Dreamboat (30 page)

“I want,” Crissy said. She squeezed him. “Oh, yes. I definitely want.”

He kissed her. “Good. I've never wanted anything more in my life.” He reached down and pulled a sheet up over them.

“How will we wake up?” she asked.

“I'm a doctor, remember?” he said. “I have an internal alarm clock, so don't worry. I'll get us up.”

He put an arm around her shoulders, and Crissy nestled her head against him. He kissed her hair, and they slept at last.

Luca awoke her with a kiss, and Crissy, disoriented at first, quickly realized where she was. She returned his kiss. “Hmm,” she whispered, “I wish we didn't have to get up. Ever.”

“We have a few minutes,” he said, taking her into this arms. They made love again, the realization that they had to part compelling them to enjoy each other once more before separating.

“Everybody's going to know I've been somewhere all night,” Crissy said, “but I don't care.”

“Nor do I,” he said. “If I have to break the rules from now on, then that's what I'm going to do.” He took her into his arms again. “I can't do without you. It's impossible.” He kissed her, then reluctantly drew back and relinquished his hold on her. “Go, my beauty,” he said.

Chapter Sixteen

G
etting a sweater out of the closet and grabbing her shoulder bag, Crissy let herself out of the cabin. As she walked up the corridor, she idly wondered about Jenny and Monika, and how they were getting along. They were probably having a wonderful time dishing her, she thought. The idea didn't really bother her as much as it might have, she realized, because of her relationship with Luca. Still, she smarted from Jenny's betrayal. She thought she had known her, and she had appreciated their friendship. Jenny had always been fun and generous, but when she thought about it, she decided that she hadn't really known her all that well. Before and after her marriage, they had gone out together, Crissy always serving as a kind of tag-along. While she was married, Crissy had hardly heard from Jenny. Now she felt that she had been used as a kind of colorless sidekick, someone to help fill the gap between men, someone who served as a kind of backdrop against which Jenny could play out her dramas.

Going to the stairwell, she climbed up to the top deck and went down the corridor that led to Mark's cabin. Knocking on his door, she glanced up and down the corridor. She didn't see anyone about, but she guessed she wasn't supposed to.

Mark opened the door himself. “Welcome to my humble abode,” he said, bowing his head and sweeping a hand toward the entrance hall.

“Thank you,” Crissy said with a laugh as she entered. She stepped in and walked toward the living room. She saw the steamer trunk with its large, emblazoned Vs. Its top was open, propped against a wall.

“Oh, you've opened that beautiful trunk,” she said.

“Yes,” Mark replied. “You've been so curious about it, I decided to open Pandora's box and let you see what's inside.”

Crissy laughed. “I can't believe you did that.”

“It's pretty dull,” Mark said. “Just a bunch of old quilts. I didn't even bother going through the whole thing.”

Crissy stepped toward the trunk. “They look handmade,” she said. “They're really beautiful.”

Mark smirked. “Worthless, if you ask me.”

“Maybe your father treasures them,” she replied. “Somebody in his family might have made them a long time ago.”

“Who cares?” Mark said. “Anyway, I hope you're surviving the storm unscathed,” he said, turning to her.

“I'm fine. How about you?”

“No problems here,” he said. “Have a seat.” He indicated a couch. On the coffee table in front of it was a silver tray on which sat two champagne flutes and a silver cooler. Inside the cooler a bottle of champagne was perched on ice. “I'll be back in a flash. I wasn't quite ready, as you can see.” He was standing in his bare feet, and his hair was still wet from the shower.

“That's okay,” Crissy said. “Take your time.”

He dashed off through the living room toward the bedroom and closed the door behind him. When he was gone, Crissy looked over at the pile of messages on the desk. She hadn't planned on pilfering any of his messages, but she had to take advantage of the opportunity: They might indicate his involvement in harassing her. Forcing herself to her feet, shoulder bag in hand, she casually walked over to the desk. Looking toward the bedroom door, then back at the messy pile of messages, she felt her heart thumping in her chest. She quickly slipped out a couple from the bottom and shoved them in her shoulder bag. She repeated the process, taking two or three from the middle of the pile, then finally took a couple from near the top.

She felt sweat bead on her forehead as she rushed back to the couch and sat down, her heart beating wildly. Propping her shoulder bag next to her, she reached down into it, rearranging its contents to make certain that the envelopes were out of sight. That done, she searched until she found the small packet of Kleenex that she always had with her, pulled several out, and dabbed her forehead. When he came back into the room, she was still recovering and hoped that her nervousness didn't show on her face.

“Are you too warm?” Mark asked.

“Oh, no, I'm fine,” Crissy said. “I was just out on deck. I guess the change in temperature got to me for a minute.”

“Why did you go out on deck?” he asked, sitting at the end of the couch.

“I just like to go out and look at the sky and sea. Even in this weather, I love the salt air and the wind.”

“You're like me,” he said, smiling. “A primitive at heart. I love the feeling of being close to nature, its wildness, its power and strength. Nothing man has done can compare. Not even close.” He poured two glasses of champagne. “I know you can't drink much, so I thought we'd have a glass of champagne before lunch. How's that?”

“Fine,” she said. “I'll have a tiny bit.”

He handed her a glass, then clinked his against it. “To Mother Nature,” he said, “whose power and strength and beauty know no bounds.”

“Aren't we poetic today,” she said teasingly.

“Well,” he admitted, “I do get carried away sometimes. I guess it's the storm: It excites me.”

“It is exciting,” Crissy said, “but I think it would get old fast, don't you?”

“Like the mistral or the meltemi,” he said, “the winds. In France, the mistral will blow for days, weeks even, and drive people nearly crazy. In Greece, it's the meltemi, roaring down from the north. A lot of people enjoy the first day or two, but then it really makes them crazy. They try to stay indoors to avoid it. It kicks up sand and soil, stings you all over, and it makes sailing a fierce proposition or brings it to a halt. Once I was sailing from Mykonos to Seriphos and got caught in it. It was treacherous, waves crashing over the boat. You get the picture. But I made it.”

“It sounds as though you like to take risks,” Crissy said, “that you enjoy danger.”

“I don't know,” he said. “I didn't deliberately set out to get caught in the meltemi that day, but I'm not afraid, either.”

He slid an arm across the back of the couch and drew nearer her. “What about you? Are you a risk-taker? Do you like danger?”

“Oh, my life has been so mundane, so ordinary,” Crissy said. She laughed nervously. “There haven't been many risks or dangers. I guess you could say that I've sort of let things happen. Do you know what I mean?”

“Instead of
making
them happen?” he said, his eyes flashing.

She nodded. “Exactly.” She looked down at her drink thoughtfully. “There have been times when I've had to make decisions, and I did. Like
when I dropped out of school and studied to be a hairdresser and colorist.” She laughed again. “I think I made the wrong decision, but I didn't know it at the time. It seemed like the best and quickest way for me to start earning money to support myself so I wouldn't have to depend on my mother or anyone else.”

“It sounds to me as if you made something happen,” Mark said. “You didn't let the world swallow you up.”

“No,” Crissy said, thinking his choice of words a bit melodramatic, “I didn't let the world swallow me up. I'm not quite that passive.”

“I didn't think so,” he said, looking into her eyes. “I think you're a fighter.” He took a swallow of his champagne, finishing the glass. “Ready?” He looked at her glass. “Here, I'll top it off.” He filled Crissy's and poured another one for himself.

“I hope you don't mind the informality,” he said, “but I didn't want stewards hovering about today.”

“Not at all,” Crissy said.

“I wanted to be alone with you,” Mark said, looking into her eyes again.

Crissy smiled wanly.

He set his glass down on the coffee table and scooted next to her on the couch. “I wanted us to enjoy each other as we should.” He leaned over and kissed her lips.

Crissy drew back. “No, Mark,” she said. “This isn't why I came here. It's—”

He took her glass of champagne and set it on the table, then grabbed her wrists in his hands. “Come on,” he said in a whisper. “You know you want me. I know that's why you came today.” He forced her arms back, then began kissing her face and neck, shoving his body against her roughly.

“No!” Crissy cried. “Stop it, Mark. Stop it now.”

But he didn't stop. Holding both of her wrists in one hand, he shoved up the top she was wearing and started licking and kissing her exposed cleavage. Crissy struggled against him, but his strength was too much for her. He was about 6'2” and must weigh 200 pounds, she thought, and there was no way she could force him off her.

For a moment she went limp, hoping that by doing so he would relinquish his hold on her wrists. The tactic worked, and with a grunt he began jerking her bra down and licking her exposed breasts. Crissy quickly slid
off the couch before he could grab hold of her. She landed on the floor, but scrambled to her feet. She ran toward the door, but Mark grabbed her from behind, almost pulling her to the floor. One of his hands went across her mouth, and he began pulling her toward the bedroom.

At first Crissy felt like a rag doll in his grip, but when she realized where he was taking her, anger and fear propelled her into action. She tried to kick, but her feet didn't connect with anything but air. Biting his hand, she was rewarded with a heavy smack on her lips.

“Ahhhh, Mar—!” she began to scream.

His hand landed on her mouth again, harder this time, and the blow sent a bolt of pain through Crissy's head. She tasted blood and felt it running down her chin. She began kicking again, but as before, her feet connected with nothing. At the bedroom door, she saw an opportunity out of the corner of her eye. Using every ounce of strength in her body, she heaved herself sideways. Mark was in the bedroom, still holding onto her, but she'd hooked her legs around the door jamb, preventing him from dragging her inside.

“You bitch,” he grunted, pulling on her torso, one hand still over her mouth.

Crissy held onto the doorway with her legs, willing her knees not to give out against his immense strength.

Suddenly, using both hands, he slammed her to the floor, and she went against it hard. She nearly had the breath knocked out of her, but she scrambled across the living room floor away from him. Trying to get to her feet, she felt his hands grab her from behind again, and she began screaming.

“Hel—!” A hand clamped forcefully over her mouth, and she bit it and kicked her legs furiously at the same time, making contact with his shins.

She heard him grunt, then felt his grip loosen. She struggled free and dashed toward the coffee table, Mark close behind her. Grabbing the bottle of champagne out of its bucket, she turned and took a wild swing in his direction. She heard the impact and felt it in her arm. When she looked, she saw that she had grazed the side of his head. He'd thrown a hand up to block the full impact. He came toward her, his eyes wild and his face contorted with fury. Crissy backed away, then ran toward the entrance. She felt his hands at her back again, clawing at her blouse. She gripped the trunk, but Mark continued to grab her blouse ferociously.

Her blouse ripped, and Mark jerked backward, almost thrown off his
feet. Crissy fell, pulling the trunk over with her. Its contents spilled out over the living room floor and into the entrance hall. Among the quilts, a package in a plastic bag rolled onto the carpet, but neither of them noticed it.

Mark grabbed her under her arms and started pulling her across the floor, and Crissy began to scream.

The door to the cabin swung open and slammed against the wall with a loud thwack. A woman, revolver drawn, rushed inside.

“Down!” she barked in a deep voice, her hand indicating the floor.

Crissy was momentarily confused, but without thinking, she sank to her knees, then went all the way to the floor. The woman stepped around her.

“Put your hands up!” she said to Mark. “I said
up,
fucker,” she snarled.

Crissy turned on the floor and looked behind her. She could see Mark with his hands up, backing away from the woman. Oddly, she thought, the woman, though tall and big-boned, was dressed as any passenger might be in a striped, long-sleeved tee and slacks and sneakers.

“This is all a misunderstanding,” he said smoothly. “All a mistake.”

The woman slapped a handcuff around one of his wrists. “Turn around and put your hands together behind you,” she said. When Mark didn't move, she roared in his face. “Turn the fuck around, or I'll shoot your pretty face off.”

Mark turned around and brought his wrists together at the small of his back. “You're going to be sorry for this,” he said. “You're not going to be able to get a fucking job anywhere in the world if you live long enough to look for one.”

Unperturbed, she snapped the other cuff in place, then pushed him toward a chair. “There,” she snapped. “Sit down and shut up.”

She turned to Crissy and helped her to her feet. “You okay, sweetheart?” she asked, looking her over.