Bermuda Nights - The Boxed Set (2 page)

I missed him dearly.

My arm was jostled, and Kayla was grinning down at me, taking up her glass to slug down half her drink in one pull. “Are you off in the weeds again,” she teased. “Whatever it is, stop it!” She put down her glass and grabbed my hands, drawing me to my feet. “Live in the now!”

The music shifted, the guitar growled, and I was transfixed. Somewhere in my mind I knew Kayla had gone back to her station before her Norseman, but it was the guitarist’s fingers which had my full attention. They
were
the music. They were the coursing beat throbbing through my soul, the energy which surged into my feet, setting me in motion. It was as if the fingers were playing me, filling me, and when he cranked the neck up to slide up a key it was as if he lifted me, spun me around, and -

The lead singer leapt into the air, the drummer’s sticks crashed into a finale, and the wall of sound snapped into an ending blast. The crowd roared in approval, and Kayla had me by the waist, spinning me around in excitement. Her mouth moved near my ear to be heard over the cacophony.

“Mardi Gras beads are going on the door handle,” she called, her eyes bright with anticipation. “Give us an hour.” She squeezed my arm, then she had vanished again.

I turned to look back to the stage. The drummer was wiping his shining pate off with a towel, the bass player was digging into his equipment bag, and the guitarist -

The guitarist was gone. Only his guitar remained on a stand, the polished wood gleaming in the lights.

Chapter 2

The moon was high overhead, sending a shimmering stream of silvery light down on the ship’s frothing wake. It seemed as if the churning water stretched all the way back to the Boston skyline, to the darkness and the monotonous life which, even now, clung to me with a tenacious grip. The weight of it bore down on my shoulders and dragged my spirit.

The roiling foam mesmerized me. It was as if I were in there, helpless, washed under, and there were none to see my plight. A dense cloud drifted across the moon, and with it, all hope.

The sobs came slowly at first, built in momentum, and soon I was sobbing as if the world were collapsing in jagged pieces around me. My hands gripped the rail, my fingers turning white. And still they came.

It seemed an eternity before the emotion ran its course, before coherent thought slid its way into the turmoil. It occurred to me, as I sucked in a long, shuddering breath, that I had never cried when Jeff had left. At the time his decision had seemed surreal, as if I were watching a movie of another person’s life. There I was, sitting in my chair at my graduation, my parents in the stands. My phone had chimed, and I smiled, looking down. Surely this was Jeff offering up yet another oddball reason for why he was running late.

Got the job offer. They want me at the Minnesota branch. Flying out tomorrow morning. Wish me luck. Guess this is it for us.

Had fun.

The shock of it still rung within me, four long months later.
Had fun.
And that was it. Two years of investing in a relationship which apparently never had a chance.

The tang of salt air brought be back to the present, there was a movement at my side, and I huddled in. Maybe whoever it was would pass by. I wasn’t in the mood to talk, not now, not with the wound so raw.

A low, gentle voice, velvet wrapped around a core of steel, sounded in my ear. “Tough night?”

I drew my sleeve against my face, wiping away the salty tears. My voice cracked. “Rough summer.”

He gave a low, supportive chuckle. “A lot of those going around,” he commiserated. “What was yours?”

I shook my head, looking down into the dark waves. “You don’t want to hear.”

He leaned against the rail by my side. “Wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want the answer.”

I gave a soft shrug. “Ex-boyfriend.”

“Bad breakup?”

I snorted. “Barely even a break-up,” I countered. “He texted when he knew I was trapped in the ceremony for hours. By the time I made it back to my apartment, he’d completely cleared out. As if he’d never been there.”

“How long were you together?”

“Two years.”

He glanced up at that. “Two years, and he sends you a text? Sounds like a jerk.”

I looked down at my hands. “Didn’t make it easier.”

“It’s never easy,” he murmured. “It always hurts, even when you know it’s not good for you.”

“I never cried,” I admitted. “It barely seemed real. One minute he was there, the next – nothing. He had been erased. His Facebook status clicked to single.”

Silence drifted by, filled with the soft whooshing of the water beneath us. The man leaned on the rail beside me, his eyes following the small whirlpools we were leaving. I could barely see him in the ebony night. His voice was calm, non-judgmental. “So what did you do?”

I shrugged. “What was expected of me. I got a job in Boston, I got a studio apartment looking over the Charles.” I gave a wry chuckle. “Mom and Dad can tell all their friends at the Lenox Country Club that I’m a big success.”

“And now you’re on a cruise to Bermuda.”

“That was Kayla’s idea,” I pointed out. “She’s been my best friend since we were young. She’s been in Boston bartending while I went to college.” My mouth quirked into a grin. “She’s a bit ... wilder than I am.”

His voice held the hint of a smile. “Oh, I think there are some hidden depths to you.”

I blushed. It suddenly hit me that I was talking easily, openly, to a man I had just met. I’d never felt this comfortable with a guy before.

There was a low buzzing sound, and his hand went to his hip. He brought up his phone, glanced at its glowing screen, and cursed.

“I gotta run. But you hang in there. This cruise will change everything for you. I know it will.”

He leant over and brushed his lips against the side of my cheek.

The world hung in suspended time.

My skin, still moist from the tears, shimmered at the contact with his velvet-soft lips. I was enveloped with the intoxicating aroma of his scent, a mix of sea salt, musky sweat, and leather. Longings, so long hidden deep within me, swirled, expanded, and rippled. My hands gripped the railing, the knuckles turning white, and I swung my eyes up -

He was gone. He had vanished into the night as surely as if it had swallowed him whole.

My shoulders slumped. I found the heavy door to let me back inside our floating tin can, then made my way down the deserted hallways to our cabin. Thankfully, the beads were no longer hanging on the door handle. Still, I knocked before cautiously pushing the door open.

Kayla was snoring like a hurricane, sprawled face-down, naked, on the bed amidst a tumble of sheets. I gently pulled the blankets over her with a low chuckle. She nuzzled in against them, and her snoring reduced to a soft noise of waves rolling onto a beach.

I stripped off my clothes, pulled on an old t-shirt, and climbed into my own bed.

And then it hit me.

I didn’t even know his name. I had never even seen his face.

The thought staggered me for a moment, craving and longing melding with rich, agonizing despair.

I had lost him.

My one chance, and he had vanished. He was gone forever.

A silver shimmer, and suddenly our porthole was awash in soft light as the moon finally broke free from its thick cloud cover. I looked at the porthole and remembered the row of portholes along the side of the ship.

A smile glistened in my soul as I remembered just where I was.

For seven long days, we were all trapped on this one vessel. Somehow I would find him. Even if I had to talk to every single passenger and crew member on this massive ship, I would track him down.

Chapter 3

I climbed out of the hot tub and wrapped my turquoise sarong around my hip. The noon sun soaked golden heat into my shoulders. I scanned the crowd which swirled around me, a mix of half-drunk college students, moon-eyed newlyweds, and hyperkinetic teenagers, all bright with joy.

Which man here had been the one?

I knew little about him. He was about six feet tall, well built, with dark hair and dark eyes.

I gave a wry grin. That could be a third of the men enjoying the beautiful blue sky and ice-cold beer.

I’d have to listen for the voice. That would be my cue.

I picked up my Champagne mimosa from the edge of the hot tub and gave it a sip. It looked like I’d be eating lunch alone, just as I had breakfast. Kayla had been gone before I woke, and I hadn’t seen her all morning.

There was a flurry of drumbeat from the gazebo at the center of the pool area, and I looked up with interest. The heavyset drummer was leaning over his cymbal, turning the nut on it.

Aha! I had firm suspicion I knew where Kayla would be any minute now.

I walked over toward the gazebo. To the right on a stand was the bass guitarist’s all-black instrument, shaped rather like an ebony lightning bolt. And to the left ...

I stepped toward it, my smile coming of its own accord. The guitar was work of art. In the daylight I could see it was coco bolo, with finely crafted layers of mahogany, elm, and was that maple?

I dropped to one knee to examine it more closely. My hand stretched out of its own accord.

A velvet voice, warm with amusement, came from over my shoulder. “You can touch it if you’d like.”

I closed my eyes for a moment, soaking in the rich sensation which flowed through me like molten chocolate.

It was him.

Against all odds, the man who had soothed me was the guitarist I’d been watching last night, the one with the steady, sure fingers. I could imagine those fingers wrapping around my waist, turning me so my lips came up to meet his ...

He dropped to a knee at my side, his breath warm on my neck. “Go ahead.” I could hear the sparkle of teasing deep in the rich tones. “You know you want to.”

A flush coursed through my body, and I opened my eyes, turning to look at him.

God, he was stunningly handsome. His hair was dark, chocolate brown, tousled by the sea air, and I longed to twine my fingers in it. His eyes were deep green, the color of a pine forest, with flecks of gold. He wore a black t-shirt which caressed the rippled muscles of his chest. His body held a leanness which made me think of rugby.

His lips curved up into a knowing smile, and his gaze settled on my mouth. His voice was a purr.

“Like what you see?”

My throat closed up, and I could barely speak.

“Like?”

He nudged his head to the right. “My guitar.”

I gave a choking laugh. “Oh, right. Yes, that’s coco bolo, isn’t it?”

He blinked, surprise showing in his gaze. “Yes, and maple.”

I nodded, looking away from him, sanity taking a small hold over my mind as I fell into the familiar topic area. “I thought so. That grain is gorgeous; is that spalted?”

He smiled appreciatively. “You know your woods. Yes, there’s a place out west that custom makes guitars. I’d played others with this combination, and the sound is just the right melding of rich and sharp.”