Strange Bedfellow (19 page)

“All you're doing is turning this weekend into a farce,” Dina retorted.
 

“Call it what you like,” Blake said indifferently. “Just be sure to pack a suitcase and bring it to the office with you Friday morning. We'll catch the ferry to Block Island after work.”
 

AS THE FERRY LEFT the protected waters of Narragansett Bay for the open waters of the Atlantic heading for the porkchop-shaped island offshore, Dina stared sightlessly at the Brenton Reef Light Tower. She and Blake had barely exchanged five words with each other since leaving the office, and the silence was growing thicker.
 

She knew the reason her lips were so tightly closed. Blake's Sunday night ultimatum had made her feel as if he was pointing a gun at her head. So how could she look forward to the weekend ahead of them? He had already foreordained the outcome, so what was the purpose? She should have refused to come. Why hadn't she?
 

Pressing a hand to her forehead, she tried to rub away the dull throb. The pills she had taken to stave off the sea sickness were working, but they clouded her thinking processes. At least she had been spared the embarrassment of being sick all over the place, even if she did feel slightly drugged.
 

Sighing, she glanced at Blake standing a few yards away talking to a fellow passenger. Their attention was on the low-hanging, dull gray clouds overhead. There was nothing menacing about them, but they added to the gloom Dina felt.
 

The two were obviously discussing the weather, because Dina overheard the man remark, “I hope you're right that it's going to be sunny and clear at the island. I don't know anything about ocean currents and how they affect the weather. All I know is that I want to get a weekend of fishing in.”
 

Blake's prediction of good weather on Block Island proved correct. They were within sight of their destination when the clouds began to thin, permitting glimpses of blue sky and a sinking yellow sun. When the ferry docked at the Old Harbor landing, there were only patches of clouds in the sky.
 

But the silence between Dina and Blake didn't break. Despite that, she felt her spirits lift as they drove off the ferry onto the island, named after Adrian Block, the first European to explore it. The island's atmosphere was refreshing and Dina understood why it had been a fashionable health spa in the Gay Nineties.
 

She became absorbed in the scenery as Blake drove across the island to the picturesque resort village of New Harbor stretched along the banks of the Great Salt Pond. It had once been an inland lake, but a man-made channel now linked it to the ocean, providing a spacious harbor for both pleasure craft and commercial fishing boats.
 

Much of the previous tension returned when Blake parked in front of a hotel. It seemed different somehow to share a hotel room. Just why, Dina couldn't say, since they'd been sharing a bedroom almost ever since Blake had returned. She felt self-conscious walking beside him into the lobby.
 

Blake glanced down at her, his gaze inspecting the discomfited look on her face. “How are you feeling?”
 

“Fine,” Dina rushed out the answer.
 

“No leftover nausea from the ferry trip?”
 

“None. Actually I never felt I was going to be sick. Except for a slight headache, I'm fine,” she insisted. “Either the pills are getting stronger or I'm finally outgrowing my sea sickness.”
 

“Good.” His smile was somewhat grim. “Excuse me. I'll go check on our reservation.”
 

As he walked to the desk to register, she lingered near a rack of postcards, pretending an interest in their colorful pictures. There was a curling sensation in her stomach when she saw the porter take their bags. Blake walked toward her and she immediately picked a card from the rack, ostensibly to study it more closely.
 

“Were you planning to send a postcard to someone?” The cynically amused query didn't help her fluttering stomach.
 

“No.” She quickly returned it to the rack. “I was just looking at the picture.”
 

“Tomorrow we'll take a look at the real thing.”
 

Dina had to glance at the postcard. She had been so conscious of Blake she hadn't noticed what the subject of the card had been. Now she saw it was a lighthouse.
 

“It looks interesting,” she offered, just to be saying something.
 

“Yes,” Blake agreed dryly, as if aware that she hadn't previously known what it was. “Shall we go to our rooms?”
 

“Rooms?” In the plural, her eyes asked.
 

“Yes, two,” he answered. Dina was surprised by the gentle, almost tender expression of patience that crossed his usually hard features. “We have adjoining bedrooms. I intend to give this weekend every chance of proving whatever it is that you feel needs proving, Dina.”
 

There didn't seem to be any response she could make. Strangely, this seemed more of a concession than all the nights when Blake had shared her bed without forcing an intimacy—perhaps because he was granting her the privacy to think without his presence to disturb or influence her.
 

When he handed her one of the keys in his hand, she managed a quiet, “Thank you.”
 

“When a man is desperate, he'll try anything,” Blake returned cryptically, but Dina thought she caught a glimmer of humor in his dark eyes. It made him seem more human.
 

They walked to their rooms in silence, but it was no longer as strained as it had been. Blake hesitated outside his door, catching her eye for an instant before he turned the key in his lock and walked in.
 

Entering her room, Dina noticed her suitcase lying on the luggage rack and walked over to it, intending unpack. Instead, she paused at the interior door that connected the two bedrooms. Blake was on the other side of it. Unconsciously she reached for the doorknob. It refused to turn; the door was locked. Regret conflicted with relief as she walked back to her suitcase and unpacked.
 

An hour later she had showered and was dressed in a wheat-colored shirtwaist dress that was elegantly casual. Blake hadn't said whether he would meet her at the restaurant for dinner or go down with her. She debated whether she should wait in the room or go to the restaurant, then decided to wait and she sat down on the bed.
 

Instantly a smile curved her lips. The mattress was blissfully soft, sinking beneath her weight like feather down. It was going go be a wonderful change from Blake's rock-firm mattress at the house.
 

Just then there was a knock at her door and Dina rose to answer it, the smile lingering on her lips. Blake stood outside, his eyes warming to a dark brown at her expression.
 

“You look pleased at something,” he commented.
 

“My bed,” Dina explained, a pair of dimples etching grooves in her cheeks. “It's soft.”
 

His chuckle of understanding was soft, almost silent—a disarming sight and sound. Her heart skipped a beat, then refused to return to an even tempo.
 

“Shall we go to dinner?”
 

It was more of a statement than a question as Blake held out his hand for hers. Self-consciously she let her fingers be engulfed in his hand, but he continued to block the doorway, not permitting her to step out. His hold on her hand shifted, raising the inside of her wrist to his mouth.
 

“Have I told you how very beautiful you are?” he murmured.
 

“Blake, please,” Dina protested, her lashes fluttering down at the heady touch of his warm lips against the sensitive area of her wrist.
 

“It's simply a compliment,” he interrupted with a wry smile as he brought her hand away. “All you have to do is say ‘thank you.'”
 

“Thank you,” she repeated in a tight little voice, more disturbed than she cared to acknowledge by the effect he had on her.
 

“That's better.” Blake moved to the side, leading her out of the room and reaching behind her to close the hotel-room door.
 

Fresh seafood was the natural selection to make from the menu. Once that decision had been made, Dina sat in the chair opposite from Blake. Inside she was a bundle of twisted nerves, but she forced herself to be still.
 

Without the steady chatter of Mother Chandler to lead a table conversation, she couldn't think of anything to say. It seemed an indication of how far she and Blake had grown apart. Her tongue was tied into knots.
 

“I'm going to have to make a trip to the bookstore soon,” Blake commented with seeming idleness. “I have a lot of reading to catch up on.”
 

“Yes, I suppose you do.” Dina wanted to cry at how stilted her response had been.
 

But Blake either didn't notice it or deliberately ignored it. “It sounds a little crazy, I know, but reading was one of the things I really missed. More than good meals and clean clothes. I never considered it a necessity before.”
 

“I doubt if I have, either,” she admitted, forgetting her self-consciousness at his provocative comment.
 

“Any new titles you'd like to recommend?”
 

Dina hesitated, then suggested,
Roots
.
 

Before she realized what was happening, she found herself becoming engrossed in a discussion of new books that had been published in Blake's absence, and titles they had both read in the past. From reading, their conversation drifted to movies and Broadway shows. It seemed a natural progression to tell him about things she had done while he was gone, decisions she had been forced to make, such as subletting their apartment and sorting their furnishings.
 

When Blake later signaled their waiter for the check, Dina was astounded to discover that it was after ten o'clock and there had not been one awkward moment between them, not a single remark that had been in any way argumentative. She hadn't thought it was possible. She wondered if Blake had noticed it, but was afraid to ask. She didn't want to risk breaking whatever kind of temporary truce they had established.
 

They both seemed to be in a reflective mood as they retraced their way to their rooms. Dina was conscious of his hand lightly resting on the back of her waist, a faintly possessive air to his guiding touch, but she didn't object to it in the least.
 

“Do you know what this reminds me of?” Blake questioned her when they paused in front of her door.
 

“What?” Dina looked up, curious and thoughtful.
 

“All those times I used to walk you to the door of your sorority house and kiss you good night in a dark corner of the building.” He glanced around the hallway, “Of course, here there aren't any dark corners.” His gaze returned to her face. “But I
am
going to kiss you good night.”
 

His head bent and Dina lifted hers to meet him halfway. The kiss was searingly light and questing, both seeking answers to unknown questions. Each seemed to realize that it would take only the slightest provocation to deepen the embrace to one of passion. Yet neither made it, merely testing the temperature of the water without becoming submerged in it.
 

With obvious reluctance they both withdrew from the embrace, gazing silently at each other. Blake took a step back, a closed look stealing over his face.
 

“Do you have your key?” he asked.
 

“Yes.” Dina unfastened her clutch purse and took it out.
 

He hesitated a fraction of a second. “Good night, Dina.” He moved toward his own door.
 

“Good night, Blake,” she murmured, and entered her hotel room alone.
 

Chapter Nine

DINA DIDN'T SLEEP WELL that night. The irony of it was that it was because the mattress was too soft. She was wakened from her fitful dozing by a knock on the door and stumbled groggily across the room to answer it.
 

“Who is it?” She leaned tiredly against the door, her hand resting on the locked night latch.
 

“Blake,” was the answer. “Are you ready for breakfast?”
 

Dina groaned. It couldn't possibly be morning already.
 

“Are you all right?” His tone was low and piercing.
 

“Fine,” she mumbled, adding silently,
I just need some sleep.
 

The doorknob rattled as he attempted to open it. “Unlock the door, Dina,” he ordered.
 

She was too tired to think of a reason to refuse and too tired to argue if she had one. Slipping off the night chain, she unlocked the latch and stepped aside as Blake pushed the door open. Concern was written all over his expression, but she didn't notice.