.
But with the hour so late and Juliet still out, Emma supposed she ought to dress again and fetch Sammy from Kids' Zone just in case Juliet found herself... indisposed.
"After all, what happens on a cruise ship stays on a cruise ship," Emma muttered, squashing a prick of envy.
As she slipped into the sundress she'd worn earlier that day, she was conscious of the faint rocking of the ocean under her feet. It was hard to believe the Escapade was surging across the waters of the Gulf. Harder still to grasp that Jeremiah Winters was aboard this same floating cosmos, bound for the same sandy shores.
Of their own accord, her thoughts drifted back to the day they'd become acquainted. She'd been sitting at her desk in her office at GMU grading essays. A knock at the open door had drawn her gaze to where he'd stood with his backpack over one shoulder and an easy grin on his face.
"Hello," she'd said. "Mr. Winters, right?" That early in the semester, she could only recall his last name from her class roster.
"Jeremiah," he'd reminded her. "It said on the syllabus that you have office hours now?"
"Yes. Come on in. Have a seat."
He'd dropped into the chair next to her desk stretching his longs legs out before him.
"How can I help you?"
Unzipping his backpack, he'd pulled out their text book.
"I've been reading some of the poems we skipped over." He'd cast her a sheepish smile. "And I really wanted to talk to you about these."
With long, sensitive looking fingers, he'd flipped to the section allotted to William Wordsworth and pointed to a collection of poems entitled Ode on Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood.
"They reminded me of William Blake's Songs of Innocence." His eyes shone with introspection as he lifted them to her. "This one especially." Reading it, he offered his interpretation. "Or am I way off?" he'd asked.
"Not at all. That's an excellent comparison." She'd noted his shaped thumb nail.
"You play the guitar?" she guessed.
Pleasure lit his hazel eyes. "Yes, do you?"
"No, only piano. But I listen to guitar music all the time, especially Brazilian."
"Do you know Baden Powell?" he asked.
"Of course." She marveled that the young man had even heard of the deceased musician. "He was the best classical guitar player who ever lived. I love his music."
"I have every song he ever recorded on my iPod," he attested.
"No way. And I have all of his CDs," she said, thinking that fact highlighted their age difference.
His mobile mouth quirked at one corner. "You're not much older than I am."
What an odd thing to say! Had he read her mind? She laughed self-consciously. "Oh, no? How old are you?"
"Twenty-two."
"You didn't go to college straight out of high school?"
"No, I backpacked through Europe doing odd jobs."
"Lucky you." She'd been to Europe on her honeymoon and had ached to return ever since.
He looked down at the book. "I am lucky. My parents insisted on it. Traveling puts everything I'm studying into perspective."
"Are you an English major?"
"Philosophy with a minor in French. But I really like your class."
"Well, if anything else in the textbook grabs your imagination, come by and discuss it with me. I'm always available at this time," she invited.
"Awesome." He started to put his book away then stopped and looked her in the eye. "You didn't say how old you are."
His deep-set, slightly tapered eyes seemed to be teasing her.
"Twenty-eight," she'd said, wishing she were younger—and not married.
"Do you believe in soul mates?"
Surprise had kept her tongue-tied.
"You said in class the other day that Wordsworth and his sister were considered soul mates. That made me wonder if you believe in them."
Her thoughts ha
d gone to Eddie, whom she'd met in her junior year as an undergrad. Having lost both her parents two years prior, she had latched onto him with relief. He was steady and reliable. But she wouldn't have called him her soul mate so much as her pillar of strength.
"I guess so. I teach Romantic lit, after all," she'd said, though she'd explained on the first day of class that the term "romantic" had nothing to do with romance.
Standing up, he'd slung his backpack over his shoulder and sent her a slow smile that put a dimple in his left cheek. "Great," he'd said. "See you in class." And then he'd turned and walked out of her office.
Rousing from her daydream, Emma slipped her feet into her sandals and left the cabin to get her daughter. She hadn't taken five steps down the hallway when the object of her obsession rounded the corner up ahead of her. They both slowed to a stop. Their gazes locked.
"Hi," she said, starting forward again.
He did the same. "You decided not to go," he stated. The breadth of his shoulders seemed to block the light from the recessed lighting in the ceiling overhead.
How could he know that, unless...? "Well, I saw that you weren't there, so I decided not to intrude on their tête à tête," she explained, deciding she might as well be honest.
His mobile mouth gave a sardonic twist. "That's pretty much what I did, too."
So, he had showed up. But he seemed distracted, like something else was troubling him. Had he been thinking of her just now, the way she'd been thinking of him?
He took a sudden step toward her, making her gasp softly. Then it struck her. After all these years, he still smelled the same—like balsam.
Raising a hand, he startled her by stroking the side of her face with fingers that used to be smooth but were now lightly callused. His touch elicited a response deep down inside. Nearly overwhelmed, she backed against the side of the corridor's paneled wall, and he followed, not losing the connection of his fingers to her skin.
She tried to keep her eyes open, to stare into his hazel and gold-flecked gaze, but he was moving closer, and she had to slam her eyelids shut to stop him from seeing how vulnerable she felt.
"English," he grated, calling her by the nickname he'd once given her. And then he lowered his head and crushed her mouth under his.
His intensity electrified her. He kissed with a desperation she didn't understand, pressing his lips to hers with a mix of frustration and anguish. Imprisoned by the vortex of his emotion, all she could do was reel under his power.
But then a child's voice floated toward them, causing him to release her suddenly. Emma straightened, moving away from the wall and a step away from Jeremiah, just as Juliet rounded the corner with Sammy in tow. Her heart pounded erratically as they approached her.
Jeremiah had already moved past her, continuing toward his cabin.
Emma forced herself to ignore him while gathering her composure.
"Thanks for fetching her," she said to her sister, surprised by the hoarseness of her own voice. "I hope you didn't cut your evening short."
Juliet divided a discerning gaze between her flushed face and Jeremiah's retreating back. "No problem."
"Did you have a good time, honey?" Emma focused on her daughter as she led them all into their room.
"Awesome! I want to go again tomorrow."
"I think that's possible." She kept her tone upbeat, while confusion stormed her heart. Why the turbulent kiss? Was something serious troubling him? Or was he simply exploring what had been between them to see if it still existed?
"Sorry about my timing," Juliet said under her breath.
"No problem," Emma replied, supplying the same response her sister had used a moment before. But if that kiss hadn't been interrupted, where would it have led?
To heartache, of course. She was glad Juliet had rescued her. Her attraction for Jeremiah obviously hadn't dwindled in five years. If anything, his maturity made him that much more appealing. But knowing what she knew now about love, she'd be a fool to get involved with him again.
Chapter 4
Popping the last bite of toast into his mouth, Jeremiah realized Emma's sister, Juliet, was headed toward his and Tristan's table. Scanning the Fiesta Galley for Emma, he found her taking a seat on the other side of the buffet-style cafeteria. Just then, she glanced up. Their gazes collided, giving rise to a high-voltage charge that zapped him to his toes.
Emma jerked her gaze toward her daughter, pretending indifference, but color that bloomed in her cheeks heartened him.
Maybe his impulsive kiss the night before hadn't scared her away. Wearing a white sundress and backlit by a window filled with sky and sea, her beauty called to him.
He should not have kissed her so intently, letting his frustration over the impending doom he sensed get the better of him. Not only that, but he'd violated his resolve to wait for her to make the first move. His aggressive behavior might have pushed her away irrevocably.
"Hi." Juliet laid a tray of pastries and coffee on the glossy wood surface, then sent him a pointed smile. He immediately pushed back his chair.
"Oh, you don't have to leave," she protested insincerely.
"Bye." Tristan shot him a grin.
Picking up his coffee, Jeremiah headed doggedly toward Emma's table. He wished he could explain his premonitions to her without scaring her. He owed her an apology for kissing her so roughly last night. But, more than that, he felt compelled to raise her awareness of the threat barreling down on them. After all, she had her daughter to think of.
"With all this food available, you're eating Raisin Bran?" Emma asked Sammy. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Jeremiah heading for her table, and her pulse doubled its beat.
"Unh-unh. I'm having ice cream next."
With an inward sigh, Emma swallowed her protests. Sammy was already dressed in her swimsuit intending to spend her morning in the pool. A scoop of ice cream wouldn't do her a bit of harm.
"Mind if join you?" The SEAL loomed over them carrying a cup of coffee and wearing an apologetic expression.
Sammy glanced up in surprise.
"Not at all." Emma moved her tray making room.
He dropped into the chair across from hers, and their knees bumped, keeping her pulse erratic.
"Hi," he said to her daughter.
"Sammy, this is Jeremiah Winters." Emma made a formal introduction, though they'd met in the safety drill. "He used to be a student of mine."
Jeremiah held out a hand to her, but Sammy ignored it in order to smother a burp.
"Excuse me," she exclaimed, sounding so prim in contrast to the belch that he laughed. "Can I go to the pool now?" she implored.
"I thought you were going to have ice cream," Emma said, pained by her daughter's rudeness.
"I'm going to take it to the pool and eat it there," Sammy declared, jumping up.
"Don't forget your pool bag." Emma snatched it off the floor and handed it to her. "And you need to put on sunscreen first thing, especially on your nose and shoulders."
Sammy took the bag and scampered off without another word.
Emma hid her chagrin behind a sip of orange juice.
"How long have you been divorced?"
The unexpected question caused her to choke on a swallow. With citrus burning her throat, she put her glass down and met his gaze. "Almost three years."
He looked away toward Sammy's disappearing form. "Is she still close to her father?"
"Not really. He moved out of state. She sees him two weeks a year."
He looked back at her and frowned. "I'm sorry to hear that."
He had to be wondering how the man she'd chosen to be loyal to could have dumped her and left their daughter, too. It was the question of the century.
"And I'm sorry about last night," he added, catching her off guard a second time.
Unexpected hurt pricked her. "Are you?"
He searched her guarded expression. "Not really," he admitted, then offered her a devilish little smile that chased her hur
t away. He leaned toward her, pitching his voice lower. "There's something I want to talk to you about. Would you walk with me?"
Excitement swamped her. She knew she ought to keep her distance, but she couldn't seem to help herself. "Sure."
They pushed their chairs back simultaneously. Having learned that the ship's staff would clean up, she left what remained of her breakfast and walked next to him toward the exit. Conscious of the lightweight cotton dress she wore, she brushed past him as he opened the door for her, pausing to slip on a pair of sunglasses.
"I think we need to go up," he said, indicating the exterior stairs.
As they ascended side by side, she realized they'd never actually done anything together. Their encounters had been limited to the four walls of her office; their adventures had been vicarious and cerebral. Well, mostly cerebral. Losing themselves in books, they had traveled in space and time, but they'd never taken so much as a walk together—until now.
Feeling invigorated, she glanced over at him. "What's up here?"
"The sports court."
She looked around as it came into view. Near the front of the ship, a running track hemmed in a blacktop area for basketball and other sports. A high net kept loose balls from sailing over the railings into the sea or—worse yet—into the open-air dining area below them.
"It also provides a landing pad for helicopters," he added as they turned and followed the track.
The random fact struck her as significant. "Where'd you find out that information?"
He shrugged. "In my discussion with the security officer."
She cocked her head. "You've talked to the security officer? What for?"
"Only briefly. He wasn't very forthcoming," he admitted. "SEALs are big on safety," he added in answer to her question.
"I see." He had mentioned his profession out loud, perhaps because they had the track to themselves, and the sports court stood empty under a dazzling sun. Feeling the wind whip her hair into tangles, she reached up to restrain it. Jeremiah slowed his step. Through the dark lenses of his sunglasses, his gaze touched upon her upturned face, heightening her self-consciousness as she twisted the length of her hair into a knot.
Friendly Fire (The Echo Platoon Series, Book 3) Page 4