Separate Cabins

“I haven’t.” Gard assured him on that score. “Rachel and I merely share the same name. Unfortunately she doesn’t wish to share the same cabin with me.” His amused glance danced over to her.

She reddened slightly but managed to keep her poise. “Evidently Mr. MacKinley and I made our separate reservations at approximately the same time, and someone must have assumed that we were man and wife.”

“I see how it could happen, all right.” The officer nodded and raised his eyebrows. “Well, this is a bit awkward.”

“What other staterooms do you have available?” Gard asked.

“That’s the problem,” he admitted reluctantly. “There aren’t any comparable accommodations available. All the suites are taken, and the deluxe outside rooms. The only thing I have empty are some inside staterooms on Fiesta Deck.”

“Is that all?” An eyebrow was lifted on a faintly grim expression.

“That’s about it.” A light flashed in the man’s eyes, a thought occurring to him. “Maybe not.” He took back his answer and moved to the telephone. “Let me check something,” he said as he dialed a number.

Feeling the tension in the air, Rachel strained to hear his conversation, but his voice was pitched too low for her to pick out the words. With his back turned to them, she couldn’t even watch his lips. When the officer hung up the phone and turned around, he was smiling.

“The owner’s suite is empty this cruise,” he informed them. “It’s on the Bridge Deck where the officers are quartered. Under the circumstances I can’t offer it to Mrs. MacKinley, since it might not look right to have an attractive and unattached woman staying in their area, but you’re welcome to it, Gard.”

“I accept. And I’m sure Mrs. MacKinley appreciates your concern for her good reputation,” he added with a mocking glance in her direction.

He was making her feel like a prude, which she certainly wasn’t. The gray of her eyes became shot with a silvery fire of anger, but Rachel didn’t retaliate with any sort of denial. It would only add to his considerable store of ammunition.

“I’ll arrange for the room steward to bring your luggage topside to the owner’s suite,” Jake offered. “In the meantime I’ll show you to your quarters.”

“It’s a good thing I didn’t get around to unpacking. My suitcases are sitting in the bedroom.” Gard turned and faced her. “It was a pleasure sharing the cabin with you—for however short a period of time. Maybe we can try it again sometime.”

“I’m sure you’d like that.” Her smile was tinged with a wide-eyed sweetness. At last she’d found her quick tongue, which could answer back his deliberately teasing remarks.

“I’m sure I would,” Gard murmured, a new appreciation of her flashing across his expression along with a hint of curiosity.

With his departure the room suddenly seemed very empty and very large. The sharp tang of his after-shave lotion lingered in the air, tantalizing her nose with its decidedly masculine scent. After his stimulating presence there was a decidedly let-down feeling. Rachel picked up the glass he’d drunk from and carried it into the bathroom, where she dumped the watery ice cubes into the sink and rinsed out the glass.

The piped-in music on the radio speakers was interrupted by a ship announcement. “Dinner is now being served in the Coral Dining Room for late-sitting guests.” The words were slowly and carefully enunciated by a man with a heavy Italian accent. “Buon appetite”. The bell-

sweet notes of a chime played out a short melody that accompanied the end of the announcement.

But Rachel had no intention of going to dinner until the steward came for Gard’s luggage. She didn’t want any of her suitcases being accidentally taken to his cabin and have that mix-up on top of the duplicate cabin assignment.

A few minutes later the steward knocked at the door. Curiosity was in his look, but he never asked anything. As soon as Rachel had supervised the removal of Gard’s luggage, she freshened her makeup, brushed her waving black hair, and put the white jacket on.

When she arrived at the dining room on the Coral Deck, the majority of the passengers had already been seated. Tonight they weren’t expected to sit at their assigned table. Since she was arriving late, Rachel requested one of the single tables.

After she’d given the dark-eyed Italian waiter her order, her gaze searched the large dining room, unconsciously looking for Gard. Only when she failed to see a familiar face did she realize she’d been looking for him. She immediately ended the search and concentrated on enjoying the superb meal she was served.

Upon entering the cabin on her return from the dining room, Rachel discovered that the steward had been in the room during her absence. The drapes at the window were pulled against the rising of a morning sun and one of the beds was turned down. There was a copy of the next day’s Princess Patter on the table with its schedule of events.

Briefly she glanced through it, then walked to the closet to take out her suitcases and begin the tedious business of unpacking. It was late when she finally crawled into bed, much later than she had anticipated retiring on her first night at sea. There was little motion of the ship, the waters smooth and calm.

In the darkness of the cabin her gaze strayed to the twin bed opposite from the one she lay in. Its coral spread was smoothed flatly and precisely over the mattress and pillows. Its emptiness seemed to taunt her. She shut her eyes.

The February sky was blushed with the color of the late-rising sun as Rachel opened the drapes to let the outside light spill into her cabin. According to her watch, it was a few minutes after seven. It seemed that the habit of rising early was not easy to break even when she could sleep late.

She paused a moment at the window to gaze at the gold reflection of the sunlight on the sea’s serene surface, then walked to the closet and began to go over her choices of clothes. Her breakfast sitting wouldn’t be until half past eight, but coffee was available on the Sun Deck. Although it would probably be warm later in the day, it would likely be cool outside at this early hour of the morning. Rachel tried to select what to wear with that in mind.

A gentle knock came at her door, just loud enough to be heard and quiet enough not to disturb her if she was still sleeping. Rachel tightened the sash of her ivory silk nightrobe as she went to answer the door. A few minutes earlier she had heard the room steward in the passageway outside her stateroom. She expected to see him when she opened the door.

She certainly didn’t expect to see Gard MacKinley lounging indolently in her doorway, a forearm braced nonchalantly against its frame. He was dressed in jogging shorts and shoes, a loose-fitting sweatshirt covering his muscled shoulders and chest. Rachel wasn’t prepared for the sight of him—or the sight of his long legs, all hard flesh and corded muscle.

The upward-pulled corners of his mouth hinted at a smile while the warm light in his brown eyes wandered over her. Rachel was immediately conscious of her less than presentable appearance. The static cling of her robe’s silk material shaped itself to her body and outlined every curve. Her face had been scrubbed clean of all makeup the night before, and she hadn’t even brushed her sleep-rumpled hair, its tousled thickness curling in disorder against her face and neck.