Ready for Anything, Anywhere! Page 7

  A long, drawn-out moment of silence vibrated between them as Cheryl and Jordan gazed at each other. She didn’t think she’d ever seen such green eyes, a blue green, almost turquoise.

  Snap out of it, she told herself. This guy is not only a nerd, but he’s crazy. Don’t start thinking of him as a nice guy, as someone you could actually like. But she could pretend to like him, couldn’t she? There weren’t many guys she couldn’t wrap around her little finger and make them do whatever she wanted. Why should Jordan be any different? She could play nice, and maybe, just maybe, he’d help her get off this damn boat and back to civilization.

  “I’ll bring you a sandwich later.” Jordan opened the door and walked into the salon.

  “Jordan?”

  He glanced over his shoulder. “Yes?”

  “I’m sorry I’ve been such a brat. And if you bring me a sandwich later, I promise I’ll eat it.”

  When he smiled, he was almost cute.

  After she’d eaten a bite of supper, Gwen excused herself and went into the small guest stateroom. She took a shower and donned her cotton sleep shirt with Huntsville Botanical Gardens imprinted across the front and a screen-printed photo of the rose garden on the back. Then she settled into the surprisingly comfortable bed and meditated for a good ten minutes until she felt relaxed and drowsy. She had begun meditating years ago, learning the technique from a friend who, like she, had difficulty winding down at the end of the day.

  The wind moaned, almost like a woman weeping, as it bombarded the yacht, rocking it none too gently. Think of yourself in a big cradle, being rocked to sleep.

  Just then, lightning danced in the sky outside the porthole and booming thunder announced the storm had hit. Rain poured down, the sound blending with the wind, becoming an unnerving roar.

  Gwen shot up in bed. There was no way she could sleep. She could go into the salon and fix herself a drink, just as Will had after dinner. Maybe that would help her sleep.

  After easing open her stateroom door, she crept into the salon, tiptoeing on bare feet across the carpet. The room lay in semidarkness, lit only by the light from her stateroom and the dim light Will had left on over the sink. As she made her way across the salon, she thought she heard a noise.

  “Can’t sleep?” Will asked, his voice coming from the curved settee on the opposite side of the salon.

  Gwen gasped and jumped. “You scared me half to death.”

  “Sorry.”

  “What are you doing sitting in here in the dark? I thought you went to bed.”

  “I did, but I couldn’t sleep.”

  “All that wind and rain and thunder are pretty noisy,” Gwen said.

  “Hmm. Why don’t you come over here and sit down. We can pass the time by swapping old war stories.”

  Gwen turned on more lights. Will grunted.

  “Turn those off,” he told her.

  She looked at him and noticed he was sitting there bare-chested and barefoot, wearing only his jeans. His chest was as richly tanned as his face and arms, and quite muscular. He hadn’t shaved since they’d left Puerto Nuevo, so a light-brown beard stubble gave him a rough, rakish quality that unsettled her.

  She turned off the lights and walked across the salon. When she stood over him, he patted the large leather settee. She sat beside him but made sure there was several feet between them.

  “When I was a kid, I used to sit on our back porch at night, after everybody else was asleep,” he said. “I liked the dark, the solitude. I had to share a room with my brothers, so there was never any privacy and hardly ever any quiet. If Mama wasn’t fussing at us for fighting and roughhousing all the time, the old man was issuing orders and reprimanding us for not being tough enough.”

  “I had my own room,” Gwen said. “And my mother was a very quiet, easygoing person. We were very close. And being an only child living with a single parent, there were times when I longed for a brother or a sister.”

  “I guess it’s only human to want what you don’t have.”

  “My father lost his entire family the summer he was twenty. His parents and younger brother. They had rented a yacht and were sailing the Caribbean when a freak storm came up. Everyone was lost, except Daddy.”

  “Was that when he discovered his mythical island?”

  “Yes. My mother always said that losing his family that way did something to him, sort of warped him, so he invented this outrageous tale of an island where people live to be two hundred and are never sick.”

  “Did you ever think there might be some truth to his tale?” Will turned sideways and faced her in the semidarkness.

  “Sure. When I was a little girl, I believed everything my father told me. And then when I was older, I actually went with him on two of his quests to rediscover his island. I was eighteen the first time and nineteen the second time. Even though I didn’t believe in his island, I wanted to. It was during those summer voyages with him that I learned how truly obsessed he was with finding this island. My mother had tried to warn me that nothing and no one meant more to him than his totally irrational dream of finding the island and bringing the Fountain of Youth plant to the world.”

  Will stretched out his arm behind her head and leaned toward her. Gwen’s breath caught in her throat. He was too close. She could feel the heat coming off his partially naked body.

  “Is that why you hide behind your brains and your baggy clothes and your clean-scrubbed face and—” he lifted a thick strand of hair from her shoulder and slipped his fingers through it as he let it drift back into place “—frumpy hairdo? Because you don’t ever want to get involved with a man and have him disappoint you the way your father disappointed your mother and you?”

  Gwen felt trapped by the gentle touch of his hand on her shoulder. “I’m not hiding behind anything. I’m just not the frilly, girly type whose main objective in life is to attract men.”

  Will ran his hand down her arm, over her waist and settled on her hip. She sucked in a deep, concerned breath.

  “I got a glimpse of your nightshirt,” he told her. “Don’t you own anything the least bit sexy and feminine?”

  “I dress for comfort, especially what I sleep in.”

  “I made a bet with myself not long after we met that you probably wear white cotton panties and bras. Am I right?”

  Gwen’s heartbeat accelerated alarmingly. He had no right to ask her something so personal, so private. But the very thought of him being curious about her underwear sent quivers through her body.

  “That’s none of your business,” she finally managed to tell him.

  He inched her nightshirt up her leg enough so that he could slip his hand beneath and caress her hip. She should protest, but somehow she couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, could barely breathe.

  “I don’t know what color they are,” Will said, rubbing his hand from her hip to her belly. “But they’re definitely cotton.”

  When he chuckled, she lifted her hand, intending to slap him. She had never slapped a man, not even her ex-husband, and he had broken her young and foolish heart. But she wanted to hurt Will Pierce, wanted to make him stop laughing at her. He caught her by the wrist just as her hand neared his cheek.

  Before she realized what was happening, he yanked her forward until she toppled onto his lap. Startled and gasping for air, she didn’t expect what happened next. He kissed her. A long, slow, tongue-thrusting kiss that ignited a fire in her belly. He didn’t touch her while he ravaged her mouth, except for his hand, manacled tightly around her wrist. Unable to stop herself, she responded, kissing him back with equal passion.

  Finally, when they came up for air, Will released his hold on her wrist and gazed deeply into her eyes.

  “You kiss pretty damn good for a brainy, frumpy, no-frills gal,” Will said.

  She eased away from him and stood. “I do a lot of things pretty damn good.”

  Will chuckled. “Anything else you’d care to demonstrate.”

  “Not for you, M
r. Pierce, now or ever.”

  When she tromped across the salon and into her stateroom, she heard his low, rumbling chuckle. Arrogant bastard!

  Chapter 6

  Gwen lay on the silk sheets, which were smooth and cool to the touch. As if captured inside a transparent bubble, Will and she touched and kissed and explored each other until every nerve in her body screamed for release. Will lifted himself up and over her, then took her with gentle force. Whimpering with pure pleasure, she grasped hold of his shoulders and gave herself over to the uncontrollable hunger she could not deny.

  She climaxed with earth-shattering intensity.

  Still quivering with the aftershocks of her release, Gwen opened her eyes and realized that she was alone in the round-edged bunk bed nestled inside the belly of the Footloose. Not fully awake, she ran her hand over the cotton sheets and felt terribly alone.

  Will had not shared her bed. He hadn’t made love to her. It had all been a dream. A sensual dream. An erotic dream.

  Dear Lord, she’d never dreamed about making love with a man, any man. And she’d certainly never had an orgasm while she was dreaming.

  This was bad, really bad. She kicked back the covers, hopped out of bed and went straight into the tiny bathroom. She couldn’t allow herself to get hung up on Will Pierce. The very idea was totally ridiculous. She didn’t like his type—swaggering macho he-man. Even though she understood that gentle, intellectual dreamers like her father, and sweet, nonthreatening types like her ex-husband, were not necessarily loyal, caring and steadfast, she would never sink so low as to jump in the sack with the first horny Neanderthal who asked her what kind of underwear she was wearing.

  He hadn’t just asked. He’d found out for himself. Remembering the feel of Will’s big hand caressing her hip and belly sent shivers through Gwen.

  No. Absolutely, positively no! She was not going to have sex with Will. She didn’t have brief, meaningless flings. It wasn’t her style—not in her nature.

  By the time she finished showering and had dressed for the day, Gwen felt much better, confident that she could handle her silly attraction to Will. For heaven’s sake, I don’t even like him!

  When she emerged from her stateroom, she found the salon empty. Was Will still asleep? Suddenly she realized the cruiser was moving. Had she been so preoccupied with her sex dream that she’d missed that all-important fact?

  She climbed the steps leading up to the deck and emerged into bright sunlight and the smell of the salty ocean. Will sat on the bench seat at the helm, shaded by the arched hardtop. She sat down beside him. He glanced at her, smiled and nodded.

  “Good morning, sleepyhead.”

  “How long have you been up?” she asked grumpily. “And how long have we been out at sea?” Looking all around her, she saw nothing but the turquoise blue of the sea and the azure of the sky, the two meeting and melding on the horizon.

  “I’ve been up a couple of hours and we set sail about thirty minutes ago.”

  “Why didn’t you wake me?”

  “I thought you needed your beauty sleep,” he said in a teasing voice.

  “Ha-ha. Very funny.”

  “Ah, come on, brown eyes, don’t you have a sense of humor?”

  “Maybe women who wear white cotton bras and panties don’t have senses of humor. Ever think of that?”

  “Nah, can’t say that I have, but then, I don’t know many of those women. The gals I know usually wear the black-and-red and hot-pink silky stuff. Either that or they don’t bother with underwear at all.”

  “I walked right into that one, didn’t I?” Gwen looked pointedly ahead, determined not to make eye contact with Will. “Exactly where are we going?”

  “St. Mallon.” He nodded toward his covered metal mug perched in the cup holder. “If you want to do something to help, how about making a fresh pot of coffee and refilling that for me.”

  “Why are we going to St. Mallon?” she asked, ignoring his request.

  “I was in radio contact with Dundee’s this morning. An operative on St. Mallon said that the Sun Dancer dropped anchor there late yesterday.”

  “They’ll be gone by the time we get there.”

  “Probably, but my contact said he’ll try to find out where they’re headed. It’ll help if we know whether they’re heading straight for Bermuda or if they have another stop or two on the way. If we hear something before we get to St. Mallon, we can keep going to their next destination and possibly catch up with them.”

  Gwen removed his mug from the cup holder and stood. “I’ll make fresh coffee.” As she crossed the cockpit, she paused and asked, “Any other womanly duties you’d like for me to do? Cook breakfast maybe?”

  “Are you offering to cook something for me?”

  “I’m hungry. You’re hungry. I don’t see why not.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” Okay, Gwen told herself, maybe if you’re pleasant to Will, he’ll be pleasant to you. There’s no need to argue. We can be friendly without being friends. Or lovers.

  An hour later, after sharing a breakfast of coffee, scrambled eggs and banana muffins, they docked at St. Mallon. Will’s contact, whom she suspected was a freelance operative he’d known during his years as a government agent, met them at the marina.

  “Molly Esteban made a drop this morning, then they headed out.” The man—whose name, she suspected, even Will didn’t know—spoke with a British accent. “They’re probably going to Baccara next.”

  “Why Baccara?” Gwen asked.

  Will gave her a withering glare, silently reminding her that he’d told her to keep quiet, to let him do all the talking.

  Ignoring Gwen’s question, Will asked, “Did you see anyone on board, other than the Esteban woman and Captain McGuire?”

  “An old man with snowy white hair and a curly-haired boy.”

  “You didn’t see a young redheaded woman?”

  “No. The only woman I saw was Molly Esteban.”

  “Thanks.”

  As soon as Will’s contact left them, Will grabbed Gwen’s arm, turned her around forcefully and marched her toward the Footloose.

  “Why hasn’t someone arrested Molly Esteban?” Gwen asked, keeping in step with Will as she tugged to free her manacled arm. “Or at the very least, why haven’t the authorities detained her?”

  Will released his tenacious hold on her but didn’t slow his pace as he responded in an aggravated tone. “The contacts that Dundee’s uses often work on both sides of the law. They’re not in a position to report crimes, even if they’re eyewitnesses to them.”

  “Then why doesn’t Dundee’s—”

  Will groaned. “You ask too many damn questions.”

  “So Dundee’s uses unscrupulous people for undercover work when it’s necessary. I might not approve, but I do understand. And as for asking questions, if I don’t ask, how can I learn?”

  When Will didn’t respond, she kept quiet until they were halfway to the boat, then asked, “How do you know you can trust that man? How can you be sure the Sun Dancer is really headed to Baccara? He wouldn’t even tell us why they’d go there.”

  “I trust him as much as I trust any Dundee contact. As for him lying to us—he’d have no reason to lie. And Baccara is the last island north of here before you hit the wide expanse of the Atlantic on the way to Bermuda. If Molly and Mick are delivering drugs, they’d hit Baccara for sure.”

  “Oh, I see. So, I take it that we’re off on our wild-goose chase again.”

  “Yeah, and the Sun Dancer has less than an hour’s head start,” Will said. “It sure would help if we knew exactly where they planned to dock.”

  “You mean your contact couldn’t find out that small detail for you?”

  “Stop being a pain in the ass, will you?” He urged her into motion.

  She kept pace beside him, all the while wondering why on earth she didn’t just give up on finding her father and go back to her safe, contented life in Huntsville.
/>
  Because her father’s life was in danger and the old fool hasn’t got sense enough to know it!

  But definitely not because she wanted to stay near Will Pierce.

  Molly Esteban looked at herself in the mirror. Face it, you’ve got ten good years left, at most. She needed to be socking away some money now, while she was still young enough to get by on her looks. God knew, she didn’t have much else going for her. And she wasn’t exactly getting rich hooking up with losers like Mick McGuire. But for now he’d have to do. Why couldn’t The Professor have been a rich old codger instead of a certifiable kook? The guy was crazy about her. She’d seen to that. Lucky for her, he could still get it up. At least occasionally. If there was one thing Molly knew how to do, it was make a man happy in the sack.

  If Emery was wealthy, she’d marry him. After all, at seventy, how long could he live, especially with her around to give his heart a workout on a regular basis?

  “You look good enough to eat.” Mick came up behind her, nuzzled her neck and groped her boobs.

  Shrugging him off, she scolded, “You can’t be doing stuff like that. Not now. What if Emery or Jordan came down here and saw you?”

  “They’re all on deck,” Mick said, grinning suggestively. “How about a quickie, baby doll?”

  “No! And I wish you’d stop asking. We’ve got a strictly business arrangement for now. I’m The Professor’s girlfriend until we dump him and the other two in Bermuda.” She straightened her low-cut, sleeveless shirt where Mick had messed it up, then ran her fingers through her short black hair and headed for the steps leading up to the deck.

  Mick caught her halfway up, whirled her around and gave her a hungry once-over with his heated gaze. “After screwing around with that old goat, you’ll be hot as a firecracker when you’re finally with a real man.”

  “That old goat rented this boat for us,” she reminded Mick. “And having him along as a front for us is working out just fine, isn’t it?”

  “So far, but what happens when we finish our deliveries? If it was just The Professor and his assistant, there wouldn’t be a problem, but what about the little redhead?”