by Leigh Barker
As she stepped on board, he took her in his arms and kissed her. He leaned back and beamed a smile at her.
“It’s a tradition.”
She caught her breath. “That’s how you greet all the women who come on board?”
“No. It’s a new tradition. I just invented it.” The smile.
She watched his deep dark eyes crinkle playfully.
“I like it,” she said, smiling back, “providing it’s a tradition that goes home with me.”
He led the way forward to the double glass doors. “Let’s not talk about home. You’ve just got here and there’s lots to do.”
She stepped into the stateroom, and stopped. It was like something she’d seen in the movies. Rosewood paneled walls, white leather couch, and acres of glass and chrome. Not at the top of the class for taste, but way up there for costing a fortune, and looking like it.
He handed her a tall drink that clinked with ice. She sipped it and looked up.
“Good.”
“Yes, Baxter makes a mean mojito.”
She looked at the doors. “Baxter? Ghastly shirt?”
He grinned and she had to look away in case he saw her wobble.
“Yes, thought it would brighten up your arrival.”
“It did.” Now she smiled. “Didn’t brighten his, though.”
“Baxter can be a little…British.”
The engines started and the yacht moved gently away from its mooring. She drifted to the front of the room and looked out of the huge windows at Port St. Charles, the rolling Caribbean and azure sky. And sighed.
“Yes, it is,” he said, as he stepped close up behind her.
“I was thinking this is what heaven must look like.”
“Yes, it is,” he repeated, and put his arms under hers and around her waist, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Then he stepped back. “Now, I guess you’d like to freshen up and change into something…easier.”
She looked down at her black off-the-shoulder dress. “Don’t you like it?”
He nodded. “Very much, but not great for swimming, I’d guess.”
“Swimming?” She hadn’t thought about that. No swimsuit.
He swept his hand towards a door and led the way out of the stateroom into a cabin that was as big as a bridal suite. She wished she hadn’t thought that.
“This is your cabin,” he said, and looked around as if he hadn’t seen it before.
“And yours?”
He stepped back out of the doorway and pointed. “Next door.” A little chuckle. “In case you need something.”
She shook her head and shared the chuckle. He closed the door. There was a swimsuit laid out on the bed. The smallest thing she’d ever seen. She held it up. Looked like fine silk panties, but smaller. And the top? She put it across her and frowned. Looked like a perfect fit, not that it mattered, because it was going to fall off as soon as she moved. And white? Transparent the moment she hit the water. She looked at herself in the wall mirror. True, but wasn’t that the whole point?
She took a long shower, which struck her as nutty since she’d be swimming in the Caribbean pretty soon, but it was somehow symbolic, washing the city off her skin. And out of her head.
The yacht heaved to as she put on the tiny white bikini. They’d been sailing for only half an hour, it didn’t seem possible to have found a place to swim so soon, but of course in these waters, half an hour was twenty-nine minutes longer than necessary. She tied the laces to hold the small triangle of silk and looked in the mirrored wall again. Not bad, a bit pale skinned, but not bad. She drew her stomach in a little and pushed out her chest. Then let them be what they had to be. She’d never be able to keep it up, so no point setting the bar too high to start.
Christian was standing on the foredeck and turned as she came out of the stateroom. The evening sun reflected off the pale blue sea and underlit his toned body. He was just…she looked out to sea quickly, then back once she’d pulled herself together. He was just gorgeous. She couldn’t help thinking it. Like some silly kid. His body was as toned as an athlete’s, tall, sinewy, muscled and tanned all over, from what she could see, and there wasn’t much she couldn’t. He wore white swimming trunks, which spoke volumes for his confidence. She tried not to look at them. And failed.
“This is a good spot, yes?”
She snatched her gaze up and looked out at the sparkling sea lapping against the hull. Clear enough to see the multicolored fish and the reef below.
“Yes, better than the gym pool.” She nodded confirmation and stepped up to the rail. “Do we jump?”
He laughed, deep and full of fun. “If you like. I’m going to use the steps.”
She followed him to the other side and waited while he lifted the rail and stepped out onto a platform above steps reaching down into the water. She stepped up next to him and jumped.
As she surfaced through the bubbling warm water, she heard him follow her, and a moment later he was beside her and pointing down. She shook her head. Deep enough, thanks.
He kicked and dove, elegant and effortless towards the reef twenty feet below. She kicked and surfaced, then put her face in the water and watched him somersault at the reef and come back up, his arms outstretched above his head and his legs kicking, controlled and easy.
He surfaced next to her and shook his head, his long black hair showering her with salty water. “Race?”
She frowned. “Race? I don’t think—”
He dipped his head and took off in an easy deceptive crawl away from the yacht and towards the white sandy shore.
What the hell? She followed him, her crawl more powerful than his, telling of hours of lengths in the gym, trying to keep time at bay.
They arrived at the beach at the same moment, and she wondered if that was the fluke it appeared to be, or the act of a gentleman. Not really a question.
The sand was warm and they walked slowly along the water’s edge in silence, listening to the surf and looking up at the coconuts ripening in the trees that blocked the world from view.
He let her get a few paces ahead before speaking. “You really are a beautiful woman, Melissa. I wish I’d told you that sooner.”
She stopped and turned, and waved a hand to mask her surprise. No one had told her she was beautiful in a very long time. Okay, at the office Christmas party a few times. Some drunk hoping to get an easy lay from the sad woman. But not out in the open, sober. She felt a tremble run through her and turned and walked on.
A beautiful woman, the words replayed in her head and she looked left as he caught up.
“And you, Christian Carter, are a beautiful man.”
He laughed the laugh, stepped away and looked himself up and down theatrically. “I am what you see.”
“I like what I see.”
“Then,” he said, stepping up and putting his hands on her forearms, “we share a mind.”
He kissed her, but not like the last time, the first time. He folded her into his arms, laid her against his shoulder and bent his face to hers very slowly. Their lips met and a charge as real as electricity rippled through her body, over her shoulders, through her stomach, to the tiny triangle of white silk, now completely transparent.
He dipped, scooped her up and carried her up the beach as if she weighed nothing, as if she was young. Her mouth was dry and her heart pounded in her chest so hard she thought he must surely be able to hear it. She closed her eyes and felt the palm leaves beneath her as he lowered her gently onto the sand. She didn’t open her eyes. What if he was leaving? What if he didn’t like what he saw? What if…
She felt him kneel beside her. Felt his hand move across her back. And the warm breeze on her bare breasts. His other hand popped the knots below and her bikini fell.
She opened her eyes slowly as she felt him move. He was leaving. It had been a cruel joke.
He was naked beside her, his dark eyes lost in the bright sunshine, but his face soft and gentle as he took her in his arm
s.
“Sand gets everywhere,” she said, as she tied the knots of her bikini bottom. She couldn’t take her eyes off his naked bronzed body. No white places. No fat places. Perfect.
“So they say,” he said. He sat up. “I’m hungry.”
She thought about it. “Yes, me too.” She smiled at him. “Must be the exercise.”
He laughed. “Not just beautiful,” he said, touching her naked breast with his fingertips, “but energetic! And flexible.”
They laughed together, and she tried not to think, Oh my god! What was I thinking doing that?
“Do you feel like swimming back to the Barracuda?”
She looked down the beach and towards the yacht sitting on its perfect reflection in the crystal water. No, not really. “If that’s what you want.”
“I rather thought I’d go back in that.” He pointed at the RIB with its nose up onto the beach. “But if you’d rather swim.”
“Boat will be fine.” She brushed sand off her shoulders and knees and followed him to the water’s edge.
“I’ll have Baxter serve dinner as soon as we get back,” he said, as he held the inflatable tender and put out his hand for her.
She stepped into the boat and sat in the leather-backed seat. A moment later they were skimming across the sea at what felt like a hundred miles an hour. And in another moment, the tender dropped its nose and edged up to the yacht’s ladder. Once again Christian stepped off onto the platform, steadied the tender and put out his hand.
“Shall we say thirty minutes in the Horizon Room?” He helped her onto the platform. “Time for us to get rid of some of the sand.” He smiled. “It gets everywhere.”
Twenty minutes later she sat on the bed and looked at her watch for the tenth time. Every wish, every dream she’d had since she was a child had all come together in one unbelievable package. Christian.
She got up and crossed to the window and looked across the bay to the palm-shaded beach and smiled. And some. She should pinch herself to be sure it really wasn’t a dream, but that would mark her skin, and the dress she’d found laid out on the bed would show a mark just about anywhere. It was a beautiful creation. The bodice was white tulle, beaded to cover only what was absolutely necessary, and the tiny skirt was nude-lined to maximize the allure while maintaining her dignity and elegance. She turned and smoothed the dress in front of the mirror. Thousand dollars at least. She scolded herself for putting a price on something so beautiful, something so far away from her life, it might as well have been alien.
Where was the Horizon Room? She was going to look pretty stupid trying all the doors on the big ship…yacht. She felt a flush of panic and looked around in the hope there might be a map pinned to the wall, like the fire escape route in a hotel. Stupid.
There was a gentle knock at the door and Baxter spoke softly through it. “I’m to escort you to the Horizon Room, madam.”
She straightened her cocktail dress and checked it in the mirror to make sure nothing was about to fall out, then opened the door and smiled at the stern-faced man. But at least he’d lost the Hawaiian shirt and was now wearing a light cotton collarless shirt of Middle Eastern style. She nodded. “Christian?”
“Yes, madam. Mr. Carter suggested I might be more comfortable in…this.” He flicked the front of his shirt with the back of his fingers, speaking a thousand words.
“You look…err…very comfortable.”
“Yes, madam, I’m sure I do.” He stepped away from the door. “This way, madam.” He led the way through the stateroom.
His shirt, his comfortable shirt, was slightly too big for him, and Melissa looked at him for the first time, and realized she’d committed the act she detested in people on the Hill. She hadn’t seen the man, just the servant. That was awful.
“What’s your name, Baxter?” Time to put it right.
“Baxter, madam.”
“No, your real name.”
He slowed and looked back, his eyes wide with the sort of shock and confusion a rabbit shows in a car’s headlights. “Norman, madam, but I don’t think—”
“Rubbish, I shall call you Norman.”
“As you wish, madam.”
“And stop calling me madam, it makes me sound like a brothel keeper.”
“Yes, madam.” He turned and walked ahead.
She wondered what that meant. Did he think she was a brothel keeper, or did he mean he’d stop calling her madam? Well, she’d find out soon enough.
He led the way out of the stateroom, up a flight of broad steps to the next deck and opened a cabin door and stepped back. “The Horizon Room, madam.”
Well, that answered that question. She stepped into the room. And gasped. Three of the four walls were glass, floor to ceiling. Or should that be deck to something? She wasn’t a sailor, so floor to ceiling would do. The view was breathtaking. She walked forward without thinking and looked around slowly.
“My god, that’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen!”
Christian stepped up beside her and put his hand around her waist. “The horizon from the Horizon Room.” He pointed to his right. “Bridgetown.”
“If this was my yacht, I’d never go ashore.” She turned to face him. “And I’d never ever go back to Washington.”
He shrugged. “You get used to it.”
“I doubt that.”
“It’s true. Like a new car. First week you notice the smell, the feel, the seats. Second week, it’s just a car. Same with a yacht.”
She could see that, reluctantly.
“I believe the expression Baxter would use is, dinner is served.” He waved her towards a round table covered with a dazzlingly white tablecloth, and held the seat for her.
She sat down. And checked her dress was still in place, though it was less important now.
He sat to her right so he didn’t block her view. “Interesting you should bring up Washington.” He lifted a bottle of wine and raised an eyebrow questioningly.
“White?”
“Yes, from the Cote D’Or.” He turned the bottle and looked at the label, as if he hadn’t seen it before. “Musigny Grand Cru.” He shrugged.
“Sounds nice.” She was already a little heady, wine would be just fine. Even one from the Cote D’Or. A white.
She sipped the wine. Held up the glass and frowned. “It is nice.”
“Yes, Domaine Georges Roumier make a passable table wine.” He smiled at some private joke.
“Oh, forgive me.” He waved his hand. “You said you were hungry?” He put his fingers on the tabletop and it moved slowly round until a huge plate was in front of her.
Baxter appeared, pushing a small trolley, as if he’d been signaled. He placed another plate on the big one, with a silver dome covering its contents. Then he repeated this for Christian, waited for a nod, and swooped the covers off.
Black fish eggs.
She looked up at Christian and forced a smile. “Caviar?”
“Beluga, madam,” Baxter informed her, with just a little tilt of his head.
She tasted it. Wasn’t too bad, bit salty. She took a long drink of wine.
Baxter coughed and Christian waved him away.
She looked out of the windows at the sun streaking the sky with crimson fire. “How can you bear to spend time in Washington when you have this?”
“Had my business not taken me to Senator Wakeman’s office, we would never have met.” The smile. “And that would have been a loss beyond measure.”
“But we did.” She lifted her wine glass, remembered Baxter’s reaction and sipped it slowly. “And I thank the Fates for that.”
He nodded. “Yes, but I’m afraid my visits to Washington are at an end.”
She almost dropped her long-stemmed glass, recovered and put it down gently. “Why? What’s happened?”
He shrugged and looked out at the ocean. “You remember my company’s bid for the IED detector?”
She did, of course. “The committee is minded towards a
nother design.”
“Well, if General Dynamics get the go-ahead, then I’ll have no reason to come to Washington.” He sighed.
She felt her heart sink and her mouth was suddenly dry. She took a sip of wine. “It hasn’t been decided yet, has it?” She was frowning. She lifted her glass for something to do to calm her tumbling thoughts.
“No, but with three members of the committee opposed to my bid, I’m afraid it’s as good as dead.”
“I’m so sorry.”
He smiled, but the light had faded. “Not your fault, darling.”
She almost choked on her wine, but recovered without making a scene.
“I’ve tried to find out who the dissenters are. The rest of the committee support my bid. But it appears these three are the real movers.”
“Yes,” she said without thinking. Her mind was replaying the word, and her heart was in agony at the thought of never seeing him again.
He frowned heavily and leaned across the table to take her hand gently in his. “Do you know who these members are?”
She started to speak, to say what she was supposed to say, but her eyes met his and a rushing sound filled her ears as she saw a hope and threw herself at it. “Yes, I do.”
He nodded once and leaned back in his chair, releasing her hand. “I would never ask you to break a confidence. Please, enjoy your caviar.”
She looked at the fish eggs. Beluga caviar. Then she looked up at him. “General Davy, but he was murdered. Congressmen Bernstein, and…Senator Wakeman.” She sighed. There, done. No bolt of lightning.
He closed his eyes and took a long breath. “Wakeman. I should’ve known.”
“Is there anything you can do to persuade them to change their position?” She sounded desperate.
“I don’t know. I’ll need to think about a solution. If a solution there is.”
“There’s always a way.”
“Yes, I think you’re probably right.” He smiled, and the light was back. “We have come this far. May I ask you one more favor?”
“Yes, of course. Anything.”
“It is a very big ask. Are you sure?”
“I said anything…darling.”
He leaned forward again and took her hand. “Will you listen for me?”