by Ginna Gray
"Okay, straighten up! Kick and swing! That's it. Six. Seven. Eight. Good, ladies! Very good! Now we're really gonna move. It's time for a Tom Jones!"
The music throbbed on. Following the woman's lead, without missing a beat Joanna spread hex legs, stretched her clasped hands above her head and rotated her hips in time to the sensuous rhythm.
Sean's breath hissed in sharply. Dammit to hell!
Clenching his jaw, he turned on his heel and stomped out.
From the corner of her eye, Joanna watched him go. Good riddance! she told herself firmly. She was glad he was gone. Sean Fleming could go butt a stump for all she cared.
But deep down Joanna knew that she was just using anger as a shield. Sean's attitude hurt. She hadn't expected him to fall madly in love with her, but neither had she expected him to treat her with such obvious dislike.
A surge of self-pity tightened Joanna's throat. Determinedly, she swallowed hard against the unwanted emotion and threw herself into the dance with renewed zeal.
* * *
An hour later, Joanna stood at the rail, watching as the ship glided into the harbor. Color. Serenity. She had always felt they were the two words that best described St. Thomas. The island rose gracefully from the sapphire sea in rolling green mountains. Ringing it like lace trim on the edge of a lady's full skirt were curving white sand beaches. At that distance Joanna couldn't see them, but from previous visits she knew that flowers of infinite variety and hue abounded on those verdant slopes. Ahead, the town of Charlotte Amalie spilled over the foothills and nudged the harbor, its red-roofed white buildings sparkling in the morning sun.
As the ship edged in close to the pier Joanna leaned her elbows on the railing and peered over the side and watched as the men on the dock hustled to secure the fines the seamen tossed out. She had never arrived at the island by ship before, and she was fascinated by the docking procedure.
Her grandfather had had a house on St. John. Occasionally, when she had been much younger, she and her parents had used it as a weekend getaway. Although mostly, Joanna recalled with a touch of sadness, it had been just she and her mother. On those times, though, they had always flown into St. Thomas and taken a boat across to St. John.
While they were lowering the gangway Mary and Charles Wright joined Joanna by the rail. "Isn't it simply beautiful?" the older women declared excitedly. "Oh my, I can hardly wait to get started."
Joanna smiled. "On what? Sightseeing or shopping?"
"Both. We're going to take one of the island tours and when it's over the driver will drop us off in the shopping district."
"Since this is a duty free port Mary feels honor bound to take advantage of the bargains," Charles said in a long suffering tone. "And I'm going along to make sure she doesn't 'save' me too much money."
"Oh, you." Mary gave him a poke in the ribs, but the affectionate sparkle in her eyes belied her reproachful expression. Turning back to Joanna with a smile, she said, "If you're going ashore, we'd be happy to have you join us, my dear."
As little as an hour ago, Joanna would have politely refused Mary's invitation. She had seen the island many times, and since she was fairly certain that Sean would be going ashore, she had thought it best that she stay on board, out of his way. But not now. After their run-in at the gym she'd be darned if she would curtail her movements on his account. Besides, after that strenuous early morning workout and a hot shower, she felt invigorated, eager to be doing something.
"Thank you very much. I'd like that."
Their tour bus turned out to be a stretch limo, which they shared with five other cruise passengers, one of whom was Tony. The driver, a gregarious young man in his mid-twenties named Hugo, could easily have earned his living as a comedian. As he took them around the island he kept up a running commentary, an intermingling of history, folklore and local gossip that had everyone laughing.
Bluebeard's Castle was their first stop.
"It's a hotel now," Hugo explained as Joanna and the Wrights stepped out onto the terrace beneath the old stone tower. "But in the old days it was the stronghold of Bluebeard, one of the pirates that operated in the Caribbean. This is also where he brought his wives. No one is certain just how many he had, but it's said he murdered all of them." Hugo flashed a toothy grin. "Now the Castle is a favorite place for honeymooners."
Joanna looked up at the round stone tower and shivered: Much of its rough surface was covered with ancient vines whose stems were as thick and woody as small trees. Among them scurried huge lizards, anywhere from nine to eighteen inches long. The feel of age and history about the place was intriguing, but it definitely was not her idea of a romantic honeymoon retreat.
"Brrrrr. How gruesome. Can you imagine?" Mary shuddered delicately and urged Joanna away from the tower. When they reached the low wall at the edge of the terrace her face brightened. "Well now, I'll say one thing for the old pirate. He may have been hell on women, but he sure knew how to pick a view."
Joanna laughed. "Somehow I doubt that was his prime reason for building on this particular spot."
"You're right," Tony concurred, as he and Charles joined them. "It wasn't the aesthetic appeal so much as military strategy that prompted Bluebeard to choose this spot. From here he could see any ship long before it entered the bay and blast it out of the water once it did."
The majestic three-hundred-year-old structure overlooked the harbor and the red rooftops of Charlotte Amalie. From where they stood they could see two white cruise ships docked at the pier, and another one, too large to enter the harbor, anchored just beyond the bay.
Joanna ran her fingertips over the cool surface of the ancient cannon embedded in the wall and gazed down at the blue waters. The island was peaceful and serene now, but she had no trouble imagining it as it had been all those centuries ago when pirates had ruled that part of the world.
"Say, isn't that Sean over there?" Charles said, craning his neck to see around a group of people.
Stiffening, Joanna turned slowly, but it took her a few minutes to spot Sean in the milling crowd that filled the terrace. He was with a group of people making their way toward the exit. Clinging possessively to his arm was Gloria.
Tony grinned down at her, delighted by her sudden show of friendliness. "Blow in my ear, and I'll follow you anywhere, gorgeous," he murmured. "The North Pole. Darkest Africa. The moon." He paused a beat, then added hopefully, "Your cabin. Mine."
Joanna gave him a droll look. "The earring counter will do for now," she said repressively.
"And later?"
"Not a chance."
"Heck! I was afraid you'd say that."
Laughing at his woebegone expression, Joanna led him toward the back of the store.
Why do you still let it bother you? she thought despairingly. You should have been over Sean long ago. By now you should be able to laugh at his little entanglements. Joanna smiled woodenly at something Tony said and pretended to study the tray of opal earrings. It's not fair. It's simply not fair. Infatuations aren't supposed to last this long.
* * *
Three hours later, Joanna watched from her suite as the ship pulled away from the harbor. Slowly, inexorably, the lush green island receded, becoming smaller and smaller. When it was nothing more than a tiny dot on the horizon, Joanna sighed and turned away from the window. She dropped down onto the sofa and picked up the novel that lay open on the coffee table, but after scanning only half a page she put it down. With a sigh, Joanna stood and walked aimlessly around the room. She felt tired, but strangely restless. She needed to be doing something.
Of course, you could join the Wrights and Tony for a drink in the lounge, she reminded herself. They had invited her when they returned to the ship a half hour ago, but, pleading tiredness, Joanna had retreated to her suite.
After buying the opal and diamond earrings for her mother and a bottle of fine brandy for Matt, she had spent several hours with the three of them, browsing among the shops along the main street and t
hose tucked away in the lush, garden-like alleys in Charlotte Amalie's shopping district. They were nice people and Joanna liked them, but she'd had enough of their company for a while.
But still, she had to do something. Something physical. Something that required concentration. Something that would take her mind off Sean and his redhead.
Joanna walked back to the coffee table and picked up the printed sheet that listed, the day's activities. After checking her watch, she ran a fingernail down the time column to four o'clock, and read through the choices available. "Bridge lessons, silk flower making, shuffle-board, astrology lessons, trapshooting, bingo..." Joanna's eyes backtracked. Trapshooting!
Her face brightened. "Perfect."
Joanna dropped the list back onto the coffee table and started eagerly for the door.
Trapshooting was done off the starboard side of the sun deck, near the stern. When Joanna arrived the ship's second mate, Mr. Ricci, and one of the crewmen were setting up the target thrower.
Joanna looked around, surprised to find she was the only passenger there. "Do you have to sign up for this in advance," she asked the officer, "or may I shoot now?"
"You may start just as soon as we get set up," he replied politely. "So far, you're the only one interested. I think everyone is tired from spending the day ashore."
When the crewman had the thrower ready Joanna paid her money and took her position by the rail.
"Have you ever fired a shotgun before?" Mr. Ricci asked, slipping two shells into the gun's magazine.
"Yes." Joanna bit back a smile. He was trying to be polite, but she could sense his uncertainty.
"Very well. You'll have eight shots altogether, two per gun. When you're ready you call 'pull' and crewman Belso will fire the thrower. While you're firing I'll load another gun for you, and after the second shot we'll trade. Are there any questions?"
"No, I understand."
Mr. Ricci worked the pump to feed a shell into the chamber and handed the shotgun to Joanna. She hefted it experimentally. Shouldering the gun, she sighted down the vent rib, testing for balance and fit. It was a plain-Jane model, but it wasn't at all barrel heavy, and it pointed perfectly. Satisfied, Joanna lowered the gun and turned to tell the officer she was ready—and froze when she saw Sean standing beside him, watching her.
"What are you doing here?" she blurted out angrily before she could stop herself.
"I came to shoot trap, the same as you."
"Since you and Mr. Fleming seem to be the only ones interested this afternoon, I suggest that you alternate shooting," Mr. Ricci put in. "A bit of friendly competition usually sharpens skills, I find."
Leaning a hip against the rail, Sean folded his arms over his chest and looked amused. "Suits me."
It had been on the tip of Joanna's tongue to refuse, but one look at Sean's face changed that. She tilted her chin defiantly and studied his complacent expression through narrowed eyes. "I'm game if Mr. Fleming is," she said finally.
"By all means." His smile deepening, Sean gestured for her to start. "Ladies first."
Joanna adjusted her stance and shouldered the shotgun. "Pull!"
The clay target sailed out from the ship, rising toward the bow. Sighting down the vent rib, Joanna swung the muzzle of the gun in a sweeping arc along the same path and pulled the trigger as the bead on the end of the barrel passed over the target. It exploded into dust at the same instant the gun recoiled against Joanna's shoulder. She pumped the gun and the empty shell ejected to the side.
"Pull!"
This time the clay disc flew out at an angle to the stern, caught a down draft and began to drop rapidly, but Joanna powdered it just before it hit the foaming wake.
She exchanged the empty gun for a full one, and without hesitation, shouldered it and called for another bird. In rapid succession, Joanna demolished the remaining six targets, clipping two and powdering the rest.
As the eighth disintegrated, she turned and calmly handed the shotgun to Mr. Ricci. Then she looked at Sean.
The smug amusement was gone from his expression. He stared at her, one brow cocked in faint surprise. Finally he dipped his head in acknowledgement and smiled wryly. "Good shooting."
"I'll say!" Mr. Ricci chimed in. "That was great!" He turned and grinned at Sean. "Looks like you've got your work cut out for you, Mr. Fleming."
Trying not to smile, Joanna stepped back and relinquished her place to Sean. As Joanna had done, for a moment he tested the gun for balance and fit, then shouldered it and called out, "Pull!"
With deadly accuracy, Sean proceeded to blast target after target, and with each hit Joanna's spirits dropped. By the time the eighth clay pigeon disappeared in a pool of smoke, she had gone from euphoric to grimly determined.
Handing the shotgun to the officer, Sean turned to her with a maddeningly polite smile and said, "Your turn, I think."
It was a direct challenge, one Joanna was more than willing to accept. Bruised feelings and a day of emotional turmoil had her nerves strung fine, and she was spoiling for a fight of some kind. For the moment, a contest of skill would do. Returning his smile with cool assurance, she stepped back into the firing position. As she accepted the shotgun she said offhandedly, "Let's make this round doubles, shall we? Just to make it interesting."
Crewman Belso emitted a low whistle as Mr. Ricci shot Sean an inquiring glance. "Very well. Doubles it is," he said when Sean nodded his agreement.
Concentrate, Joanna instructed herself, fitting the gun's recoil pad against her shoulder. Just keep your eye on the target and stay calm. Don't rush.
"Pull!"
Two birds sailed out over the water, one high and toward the bow, the other straight out from the side in a steady rise. Joanna swung the gun toward the first, fired, and a split second after it shattered, she pumped the action, and in a continuous motion, swung back to the right and picked off the second.
"Terrific!" Both the second mate and crewman called out in unison. Joanna let out her breath and felt some of the tension drain out of her. She traded guns and forced herself to concentrate.
Her soft voice, the shotgun blast, the metallic click and glide of the gun's precision action—for a while they were the only sounds. Steadily, repeatedly, Joanna called the terse, one-word command, fired, pumped the shotgun and fired again. When finished, she had hit fifteen of the sixteen targets.
It was not as good as she had hoped for and certainly not the best round she had ever shot, but it wasn't bad. When she turned to Sean her eyes issued a silent challenge. Top that, if you can.
Very quickly, it began to appear that he could. Joanna stood gripping the rail, her face calm as she watched Sean hit the first six targets without a bobble, but inside she was mentally kicking herself. Oh, Joanna, you fool. You shouldn't have missed that last bird. And you wouldn't have if you hadn't gotten overconfident.
The next two birds sailed out over the water in opposite directions, low and dropping fast. Sean got one, but the other splashed into the ocean just as he fired the second shot. Joanna had to bite her bottom Up to keep from cheering aloud.
The momentary exhilaration faded quickly though as he proceeded to powder the next six. Joanna didn't question why winning was so important to her. She only knew that it was. Tightening her fingers around the rail, she held her breath when Sean called for the last two birds.
He fired twice. The first clay disc shattered; the other whirled away and dropped into the ocean.
Stunned, for a moment Joanna couldn't believe it. Then a feeling of fierce satisfaction exploded inside her. She managed, just barely, to resist the urge to kick up her heels and whoop, but there was no hiding the triumph in her eyes when she turned to face Sean.
She had expected anger. Instead Sean flashed his devilish smile and looked her over in that lazily curious way of his. "Congratulations. Where the hell did you learn to shoot like that?"
"My father used to love to shoot trap and skeet. He taught me." She gave him a saccharine s
mile. "One of the advantages of being a spoiled rich brat."
Sean stared at her thoughtfully, but if he detected the wounded pride behind the challenging little barb, he said nothing. "How about a rematch?"
"Sorry. It's getting late, and I promised Tony I'd meet him for a drink before dinner." She started to leave, but Sean stopped her.
"Joanna... about this Tony character. What do you really know about him?""
"What do you mean?"
"Well....you seem to be spending a lot of time with him."
"No more than you are with Gloria," Joanna countered, beginning to feel the first stirrings of anger.
"Maybe. But the difference is, I'm old enough to handle a shipboard romance."
"Oh, I see. And I'm not, is that what you're saying?" Joanna was furious now. She couldn't believe his gall. "Well let me tell you something, Sean Fleming. I'm twenty-two years old, almost twenty-three, and well past the age of consent. So just mind your own business."
Sean watched her stomp away, his brows shooting upward. Bemused, his eyes traveled down her stiff back to the angry sway of her very womanly hips. Almost twenty-three. It wasn't a great age, true, but Joanna was right: she wasn't a child.
Which was exactly how he'd been thinking of her—as Claire's little girl. But Joanna was a young woman. A very attractive, very desirable young woman. Recalling the way her hazel eyes flashed with anger, the determined way she tilted her chin, Sean's mouth quirked up in a lopsided grin. She had her mother's pride and spunk, and that unbending, ladylike dignity he'd always admired.
But she's also mule stubborn and competitive as hell.
Sean discovered, to his surprise, that he found the combination very appealing.
Chapter Six
Sunrise at sea, Joanna decided, was an experience not to be missed. She leaned against the rail and watched the sky lighten from dusky blue, to mauve, to pink pearlescence. She watched the shafts of sunlight shoot out from the horizon, streaking the dark turquoise sea with gold. The world seemed to explode with color and light: silver edged clouds of lavender and crimson, dancing waves spangled with glittering sequins, an orange ball of flame rising against the deepening azure heavens. In the distance, the island of Antigua was a dark speck that grew steadily larger and greener as the ship plowed majestically through the heaving water. Enthralled, Joanna took it all in, mindless of the cool breeze or the salt spray that dewed her skin and gathered in tiny droplets in her hair.