Separate Cabins Page 5

  “No, I don’t want to be alone forever,” she admitted in a low voice.

  “Then why don’t you stop being so sensitive?” Gard suggested.

  “I’m not,” Rachel flared.

  “Yes, you are,” he nodded. “Right now you’re angry with me. Why? Because I think you are a very attractive woman and I’ve tried to show you that I’m attracted to you.”

  “You came for your shaving kit,” she reminded him, not liking this personal conversation now that she was becoming the subject of it. “You have it, so why don’t you leave?”

  She tried to brush past him and walk over to open the door and hurry him out, but he caught at her forearm and stopped her. His firm grip applied enough pressure to turn her toward him.

  “I’m not going to apologize because I find you attractive and say things that let you know I’m interested,” Gard informed her. “And I’m not going to apologize because I have the normal urge to take you in my arms and kiss you.”

  She looked at him but said nothing. She could feel the vein throbbing in her neck, its hammering beat betraying how his seductive voice disturbed her. She was conscious of his closeness, the hand that came to rest on the curve of her waist, and the steadiness of his gaze.

  “And if the kiss lived up to my expectations, I would probably be tempted to press it further,” he admitted calmly. “It’s natural. After all, what’s wrong with a man wanting to take a woman into his arms and kiss her? For that matter, what’s wrong with a woman wanting to kiss a man?”

  For the life of her Rachel couldn’t think of a thing, especially when she felt his hand sliding smoothly to the back of her waist and drawing her closer. As his head slowly bent toward her, her eyelids became heavy, closing as his face moved nearer.

  His mouth was warm on the coolness of her lips, moving curiously over them. Her hands and arms remained at her side, neither coming up to hold or resist. The pressure of his nuzzling mouth was stimulating. Rachel could feel the sensitive skin of her lips clinging to the faint moistness of his mobile mouth.

  Behind her outward indifference her senses were tingling to life. Her body had swayed partially against him, letting the solidness of his body provide some of her support. There was a faint flavor of tobacco and nicotine on his lips, and the clean scent of soap drifted from his tanned skin.

  There was a roaming pressure along her spine as his hand followed its supple line. It created a pleasant sensation and Rachel leaned more of her weight against him, feeling the outline of his hips and thighs through the thin, clinging material of her robe. The nature of his kiss became more intimate, consuming her lips with a trace of hunger. Within seconds a raw warmth was spreading through her system, stirring up impulses that Rachel preferred to stay dormant.

  She lowered her head, breaking away from the sensual kiss and fighting the attack of breath-lessness. The minute his arms loosened their hold on her, she stepped away, avoiding his gaze.

  It would have been so easy to let his experienced skill carry her away. It was so ironic, Rachel nearly laughed aloud. A little sex was what her friend had recommended. There wasn’t any doubt in Rachel’s mind that Gard could arouse her physical desire, but she wanted more than that.

  “You didn’t slap my face,” Gard remarked after the silence had stretched for several seconds. “Should I be encouraged by that?”

  “Think what you like. You probably will anyway,” Rachel replied and finally turned around to look at him, recovering some of her calm. “If you don’t mind, I’ll ask you to leave now. I’d like to get dressed.”

  “How about coffee on the Sun Deck?” He repeated the invitation that had started the whole thing.

  Her wandering steps had brought her to the table where the telephone sat. Rachel pushed the call button to summon the steward, aware that his gaze sharpened as he observed her action.

  “Let’s do it some other time, Mr. MacKinley,” she suggested, knowing that the indefiniteness of her answer was equal to polite refusal.

  “Suit yourself.” He shrugged but his narrowed interest never left her.

  There was a warning knock before the door was opened by the room steward. Curiosity flared when he saw Gard in the cabin, but he turned respectfully to Rachel. “Did you want something, Mrs. MacKinley?”

  “Mr. MacKinley had left his shaving kit here. I thought you might have seen it,” she lied about the reason she had called him. “But we found it just this minute. Thank you for coming, though.”

  “No problem,” he assured her. “Is there something else I can do? Perhaps I can bring the two of you coffee?”

  “No thanks,” Rachel refused and looked pointedly at Gard. “Mr. MacKinley was just leaving.”

  Lazy understanding was in his looks at the way she had maneuvered him into leaving under the escort of the steward. He inclined his head toward her and moved leisurely to the door the steward was holding open.

  Chapter Four

  There was some morning coolness in the breeze blowing through the opened windows at The Lido on the Sun Deck, but her lavender sweater jacket with its cowled hood provided Rachel with just enough protection that she didn’t feel any chill. There were a lot of early risers sitting at the tables and taking advantage of the coffee and continental breakfast being served.

  On the Observation Deck above, joggers were tramping around the balcony of the sun dome, pushed open to provide sunshine and fresh air to The Lido. As Rachel waited in the buffet line for her coffee she looked to see if Gard happened to be among the joggers. Not all of them had made a full circle before the people in line ahead of her moved and she followed.

  She bypassed the fruit tray of freshly cut pineapples, melon, and papaya and the warming tray of sweet rolls, made fresh daily at the ship’s bakery. It all looked tempting, but she intended to breakfast in the dining room, so she kept to her decision to have only coffee.

  There was an older couple directly in front of her. When she noticed that they were having difficulty trying to balance their plates and each carry a glass of juice and a cup of coffee as well, Rachel volunteered to carry some of it for them. She was instantly overwhelmed by their rush of gratitude.

  “Isn’t that thoughtful of her, Poppa,” the woman kept exclaiming to her husband as she carefully followed her mate to a table on the sheltered deck by the swimming pool.

  “You are a good woman to do this,” he insisted to Rachel. “Momma and I don’t get around so good—but we still get around. Sometimes it’s nice to have help, though.”

  “Please sit with us,” his wife urged as Rachel set their glasses of juice on the table for them. “We appreciate so much how you helped us. If you hadn’t, I would have spilled something for sure, then Poppa would have been upset and—” She waved a wrinkled hand in a gesture that indicated she could have gone on about the troubles that might have occurred. “How can we thank you?” she asked instead.

  “It was nothing, honestly,” Rachel insisted, a little embarrassed at the fuss they were making over her. Both hands were holding her coffee cup as she backed away from the table. “Enjoy your breakfast.”

  “Thank you. You are so kind.” The elderly man beamed gratefully at her.

  As Rachel turned to seek a quiet place to sit and drink her coffee, she spied Gard just coming off the ladder to the Observation Deck. His sweatshirt was clinging damply to him, a triangular patch of wetness at the chest, and his skin glistened with perspiration. He was walking directly toward her. Rachel stood her ground, determined not to spend her entire cruise trying to avoid him. Even though he looked physically tired, there was a vital, fresh air about him, as if all the fast-running blood in his veins had pumped the cobwebs out of his system. She envied that tired but very alive look.

  He slowed to a stop when he reached her, his hands moving up to rest on his hips. “Good morning, Mrs. MacKinley.” Amusement laced his warm greeting as he smiled down at her, his eyes skimming over her ebony hair framed by the lavender hood.

  “Good
morning, Mr. MacKinley,” she returned the greeting.

  His gaze drifted to her lips, as if seeking traces of the imprint his mouth had made on them. There was something almost physical about his look. Rachel imagined that she could feel the pressure of his kiss again.

  “I see you have your morning coffee,” Gard observed.

  “Yes, I do.” She braced herself for his next remark, expecting it to be some reference to his invitation.

  “I’ll see you later.” He started forward, changing his angle slightly to walk by her. “I have to shower and change before breakfast.”

  For a stunned second she turned to watch him leave. Behind her she heard the elderly couple at the table speaking about them.

  “Did you hear that, Poppa?” the woman was saying. “They call each other Mister and Missus.”

  “The way we used to, eh, Momma.”

  “He called her Mrs. MacKinley,” the woman said again.

  “And she called him Mr. MacKinley,” the man inserted.

  “That’s so nice and old-fashioned, isn’t it?” the woman prompted.

  Suppressing the impulse to walk to their table, Rachel moved in the opposite direction. It hardly mattered that they had the mistaken impression she was married to him. Correcting it might involve a long, detailed explanation and she didn’t want to go into it. Besides, what they had overheard had brought back some fond memories of their early married life. They were happy, so why should she spoil it with a lot of explanations that didn’t really matter to them.

  Shortly after late-sitting breakfast was announced, Rachel entered the dining room and was shown to her assigned table. It was located in a far corner of the room, quiet and away from the flow of traffic to the kitchen and the waiter service areas. Two couples were already sitting at the table for eight when Rachel arrived.

  An exchange of good mornings was followed by introductions. She was immediately confused as to which woman was Helen and which one was Nanette, and their husbands were named something like John or Frank. Rachel didn’t even make an attempt to remember their last names. Since they would be sharing every meal together from now on, she knew she would eventually get the right names with the right faces.

  While the waiter poured a cup of coffee for her, Rachel glanced over the breakfast menu. A third couple arrived, a young pair in their twenties, compared to what Rachel judged to be the average age of forty for the other four. After they were seated, there was only one vacant chair—the one beside Rachel.

  “I’m Jenny and this is my husband, Don,” the girl said. There was a bright-eyed, playful quality about her that seemed to immediately lighten the atmosphere at the table.

  Her introduction started the roll call around the table again, ending with Rachel. “I’m Rachel MacKinley.” Although the others hadn’t, she tacked on her surname. She supposed it was probably a business habit.

  The waiter hovered by her chair to take her order. “Orange juice, please,” she began. “Some papaya, two basted eggs, and Canadian bacon.”

  When she partially turned in her chair to pass the menu to the waiter, Rachel saw Gard approaching their table. All the ones close to them were filled, so his destination could be none other than the empty chair next to her.

  Something should have forewarned her. Until this moment she hadn’t given a thought to where he might be seated. But it was obvious they would be seated at the same table. They had been assigned to the same cabin, so naturally as man and wife, supposedly, they would be assigned to the same table.

  That moment of shocked realization flashed in her eyes, and Gard saw the flicker of surprise in their gray depths. A smile played at the edges of his mouth. Rachel faced the table again and reached for her coffee cup, trying to keep the grim resignation out of her expression.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Gard said to the table in general as he pulled out the vacant chair beside Rachel and sat down. “It took longer to shower and change than I thought. Has everyone ordered?”

  “We just got here, too,” said Jenny, of the young married couple, assuring him quickly that he wasn’t the only late arrival. “I’m Jenny, and this is my husband, Don.”

  The round-robin of names started again, but Rachel stayed out, not needing to introduce herself to him. “I’m Gard MacKinley,” he finished the circle and unfolded the napkin to lay it on his lap. “Is this your first cruise, Jenny?”

  “Yes. It’s kind of a second honeymoon for Don and me,” she explained. So far, Rachel couldn’t recall Jenny’s young husband saying a word. “Actually I guess it is our first honeymoon since we didn’t go anywhere after our wedding. Both of us had to work, so we kept putting it off. Then the baby came—”

  “You have a baby?” The balding man looked at her in surprise. Helen’s husband—or was it Nanette’s? As many times as their names had been said, Rachel would have thought she’d have them straight, but with Gard sitting beside her, she wasn’t thinking too clearly.

  There was a crisp darkness to his hair, still damp from the shower, and the familiar scent of his after-shave lotion drifted to her. No matter how she tried not to notice, he seemed to fill her side vision.

  “You don’t look old enough to be a mother,” the balding, forty-year-old man insisted as he eyed the young girl.

  “Timmy is six years old, so I’ve been a mother for a while.” Jenny laughed. “I’m twenty-five.”

  “Where’s your little boy?” Helen or Nanette asked.

  “Grandma and Grandpa are keeping him so Don and I could take this cruise. It was a chance of a lifetime, and we couldn’t pass it up. The company Don works for awarded him this all-expense-paid cruise for being the top salesman in his entire region.” It was plain to see how proud she was of his achievement. “It’s really great, even if I do miss Timmy already.”

  “Nanette and I have three children,” the man said, providing Rachel with the name of his wife.

  “We have four.” Which meant that woman was Helen. Helen with the henna-hair—Rachel tried for a word association and discovered the woman had turned her glance to her. “How many children do you have?”

  “None,” she replied, knowing how much she regretted that now. The waiter came and set the orange juice and papaya before her, thus relieving the need to add anything more to her answer.

  “You’re leaving it a little late, aren’t you . . . Gard?” Helen’s husband hesitated before coming up with his name.

  “I suppose I am,” he murmured dryly and slid a bemused glance at Rachel.

  The elderly couple was one thing, but Rachel didn’t intend to let this misconception continue. Her cheeks were warm when she looked away from him to face the rest of their companions at the table.

  “Excuse me, but we aren’t married, even though we do have the same surname.” Her assertion attracted startled and curious looks to both of them. “I know it’s all very confusing.”

  “I’m sure you can all appreciate that it’s a long and complicated story.” Gard quietly followed up on her statement. “So we won’t bore you with the details. But she’s right. We aren’t married to each other.”

  There was an awkward silence after their announcement. Rachel had the feeling that henna-haired Helen would love to have been “bored with the details.” There were a lot of questions in their eyes, but Gard’s phrasing had indicated they wouldn’t be welcomed. For the time being, their curiosity was being forced to the side.

  A minute later everyone was trying to talk at once and cover up that awkward moment. The waiter took the last three breakfast orders while his assistant served the meals of the first ones. With food to be eaten, there wasn’t as much need for conversation.

  “What kind of work do you do?” Rachel heard someone at the table ask of Gard. It probably seemed a safe inquiry. She slid him a curious, side-long glance, realizing again how little she knew about this man.

  “I’m an attorney in Los Angeles,” Gard replied.

  Rachel had never prided herself on being able to fit
people to occupations by sight, yet she wouldn’t have guessed he was in the law profession either. There was no resemblance at all between Gard and John Kemper. Thinking of her friend’s husband, she was reminded that John thought he had recognized Gard. Since they were in the same profession in the same city, it was probable he had.

  “Is this your first cruise?” Jenny put to him the same question he had asked her.

  “No.” There was a brief show of a smile. “I’ve sailed on the Pacific Princess many times. The engineer happens to be a personal friend of mine. This is about the only way to spend any time with him, since he’s out to sea more than he’s in port.”

  Which explained to Rachel why it had appeared he’d been given preferential treatment when he’d been allowed onto the ship prior to the normal boarding time—and why the purser had known him.

  The table conversation digressed into a discussion of the crew, the advantages of working aboard ships, and speculation about the length of time they were away from home at any one stretch. Rachel mostly listened while she ate her breakfast.

  She stayed at the table long enough to have a last cup of coffee after the meal. When Nanette and her husband pushed back their chairs to leave, she elected to follow them. Gard still had a freshly poured cup of coffee to drink—not that she really thought he would make a point of leaving when she did, or even wished to avoid it. But when she left the dining room, she was alone.

  The ship was huge, virtually a floating city with a population of almost a thousand. It was amazing to Rachel how many times she saw Gard that first day at sea, given the size of the ship and the number of people aboard. Some of it was to be expected, since he was assigned to the same station when they had emergency drills that morning. Naturally she saw him at lunch—and again in the afternoon when she went sunning on the Observation Deck.

  Soon she would be meeting him again at dinner. It was nearly time for the late-sitting guests to be permitted into the dining room. In anticipation of that moment a crowd had begun to gather, filling the small foyer outside the dining room and overflowing onto the flight of steps. Rachel waited in the stair overflow, standing close to the bannister.