THE STRICT BRITISH BARRISTER: ACT ONE (2 page)

Wishing she wasn't alone she pulled a pillow against her face imagining it was his shoulder, the memory of his purposeful stride and muscled arms holding her captive.

I’m going to do this. For once in my life I’m going to take a leap of faith. Somehow I’m going to make this fantasy a reality.

T
hat night and the following morning she watched and waited, but Duncan Rhys-Davies remained mysteriously absent, not even appearing in the restaurant or any of the lounges or bars the ship offered. Being a first class passenger afforded certain privileges, one of which was having meals served in one’s cabin, and though she couldn't imagine why he would choose to do so, it was clear Duncan was doing just that.

Other men had approached her, but she had been consumed by thoughts of the intriguing British gent, wishing he was the one sitting next to her on the bar stool asking if he could buy her a drink. Patience was not one of Brittany’s qualities, and it had been frustrating beginning to the cruise.

After indulging in a late morning buffet breakfast served on the deck, where he was again conspicuously absent, she returned to her cabin totally annoyed. Wandering into her bedroom she moved to the vanity area, picked up her hairbrush and began absently brushing her hair.

Why is it so damn difficult to bump into him? Does he just want to spend the entire cruise hibernating? Hmm, I wonder how I can find out more about him?

Shame you can’t have a poke around his stateroom!

The scandalous idea popped unexpectedly into her head, startling her. While she loved the inner voice that served as a gentle prod when she found herself hesitating, it was often impish, pushing her to do mischievous things, almost like as if a wicked woman was living inside her and was bursting to break free. She attempted to push away the scandalous thought, but it refused to budge.

I know what curiosity did to the cat. I wouldn’t dream of doing such a thing.

Screw the cat. Just do it.

Shaking herself, attempting to exorcise the outrageous suggestion, she changed into her bikini and walked out on to her private deck, stretching out on the deeply cushioned reclining lounge chair. The sun was mild, the sea twinkling, the cool ocean breeze tickling her skin; the only thing missing was the yummy man three doors down.

"Who are you, Duncan Rhys-Davies?" she mumbled. "More to the point, where are you? What's the point in taking a cruise if you're just going to stay hidden in your stateroom day and night?"

Unable to relax she moved to the railing and stared down at the foamy wake created by the immense ship as it powered through the water. Leaning slightly forward she turned her head and studied the neighboring decks. They had been designed for maximum privacy, and though she could peek around at the patio next to hers, the others remained hidden from view.

"What I wouldn't give to be a fly on your wall," she muttered, staring at the edge of the railing that would have been his.

You came on this cruise to do something daring, so why don't you? See if you can find a way to sneak into his cabin for five quick minutes.

Stop, I’ll do no such thing.

Once again, determinedly pushing the crazy notion out of her mind, she returned to her lounge chair.

"If nothing else I'm going to get a tan," she muttered.

Dropping back into the soft, enveloping foam pad she spread the sunblock across her skin, picked up one of several fashion magazines that had been waiting for her, and began to read.

But it was impossible. Deciding she needed to do something physical, she changed into shorts and T-shirt and headed off to the ship’s jogging track. It ended up being a long run, longer than she’d intended, and though she passed a number of people, several of whom were very attractive men, Duncan Rhys-Davis wasn’t one of them.

Still haunted by the handsome stranger she headed back to her cabin, and aching and tired from the extended jog she began to pace around the expansive stateroom, stretching her legs and loosening her limbs, irritated that she couldn’t get him out of her head.

“This is ridiculous,” she shouted to the walls. “Dammit, how can I shake this guy? I can’t stand this.”

Dropping into an armchair chair she absently picked up the folder outlining the ship’s activities and services, and her eyes fell upon the advertisement for the onboard Spa.

“A massage! That’s exactly what I need,” she declared, and grabbing the phone she was delighted that she could be accommodated right away.

Showering quickly, as she hurried to the elevator she felt a wave of relief, convinced the hypnotic effect of the kneading, practiced hands on her back would erase Duncan Rhys-Davies from her thoughts, at least for a short time.

The smiling receptionist led her to a warm, small, dimly lit room, and as Brittany removed her clothes, covered herself with the thin sheet and placed her head into the cushioned headrest, she let the soothing ambient melody wash over her. Moments later a gentle tap on the door announced the arrival of the masseuse.

"Hello, Miss Carter, my name's Martha. Are you ready for me?"

"So ready," Brittany sighed.

The calming aroma of lavender floated around her as the massage therapist began her work, traveling her expert fingers across Brittany's sore muscles.

"You're so tense," she remarked. "this is a cruise, it's supposed to relax you."

"I know, Brittany muttered. "Unfortunately that hasn’t been so easy."

"That sounds like a man problem," Martha remarked.

"How did you know?" Brittany asked, surprised at the woman’s accurate assessment.

"It usually is," the masseuse sighed. "I'm like a priest or a doctor, if you want to talk about it I promise it will remain a secret. I've heard many confessions and tales of woe here. Sometimes talking helps more than the massage."

"Hmmm, maybe you’re right. It’s not a big deal, not really. I met this guy when I first boarded yesterday and I can't stop thinking about him. It’s driving me crazy," Brittany admitted.

"No wonder you’re tense, that would drive me crazy too,” Martha replied with an understanding tone. “Do you know where his cabin is?"

"That's what makes this so darn frustrating," Brittany exclaimed. "He's only three doors down from me? How is it even possible that I haven't seen him, not even a glimpse, not once!"

"Wow, your muscles just tightened," Martha declared. "Take a deep breath, no, make that three deep breaths. If this guy is haunting you maybe you should stake out his door. He can't stay in his stateroom forever. Maybe he's nocturnal, likes to be out when most people are sleeping. I knew a musician like that once, he was a total night-owl."

“That never occurred to me, you might be right. Huh…maybe he's famous and I just don't know who he is," Brittany pondered, “and he leaves his cabin really late so he no-one will bother him. Thank you, Martha, I'm going to watch his door tonight, see what happens. This is great, I feel so much better."

"You're welcome, now you can relax and let me get these knots out."

The plausible explanation helped, and knowing there was something she could do helped even more. Surrendering to the deft fingers rubbing her back Brittany let herself drift away, envisioning meeting the elusive Mr. Rhys-Davies under the brilliant ocean stars.

An hour later, as she was meandering down the corridor back to her room, she spied the maid's trolley parked outside his cabin. Glancing around to make sure there was no one behind her, she moved closer and stole a glance inside his cabin. He was there, in the flesh, standing with his back to the door, dressed in navy shorts and a cream, loose fitting shirt.

Oh, man, look at those shoulders, and his legs are so toned. He must be a jogger to get calves like that.

She stood, staring, and as if sensing her gaze he slowly began to turn, causing her to be hit with a surge of panic.

Ducking away she hurried to her cabin, and tying to calm her pounding heart she hastily darted inside, softly closing the door behind her. Leaning against it she took a moment to calm her nerves, then wandered on to her patio and looked across the horizon; the sun was shining but low in the sky; dusk was not far off.

I saw him, I actually saw him. I should have stayed put and waved. Darn it, I’m such a woose.

Just as well you didn’t, you’re a mess.

True, and so tired. I’ll stake out his door tonight and see if he comes out. If he does I'll follow him and pretend to run into him somewhere.

Moving into her bathroom she pondered whether to take a shower and get ready for a sunset cocktail in the luxury deck-side lounge, or just lay down and take a nap, finally deciding to take a shower regardless.

As the hot water splashed across her body, the scent of the lavender massage oil slowly washing away, she realized just how tired she was. Stepping out she picked up a lone towel, realizing the housekeeper had neglected to replace the three she’d taken, and after drying off she stood for a minute, trying to make a decision about what to do next.

I think I’ll go up to the lounge and have a light snack, then I’ll come back and just relax for a while. Hope the maid is still in Duncan’s stateroom. I can ask her for my towels as I go past, and maybe I’ll see him again too. Shoot, maybe he’ll come out and say hello. Wouldn’t that be one for the books?

Dressing in a white, halter top dress, similar to the one she’d been wearing the day before, she donned some white sandals, and opening the door she peered down the hallway to see if the housekeeper’s trolley was still parked in the same spot. To her shocked delight Duncan was standing just outside his cabin; she was so surprised to see him she almost let out a startled cry.

Quickly closing her door so it was open just a crack, she stood, holding her breath, watching to see if he was heading off, but he just stood where he was, his hands on his hips, a deep frown on his face.

Tired from her earlier jog and the massage, she scurried away to grab a chair, and sitting back down she peeked through the barely open door, only to discover the elusive Mr. Rhys-Davies was elusive again; the trolley was still there but he was gone.

"Really? I can't believe it," she mumbled, and as her shoulders slumped in defeat, a wave of fatigue washed over her, sending forth an exhausted yawn. "Yes, I definitely need a nap."

She was about to leave the door to lay down when a flash of color caught her eye, and peeking back through the crack she broke into a smile; he had reappeared, or rather his head had reappeared. She watched, fascinated, as he looked up and down the hallway as if checking to see if anyone was there.

I wonder if he’s on the run. Maybe he’s a world famous jewel thief, or an agent from MI5.

She quietly giggled at her wild imagination, but when he finally stepped into the corridor she saw that he had changed his clothes; he was now dressed in a pale blue track suit and running shoes.

Of course he going to go for a jog when I can barely walk. I can’t do a second run, I’ll die.

Striding down the hallway he was quickly out of sight, but the maid's trolley remained.

I guess I can at least get my towels. Maybe I can catch him when he returns.

Making sure she had her key she started up the hallway, and as she neared his door her impish voice flashed through her mind.

This would be a great chance to have a quick sneak. I'll bet there's a large armoire just like the one in your cabin, stuck in the corner. You could easily slip behind it if the maid isn't in the room.

No! Absolutely not!

Oh, go on, be daring, that's why you're on this boat. Do it. It’ll be so much fun.

Not if I get caught it won't.

You're wasting time. Just go for it.

You are relentless.

I just know you need a push.

Fine, I'll just take quick peek. Maybe that will shut you up.

Moving around the trolley she nervously poked her head in the stateroom; there was no sign of the maid, but Brittany could hear her humming in the adjacent bedroom.

Look, the armoire is exactly where it is in your cabin. It's now or never! Quick, go in.

Why do I listen to you? I really hope I don’t regret this.

And with her heart bouncing in her chest, she began to creep forward.

A
fter her first furtive steps she made a panicked dash to the armoire, then broke into a sweat as she wriggled her body through the narrow opening, securing her hiding place just seconds before the maid, still happily singing, made her appearance.

Holding her breath, afraid to even twitch an eye, Brittany heard the humming fade and the cabin door click closed, but waited a full minute before nervously craning her neck to peer into the room. Letting out a huge sigh, she steadied her nerves and began to slide back into the room, but it took her longer to squeeze past the heavy piece of furniture than it had to wriggle behind it. Finally succeeding she stood stock still, staring around the lushly appointed cabin.

It was eerily quiet, and her temples began to throb. She was suddenly terrified he would walk through the door at any moment, but she could detect the intoxicating aroma of his cologne, and the thrill of being in his room, of doing something so completely dangerous and out of character, slowly began to override her fear.

Taking a deep breath she let her eyes search her surroundings, seeking out items that might tell her more about Duncan Rhys-Davies; they came to rest on his nightstand and she broke into a small smile.

Hmmm, bedside tables can reveal some interesting things about a person. When I think about what’s hiding in mine…

Her feet sinking into the thickly carpeted pile she moved across to his bed, carefully opened the drawer of the nightstand, and found herself staring at a book. For a moment she wasn’t quite sure what it was it was she was seeing, but as the picture on the cover began to register she felt the blood drain from her face.

It was a pair of fur covered handcuffs, bright red, laying on the cream satin bedspread of a four poster bed. The scrawled title floating across the bottom of the page read, “A Man’s Discipline: A Women’s Secret Desires.”