Happily Ever After (10 page)

But
if she sat here dwelling on her anger, she was going to murder Harlan in truth.

He
looked far too serene in the portrait—far too noble with his patrician
nose and rounded chin. And his blue eyes shone with far too angelic a light.
His smile was far too kindly.

With
a growl, she tossed her pencil down and reached out to slam the picture
facedown, so she would be spared his magnanimous gaze.

How
could she have been so blind?

No
sooner was it down then his face blurred before her eyes completely... replaced
by another, and Sophie tried in vain to erase it, too, from the canvas of her
brain.

Green
eyes and tawny hair ... full lips. His lips ... that was what she had failed to
capture ... the pure sensuality of his lips. Sophia shuddered at the sensations
that assaulted her with the vision. Her body flushed with heat. She resisted
the urge to retrieve her pencil.

He
was far more handsome than he deserved to be.

Nor
was he anything at all as she had supposed.

Because
he was a student of anthropology she had visualized him more like
Harlan—soberly dressed and staid, slightly wayward perhaps, but certainly
not someone she might mistake for an arrogant dock hand!

She
wondered what he was doing up there, and then berated herself for thinking
about him at all.

Why
should she care what he was doing?

She
didn’t think he’d come back to his cabin ... else she would have known it. He
would have had to pass her room, as his was the only other cabin on this
level—at least on this end of the ship, and Sophie found herself suddenly
curious to know if his quarters were as “plush” as her own.

She’d
be willing to wager his own quarters weren’t nearly as meager.

Well...
there was only one way to find out.

She
crawled out of bed as quietly as she was able, leaving her papers in a neat
pile and rose carefully so as not to whack her head again. Prowling like a
thief, she crept out of her room, into the captain’s dining hall.

In
this room was a medium-sized table, with six chairs around it. Snuggled within
a nook, a washbasin sat. Bookshelves lined the length of one wall.

Above
her, the sun had set completely and cast the lower deck in shadows. She heard
voices near, but not so near that she could make out to whom they
belonged—not that she would know at any rate. The voices filtered down
from somewhere above deck... and somewhere below, but she decided the immediate
coast was clear.

Feeling
a little like a skulking thief, she made a dash for the captain’s cabin, and
threw open the door.

CHAPTER 7

Sophie shrieked in startle at the sight of Jack seated
at his worktable. Throwing up her hands in fright, she clutched at her breast,
trying to catch her breath and regain composure.

“What are you doing here!” she asked, her heart
thumping fiercely.

His brow lifted, and he gave her an assessing
glance, but otherwise didn’t move from where he sat. He was half-dressed once
again, shirtless entirely, but this time she had no right to complain.

She was in
his
cabin.

Uninvited.

He gave her a pointed look. “I would ask you the
same.”

Sophie knew she had been caught in the act of
snooping, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to apologize—especially
after seeing the differences in their quarters. The least he could do was feel
just a little guilty! Good God, his room comprised half the lower deck, with windows
along the back to let in the sunshine and moonlight. He had the shutters open,
and a cool breeze shuffled through, teasing her hair and face.

A tallish wardrobe occupied the wall behind her,
and a private washroom the niche beside it. Behind the desk where he sat was
another massive bookshelf that spilled over with books. His bed was a hammock
that occupied practically half the room and there was room for a second hammock
above the table where he sat. Lanterns, six of them, two per wall, were lit
against the setting sun, throwing warm golden light over the floors and
polished maple table.

“I didn’t hear you come down,” she said, looking
around, feeling a bit outraged.

She had paid an exorbitant fare of ten thousand
dollars for passage aboard this accursed ship! The least he could have done was
to have offered her better living quarters!

“I’ll be sure to warn you next time,” he told her,
and the sarcasm in his tone was not lost on her.

Sophie’s face heated, but she ignored the barb,
inviting herself in. “How novel. One can actually stand in your cabin.”

He set down his papers, making a point to turn
them over, as though to hide them, and Sophie wondered what it was he was
reading to guard them so jealously.

“Your powers of observation are astounding,” he
countered.

Sophie gave him her most winsome smile, liberally
laced with derision. “You give me far too much credit Mr. MacAuley. I hardly
think it takes a keen eye to note the difference.”

He ignored her subtle complaint. “So tell me,” he
prompted, “was there any particular reason you came bursting into my cabin...
seeing as how you were evidently surprised to find me here?”

Sophie frowned, noting the way he had begun to
collect his papers and set them inside a drawer as though to remove them from
her reach. It was a ridiculous notion, but he was staring at her a bit
accusingly. “To steal all your theories, of course,” she answered flippantly.

He didn’t laugh at her jest.

In fact, his frown deepened and he stared at her a
bit more intensely. Those green eyes of his seemed entirely too perceiving.
They bore into her, and Sophie’s heart began to beat a little faster under his
careful scrutiny.

He was handsome, stunningly so, with his rugged
good looks. His jaw was strong, with the slightest cleft that seemed to invite
the delicate brush of a lover’s thumb. His tanned skin, she realized, came from
long hours in the sun, but not laboring on the docks as she’d first supposed.
She could well imagine him burrowing shirtless in the dirt, searching for
buried treasures.

She envied him fiercely.

All Sophie had ever wanted was the chance to
learn—a chance to travel and discover new worlds. Her dream to mother
Harlan’s children had been second to all her own. Only now that she was
suddenly free of Harlan did she see it all so clearly. It was almost as though
a burden had been lifted off her shoulders. She didn’t want to be married.
Shocking as the idea was, it took root and began to grow.

Jack studied her, trying to determine if she were
telling him the truth.

He had joked privately to himself that she had
come to spy, but hearing it so baldly from her lips gave him reason for pause.
Could she truly have come spying for Penn? He wouldn’t put it past Harlan, but
would Sophia Vanderwahl lower herself to such a level?

“So you miss your fianc6?” he asked her, his voice
laden with sarcasm as he watched her changing expressions.

“I do?” she replied, and blinked, drawn out of
private thoughts by his question. And then with a great deal more enthusiasm,
she declared, “Oh, yes, I do!”

“In fact, you miss him so much that you are
willing to piss away ten thousand dollars just to see him?”

“Mr. MacAuley!”

“Is that true, Mizz Vanderwahl?”

Once again that flash of anger appeared, but then
it was gone as quickly as it presented itself, and her tone was even when she
spoke. “Yes.”

“You miss him so much that you are willing to
travel with an entourage of strange men in less than stately accommodations?”

The fire in her eyes was back. “Yes.”

“You miss him so much, actually, that you are
willing to travel against your father’s wishes just to see him?”

“I am not traveling against my father’s wishes!”

“No?”

“He doesn’t know, Mr. MacAuley. I didn’t tell him.
He would have worried.”

“I see... so you were so hungry for the sight of
Harlan that you left without even bothering to tell your parents where you were
going?”

Her chin lifted a bit. “I left a letter, of
course.”

“Lucky fiancé.”

Of course, what she was saying might be true, but
he didn’t believe her. That wasn’t her reason for seeking Jack out. She was on
this boat for a reason, and he intended to watch her closely to find out what
it was. He’d be damned if he’d just hand over his hard work to Penn so easily.

He stood, his gaze never leaving her.

Her gaze locked with his, and her expression was
wary as she watched him... as it should be. “What are you doing?”

Certainly not what he’d like to be doing.

Without a word, he came around his desk,
physically forming a barrier between her and his research—not that he
thought she would dare go after it in his presence, but he hoped it sent her a
message. He knew what she was after, and he wanted her to know that he knew. He
leaned casually against his desk, though he felt anything but casual in her
presence.

Every muscle in his body was tense with
anticipation.

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Staring rudely!”

His brows lifted. “Am I?” he asked coolly,
shifting his weight to relieve the growing ache in his trousers.

“Again!”

He made no move toward her, resisting the urge. He
wanted to go to her... wanted to teach her a lesson about entering strange
men’s cabins without permission or protection. He wanted to show her what her
presence did to him. He wanted her to see it, feel it. She had no idea what
thin ice she was treading on. If he were a different man that bravado of hers
wouldn’t keep her safe enough.

She stood a little straighter. “Do you always
stare at women that way?”

“What way?”

“That way.”

“Enlighten me, Mizz Vanderwahl.”

“As though you will swallow me up like some lion
and spit out my bones!”

He was, indeed, hungry—intuitive little
vixen.

“No,” he answered truthfully. It had been a long
time since a woman had distracted him so completely. He’d like to slam that
door at her back and pin her against it, kiss those soft- looking lips until
her knees buckled and he swept her into his arms and put himself out of his
misery.

And he
was
in misery at the moment, aroused for no reason at all, except that she had
dared walk into his bedroom ... into the lion’s den.

It was going to be a long journey.

He decided it was high time to set some ground
rules. With purpose, he moved toward her. It’d be in her best interest to learn
before, not after, what dangers lurked for a woman alone in a man’s bedroom. He
had given her the cabin nearest his for her own protection, but he was
beginning to realize that there was no one around to protect her from him. He
wasn’t Harlan H. Penn III, and he wasn’t accustomed to tiptoeing around his
desires.

She didn’t retreat, merely watched him, and he
told her, “You’re a brave woman, Mizz Vanderwahl.”

She took a step backward then, but otherwise held
her ground, and he knew she had no idea how close she was to finding herself
thoroughly kissed.

Her chin lifted higher as she watched him
approach. “Whatever do you mean?”

He fully intended to show her.

He stopped directly in front of her, entering her
space, and waited to see what she would do.

She must have read the desire in his eyes, because
she said, “You wouldn’t dare!”

But he would.

“Dare what?” he taunted, knowing she wouldn’t say
it.

She didn’t answer, and he knew she was suddenly
uncertain of his intentions. She looked so adorably confused that Jack only
craved her more.

He smiled. “Call me Jack, Sophia.”

She lifted her chin higher yet, but didn’t
retreat, and her response pleased him immensely. She wasn’t a coward, but she
might just be naive. If she only realized what thoughts were going through his
head at the moment, she would run, without question.

His mouth went dry with desire.

How would she respond to his kiss?

Would she slap him indignantly and walk away?

Or would she kiss him back, offering that sweet
tongue for him to suckle?

She was near enough that he could easily find
out...

CHAPTER 8

Sophie lifted her chin. “What if I don’t
want
to call you Jack?”

She knew she sounded petulant and childish but
couldn’t help it. When he looked at her like that she couldn’t think at all. He
came nearer, standing so close now that she could feel his body heat, and she
held her breath as he spoke.

“Then don’t. I am a great advocate of free will,
Sophia.” Staring at her still, he reached out, lifting a strand of hair from
her face, brushing it gently aside. The gesture was such an intimate one that
Sophie swallowed any response she might have uttered. “Man must always follow
his greatest impulse.”