Destination Love
Gwynne Forster
With her sensual looks and free-spirited ways, Ashley Temple is the perfect agent for The Ladies Cartel, a secret crime-fighting organization. But her latest assignment—breaking up an illegal baby trafficking ring—is more than a job.It's personal. The stakes go sky-high when she teams up with FBI operative Elliot Morgan, a man so deep under cover he's off the radar. Life in the field is nothing compared to the adrenaline rush of passion and pleasure Elliot feels with Ashley. And when they pose as a happily married couple to stake out a suspicious adoption center, he knows he's in deeper than he's ever been. He can't risk falling for her—the danger's too great. But how can Elliot let Ashley go, when this sweet, sultry lady takes him beyond the point of no return?
“Don’t you feel well?”
His eyes had the look of an approaching storm on a dark night. “This past week has taught me what it feels like to be a starving man, one who is only allowed to look at a feast and never allowed to eat it. Oh, Sheri, I need you so badly.”
She opened her arms to him, and he gripped her like a man clinging to life. “Come over here and sit down here with me,” she said, taking his hand. Sheri didn’t intend to rush through what she needed so badly from him. “Let’s have some of this rosé…” She handed him the bottle and a corkscrew.
“It’s a good wine. I thought you were planning to bring it back home with you.”
“I bought it for us.” She took two wineglasses from the mini bar.
He filled them and patted the seat beside him on the sofa. “To the woman who is quickly becoming my world,” he said. He sipped the wine and let the lush liquid slide down his throat.
He gazed steadily into her eyes, and Sheri realized that although the two of them knew they would make love, they didn’t know how to start. He’d promised to keep his distance, and she had pledged not to tease or provoke him into lovemaking. She drained her glass and put it aside.
“Uh…aren’t you going to kiss me?” she asked him.
“Sheri, love, if I have to kiss you and leave, I’d rather go right now.”
She leaned back against the sofa and removed her jewelry and the two-inch dangling earrings.
“Sheri, for heaven’s sake. I’m human.”
“I’m doing my best to show you that I know that.”
GWYNNE FORSTER
is a national bestselling author of more than twenty romance novels and novellas, as well as general fiction. She has worked as a journalist, a university professor and as a senior officer for the United Nations. She holds a bachelor’s and a master’s degree in sociology, and a master’s degree in economics/demography.
Gwynne sings in her church choir, loves to entertain at dinner parties, is a gourmet cook and an avid gardener. She enjoys jazz, opera, classical music and the blues. She also likes to visit museums and art galleries. Gwynne lives in New York with her husband.
Destination Love
ESSENCE BESTSELLING AUTHOR
Gwynne Forster
To Mary Mangan Sheffield and Jeannetta Harris, women who have blessed my life with faithful loyalty and friendship that I shall cherish all of my life.
Dear Reader,
Thank you for making Gwynne Forster’s romance novels such a success. We hope you enjoy Destination Love as much as her previous Kimani Romance novels, Holiday Kisses, Finding Mr. Right and Private Lives.
As in most of Forster’s novels, the main characters—Sheri Stephens and Dalton Hobart—are both highly ambitious and successful. However, they find themselves on opposite sides when one of them makes a decision that results in a major career setback for the other. Can these two overcome their hurt and resentment, or will pride and revenge get in the way of their journey to find love?
This year, Kimani Arabesque will publish a collection of some of Gwynne’s old and new short stories in a wedding-themed anthology called Yes, I Do, as well as a new book in the Harrington family series entitled Love Me Tonight. Be sure to look for both in the coming months.
Because Gwynne enjoys connecting with her fans, you can write to her at P.O. Box 45, New York, NY 10044, and send a self-addressed, stamped envelope if you’d like a reply. You can also e-mail her at GwynneF@aol.com or visit her Web site at www.GwynneForster.com. For business purposes, please contact her agent, Pattie Steele-Perkins, at the Steele-Perkins Literary Agency, 26 Island Lane, Canandaigua, NY 14424.
Enjoy!
Chapter 1
Sheri Stephens walked down to the chairman’s office suite and took a seat in the conference room. As usual, she was the first of the professors to arrive for the dissertation committee. The other faculty members already had tenure—a fancy word for a permanent job—and she expected to receive tenure when she returned from summer vacation. They wouldn’t like what she was going to say, and neither would the doctoral candidate. But right was right and she’d made up her mind. She watched the chairman stroll in, along with Dalton Wright Hobart, the Ph.D. candidate, chatting as if the two were equals, but that wouldn’t sway her, either.
As soon as the department faculty had settled into the conference room, the chairman voiced his approval of the dissertation and his appreciation for the quality of Dalton Hobart’s academic accomplishments. Each of the professors asked questions and were satisfied with Hobart’s answers. Sheri knew that the graduate student was smart and possessed a superior mind. But, in her view, his job was to present his theory in terms applicable to the average American family.
“I don’t agree,” she said when it was her turn to speak. “It is certainly above-average work, and that is precisely why it should have practical applications. Unless Mr. Hobart revises his approach so that the average adult will find his conclusions useful, I cannot recommend this dissertation.” She ignored the reaction of the other professors.
“But that means he won’t receive his Ph.D. in June,” one professor said. “This seems a bit harsh to me.”
Sheri shrugged. “But you will have to admit that I have a point.”
She glanced at Dalton Hobart, whose dissertation she had just derailed, and saw that his eyes flashed fire. Indeed, she had never seen such hatred.
The chairman polled the group, but she knew the results before he questioned the others: no economics professor would deny the legitimacy of her position. Too bad, she thought, since Dalton was an otherwise brilliant economist. But the fierce anger evident in his demeanor was unsettling. What did he want from her? She’d given her honest opinion based on a sound academic approach, and she refused to give quarter.
Dalton Wright Hobart sat listless, in shock. The youngest and only untenured professor on his advisory committee had rejected his dissertation. The chairman and every other member of the committee had approved his work. But to be awarded a Ph.D., everyone on the academic advisory committee had to approve his dissertation or he wouldn’t receive his degree. And if he didn’t graduate in June, he could forget about that fellowship at the Brookings Institute. He doubted he’d find another one that was as prestigious. He couldn’t remember ever having been as angry with anyone as he was with Sheri Stephens.
Grin and bear it, man, he said to himself. If you’re mad, you can’t reason.
After the chairman dismissed the committee, Dalton fell in step with Sheri Stephens as she walked to her office. “Professor Stephens, I know that I’ve done a good job with this. My research is original, and my analysis sound. By insisting that I do more work, you’ve made it impossible for me to graduate, and I’ll have to inform the Brookings Institute that I can no longer take the job they’ve offered me.”
He stopped talking while she unlocked the door to her office, and he followed her inside. “Seeing me at commencement with that cap and gown would make my parents proud. They have sacrificed everything for me.”
She turned her back and walked toward the window. He sensed that he was fighting a losing battle, but he continued. “No one in my family has graduated from college, let alone earned a Ph.D. I…This is devastating. Can’t you approve it and allow me to make the revisions this summer? Opportunities like the one at Brookings are rare.”
She turned and faced him. From the set of her jaw, he knew he may as well leave. “I have to do what I believe is right. If you want the degree, you have to revise your dissertation. That’s my last word on the subject.”
He didn’t say anything to her, because nothing pleasant would come out of his mouth. One thing was certain, he would never forget Professor Sheri Stephens. He walked past two doors to the department chairman’s office and waited to speak with him.
“I’m sorry, Hobart, but Professor Stephens is within her rights, and I can’t overrule her unless I plan to dismiss her. Too bad you have to give up that job at Brookings, but don’t fret about it. You’ll never be out of work.”
“I’d like permission to turn my revised dissertation in to you.”
“Yes, of course you can do that. Do you think you can get it done by the end of August?”
“Certainly. If she had told me last week, I could have done it by now.”
“Don’t be bitter, Hobart,” the chairman said. “This is just another bump in the road. Five years from now, this little setback won’t have made a significant difference in your life.”
Maybe not, but his parents would never see him march across Harvard Yard to Tercentenary Theatre. That hurt him more than having to add some petty nonsense to his dissertation.
“Bitter? Fortunately, I have the ability to control my rage. Forgetting is another matter.” He walked out into the spring sunlight, oblivious to everyone around him. He’d lost count of the times he had climbed from rock bottom, times when hardship hadn’t fazed him, because he knew the way up. But this time he’d worked and fought his way to the top and hadn’t been able to enjoy the fruits of his reward.
“I’ll show them. Damned if I’ll be a victim! She hasn’t heard the last of me.”
The door closed behind Dalton Hobart, and Sheri dismissed the affair with a shrug. She’d done the right thing, and she was not about to apologize for it. Things were correct or incorrect, finished or incomplete, and the man’s dissertation was not finished. A person should be rewarded for what he or she accomplished. Sentiment had no place in evaluating the work of grad students. Her parents had raised her that way—to take her medicine. They hadn’t spared her or coddled her when she didn’t meet their expectations.
She telephoned the office of the department chairman. “This is Professor Stephens. Which one of us is to review that dissertation after Hobart makes the revisions?”
“I will.”
Hmm. So the chairman wasn’t pleased with her. Too bad. “Thank you, sir. I’m glad.” Well, the whole thing was behind her, and she liked it that way.
Three years later
What a wonderful thing to take a sabbatical, Sheri thought. She had an entire year away from teaching in order to travel, do research and study. So far, the loneliness of life away from the university and the job that filled her time oppressed her more than her adventures and research did. Even after months away from the classroom and her office, she hardly knew what to do with herself. While watching a travel channel on television one night, and observing things she’d read about but never dreamed of seeing, she decided to take a cruise. Late summer was not a time to plan a warm-weather cruise, so she chose one headed north. She at least had something to look forward to.
“Maybe I’ll see glaciers, polar bears, penguins or an iceberg or two. At least this cruise offers something vastly different.”
Sheri boarded the cruise ship in Manchester, Massachusetts, where the cruise began. She’d had a shaky flight from Boston, which wasn’t a promising start to her adventure. Standing on deck, watching the boat ease away from shore, Sheri hoped that somehow she would experience something new and exciting during her first cruise.
At dinner that evening, her tablemates included three couples, a woman about her age and herself. As she left the dining room with the other woman, she continued the conversation.
“Could we meet for lunch around one tomorrow?” Sheri asked the woman, whose name was June.
June stopped walking and looked straight at Sheri. “Girl, I don’t hang out with women. I’m spending my hard-earned money on this cruise to find a man who’s at least got a job, and you ought to do the same. See you at dinner.”
Stunned by June’s rudeness, Sheri wandered around until she reached the shopping area, didn’t see anything she wanted to buy and decided to take in a movie.
“Don’t tell me you’re as lost as I am in this place,” a male voice said as she was about to enter the theater. She jerked around and saw a man dressed in white pants, yellow T-shirt and white cardigan. His smile was meant to titillate, but it only annoyed her. She wanted company, but he seemed as if he was looking for more, she thought. So she ignored him and found a seat between two older women. When she left the theater later, he winked at her and flashed what she figured was a patented grin. Maybe he’d hook up with June.
She wondered if she’d brought enough to read, because the chances of striking up a friendship with someone on the cruise didn’t look good.
The next day as she looked around the pool, she compared the bathing suit she’d brought with the tiny string bikinis other women were wearing and decided that she’d stay out of the pool and wear shorts on deck.
“Maybe this cruise wasn’t such a good idea,” she said to herself as she prepared to debark and explore Portland, Maine, alone. As she walked down the plank, she saw June clinging to the man she’d seen entering the movie theater the previous evening.
Dr. Dalton Wright Hobart found a seat at the tiny bistro table and sat down to enjoy a moment in the sunshine. He had seen as much of Portland, Maine, on foot as the cruise ship’s short stay in port would permit. With his shopping bags between his feet in order to be certain that he didn’t forget them, he ordered coffee. Not because he wanted it but because he needed a reason to sit there. He opened a copy of the Portland Press Herald and checked the sports page for the baseball scores.
“Do you mind if I share your table?”
He did mind, but saying so would have been rude. “By all means, have a seat,” he said and continued checking the scores.
“I noticed that you have one of the cruise ship’s shopping bags. So you must be going to Nova Scotia, too.”
“Looks like it,” he said, hoping to make it clear that he didn’t feel like talking. Indeed, he was beginning to wish he’d gone straight back to the boat.
The ship’s horn emitted a blast, and the woman stood to leave. “Thanks for letting me share your table.”
His head jerked up. Something in her voice sounded familiar, and he looked at her for the first time. Good grief! It couldn’t be, but it was. He narrowed his eyes, looked at her more carefully and didn’t bother to hide the scowl that he knew covered his face. As she walked off, he was certain that was Professor Sheri Stephens.
“Well, I’ll be damned.” It all came back to him. The anxiety of the moment he learned that he wouldn’t graduate on time, wouldn’t be able to accept the best job offer any student in his class received and the pain of having to tell his family that he’d get his Ph.D. later. He recalled his father shaking his head and saying, “You aren’t going to wear the cap and gown?”
His mother had counseled forgiveness and had insisted that getting the degree was more important than how it was handed to him. Still, it was one of the most bitter pills he’d ever had to swallow. He picked up the shopping bag and made his way up the gangplank. With luck, he wouldn’t see her again until the boat returned to Manchester. How could a woman who looked so soft and innocent be so cruel?
Back in his stateroom, Dalton showered, shaved and took a nap, after which he headed to the third-floor lounge. “I hope you haven’t waited long,” he said to Tyson Clark, a retired record producer he met during the trip.
“Not at all. People watching is a sport that I’ve come to enjoy.” They took their drinks and sat on the sofa in a far corner from the bar. “You can imagine why I’m on a cruise,” Tyson said, “but you’re a young man. I’ve been trying to figure out why you’re on this boat this time of the year.”
Dalton allowed himself a moment to reflect. “Point taken,” he said and gave the man the gist of his life story.
“Did you ever get the degree?”
“Oh, yes. I received it near the end of July, and for the past three years, I’ve worked night and day to make up for lost time. I’ve had a number of articles published, and I’m becoming a kind of economics guru. I got a great book deal, and I’m working on that while I’m on this trip. To answer the question, I’m older than you think. These days, thirty-five makes you ancient. I’m here because I needed the rest, and this was a sure way to get it.”
After the meal, which he ate at the late seating, he told Tyson good-night, stood on deck gazing at the night for a while and then went to his room to work on his novel. He wasn’t lonely, but he thought that a cruise was a perfect way for him to become more sociable.
The following night after dinner, he passed the gaming room with its sounds of the one-armed bandits gobbling up hard-earned money and headed to the entertainment level. He loved to dance and, during his undergraduate days, he had enjoyed great popularity because of it. He stood on the sideline watching the dancers move to “Cotton-Eyed Joe.” He hadn’t learned that one, but he liked it.
Suddenly, the sound of the Village People singing “Y.M.C.A.” came over the loudspeaker and like practically everyone else, he headed for the dance floor to do the Electric Slide. It was his favorite line dance, and he gave his whole body over to it. He swung his left foot behind his right one and leaned his right shoulder forward just as the person dancing beside him tripped and was about to fall. He automatically grabbed the person, looked down and saw that it was Sheri Stephens. He’d been so lost in the music and the dance that he hadn’t bothered to notice who was on either side of him.
“Thank you,” she said. “I’m just learning this dance. I tried it for the first time a couple of nights ago. It’s fun, and if you make mistakes, no one really cares.”
So she didn’t recognize him. True, his close-cut hair made him look considerably different from his appearance during graduate school when he’d worn it long. Hmm. Was Sheri Stephens more human because she was out of her element, away from the hallowed halls of academia where she called the shots?
Dalton smiled. “You’re dancing like a pro. Everyone trips occasionally. I’m Wright. How are you, Miss—”
“Sheri. Sheri Stephens. I’m glad to meet you, Wright. I was beginning to think that taking this cruise was the dumbest thing I could have done.”
As they walked off the dance floor, he draped an arm casually across her shoulders. “I’m new at this cruise business, too. It takes a while to learn how to maneuver on this boat and among these strangers, but I’m getting the hang of it.”
“I sure hope I do. Three weeks is a long time to flounder like a fish out of water.”
“I’m with you there,” he said. “Say, do you know that guy over there in the yellow T-shirt?”
She looked in the direction to which he pointed, frowned and shook her head. “No. I saw him right after the boat left Manchester, but I don’t know him, nor do I care to.”
Hmm. Best to change the subject. “So this is your first cruise,” he said, trying to make small talk, something that he despised.
“Yes, and I’ve never seen so much food 24/7. Are the passengers expected to eat nonstop?”
Evidently, she hadn’t had much experience with small talk, either. “I do my best to ignore it,” he said truthfully. “But when I get off the escalator and a frozen-yogurt dispenser is facing me, I do what I’m supposed to do. I fill up on banana-flavored frozen yogurt.”
“With me, it’s the cherry cream cake over there at the ice-cream bar. I’ve eaten six of them since I boarded in Manchester.”
He raised an eyebrow at that. He would have expected her to be a bit more disciplined. “I think I’ll turn in now,” he said, having become a little uneasy with his charade, “but maybe we’ll meet at breakfast tomorrow morning. What level are you on?”
“Four.”
“So am I. I’ll meet you at breakfast. Is eight-thirty too early?”
“That’s fine. I’m an early riser.”
Her smile enveloped her whole face. He leaned down, kissed her cheek, ignored her wide-eyed expression, winked and left her. His conscience, however, nagged at him. He wasn’t proud of his ulterior motive in being gracious to Sheri Stephens. He had not forgiven her for the resentment he felt towards her for not approving his dissertation and for the blow that had been to his family. Even if he could forget that, she certainly deserved to pay for his having lost a job with the Brookings Institute. He’d often wondered if she felt proud of herself for having the power to do that to another person or if, indeed, she ever thought of the consequences that her action had on him. He struggled with thoughts of retribution until he fell asleep.
Sheri took the escalator down to the lounge on the next deck, found a copy of Cosmopolitan magazine—the first one she’d ever picked up—sat down and opened it to avoid looking as if she wanted company. She hadn’t sat there more than five minutes before her downcast gaze took in a pair of white saddle oxfords on what were obviously male feet. She let her gaze slowly drift up until it met the eyes of a man wearing a yellow T-shirt—the man she had discouraged her first night on board.
He raised his left hand as if to ward off discouraging words. “I don’t know why I’m letting myself in for another of your rebuffs,” he said, “but I want to get to know you, and I owe it to myself to try. My name is Brian King, I’m from Atlanta and I teach journalism at Clark. I’m off this semester, but I’ll be back at the university after the Christmas recess. Who are you?”
After a long drought, a plant is thirsty for water. But she’d had so little male attention that when she got it she didn’t know what to do with it. She’d spent her youth achieving excellence in order to get the crumbs of appreciation that her father occasional bestowed upon her. The first three days on this cruise had taught her that she lacked people skills and that, away from her academic world, she was nearly as green as a freshman.
Sheri took a deep breath and told the man, “I’m Professor Sheri Stephens.” Immediately, she wished she hadn’t said she was a professor, because he had omitted a title when introducing himself.
Brian sat in the chair beside her. “Go ahead and tell me you teach nuclear physics. I can handle that.”
“I teach advanced statistics,” she said, miffed and not bothering to hide it.
“Oh, come on,” he said. “Tell me why you should dislike me on sight.”
“I never said I dislike you.”
“Not with words, but your entire demeanor says, ‘Beat it, buster.’”
She had to laugh at that. No woman in her right mind would say such a thing to a man who looked like Brian King. “Are you on vacation?” she asked, making conversation.
“You could say that, but I’m gathering material for a story I’ll write when I return to Atlanta. Is your name really Sheri Stephens?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Just checking.”
In spite of her attempt to put a wall between them, his laughter melted her a bit, and when she watched him settle in his chair as if her views about his presence didn’t matter, she realized that he’d leveled the playing field. Still, arrogance had never played well with her, not even when she was the one exhibiting it.
She stood. “Nice to meet you, Mr. King. Rest well.”
He made as if to stand. “Not very likely. My stateroom is in the middle of the boat, and the damned thing rocks all night. Glad to know who you are.”
Now what was she supposed to make of that? She headed for her room. Her father had said that one who walked alone stayed alone and that crowds attracted larger crowds. There was something to be said for that. She entered her stateroom and, for the first time in her memory, she examined herself in the mirror almost scientifically, without vanity or self-effacement. Her conclusion: she was not bad looking. If she applied some makeup and went to a hairdresser, she’d probably be nice looking. But that seemed too frivolous to her. If she did that, the next thing she knew, she’d be out there on deck in a string bikini. No way!
She got into bed and opened Bertrand Russell’s AnEssay on the Foundations of Geometry, one of the books she’d brought along to read on the cruise, but to her surprise, her mind wouldn’t focus. So she put it aside, closed her eyes and listened to the waves play their tune on the side of the boat. Suddenly, a strange thought came to her.
Wright seemed so self-confident. Not that she wasn’t, but he gave the impression that he knew which button made the world turn. She wondered if his parents sang lullabies to him when he was little. If anyone had ever sung to her, she didn’t remember it. Yet, her little playmates had sung to her the songs that their mothers sang to them, and she recalled the feeling that she was missing something vital.
She reached over and turned out the light. Where the devil had all that come from? Tomorrow was a new day. She intended to enjoy the cruise, company or no company, but how nice it would be to enjoy it with Wright.
At eight twenty-four the next morning, Sheri walked into the restaurant thinking that if Wright hadn’t suggested that they eat breakfast together, she would have called the restaurant and had the food brought to her room. She saw June approaching with a presentable man in tow and smiled a greeting.
“Girl, you were doing all right last night,” June said. “I never would have thought of pretending to trip up so I’d fall into a guy’s arms as an excuse to meet him. You’re clever. See you around.” Sheri managed to close her mouth. Apparently June didn’t need an answer, for she had walked on.
Wright arrived and greeted Sheri with a kiss on the cheek. He looked at his watch. “How are you this morning? You were early, but that beats being late. I hope you rested well.”
“I did. The sound of those waves lashing the side of the boat is like a lullaby. Say, did your mother sing lullabies to you when you were little?” She could have kicked herself for that slip.
At first he frowned, and then his eyebrows shot up. “Gosh. Yes. Of course, she did. Uh, yeah. All the time. But where does that question come from?”
She lifted her right shoulder in a shrug to suggest that it wasn’t very important. “Something to do with the rhythm of the waves when they lap at the side of the boat.”
“That’s a sensual thought if I ever heard one. Come on, let’s get in line.”
She stared at him. “You’re kidding.”
“Far from it. I think I’ll have waffles and sausage.”
“I was thinking of a Belgian waffle with strawberries and whipped cream, but that’s too campy, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know. I don’t concern myself with what is and is not in fashion. I want waffles, maple syrup and sage sausage. If everybody else is eating hog maw, I say, ‘Right on.’”
“I can’t say I don’t care what others think. I usually don’t know what others are thinking and doing. I have my job—I’m a professor—and that’s what I focus on.”
He didn’t speak until they found a table and sat down. “Sheri, this world offers zillions of intriguing places and things. That classroom of yours is a tiny hovel on the side of a mountain compared to what the world can give you.”
“What do you do, Wright?”
“Right now, I’m a writer. I have a contract to write a novel, and I plan to enjoy every minute of it.”
“I hope you don’t mind my asking how it is that you’re so self-assured.”
He seemed hesitant, as if searching for an answer. “Am I? If I knew the answer, I’d be glad to tell you. And while we’re asking questions, tell me why you asked me if you could share my table when the boat stopped in Portland.”
“I was hoping you were as bored and as eager for a traveling companion as I was. I saw the ship’s logo on your shopping bag and decided that you were a fellow passenger.”
His hand went to his chest. “You wound me. I thought my charm enticed you, and that you couldn’t resist.” He cast a wicked glance at her and grinned.
“In your dreams, pal.”
“You mean, it didn’t?”
“Well, if truth were known, I followed a trail of gold coins straight to you,” she said.
“Did that same trail of gold put you in that line next to me last night?”
She placed her knife and fork on the sides of her plate. “Are you teasing or being mean? I want to know how to react.”
He reached across the table and grasped her hand. “I tease rather roughly sometimes. I’m sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable.”
“It’s all right. If I appear worldly, it is very misleading.”
Dalton hadn’t expected such a frank admission of naiveté from Sheri Stephens. He had suspected that she lived in a closed world, but until now he wouldn’t have believed that a woman of her accomplishments and intelligence hadn’t cultivated any aspect of her life other than her intellect. So this genius with statistics knew nothing of life! Well, he’d teach her, and he’d be just as kind to her as she was to him. When he had her begging for relief, he would look down in her face, tell her who he really was and laugh.
He didn’t recall having done a deliberately mean thing in his adult life; indeed, he considered kindness and generosity critical elements of his personality. But no one had weakened his spirit and dented his estimation of his self-worth as Sheri Stephens had with her petty demands that he revise the conclusions in his dissertation. Of course, she wasn’t the first professor to sacrifice a good student in order to make herself seem clever. If any of the other examiners had agreed with her, he wouldn’t have held it against her, but not one of them did. The humiliation he’d suffered was an experience he’d never forget. It came back to him then.
“I’m sorry, Dr. Lansing. To be associated with the distinguished scholars at the Brookings Institute is more than I had dared dream of, but I won’t be eligible because I won’t graduate until July or August.”
Lansing’s gasp reached him over the wire. “This can’t be true. Your chairman said you were the best student he’d ever had, and that your graduation was a certainty.”
“Thank you, sir. One of my examiners is demanding that I revise my conclusions, and I have to comply.”
“That’s true, and I am so terribly sorry. Needless to say, I wish you the best.”
“You’re so pensive all of a sudden, Wright. Is anything the matter?” Sheri asked him.
“I just remembered something that wasn’t too pleasant, but let’s not dwell on anything negative. When I signed on for this cruise, I decided to enjoy everything it offered outside of the gaming rooms, and that definitely includes this delicious breakfast.” Which consisted of a stack of four waffles and a ring of sausage around them. He’d seen the time when the food in his plate would have fed the members of his family and left them grateful. Fortunately, both he and his younger brother were able to ensure their parents a comfortable living, and they had surely earned the right to it.
“How are you planning to spend the day, Sheri? I want to write for at least a couple of hours.”
“If you write this morning while I’m at the hairdresser, we could meet for lunch. I told myself I was going to take clogging lessons this afternoon. Don’t ask me why.”
“Clogging? Good idea. The exercise will rid me of the calories I’m ingesting. What time are the classes?”
“Three to four this afternoon and nine to eleven in the morning. If we eat at twelve or twelve-thirty, it should be all right to clog at three.”
“Right. I’ll meet you here at twelve-thirty,” he said. “Stay away from that guy in the yellow T-shirt.”
Her frown surprised him. She shouldn’t have taken that comment seriously. He’d have to be more careful.
“Why should I stay away from him?” she asked. “So far, he’s seemed harmless.”
He flashed a grin. “No man is completely harmless. Don’t forget that.”
He held her hand as they left the dining room. “I’ll see you here at twelve-thirty. Have fun at the spa. I’ll be writing out there on the back deck. Nobody goes there. It’s so peaceful, and the view is great.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek. When she stood on tiptoe to make it easier for him, he stifled a laugh. It hadn’t taken her long to get used to it.
Sheri rushed back to her stateroom and phoned the spa for an appointment with a hairdresser. “Do you have a hairdresser who’s familiar with processed African-American hair?”
“Of course, madam,” a man said. “What time would you like to come?”
“Right now.”
She got the appointment and walked into what she would have described as a silver cove with crystal chandeliers, white floors and red roses. This looks like the perfect setting for debauchery, she said to herself. A few months earlier, she would most certainly have turned around and walked out.
“For two hundred fifty dollars, madam may have a massage, mud bath and facial in addition to a shampoo, trim and style.” A man dressed in a black T-shirt, skintight black pants and black sneakers told her.
“I don’t have that much time,” she said. “I only want my hair done.”
She got back to the dining room at exactly twelve-thirty. But, to her chagrin, Brian King waylaid her. “I’m sorry, Mr. King, but I’m meeting someone for lunch, and I’m about to be late.”
“For a woman like you, it ought to be his pleasure to wait. Will you have a drink with me at six this evening, since we have fixed dinner arrangements?”
She glanced toward the table that she and Wright shared that morning and saw that he leaned back in his chair observing them. “I’m sorry, but this amounts to rudeness on my part. I’m late, and he sees me talking with you. Goodbye.”
Wright stood as she approached. His smile eliminated some of her anxiety. “Sorry, but I got waylaid.”
“So I saw. Are you interested in him?”
“I’ve gotten the impression, wrongly or not, that he’s interested in getting me in bed, and I—”
He grabbed her left hand. “Wait a minute. And you think I’m not? You think I’m not attracted to you?”
“W-well, I d-didn’t th-think about it,” she stammered.
He grinned, winked and put his hand on his chest as if to decelerate his heartbeat. “Tell me you’re joking.”
“At least you’re not blatant about it.”
His gaze roamed over her. “Your hair is beautiful. That style really suits you. But then, you’d look good if you never went to a hairdresser,” he said.
She told herself not to believe him, but having a man who looked like Wright tell her that he liked her looks made her want to preen. “Thanks, but I’ve got a mirror.”
He leaned forward. “In that case, you should use it. What else do they do in that spa?” She told him. “Let’s take that whirlpool treatment together tomorrow morning,” he said. She noticed that when he said it, his food got his undivided attention. “It could be fun. Is it bigger than a Jacuzzi?”
“I was told that the water gives you a massage.”
“Then let’s do it.”
“Okay, but we have to make a reservation.” He told her that he would. “If the water’s moving around that much, couldn’t it be dangerous?”
His face mirrored an expression of concern. “I doubt the ship company would offer a dangerous form of relaxation. If you won’t be comfortable with it, we won’t do that.”
“But I think I’d enjoy it.”
That wink again. “Then I’ll make our reservation for around eleven. An hour in that thing should be more than enough, and we can have lunch at twelve-thirty.”
“Yeah,” she said. “Provided I’m not too sleepy to eat.”
He went to the buffet table and returned with a dish of frozen banana yogurt for himself and a cherry cream cake for her.
“You remembered,” she said when she saw what he brought for her. “Thanks.”
“I will always remember everything about you,” he said. “You are not a woman that I could ever forget.”
She knew that her entire demeanor showed her pleasure at his remarks. “I don’t think I could forget you, either, Wright.” And she wouldn’t. She wasn’t a virgin, but she hadn’t been made to feel that she had anything special to give to a man. Furthermore, she hadn’t met a man who treated her as if she was a woman he could love and care for. Maybe that was her fault. Until this cruise, she hadn’t realized how lacking she was in social skills and that those skills were as important as her academic abilities.
She noticed that her comment drew a raised eyebrow from Wright. But she’d told the truth, and he’d have to deal with it. She wasn’t sure, but it seemed to her that he was looking at her differently. His eyes seemed warmer or…If math and statistics had taught her anything, it was the folly of guessing at facts. Still, something about him drew her right then, and she reached out. Embarrassed, she patted his hand and then withdrew her own.
Why was he looking at her that way? “I think I’ll have a rest before we go clogging,” she said, needing to escape.
He walked around to her side of the table, held her chair and, before she could get up, he leaned over her and kissed the side of her mouth. Shocked, she turned her head and met his mouth with her lips parted. Thank God he had the presence of mind not to push it, she thought. He grasped her shoulders as she stood.
“I didn’t intend to do that, Wright.”
She’d never seen such fiery eyes.
“Trust me, I certainly didn’t do what I wanted to do. If we’d had a modicum of privacy, I’d have kissed you thoroughly. Meet you at the bar at three. Did you sign up for the clogging lessons?”
She said she did. “The classes are around the corner from the bar. See you then.”
He kissed her cheek. “Behave yourself.”
“What? What else would I do?”
He pointed to the entrance. “Does that guy always wear the same T-shirt? See you later.”
“How would I know?” she said, feeling irritated at both men.
“Hi,” Brian said. “I have not been waiting here for you, but I saw you were about to leave—”
She interrupted him. “I’m not having a drink with you, Brian.”
“Why not? I pay my taxes, I’m good to my mother, I’m not married and I’ve got a decent job. What’s wrong with me?”
“I don’t know that anything is wrong with you, but I can only deal with one man at a time.”
“And right now you’re dealing with what’s-his-name over there?”
“I have to go, Brian. Bye.” She ducked around him and headed for the escalator. Maybe he was a nice guy who had originally misrepresented himself, but he did not make her pulse race as Wright did when he’d kissed her a few minutes earlier. What would it be like if he really kissed her?
“Watch out, girl. Thinking things like that will get you in big trouble.”
She set her alarm for two-thirty and stretched out on the bed. She could feel his mouth on her, and he didn’t stop at her lips. And, Lord, he was so wonderfully greedy. Her nipples ached, and her hot blood heated her loins. She awoke and sat up abruptly at the sound of the alarm clock.
“Good grief! I promised to be at the bar at three o’clock.” She slipped into a pair of white shorts, a pale blue T-shirt and a pair of low-heel flats, grabbed her bag and raced to the bar.
Wright watched as Sheri paused to speak with Brian King. The man was handsome and a charmer, and he’d rather not have the guy playing on his turf. He hadn’t meant to kiss her. He’d been fooling around as usual, playing a game—though, admittedly, he hadn’t had previous experience at being a player. He didn’t believe she’d intentionally kiss him on the mouth, because she was not an aggressive woman. At least, not with him. But if she felt what he felt, they’d have a time of reckoning before the boat docked again in Manchester.
Isn’t that what you planned? his conscience nagged. When he learned that I wouldn’t graduate with my class, my dad cried, he reminded himself.
In his room, he finished the chapter on the loss of his family’s house during his childhood and how his father built a log cabin for his family to live in. Precisely what I need to keep my head straight about Sheri Stephens, he said to himself as he was putting his writing pad away. He hadn’t used his laptop for that passage because he knew the writing would be difficult, and he thought best with a pen in his hand. One more short chapter, and he’d put the final period to it.
“Hi. I meant to be on time, but I fell asleep.”
He took her hand and walked with her to the dance floor. “Thanks for telling me. I was afraid that yellow T-shirt had hijacked you. That guy is tenacious.”
“Maybe he’s not such a bad person.”
“No? What changed your mind?”
“Nothing. It’s just…what harm can he do on a boat out in the Atlantic?”
“Sheri, I don’t believe you said that. You cannot be that naive.” Her stare reminded him of a child who’d been unjustly accused. Her vulnerability got to him deep inside, and before he realized what he did, he hugged her and stroked her back in a gesture of genuine caring and affection.
The sound of Earl Scruggs’s “Foggy Mountain Breakdown” saved them the need to acknowledge the moment’s reality. “Relax your shoulders, drop your hands to your sides and give yourself to the music,” the teacher called.
The fast pace of the music exhilarated him, and he felt as if he could soar. “Come on, sweetheart, let it fly,” he said to Sheri. “Loosen up.”
She caught the steps, and very soon she put her body into the dance. She fascinated him. He looked at the T-shirt that hugged her body as if it were glued there and sucked in his breath. His mother had always cautioned him against playing with fire for fear he’d get burned. But as her ample breasts bounced to the rhythm of the dance, he wanted to get his mouth on one of them. She had a nice pair of legs, too, he noted, and decided that he would enjoy seeing her get into that whirlpool the next morning. The lady had some lovely attributes, and he meant to enjoy them.
Chapter 2
“Can we take clogging lessons again tomorrow?” Sheri asked at the end of the first lesson. “The ship’s made stops at several ports where we couldn’t disembark, and I’m going to enjoy a few hours on land for a change. When do we get to Halifax?”
He looked at his tour guide. “Tomorrow morning. Do you still want to go in the whirlpool, or shall we do that on the next leg? We’ll have a full day on ship.”
She wasn’t sure that he liked the idea of spending the whole day with her, so she said, “I don’t care which we do.”
He gaze seemed to pierce her. “Why can’t we do both? Are you saving time for the yellow T-shirt? Is that it?”
That was what she wanted to hear. “I’d love to do both, but I didn’t want to presume to occupy all your time.”
“If I didn’t enjoy your company, I’d find a way to avoid it. You’re making this trip an enjoyable one for me.”
What should she say to that? She reached for his hand. “Let’s get some lemonade. The clogging practically winded me.”
He dropped her hand and slung an arm around her waist. “I think I’d like a smoothie. Let’s go to the fruit bar. You can get lemonade there, and I can get my smoothie.” He squeezed her a little closer, and when she glanced up at him, she saw the same warmth—what else could she call it?—that she’d seen in his eyes at lunch. Yet, she didn’t think it wise to take his interest in her as permanent. She didn’t know much about him, but what she had observed of him pleased her. Still, she wasn’t much of a chance taker, and he certainly represented a gamble.
“There’s a museum in Halifax that I’d like to visit, but I’m not sure of its name,” she said. “Also, I’d like to see the citadel and that famous cemetery for blacks. Nova Scotia has a sorry history in regard to blacks.”
He had a way of frowning when displeased, she’d noticed. “Yeah,” he said. “Tell me about it. The British sold the slaves a bill of goods, promising free land to the black soldiers who fought on their side during the American Revolution. Of course, they got land that was unsuitable for farming, when they got any at all.
“A group of U.S. blacks arrived in Halifax in 1783 aboard the Amistad. They didn’t fare too well. Canada was British at the time, and it didn’t outlaw slavery until 1834. So free blacks had a rough time.”
Shaking his head, Wright opened his travel guide. “Man’s inhumanity to man. I wonder how far it is from Halifax to Birchtown. At one time, Birchtown had the largest population of free blacks outside of Africa. I wonder what it looks like today.”
“Is it close enough that we could go there while the ship’s in port?”
“From this map, I’d say that would be impossible. Suppose we see what we can of Halifax and come back early enough to get a shower and a nap before dinner.”
“That’ll do it for me,” she said
“May I see you to your room?”
“Yes. If you’d like.” Was that calm voice hers? It seemed as if every nerve in her body had decided to stand on end. She opened her mouth to tell him to turn left from the bottom of the escalator, and her lips trembled so badly that she pressed them together and said nothing. She looked at him to see if he noticed, but she couldn’t be sure. Where was her famous aplomb, and what had happened to her ability to stare down anything that wasn’t a rattlesnake?
“I don’t think you want me to go in,” he said, standing with her at her door. When his arms went around her, she looked up at him, expectantly and eager. But she wasn’t prepared for the intoxicating power of his kiss. How was she to know that he wanted his tongue in her mouth? He rimmed the seams of her lips with the tip of his tongue.
“Open up and let me kiss you,” he whispered with the urgency of one clamoring for life.
She parted her lips, and he went into her, grabbed her hips and lifted her to fit him. Holding him as tightly as she could, she sucked his tongue as deeply into her as he’d let her and let him know she wanted more. She shifted her body from side to side, rubbing against him. What was wrong with her? Every nerve in her body seemed to stand on end, and every inch of her skin burned as if he’d singed it. She gripped him tighter and her hips moved into him, undulating. When she would have locked her legs around his hips, he eased her to the floor.
His gaze seemed to darken almost as if he were trying to see into her. “I’ll meet you at six-thirty. Same place,” he said and turned to leave.
“Where are you going?” she yelled at him. Seemingly stunned, he stood still for a second. “You do this to me and then walk off as if nothing happened?” Sheri taunted with her knuckles locked to her hips. “Damned if I’ll take that from you. I’ll eat dinner at my regular table.”
He shoved his hands into his pockets and walked back to her. “You couldn’t be angry after the way you kissed me. Could you? We were standing in the hall. With a little privacy, you won’t have one thing to complain about.” He kissed her on the mouth. “See you at six-thirty.”
She opened the door, locked it behind her and dumped herself on the bed. What had that man done to her? In that moment when he had his tongue in her mouth, holding her so tight that pain settled in her nipples, she’d wanted him worse than she wanted to breathe. She knew she would have let him have anything he wanted. She’d never known such a feeling. Where have I been all my life? She said the words again aloud and then wondered at their truth.
She was not a virgin. She’d figured that a nineteen-year-old woman ought to know something about sex, so she chose a college classmate who she considered to be of superior intelligence and made what she regarded as a clinical experiment into the efficacies of sex. She hadn’t counted on the pain, but when that was over, something pleasant should have happened. Nothing pleasant did. Maybe she’d chosen the wrong guy. Several months later, she tried it again with a different man and with the same results. It had not occurred to her that she might be the type of woman for whom an enjoyable sexual experience required emotional involvement. Instead, she decided that the hoopla about sex was a lot of hype and spent her time thereafter cultivating her mind.
She showered, changed into a cotton-piqué yellow sundress and bolero, and a pair of low-heel sandals, and went to the ship’s store. “I don’t want any lipstick,” she told an aggressive saleswoman, “but could you recommend something for my lashes and a little rouge? I’m a university professor, and I don’t put a lot of goo on my face.”
“Come over here.”
Sheri followed the woman to what looked like a dental chair in a tiny room. “You have lovely skin, but you’re pale. You’re a little bit darker than what we call olive tone, and you need a little color.”
Twenty minutes later, Sheri looked at herself in the mirror. She didn’t see any makeup, but her face glowed. “Can you teach me how to do that?” she asked the woman.
“With pleasure.”
Later, feeling as if she’d made a friend, Sheri left the cosmetics counter with several articles she’d never owned before and expert advice on their application. She also had an added sense of confidence.
“Don’t tell me I’ve become invisible.”
Sheri whirled around at the sound of the familiar voice. “Hi, Brian. For that, you’d have to shrink a lot or take some kind of miracle drug.”
“You’re glowing. I wish I was the guy responsible for it. Surely you can have one little drink with me.”
“Brian, I’m sure you’re a nice guy, but I don’t see the point in crossing my signals.”
“How long have you known that guy? If you met him on ship, he’s not more entitled to your confidence and trust than I am. Think about that.”
“You’re probably right, but I normally go with my intelligence and my instincts. Where he’s concerned I’ve got that and more for a guide.”
“I’m not giving up. There’s something about you. I missed it at first, but the more I see you, the more I see in you.” He didn’t smile, and she realized that his interest in her might be more than the desire for a shipboard romance.
“I’m sorry, Brian. I really am. Bye.”
She hadn’t gone six feet before she saw Wright sitting in a lounge chair with his right ankle draped across his left knee, and she knew at once that he’d seen her talking with Brian.
“With that glow you’ve got, you’re not going to tell me you bumped into that guy a minute ago, are you?”
“That’s exactly what I’m going to tell you. And if you don’t believe me, tough,” she said, her temper high and rising. She would have walked on past him, but he was out of the chair like a squirrel after a nut.
“Why don’t you tell him to leave you alone?”
“I told him that I am not interested, and he said he’s not giving up. As long as he keeps a reasonable distance, I can’t demand that the captain pitch him into the Atlantic.”
His fingers plowed through his hair. “All right. I’m sorry. But that guy’s starting to get on my nerves. He sees that you’re with me. Why doesn’t he get his own woman?”
This good-looking brother was jealous. Would it be different with a man who made her feel as he did and who cared about her? Her gut instinct told her that it would be, and if for no reason other than the fact that Wright was a mature and experienced man, not a pretend-to-know-it-all college jock. But did she dare take a chance? She had spent years bridling her libido. She looked at Wright and, for the first time, she saw genuine vulnerability in him.
She grasped his hand. “Come on. I wanted to look nice this evening, so I dressed, went to the store and bought some makeup.”
“You what? You didn’t need makeup.”
“Yes, I did, and that’s what’s making me glow, as you put it.”
He looked hard at her “Something’s different, but I don’t see any makeup. It’s six-fifteen. I’d like a margarita.”
“I’ll have a glass of wine, but I need to put this package in my room. It won’t take long.”
“I’ll go with you. That guy knows when I’m not around, and I’m damned if I’ll make it easy for him. I’m not going in,” he said when they reached her room. “You’re temptation personified.” She went in, dropped the bag on the bed and rejoined him. “This is a great color for you,” he said of her dress.
“Thanks. I was glad to see that Brian wasn’t wearing his yellow shirt today,” she said as they approached the bar.
When his arms slid around her waist, and his hand tightened possessively, she saw from her peripheral vision that Brian approached. “Good evening,” he said to Wright. “Care to share a drink? I’ve been trying to get Sheri to join me for a drink. Maybe if you join us, she won’t be so apprehensive about me.”
“I’m not apprehensive, Brian. I’m just not interested. If Wright wants to have a drink with you, he’s welcome. But I don’t and, after this cockeyed trick, I won’t.” She looked at Wright. “You coming?”
“Excuse me a minute, Sheri.” Wright walked over to Brian, and she couldn’t hear what he said, but from Brian’s expression, it could not have been friendly. She was relieved when Brian lifted his shoulder in a shrug and walked away.
“What did you say to him?”
“Precisely? I’m not sure you want to know. It added up to showing me the proper respect.”
It wasn’t the first inkling she’d had that Wright was a no-nonsense man. Brian did a foolish thing, and he didn’t have her sympathy. “I’ve just decided to join you in a margarita. Life’s too short to miss out on the good stuff.”
He narrowed his left eye. “Brian’s recklessness brought on that scene. That’s no reason why you should be incautious.” He took her hand and headed for the bar. “When did you last drink a margarita or any other mixed drink containing hard liquor? Huh?”
“I don’t remember.”
“I bet you don’t. You’re not a worldly woman. If you’d like to try a cocktail, I suggest something like brandy Alexander, which contains heavy cream, or a vodka comet, which contains vodka, tonic water and a slice of lime on a cube of ice. Let the ice melt before you drink it. And to be on the safe side, drink some half-and-half or chew a few Mylanta tablets before you go to the bar, and eat something while you drink. You don’t know your tolerance for alcohol.”
If she had needed proof that his aim was not merely to get her into bed, he’d just given it to her. This man did not want to ply her with alcohol in order to seduce her. She stifled a laugh. He’d be lucky if she didn’t seduce him.
“Be careful, Sheri. Your eyes are giving me some signals that you may not want me to have.” His words came out in a low, almost sultry growl. “You are an exciting woman, and you shouldn’t forget that.”
“I’ve been called a lot of things, I’m sure, but I doubt exciting was one of them. But if you think so…” She let the thought hang.
“I think so. What will it be?”
She looked from him to the bartender and back. “A vodka comet, long on the tonic water.”
“And you, sir?”
“A margarita. Very cold. I thought you’d order wine,” Wright said to her when the bartender turned to mix the drinks.
“Why? I trust your judgment.”
Something firelike flickered in his eyes. “Thank you. That’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me.”
“I wasn’t being nice. I was telling the truth.”
“This is not the place for me to kiss you.”
She’d never dreamed what it would be like to go toe-to-toe with a man on a nonacademic, nontechnical topic, and she loved every second of it. “You mean there’re special places for kisses? Where?”
He jerked forward as if suddenly alert. “You want me to show you? If I do, you may not get to that dining room tonight.”
She pasted an expression of innocence on her face, geared to playing the game. “Why not? What does one have to do with the other?”
“Don’t play with me, Sheri.”
“Is that what I’m doing? I want to know where people go to kiss.”
He blinked rapidly as if confused. Then he laughed aloud. “Not to worry, sweetheart. Stick with me, and I’ll enjoy showing you.”
She imagined that her eyes sparkled with eagerness when she said, “You will? How far away is it?” She’d never before put herself to flirting with a man, and as she watched his reaction, she got the feeling that, if she tried, she could make the wind reverse its course.
“Two feet.” He leaned over, grasped her shoulder and kissed her on the mouth.
“Oh!” She didn’t want him to see her reaction, but her heartbeat took off like a spooked thoroughbred and perspiration beaded her forehead. She put her hands in her lap to hide their trembling.
He didn’t move his gaze or alter his piercing look. “Don’t worry, Sheri. It always happens to both.”
She wasn’t about to ask him to clarify that.
The next morning, they left the dining room holding hands, walked down the gangplank and into one of the waiting taxis. “Fifty Canadian dollars for a three-hour tour,” the supervisor of the taxis assured them. “If you want the taxi longer, negotiate it with the driver, but if you don’t want to get cheated, come back here and start again.” The man handed Wright a map of Halifax and a sightseeing brochure. “Enjoy.”
At the citadel, Canada’s national historic site, Wright and Sheri watched the changing of the guard and the firing of the cannon. “Now I don’t care what we see,” he said. “I just want a feel of the place. Just drive,” he told the cabbie. “We want to see the city, and don’t skip the black neighborhoods, because we know there is at least one.”
“Yeah, man,” the driver said. “These people don’t know it, but they’re way behind you folks down in the States.”
He leaned back in the cab, uncertain as to whether he should take Sheri Stephens in his arms and show her where a person could kiss. Things had moved more rapidly and smoothly than he had anticipated. The pace of writing on his novelized autobiography had slowed because he spent so much of his time with Sheri. And when he wasn’t with her, he was either thinking about her or pushing her from his thoughts. He needed to have a good talk with himself. Allowing her to play around in his head was not in his plans.
He looked at her sitting as quietly as if she were alone, not looking left or right, and certainly not at him. She was so unlike the woman who’d slammed the door so mercilessly on his dream and his hopes. And so vulnerable. Without thinking he lifted her hand from her lap and folded it into his own. She looked at him, her expression more plaintive than joyful.
“What is it, Sheri? What’s wrong?” She shook her head. “Come here. Come closer to me.” She closed the short distance between them with alacrity and with what he could see was a forced smile. “Something isn’t right. What is it?”
“Nothing. I…I don’t seem to recognize myself.”
She wasn’t the only one. “Do you at least like the person you see in yourself now?”
“That’s just it. I do, and I didn’t know this person was in me.” As if that confession released something inside of her, she snuggled closer to him and rested her head on his shoulder. He put an arm around her and stared down at her glistening mouth. Like nail to magnet, he lowered his head and claimed it. Her arms went around him, and he spread his legs, lifted her and set her on his thigh. She went at him then, as greedily as a mouse after cheese. Her skirt rose up, baring her thighs, but she didn’t notice. She sucked his tongue as if she’d been starved for it, and when his hand skimmed her thigh, she shifted her hips, triggering his arousal. Quickly, he lifted her up and put her back on the car seat.
“We’re either going to have to leave each other alone or do something about this,” he said. To his amazement, she said nothing, closed her eyes and leaned back against the seat.
He caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. “Did you hear what I said?”
“Uh-huh.”
“What’s your response?”
“I can’t switch gears that fast. You’re still kissing me.”
“Really? I wonder what you’d do if I kissed you the way I want to?”
“You’re whetting my appetite.”
“And you’re encouraging me.”
“This is the Black Cultural Centre for Nova Scotia,” the cabbie told them. “If we stop here for half an hour, we can still make it back to the ship by the time your three hours have expired.”
“Do you want to stop?” Wright asked Sheri.
“It’s an hour before we get back to the ship, so I’d rather have a banana or something else to eat.”
“Where can we stop for a quick bite that isn’t out of the way?” Wright asked the driver.
“About five or six blocks from here. I could use a few minutes’ break myself. The Argyle Bar & Grill’s a nice place for a quick lunch.”
“Then we’ll go there,” Wright said
After a lunch of grilled Nova Scotia salmon, parsleyed tiny potatoes and a green salad, they headed back to the ship. “Would you stop here, please?” Wright asked the driver. “I’ll be right back.” He hoped his eyes hadn’t fooled him as he rushed back to a shop that stood inches from the edge of the road.
“I’d like two of those, please, and wrap them separately,” he said to the Native American shopkeeper.
“That was quick,” Sheri said when he slid into the seat beside her.
He handed her one of the parcels. “I thought you’d like a souvenir of your first visit to Nova Scotia.”
Her lower jaw dropped and her eyes widened. “Oh, Wright. What a nice thing for you to do.”
“Wait until you open it. Maybe you won’t like it.”
“That would be impossible,” she said, unwrapping the package. “I love presents, and I haven’t had a lot of them since my childhood years. Oh, my goodness! This is…Oh, Wright!” She looped her arms around his neck and showered his cheek with kisses.
“What are you doing?” he asked her when he felt dampness on his jaw. “Are you crying?” He didn’t want her to be sad. Didn’t she realize that her warmth and naturalness had begun to nourish his soul?
“I don’t know. Am I? Your giving me this…this lovely souvenir, something I would never otherwise have owned, touches me deeply. While you were gone, I was thinking how much I’d like to have a souvenir of this excursion. And to have this beautiful Native American doll…I’ll treasure this forever. Do you know its tribe?”
“Micmac. In language at least, they are related to the Algonquians. I’m delighted that you like it.”
“Did you buy one for yourself?”
“No. I bought one like it for my mother.”
She gazed at him with eyes that held warmth and tenderness. “Do you love your mother? I mean, is she warm and affectionate?”
That question explained a lot about the Professor Sheri Stephens who had seemed so heartless and cold. “Yes, to both questions. I must say I’m surprised you’d ask that.”
“If I’d had warm, affectionate and indulgent parents, I probably wouldn’t have asked the question. But I was a reflection of them and of their efforts to produce a child who excelled and who stood on top of the heap. Nothing short of that was acceptable. Hugs and kisses did not a perfect child make.” When his arm went around her shoulder, she relaxed against him.
“Oddly, I never thought of it that way until I started this cruise. They don’t even know that I’m not in Boston right now.” Her shoulders bunched in a quick shrug as if it didn’t matter. She hugged the doll. “Her name is Evening Star—Star, for short.”
He liked that. Somewhere inside of Professor Sheri Stephens lived a romantic woman. Hmm. Yes, you like her, but she’s got it coming, an inner voice said.
“I don’t see the point in lolling around out here when we can go on ship at any time,” he said when they arrived at the pier.
“Neither do I,” she said, took thirty Canadian dollars from her pocketbook and handed it to him.
“What’s this for?”
“You paid for our lunch, so I should at least pay for half the cost of the trip.”
“Okay, so you’re not a freeloader. I can appreciate that, but it’s my pleasure to take care of this.” Her steady gaze told him that she was wavering toward insisting that she split the fare.
“All right,” she said when he didn’t back down. “But next time, we settle it in advance.”
He could see that the professor threatened to emerge, smiled to placate her and ignored her suggestion. “Don’t forget we have a reservation for the whirlpool at three o’clock.”
“We have? I thought—”
He interrupted. “I changed it because I thought we’d enjoy the relaxation after sightseeing this morning. I hope you don’t mind.”
She seemed suddenly preoccupied, and he looked around for the yellow T-shirt, but didn’t see him. “No. I don’t mind. I’ll meet you there.”
He grinned, because laughter would have annoyed her. She didn’t want him to stop by her room for her. Fine with him. He had a good idea as to what made her tick, and he was a patient man.
Sheri left Wright at the top of the escalator on their deck, headed toward her stateroom, but made a detour to the elevator and rushed to the ship’s store. Twentyfive minutes later, she hadn’t found a bathing suit that hid more than the absolute minimum. With time at a premium, she settled for a red one in which the top at least covered half of each breast and the bottom had a back panel as well as a front piece. Back in her room, trembling as if she’d been terrorized, she put it on and forced herself to look in a mirror.
Good Lord! Was that her? She couldn’t believe it. She went to the full-length mirror on the bathroom door and gasped.
“My parents have a hell of a lot to account for,” she said aloud. “All this time, I thought I was a plain Jane. I know I have a decent face, but I’ve got one hell of a figure. Still, parading around in this thing takes more nerve than I’ve got.” She put on the white terry-cloth robe that the ship furnished, stuck her feet into her flip-flops, put her key in the pocket of her robe and headed for the whirlpool.
She entered the whirlpool room and looked around, hoping that she wouldn’t see Brian. Immediately, Wright rose from the lounge chair on which he’d been stretched out and went to meet her. Instead of reassuring her, his quick kiss on her mouth plunged her into a fit of nerves. Naked but for a G-string, he was a beauty of a man, and as she stood there ogling him, liquid accumulated in her mouth and she could hear herself swallow.
“Come on,” he urged. “Let’s go in. I can hardly wait. We’re numbers three and four.”
“I, uh. I’m not quite ready.”
“Why not? Come on. Hey, wait. Are you afraid of water?”
“No. It’s—All right.” She untied the robe, and suddenly she saw that he understood.
He took the robe from her shoulders, put it on his chair and walked back to her. “Modesty is admirable, Sheri, and I can see that you’re not accustomed to wearing these modern bathing suits. But you are stunningly beautiful from head to foot. If I say my tongue came close to falling out when I got a good look at you, I wouldn’t exaggerate one bit.”
“Let’s get in,” she said, less nervous than when she arrived. He’d said that she was beautiful, and that mattered more to her than the looks and stares of the several onlookers. He stepped in first, held out his hand to her and she followed.
“This is heaven.” She giggled happily as the warm, swirling water massaged her body. “Oh, Wright, this is fantastic.”
“It would be a lot more fun,” he said, “if we didn’t have to sit in one place. They don’t want anyone to swim or move around. Otherwise, I agree that it’s delightful.”
After half an hour—the limit allowed for a whirlpooling session—he got out, got her robe and held it when she stepped out. Then he donned his own robe, and they walked over to the fruit bar for smoothies.
“You’re a bag full of surprises, Sheri. Very pleasant surprises,” he said. “When you’re in the swimming pool area tomorrow, look at the bathing suits women are wearing. Yours is more modest than most, and not a woman there will be more attractive in one than you.” He winked at her. “Take it from a man who’s spent a lot of time looking at bathing suits.”
“Is that so? Well, I’ve just discovered that it’s something I’d enjoy doing, and I’m talking about one-piece bathing suits. Next time you plan to wear one, let me know.”
His laughter warmed her from head to foot. “I’ll be too happy to comply.”
“We don’t make port again till we get to Canso,” the bartender told them. “This is the leg of the trip when people gain the most weight.”
“How’s that?” Wright asked him.
“I guess you’d say boredom sets in, so they eat and drink. If you don’t gamble, what else can you do?”
“There’s swimming and lots of games, lectures and classes,” Sheri suggested. “Wouldn’t you say so, Wright?”
His eyes had that devilish twinkle that always intrigued her. “I’m not saying anything. In fact, I’m not going there at all.”
The bartended released a guffaw, and she looked from one man to the other. “I don’t suppose I want to know what you’re laughing about,” she said to Wright. He draped an arm across her shoulders, and she felt an urgency in his move. With a sense of unease, she glanced toward the entrance and saw Brian King walk in. Immediately on edge, she watched him walk toward them.
“Hello, Sheri,” he said, but he didn’t stop.
“Don’t tell me you sensed that guy’s presence,” Wright said.
“No. I didn’t. The way you put your arm around me gave me a sense of impending danger. I looked around and saw Brian.” She had turned to focus on Wright’s face as she said it and, from his demeanor, she realized that he had been primed for a confrontation.
“At least you’re sensitive to me.” He didn’t smile when he said it.
There’s so much that I don’t understand about men. Weeks ago, I would have dismissed Wright’s behavior right now as arrogance. After being with him these days, I suspect it’s a phenomenon of the male psyche. If males among wild animals protect their turf from other males, why shouldn’t the human male? Why can’t they find a way to do it without seeming to establish ownership? I like Wright a lot, but I don’t want him to be possessive with me. If my dad would get his head out of those books long enough to be a sympathetic and loving father, I could ask him about it. I wonder if he’d know what I was talking about.
“You’ve become pensive,” Wright said. “Is there anything wrong?” He gripped her shoulder with his left hand.
“We agree that I’m not as worldly as I may seem. I’m trying to add things up, and that isn’t easy.”
“I know you’re not as sophisticated as outward appearances suggest. I get more evidence of that almost by the hour. Ready to go? I need some time in my room before dinner. Can we meet at the same place and time?”
“I’d like that.”
He got up, lifted her from the high stool and set her on her feet. “I would have kissed you, but you had the fear of hell on your face, scared to death that I would.” He laughed and hugged her. “Never worry. My good sense rarely deserts me.”
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/gwynne-forster/destination-love-42493573/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.