It was then that she felt the first stirrings of sexuality deep inside her. They spread like fingers of fire throughout her body until every nerve end was aflame. Slowly her mouth parted beneath his, warm, yielding, and his hands tightened as his kiss became deeper.
When at last he let her go, Michelle took a long, shuddering breath and slowly opened her eyes. Guy was staring down at her, a strange, intent look in his eyes. Huskily he said, 'So now I know what you're good at, don't I? Your cabin or mine?'
'W-what? Still bemused, her head in a whirl, Michelle hardly took in what he was saying.
'I said your cabin or mine?'
Her eyes flew open. 'You—you mean you want me to go to bed with you?' she stammered, taking a step away from him.
That's the general idea,' he agreed calmly.
'But—but I can't!'
'Why not?'
Michelle stared at him, completely disconcerted by his calmness. In her experience; pleas for her to go to bed were usually given during hot, passionate embraces, her boy-friends so roused up that they were almost begging. And she enjoyed the power she had over them, the power to increase their misery by teasing them along a little and then saying no. But never before had any man shown so little reaction after a kiss or asked for—no, demanded—her body so coldbloodedly.
'Because I don't want to, that's why,' she shot back at him angrily.
'Yes, you do. The way you responded when I kissed you proved that beyond any doubt.'
'That—that isn't true.' She tried to say it firmly, but the uncertainty sounded even to her own ears. 'You took me by surprise, that's all.'
'Really?' His left eyebrow rose derisively. 'Well, you won't be taken by surprise this time, will you?'
'No! Don't!' But Michelle's protests were lost under his mouth as he pulled her to him again, more roughly this time, holding her arms imprisoned against his chest so that she was unable to break free. She tried to hold herself rigid, to deny him any response, but within seconds she felt the fire start to spread again and she trembled as his lips, warm and insinuating, forced hers apart. Sense and reason dissolved beneath the wonderful sensations he was arousing in her, she was lost to everything but the awareness of her own need to respond, to go on being held close against him. It was only when she felt his hand come up to caress her breast that some small degree of sanity returned and she pulled away, her breathing ragged and uneven, lips parted, her eyes suddenly frightened.
For a long moment they stared at each other, then Guy said curtly, 'Well?'
Vainly she sought for reasons, time. 'I—I don't know you.'
'That can soon be remedied,' he replied in harsh amusement.
Michelle flushed and there was a note of anger in her tone as she said, 'If you think a couple of kisses are enough to make me want to go to bed with you, then…'
'Oh, you want more? By all means, but I assure you that I can demonstrate far better in bed.' Guy stepped purposefully towards her and Michelle moved hastily away until brought up short by the door to the forward cabin.
'No! That isn't what I meant.' Defensively she put up her hands to ward him off.
'Then just what do you mean?' he demanded impatiently.
'Well, I… I…' She stared at him as he towered over her, a dark stranger whom she hardly knew and who now wanted to make love to her. A man who could disconcertingly rouse her body more quickly and to greater heights than she'd ever known before, but who betrayed absolutely no emotion himself, had uttered no word of endearment or need. 'Why?' The question was asked out of a need for reassurance more than anything else.
'Why?' His eyebrows flew up incredulously, then his mouth twisted into a derisive sneer. 'Let's just say that as we can't live on your cooking we might as well try living on love.'
Michelle's face paled at his tone. 'That isn't funny!' she snapped out.
'No, you're right, it isn't. Why the hell d'you think? You're a woman. You're available and I want you. That's all there is to it.'
She stared at him, open-mouthed, more .humiliated than she had ever felt in her life. Then two bright, angry spots of colour appeared in her cheeks and she drew herself up to face him defiantly. 'Well, that's just where you're wrong,' she spat at him. 'I'm not available to you now or at any time. You arrogant pig! If you think I even want you to—to touch me, then you're crazy! You're just a…'
Her voice was suddenly silenced as Guy's hand shot out and gripped her-shoulder. There was a grim, hard look in his dark eyes and for a moment she knew fear, real mind-bending fear as she realised his power and strength, that he only had to exert his will to make her do what he wanted. But then he said coldly, 'All right, I've got the message.' He let go of her and stepped back.
Hastily Michelle lowered her eyes, trying to hide the fear from him, but he must have been aware of it because he said scathingly, 'You crazy little fool.' Then, in a different tone, 'Are you going to work as crew or not?'
'No.' Stubbornly she shook her head.
'Okay, if that's the way you want it. But if you refuse to work your passage—either way—then you don't get a share of the food.'
Michelle looked at him in growing apprehension. 'What do you mean?' Surely he couldn't be that inhuman?
But it seemed he could. 'Quite simply this: if you-don't work, you don't eat.'
For a long moment his cool grey eyes challenged her angry hazel ones, then she snapped, 'Right, that suits me fine.' She went to walk past him, but he deliberately stood in her way for a few seconds longer as he let her see the look of contemptuous disbelief on his face, then he nonchalantly moved to one side and she was able to sweep past and leave him alone with his cold, uncooked meal.
Back in her cabin, Michelle flung herself down on the bunk, seething with anger. The arrogant, conceited swine! How dared he treat her like some cheap bed-hopping tart? Work her passage, indeed! God, she'd hardly stopped working from the minute he'd first found her on his rotten boat! She glared malevolently in the direction of the galley where she could hear him moving about, her thoughts vicious. Just who the hell did he think he was anyway? Why, he must be at least ten years older than she was, if not more. He was nothing but a dirty old man! The fact that she'd told him she was twenty-four she dismissed as irrelevant; he was still virtually a cradle-snatcher. He was more her parents' generation than hers, in fact her mother had had several lovers who were about Guy's age, if not younger, and…
Her thoughts came to an abrupt halt as a mental picture of Guy with her mother filled her mind. Was he the type that the beautiful Adele Verlaine would go for, would invite into the perfumed sanctum of her mirrored boudoir and into the silk-sheeted softness of her huge four-poster bed?
Somehow the thought grated and Michelle pushed it resolutely away, cursing the bad luck that had made the tide carry her to this boat of all the boats that must have been moored in the Thames estuary, that night. Anybody" else would have realised straight away that she wasn't used to having to work and would have been kind to her. But not Guy
Farringdon. Oh no, he had to either treat her like an unpaid servant, or demand that she share his bed—bunk. Well, he needn't think that he was going to intimidate her by his ultimatum! She'd rather starve to death than have him lay even a finger on her again.
She turned over and gazed unseeingly out of the window at the darkening sky, trying to keep her thoughts from remembering the way she'd felt when he'd kissed her, but it was no good, they kept straying back, and in the end she gave up trying, just let her mind wander where it would. Did all older men kiss like dial? she wondered. With such complete domination and expertise. Did the youths, whose wet, full-mouthed, breathless embraces that she fought off now, eventually turn into men like Guy whose hard-lipped kisses could arouse emotions inside her she'd never known existed? Somehow she doubted it; she could never imagine Guy as being the fumbling type at all, he was the sort of person who would become expert in everything he did, whether it was sailing a boat or making love to a woman.
the coast of America as they had to go to it on the way, and she had a vague idea that it took five days to sail from Southampton to New York, so,- as they had been travelling for near enough three days, they would reach Bermuda either tomorrow, or the day after. So it would be quicker to go on than to turn back anyway. What did they call it on aeroplanes— the point of no return?
For a while she dwelt in her imagination on the scene when she told the authorities in Bermuda who she was and they sent for her parents. And what a shock it would be for dial louse, Guy Farringdon, as well! Michelle drought lovingly of the humiliation he would feel when he realised how she had tricked him. Then he'd be sorry for propositioning her,, making her work so hard and go without food. She hadn't thought too much about that aspect of their quarrel yet; she could last out till tomorrow, of course, but if they didn't reach Bermuda until the day after… Resolutely she turned her thoughts away from food and tried to think about what she would say to her parents, but her mind kept swinging angrily back to her fight with Guy. If he thought she was going to give in he was mistaken; no way was she going to submit to his despotic manner or his sexual demands. Just because he was used to giving orders and everyone jumped to obey it didn't mean that he could bully her. And was he used to having women fall into his arms whenever he made a pass? Uneasily Michelle sat up, clasped her arms round her knees and rested her chin on them. She supposed there were some women who liked the autocratic type, who were content to be dominated. Not that she was, of course, she was a child of her times who believed that women were at least equal, if not superior, to the male sex. And that there were, she was willing to concede, some women who might even think Guy was attractive in a hard, lean-featured kind of way, although personally she thought him much too tough-looking to be handsome. But, all in all, she had no doubt that he had no difficulty in attracting women, especially' any woman that he really wanted.
Her droughts wandered then until the piquant aroma of hot food reached her nostrils and made her realise how hungry she was. The beast—he must have finished cooking the casserole. Damn the man! She'd show him that she wasn't to be browbeaten even if she did go hungry!
She lasted that night and all the next day, a day of increasing boredom in which she catnapped on her bunk and gazed out of the window and tried to ignore the protest noises her stomach was making. Every minute she expected land to appear on the horizon, but they travelled on over an empty sea without any sign of another ship or even a seabird to break the monotony. Several times she heard Guy in the galley and at breakfast and dinnertime the savory aroma of cooking food reached into her cabin and made her drool. Never before had she ever had to miss a meal, and she was amazed at how quickly she felt hungry.
In the evening she heard Guy whistling" in the bathroom as he prepared for bed, evidently quite impervious to the misery he was causing her. She lay in her bunk in the darkness, having showered and washed her underclothes earlier to try to take her mind off the fact that he was tucking into another huge meal. The pig! The rotten swine! Angrily she punched her pillow and turned restlessly on the bunk. Guy walked past her cabin on the way to his own and she heard him moving around in there for a while and the bunk creak as he heaved his big frame into it, then all was still and quiet except for the usual sounds of the sea and the boat, sounds that she was becoming more used to now and which didn't frighten her so much.
For what seemed like hours she lay there, unable to sleep, the pangs of hunger clawing at her stomach, thinking of all the lovely food that was just sitting out there, a! few feet away, in the galley. Suddenly Michelle could bear it no longer; she thrust aside the sleeping bag and, in the rays of moonlight coming through the window, found Guy's bathrobe and pulled it on to cover her nakedness. Then, walking on tiptoe even though her feet were bare, she crept over to the door, gently eased back the bolt and slowly opened it, praying that it wouldn't creak. Hardly daring to breathe, she padded silently down the corridor to the galley and let herself in, carefully shutting the door behind her before she turned on the light.
Once inside Michelle worked fast, cutting herself a thick ham sandwich and a chunk of yesterday's apple pie, then took a whole packet of cracker biscuits, butter and a large wedge of cheese from the fridge. She was going to need enough to last her for breakfast tomorrow too. She piled everything into a small box and a bottle of lemonade to wash it down with went under her arm, then she turned out the light and slowly opened the door. "All was quiet, there were no sounds other than natural ones. With a sigh of relief, Michelle carried her booty down the corridor, almost wishing that Guy snored. It would be worth having to listen to the noise, through the bulkhead during the night, to know that he was safely asleep now. Because her hands were full she had to shoulder her cabin door open and put the box and bottle on the floor while she quickly turned, shut the door and bolted it. Safe! With a little gleeful laugh of delight and triumph she turned on the light, reaching ravenously for the food.
'A midnight feast?'
Guy's sarcastic voice made her head jerk up and then freeze in stunned disbelief as she saw him leaning negligently against her bunk, bare-chested, wearing just a pair of jeans.
Straightening up, he went on, 'I knew you'd try this some time tonight. It's just the kind of sneaky trick you'd pull.' Two paces took him across the cabin to her side so that he could see into the box. 'As I said, quite a feast you've got there.' Slowly he lifted his head and looked at her, his eyes menacing. 'Now take it back.
Michelle found that she was held prisoner by his eyes, unable to look away even though she tried. Her heart had begun to pound and she instinctively took a step backwards.
'I—I thought you were asleep,' she stammered lamely.
His tone was dry as he replied, 'That's obvious.' He looked at her expectantly, and when she didn't move, added curtly, 'You heard me, take it back.'
'No.'
The denial just came out, without any conscious decision on Michelle's part, and disconcerted her far more than it did Guy.
His eyes narrowed and he took a step towards her. 'Are you trying to defy me?'
Too late, she tried to play on his sympathy. 'I'm hungry.
'It's your own fault. You know the terms.'
Somehow she dragged her eyes .away from his, but then found that she was looking at the broad expanse
of his smooth, tanned chest and lean, hard stomach and hastily raised her eyes again. Strange things were happening inside her and she felt curiously breathless and confused. To cover it she took refuge in anger.
'You have no right to dictate to me. I offered to pay my fare.'
'But not in any form that was acceptable to me. I don't want your money, I just want your services— one way or another.' His eyes travelled down her in insolent appraisal as he spoke, and, glancing down, Michelle saw that the bathrobe had loosened, opening almost down to her waist. Hastily she went to re-tie it, but Guy moved the box of food out of the way with his foot and said, 'Why bother?' and backed her against the door.
Michelle stared up at him, her eyes wide and scared, but completely fascinated, unable to move. She knew what was going to happen, but her throat felt so constricted that she couldn't speak, and all the strength seemed to have drained from her body, so that she could only lean against the door and wait as he deliberately reached out and put a finger behind th
e belt of the robe, slowly drew the ends apart until they opened and dropped to hang at her sides. The robe was too voluminous to reveal her body completely, but it opened enough to show him the enticing shadows of the curve of her breasts, and the gleam of light on one long, slim thigh.
Guy's eyes wandered down, unhurried, taking his time, while Michelle stood as though turned to stone, waiting, just waiting. He didn't say anything, just parted the robe a little more and put his hands inside to cup her breasts. A shudder of ecstasy and delight ran through her as she felt the firmness of his touch. She moaned and shut her eyes, her mouth parting sensuously. She knew that it was dangerous, that she ought to stop him, but she wanted him to touch her, wanted him to go on caressing, fondling, sending these waves of desire through her body. His fingers tightened as he felt her tremble, squeezed so that her breasts hardened and she let out a moaning gasp of pleasure. She moved voluptuously, finding his caresses so exciting that she could hardly bear it. Her skin felt as if it was on fire. Tiny beads of perspiration formed on her brow and on her upper lip. Slowly she opened her eyes,' heavy-lidded with desire, her breath ragged, sighing.
He wasn't looking directly at her. His eyes were intent on what he was doing as his hands expertly fondled and played with her, breasts. But then the sound of her breathing must have changed, or perhaps he felt her looking at him, because he looked up and their eyes met and held. There was no passion in his face; desire, yes, but that was physical, not emotional. And there was no pleasure; in fact his face looked almost stern, his lip drawn into a thin line, his jaw hard and determined. It was as if he had coldbloodedly set out to rouse her sensuality so that she would give herself to him willingly, but all his emotions were held under an iron control, giving nothing of himself in return, just taking her to satisfy his physical needs. It was almost as if he didn't really want to touch her, was only doing it because she had refused him the first time and he needed to inflame her senses to fever pitch to make her unable to resist him.
Sally Wentworth - The Sea Master Page 7