Love under contract (7 page)

Catherine’s companion didn’t appear – he was expected somewhat later, but Zara had no time to speak to Antonio. Under no circumstances, however, was Zara’s mother to know that Gregor was on board.

Zara returned to the deck and withdrew to practice yoga – she was here now, and was not going to think about work – breathe in, breathe out – she did a handstand and the world stood on its head, the blue sea merging with the blue, cloudless sky. It smelled like sea air, salt . . . and suntan lotion. Catherine had also found a place in the sun on the deck and was lasciviously applying lotion to every piece of uncovered skin.

Zara closed her eyes. It was as if she were floating, everything was unimportant, she felt as if she were one with the universe. When she opened her eyes again, a pair of naked legs, a man’s muscular, tan legs, were directly in her line of vision. She had a pretty good idea as to whose they were; looking up from below in her headstand position, she saw Gregor, and as if in shock, she rolled back up. That couldn’t be, could it?

“What are you doing here?” she asked, pretending to be astonished. She was proud of how good an actress she could be.

He stood there in shorts and a polo-shirt, sunglasses in his hair, and simply looked at her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know that you would be here. I wouldn’t have come along if I had known,” he lied, smirking. Was he really sorry? She was suspicious that he was doing this to make her angry.

Antonio came over to them. “Oh, you know each other . . .”  “Yes, unfortunately, in a word.” Zara sprang up and pulled Antonio about three feet away. “Mother must never, ever find out that he was here with us!” she begged him urgently. “Why, what’s the matter?” “That’s Gregor Levy, who took mother’s firm away from her.” Of course, he knew the whole story about Levy. Antonio’s eyes grew large. “What? That’s Levy?! But he’s really nice; we’ve already had a very pleasant conversation,” he said. Zara rolled her eyes. “Just be sure that Mama doesn’t find out!”  She shook her head. “Yes, she mustn’t get wind of this,” Antonio agreed and casually ambled over to Gregor. “Behave yourselves,” he said to Zara and Gregor, a little annoyed. These family issues have no business here. “This is my boat – there will be no arguing here – understood?!” He looked piercingly at Zara. She sighed and shrugged her shoulders.

It was all the same to Gregor whether or not Zara was on the boat. He knew that there would be trouble when she saw him – and when he saw her in her handstand pose, with her beautiful and well-toned legs in the air, the mental image of the seemingly innocent girl, her long hair loosely framing her face, returned.

“Well, I can behave myself,” he said, looking directly at Zara. She probably wanted to kill him right now and feed him to the sharks if she could have, he thought.

“You forget, I’m a princess,” she said sharply, meaning that she had manners too. Her claim of being a princess was always meant to be ironic; she was hardly a princess – had really never been, but everyone called her that.

She turned and walked away – and found Catherine coming toward her. “I’m hungry,” Catherine said, holding her flat stomach. Marc stood behind her – he could always eat; he always had an appetite and was glad that it wasn’t he who raised the subject this time. “Well, then someone has to cook.” He looked around the group. Catherine laughed and waved her hand dismissively. “Don’t look at me, I can’t cook.” No one had really expected that a Hollywood star would step up to the plate, especially not a sex-pot like Catherine McClean.

Zara sighed; she always cooked on these vacation trips, not because she was a big eater, but because she really enjoyed cooking, even if she didn’t look as if she did.

Antonio knew this and smiled. “I’ve had a French cook fly in,” he said, and looked at Zara. She grinned broadly.

Gregor looked at him in surprise; had the actor really brought along a cook? The cabins were all occupied! “Really? I haven’t seen him yet!” “Oh, yes, French, I like that,” Catherine laughed and looked at Gregor, emphasizing the suggestive remark. Zara shook her head. Oh, dear, she was really common, she thought, as she watched Gregor bending toward her and whispering something in her ear. Catherine giggled in response and wrapped her arms around his waist.

Zara couldn’t watch this; she averted her eyes, turned around and disappeared into the cabin. She could easily make mincemeat out of her.

She was just in the process of cleaning vegetables and marinating the meat when she felt Gregor standing behind her. “You’re the French cook?” he asked in amazement. He had really not expected that she could cook. There she was in her white shorts, pink T-shirt, cutting vegetables. She quickly turned around to face him.

“Yes, actually, my knowledge of French is not limited to my language skills.” In her mind, she added, but didn’t want to bring up, the other French skills the actress had alluded to earlier. She didn’t want to sink to her level. Gregor, however, understood full well just what she actually wanted to say. “Perhaps other French skills would have proved useful to keep Mr. Fiancé faithful in Los Angeles,” he said. No sooner had the words come out of his mouth, he was sorry, and thought it was really mean. She probably didn’t even know that he had betrayed her with another woman.

He waited for a reaction, but her face remained completely indifferent. Zara was a master of self-control, plus she couldn’t care less about whom Robert had taken to bed.

More than anything, she wanted to shout at him – what business of his was it – and to say that not every woman was as crass as his girlfriend – and she was thankful that she had been raised to be able to hide her true feelings. What an arrogant asshole, she thought, how nasty he was, what in the world had her mother seen in him? His looks? Okay, his looks.

“My ex-fiancé can do, or not do, as he likes,” she said, smiling; but once more he had confirmed her opinion of men. Then she again turned her attention to preparing the meal.

“You’re not going to poison me, I hope?” “Good idea, but I have to be pretty clever about it – I’ll see.” He leaned toward her to look over her shoulder; he was quite a bit taller than she, particularly when she wasn’t wearing high heels, like now. She smelled of something that always reminded him of the South Seas – coconuts and peaches? Her hair reminded him of vanilla, and Gregor felt quite strange in her presence. He briefly closed his eyes and breathed deeply.

He gave Zara a start; he was so close. She could feel his nearness, the warmth of his body, and moved back a bit. But there wasn’t much room to get out of his way. Would it be easy to lead him astray? “I advise you not to poison me; you would regret it,” he whispered, reaching over her to the vegetables. He snatched a carrot and went on his way.

Zara was relieved once he was gone; she had to plan her next steps more carefully, otherwise he could get the upper hand, like with her mother. He was dangerous, very dangerous.

Gregor wasn’t the only one enthusiastic about her meal. Catherine and also Marc and Antonio praised her cooking skills. To Gregor’s relief, Zara had not cooked any pork. That was the only remnant of his past. He hesitated making an issue of it, so it was easier to be a vegetarian than to bring up his religion in a group of actors. Of course, everyone was very tolerant, how could one be anything else, but . . .

Catherine loved to eat and had to diet regularly so that she would keep her figure. Zara put almost nothing on her plate, which no one really noticed, since she was up and down a lot, back and forth between the kitchen and the table on the deck -- except for Gregor, who also offered to help her clear the dishes. She didn’t say anything, which he took to mean that she had accepted his offer. Zara tried not to be in the little kitchen with him, and succeeded in avoiding him. She wanted to make herself unattainable, which was what fascinated him – the cool, somewhat distant princess.

The two actors remained on deck, discussing various films, but Catherine disappeared quite quickly into her cabin with Gregor. She practically dragged him from the table and he shrugged his shoulders in apology. Antonio and Marc grinned from ear to ear and Marc said: “Enviable; the woman has vitality.”

Zara had been watching the two constantly; they were flirting with one another openly and Catherine seemed quite smitten. She was glued to Gregor, and her hand roamed over his extraordinary body. One really couldn’t fault her for it.

Zara was still straightening up the kitchen when Gregor returned. He was only wearing shorts. No wonder that the man had been a top model – he appeared to be made of muscles, finely formed, beautiful muscles.

She swallowed and put the glasses away. She couldn’t just stare at his chest; what would he think – that she was already hopelessly lost?

“Are you searching for something?” she asked, since Gregor was looking around helplessly. “Catherine would like something to drink; I think Champagne.” Of course, what else, Zara thought, reaching into the refrigerator and pulling out one of the bottles that she had brought with her. He took the ice-cold bottle. “Oh, thank you – your name is here on the label,” Gregor noticed in amusement. “Yes, so it is. And it’s very good. Don’t be frightened, it’s not poisoned.” Of course, what did he think? She gestured with her hand – “Now disappear and have fun with your French lesson.” Gregor laughed; she had a sense of humor. “Thank you.” Before he left the kitchen, he turned and looked at her thoughtfully one more time. “Dinner was really good.” She didn’t smile, just looked at him with her large green eyes. “And there was no pork,” she said. He smiled. “Yes, no pork.” She apparently sensed it. How unusual she was. And there was that feeling again, which he couldn’t explain and didn’t like.

Zara wouldn’t have given him the bottle had she known what would follow. She had hardly gotten into bed in her cabin, when she heard them. It was impossible to ignore since she had the neighboring stateroom on this boat and the walls were thin, too thin. First there was laughter and then loud moans, screams.

She could tolerate the first loud moans. She had expected that from Catherine, although not from Levy, who made the somewhat aloof impression of the cool blond guy. Now, after an hour, they should have had enough, but after a short pause, it began again, from the beginning.

Zara put a pillow over her head and cursed Antonio, Gregor Levy and Catherine. What kind of stamina the man had, it couldn’t be true! She sighed and thought that she should really have poisoned him, since the two were having such a good time in the next cabin, all night long. At some point, Zara fell asleep with her pillow on her head.

Early in the morning, she found Antonio at the wheel in front of the radar. “Morning, Antonio!” He looked up from the nautical chart. “Did you sleep well?” he asked, sensing nothing. “You must trade cabins with me, I can’t sleep, our lovebirds are too loud,” she whispered. Antonio laughed loudly. “I almost expected that; Catherine has the reputation of being really wild.” He laughed and laughed, and tears ran down his cheeks. “Antonio, now control yourself!” Zara felt he wasn’t taking her very seriously and gave him a little punch in the chest. With a single gesture, Antonio wiped his tears away. “You poor thing, alone and lonely next to our turtledoves.” “Tomorrow, you’ll be lying there.” She looked at him crossly and disappeared into the cabin.

Gregor saw Zara disappear in anger, and went to Antonio. “What’s wrong with the princess, bad mood?” Antonio grinned. He liked Gregor. “She’s staying in the cabin next to you both . . .” he explained. Gregor didn’t quite understand – or at least not immediately. Antonio grinned. Then Gregor understood. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I guess we were too loud!” he murmured, embarrassed. He ran his hand through his hair, but as he turned away, he smiled. Now see here, there’s a possibility after all that this reserved brunette’s composure can be disrupted.

Zara retired to the deck with her Notebook and her books, and wanted simply to have some peace and quiet.

Catherine seemed not to be able to keep her hands off Gregor; the two lay not far from her in the shade of the sail, and actually Catherine lay on Gregor most of the time. How does it feel? No, don’t think about that. God, she desperately needed sex.

Toward evening, as the sun slowly set, she heard Gregor speaking with Marc in French, since apparently Catherine wasn’t supposed to understand.

“Do me a favor, and please keep Catherine away from me for an hour, I need a little time to myself.” Gregor liked Catherine, he found sex with her to be wonderful, sensational, but he wanted an hour of quiet to read a book, to have a conversation with someone else. If he was honest with himself, he thought about Zara, who sat on the deck all day, writing in her Notebook and surrounded by books.

What the devil was she writing? He was curious and he wanted a diversion.

Marc understood and it seemed like a good idea, since he thought Catherine not only to be very beautiful, but they shared the same profession.

He slapped Gregor on the shoulder. “This evening Catherine belongs to me.” Gregor nodded. “Great, but afterwards I’d like her back,” he responded and smiled. Marc laughed and went over to Catherine, who was squinting into the sun.

Zara was writing an article for a professional journal in France about one of her favorite topics, ethics in the business world and women’s rights initiatives.

Gregor sat down next to her and she pretended that she hadn’t noticed; he picked up one of the thick books, looked at the cover and couldn’t believe his eyes.
Women’s Rights Initiatives
? Oh, dear. Pity the world’s men!

“Oh, I think you’ve chosen the wrong seat,” she said and put her book down. She looked at the Notebook screen.

“I think you’ve chosen the wrong field.” He put the book down. Zara was dumbfounded.

“What do you mean?” she asked, taken aback, and pressed the “save” button on her Notebook.  Gregor stared at her naked, flat stomach.

“Feminism? Really? I thought your specialty was business law!” Gregor laughed.

“You probably have your little world in which everyone has his place – here, Christians; there, Jews; and women, who don’t just think horizontally, are difficult for you to understand,” she said sharply and pushed her sunglasses back on her head – the sun had gone down here. Should he answer her? He felt a little trapped.