Maiden Voyage Page 2

  Settling his large body into his own chair, high spirits colored his booming voice. "So, everyone is hungry?"

  The room echoed with the amiable conversation of men who spent long stretches of time together. Solly began serving the meal, and Captain Olsen turned to Amanda.

  "You are ready for adventure on the high seas, no?"

  His mischievous grin threw a jolt into the pit of her stomach. The new bold and free environment felt strangely exhilarating and, at the same time, a little daunting.

  "I've never been on a ship before, so this will definitely be an adventure."

  "Ah, goot! Tomorrow I will see that you have a tour of ATLAS. She is a beautiful ship, and you must see everything."

  He raised his wine glass to her, then took a large gulp. Turning his attention to the feast in front of him, he enthusiastically speared a clump of juicy meat. Amanda stared at her own plate, heaped with more food than she could possibly eat. So much for slimming down.

  After the meal, most of the staff returned to their stations and Solly poured sherry while Captain Olsen addressed his passengers.

  "Introduce yourselves, please. We will be one big, happy family for next three weeks."

  He gazed intently at Amanda, sending an uncomfortable flutter through her stomach.

  Her voice sounded thin and timid to her own ears. "I'm Professor Amanda Barker from New Hampshire."

  Olsen raised a bushy eyebrow and smiled. "You give me English lessons, eh?"

  Amanda's cheeks burned. "No, I teach literature."

  He chuckled, then turned his attention to the elderly man farther down the table. "And you, Sir?"

  "Dr. Chadwick Elleson. I'm a retired surgeon from Baltimore."

  Amanda half-listened to Olsen's banter, wondering at her reaction to his personal attentions. Was the man coming on to her, or was it just her imagination? She glanced at his bulky body squeezed into the armchair. He wasn't exactly the type she'd hoped to meet on this voyage.

  Laughter rippled through the room and she refocused on the captain's conversation.

  "The charming young ladies will cause me trouble, I see." Olsen shook his head in mock resignation. "My men will have hard time concentrating on work."

  The two girls at the end of the table giggled loudly at the captain's teasing. Rachel and Danielle were on their first vacation without parents, and obviously had big plans.

  Olsen rose from his seat and gestured expansively. "I go to work now, but you stay as long as you like. Solly will keep your glasses filled, just ask."

  He winked at Amanda, then disappeared through the door. Dr. Elleson retreated into his book, and the girls returned to their whispering. Amanda picked up her sherry and left the dining room.

  The transformation of the view that had occurred in just one hour startled her. Dry land was now a narrow strip on the horizon behind the ship and, for as far as she could see in any other direction, deep green ocean touched the farthest edges of her universe. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, the sharp salty air stinging her nasal passages. Warm breezes swirled around her, tugging at her blouse and caressing her bare throat. The sherry sang through her system, and she sighed with contentment.

  The sun began to sink quickly, casting glorious colors across the deep lavender sky. She stepped onto the gangway that ran the length of the superstructure, then gasped at the force of the wind coming off the bow. Balancing herself against the new energy in the air, she made her way to a spot where she could watch the sun's spectacular finale.

  Leaning on the cold, hard railing, she clutched her glass. The wind tore at her clothes and snatched her hair from the chignon, whipping the long strands into a frenzy about her face. The fiery dark orange ball loomed huge on the horizon, frosting the waves with splashes and glints of glorious color, reflecting the kaleidoscope of pastels from the sky above. So strong and positive, like youthful enthusiasm for life. The sun quickly dropped beneath the flat line of water, leaving a wake of pinks and purples. Gone so soon, like life passing by—so easy to miss. She stared at the fading patterns and felt deep sorrow for all the experiences that had slipped past her, unnoticed.

  "You like the sea?" A strong accent sang through the rich, deep voice.

  Amanda nearly dropped her glass. Whirling around, she found herself staring into the intense gaze of a very handsome man. He turned his attention to a pile of rope on the deck and began to loop the thick cord neatly into perfect coils, his powerful arm muscles rippling beneath burnished olive skin.

  Amanda couldn't tear her gaze from his movements. "Yes, it's beautiful."

  She sipped the last of the sherry while she watched him finish his task. Spanish? Italian? His long black hair was pulled back in a ponytail, enhancing the silhouette of his head and features. High cheekbones, a bit of a Roman nose, a bushy black moustache, a shadow of beard. She drew her breath in, slowly and quietly, as an unfamiliar stir moved through the pit of her stomach. He straightened and faced her, his attention turning that stir into a frenzy.

  Dark brown eyes beneath heavy black brows considered her for a moment, then he nodded. "Welcome to ATLAS." Then he turned abruptly and disappeared down a stairwell.

  She exhaled sharply, willing her pulse to stop racing and her insides to stop jigging. The stranger in her fantasies was real. Even the chilly wind couldn't cool the heat moving across her chest.

  By the time she'd huffed and puffed back up the stairwell to the fourth deck, the physical sensation had diminished, but her confusion lingered. Had anyone ever affected her that way? She searched the back roads of her bleak history with men, and knew this experience was a first. The long day and the sherry caught up with her, and she climbed into her bunk, trying not to think about the dark sailor.

  4

  The mid-morning sun seeped through Amanda's light clothing, sucking the deep New England chill from her bones. Nestled into a huge coil of rope on the foredeck, she felt like a child again, happily hidden in a secret fort. She focused on the book she'd been dying to read since before final exams. She had tucked it away like buried treasure, waiting for this getaway. Now, she eagerly absorbed every morsel of the scandals and dramatic events of the Metropolitan Opera Company, sighing at the glimpses into the luxurious lives of Pavarotti, Placido Domingo, and Kathleen Battle. The sun worked its magic, the words blurred into dark lines, and she closed her eyes.

  "You'll burn to crisp out here."

  The familiar voice awakened her with a start. She shaded her eyes from the sun and squinted at the black silhouette outlined against the brilliant blue sky.

  The handsome sailor lit a cigarette, then leaned against an upright.

  "I can find chair. You be more comfortable."

  Amanda found her voice. "No, I'm fine. Thank you." She smiled and glanced down at the dark brown coils encircling her body. The sun glistened on the smooth surface of the rope, and she felt a stir in the pit of her stomach as she ran her fingers over the brown fibers. "I'm quite comfortable."

  He pushed away from the gray steel. "Suit yourself. You will do much laundry on trip."

  Before she could respond, he sauntered away. Uncomfortably aware of her heart thumping beneath her shirt, she watched him disappear around a corner. She returned her attention to the book and struggled to focus on the intrigue described there, but the brief exchange with the dusky-skinned seaman hampered her concentration. Exhaling sharply with exasperation, she snapped the book closed. This is ridiculous. Why does he affect me like this? She smiled at the spot where he'd stood. This was exactly what she'd hoped for.

  Climbing out of the rope coil proved to be difficult. The angle at which she sat gave her no leverage to get her feet under her, and the slippery rope curled around her ankles and one wrist. She giggled quietly as she untangled herself and climbed awkwardly to her feet.

  "If I'm going to be bound in ropes, I'd like some company."

  She drew in a sharp breath, startled that she'd thought it, let alone said it aloud. She looked around
with a sheepish grin, but thankfully no one seemed to be within earshot.

  She continued her mental conversation as she made her way toward the stairway to the upper decks. The sailor was definitely easy on the eyes. His bold expression intensified his dark eyes and strong jaw. What would his smile be like? Would his teeth be perfect and white, gleaming behind those sexy lips? Lips that looked soft, yet firm. What would they feel like, kissing her? Touching her bare skin? Sucking her nipples?

  She didn't see Captain Olsen until they collided.

  Her face warmed with a blush. "Oh! I'm so sorry!"

  His huge hands grasped her shoulders to steady her, but lingered well after she'd regained her balance.

  His blue eyes twinkled. "Already lost in sea-dreams, yes?"

  Oh, dear, is it that obvious? Slipping from beneath his touch, she smiled.

  "Probably. I haven't had much time to myself lately."

  "You are coming to lunch?"

  "In a few minutes."

  He dipped his head, then strode briskly down the gangway toward the officers' mess.

  A few minutes later, she stared into the mirror and brushed her wind-blown hair back into its tidy bun. Surprised by the reflection, she pressed a finger against her pink forehead, frowning as the white spot faded back into the rosy skin.

  "How could I burn so quickly?"

  Her sailor had been right.

  Her sailor? She closed her eyes, amazed by the hold he'd already secured on her thoughts.

  As she turned away from the reflection, she caught sight of something on her shirtsleeve. Turning her back fully toward the mirror, she craned her neck to see better. Dark brown streaks rolled across her shoulders and the backs of her thighs. She shook her head as she slipped out of her clothes. Her sailor had been good on two out of two. What else might he be good at? Elusive erotic visions sent warmth crawling between her legs, and she smiled again at her reflection in the mirror. Given a chance, she'd like to find out.

  * * *

  The strong aroma of garlic drifted through the door of the dining room, and Amanda's stomach growled loudly. She eagerly slipped into her chair—she was starving, and whatever they were cooking smelled fabulous.

  Captain Olsen tapped a spoon on his water glass, and the room instantly became silent. "I have arranged for a ship's tour this afternoon. Everyone meets here at two o'clock. Yes?"

  She nodded along with the others and sipped her ice water. What she really wanted to do after lunch was steal away for a nap. She threw a furtive glance at the captain, knowing he'd be offended if she didn't go along, especially after she'd made a point of telling him she had never been on a ship. Maybe the tour won't take long.

  "You are tired, yes?"

  She nearly jumped out of her skin at the captain's direct question. Was the man a mind reader?

  He grinned mischievously. "It will take some time to get used to the fresh sea air. The sun steals energy like a cat-burglar."

  She smiled at the charming metaphor. "Yes, I think I overdid it this morning."

  "After ship's tour, you can take nap 'til dinner. Great life, eh? Eat, sleep, read..."

  The drawn-out hesitation held a suggestive undercurrent, and she looked away, uncomfortable with the idea that Captain Olsen might have more interest than simply her comfort. For all her wild ideas, he wasn't what she'd had in mind.

  Solly saved the moment by placing a steaming bowl of chowder in front of her. "Best fish soup you ever taste. Cook's special."

  She smiled at the friendly brown face. "Thank you. I'm sure I'll love it."

  And love it she did. Creamy and rich, chunks of flaky white fish with a touch of dill. Slabs of crusty bread, slathered with butter and garlic, browned to perfection.

  "This is wonderful—better than any restaurant."

  Olsen smiled as though he'd personally done the cooking.

  One of the crewmembers had coaxed Dr. Elleson into conversation, and Amanda listened while she ate. The trip on ATLAS was not Elleson's first excursion aboard a freighter. Hearing of his adventures, she felt a pang of regret for the years during which she'd experienced nothing except her career and her care giving—years when she'd always been in complete control, ever the responsible one. The usual aftershock of those thoughts hit her hard. Not for one minute had she ever objected to her lot in life. Well, maybe sometimes, when she was overwhelmed with work, or Mother was especially difficult to handle. Guilt for those few times was something Amanda battled, even now, over a year after her care-giving days had ended.

  Still, having a taste of the things she'd missed, however simple, made her wonder how she'd managed without them—and even more determined to catch up.

  5

  The warm afternoon air and a pleasantly full stomach contributed to Amanda's drowsiness, while she waited for the tour to begin.

  "I am Nicholas. Everyone is ready to tour ATLAS?"

  She jerked to wide awake at the familiar voice. Though he addressed the group, the darkly handsome seaman looked directly at her. She nodded, stunned by the prickles of excitement she felt, just being in the same room with him. His eyes narrowed, and a twitch at the corner of his mouth hinted at amusement. Amanda's unnerving excitement smoothed into a warm flush across her face, and she looked away. Trailing the group out of the mess hall, she focused on his broad shoulders. His faded denim work shirt didn't hide the power beneath. What would those muscular arms feel like, wrapped around her? Crushing her to his hard body? Images from her daydreams slipped in and her pulse jumped.

  She pushed them away and tried to concentrate on his tour speech.

  "ATLAS weighs thirty-two thousand tons and measures six hundred and twenty-six feet. She can carry six hundred containers, or one thousand automobiles. She was built in 1984 in Norway."

  Though somewhat halting, his English was fairly good, and his manner more refined than she'd have expected for a sailor.

  The teenager named Danielle raised her hand. "How fast can she go?"

  "Seventeen knots." Seeing the confused look on the girl's face, he explained. "About twenty miles per hour."

  "Oh, my God! That's so slow!"

  He shook his head. "On the ocean, is no need to hurry. Haste steals the joy from life." He threw a glance Amanda's way, then gestured toward a huge piece of equipment. "This part of ship is called the stern. These winches..."

  Amanda's thoughts drifted again, his comment about haste echoing in her head. To look at him, it was hard to imagine he'd have such profound ideas about life. Her own pursuits in life had always been high—those of education, and responsibility for the future of the country, by way of its youth. Had she ever carved out any time for her own inner well-being? Had she even thought about it? A quick inventory of the years gave her the sad answer.

  The tour group began to move again, and she pushed aside the discouraging thoughts of precious time wasted. A furtive glance at the tour guide conjured up plenty of ideas for correcting the situation.

  An hour later, they gathered in the noisy engine room. Amanda couldn't hear a word Nicholas said, but she watched his gesturing hands with growing pleasure, enjoying the way his mustache moved, the glimpses of white teeth, the way his tied-back hair brushed his shoulder each time he turned his head. The more she watched, the better she liked the idea of exploring herself with this man. Question was: How to go about it? Maybe she'd see him on deck again. She could swallow her timidity and be boldly suggestive. That might work, if she could pull it off. Her shoulders sagged. Right.

  The group moved toward the bow of the ship, and away from the din of the engine. They entered a small compartment, and Nicholas pointed at a reel of chain with huge links that dwarfed his own substantial body.

  "This chain holds the anchor when ATLAS is offshore."

  Amanda's curiosity overcame her normal tendency to hang back and remain quiet.

  "Is the chain long enough to use the anchor in the middle of the ocean?"

  He cocked his head and stared straig
ht into her eyes, sending butterflies scurrying through her insides in every direction.

  "No, only offshore. Is no reason to weigh anchor at sea." He narrowed his eyes, his expression mocking. "Why would you want to stop in middle of ocean?"

  She moved her hand across her waist, following the flutters inside. Danielle and Rachel turned to cast schoolgirl disbelief on what now seemed, even to her, like a really stupid question. She swallowed nervously. Where was the strength and control of a self-confident educator, the molder of young minds? Irritation melded with her embarrassment. Who does he think he is? She opened her mouth to retort, but Nicholas had turned his attention back to the group.

  "In port, we use ropes to secure ship to dock." He lifted a small coil. "Come close, I show you some knots."

  Amanda's irritation faded as she watched his skilled fingers loop and twist the rope into an intricate knobby design. The memory of the smooth rope against her ankles sent a flash of heat across her cheeks. Nicholas finished tying the knot with a flourish, then held it up for everyone to see. His dark gaze met Amanda's.

  "This will hold anything."

  * * *

  She sank onto the bunk. Two-and-a-half hours of climbing around the ship had exhausted her, and the energy she'd expended admiring Nicholas all afternoon hadn't helped either. Burrowing her face into the soft pillow, she briefly considered skipping dinner and calling it a day. Her last mental image before sleep was the sailor's face, his dark eyes mocking her as he lounged against the huge links of the anchor chain.

  6

  Amanda opened her eyes to darkness, and lay quietly for a minute, floating with the last vestiges of sleep. A grumble rolled through her stomach, and she squinted at her watch, realizing she'd missed dinner. Now what? She scanned the blue notebook, finding only a reference to something called a "slop chest"—a canteen-type store that only opened for a few hours during the daytime. Beer, wine, liquor, snacks, cigarettes, soap, toothpaste, and so on. Her stomach growled again, and she tossed the notebook onto the desk. Not holding much hope, she padded across the cabin to the tiny refrigerator in the bottom of the closet. A minute later, to her delight, she held a small bottle of white wine and a chunk of cheddar cheese. A small tag read, "Compliments of ATLAS."