Table of Contents

Cover Page

Excerpt

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Copyright

“We’re Going To Emergency To Have You Checked Out,”

Kevin said.

Michelle pulled her arm free. “No. I don’t need a doctor. I just want to go home and go to bed.”

Kevin grabbed her arm and pulled her in the opposite direction. “Michelle, we can argue later. Something’s wrong…”

She broke free. “Kevin, please…” She clamped her hand over her mouth. “I know what’s wrong and you can’t help. Just let me by.”

His dark, determined eyes looked by turns worried and suspicious. “What do you mean? What’s wrong with you?”

This wasn’t the time, or the place. But she had to get past him. Now! “I’m pregnant, and I’m going to throw up all over you if you don’t move this instant.”

Before he could respond, she rushed out of the room…

Dear Reader,

Established stars and exciting new names…that’s what’s in store for you this month from Silhouette Desire. Let’s begin with Cait London’s MAN OF THE MONTH, Tallchiefs Bride—it’s also the latest in her wonderful series, THE TALLCHIEFS.

The fun continues with Babies by the Busload, the next book in Raye Morgan’s THE BABY SHOWER series, and Michael’s Baby, the first installment of Cathie Linz’s delightful series, THREE WEDDINGS AND A GIFT.

So many of you have indicated how much you love the work of Peggy Moreland, so I know you’ll all be excited about her latest sensuous romp, A Willful Marriage. And Anne Eames, who made her debut earlier in the year in Silhouette Desire’s Celebration 1000, gives us more pleasure with You’re What?! And if you enjoy a little melodrama with your romance, take a peek at Metsy Hingle’s enthralling new book, Backfire.

As always, each and every Silhouette Desire is sensuous, emotional and sure to leave you feeling good at the end of the day!

Happy Reading!

Senior Editor

Please address questions and book requests to:

Silhouette Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

You’re What?!
Anne Eames

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ANNE EAMES

has a varied background, including managing a theater, a bridal salon and a construction association, netting several marketing and communication awards along the way. In 1991 she joined the Romance Writers of America, later becoming a Golden Heart finalist, the winner of the Maggie Award, and finally a published author—her lifelong dream.

Anne and her engineer husband, Bill, live in southeastern Michigan and share a family of five—two hers (Tim and Tom), two his (Erin and David) and one theirs (an adorable miniature dachshund, Punkin).

To “S” for planting this “seed” to Lisa and Linda for their medical contributions to Billie and Ellen for their cruise stories and especially to my own private hero…Bill

One

“Sperm bank!” Michelle groused aloud and shook her head in disbelief. “Who would’ve thought it would come to this?”

She rolled her eyes and slouched on the edge of the examining table. With a paper sheet tucked tightly under her arms, she scraped nonexistent dirt from beneath her freshly manicured nails.

Thirty-six years old, divorced, and no man on the horizon. What choice did she have? She glanced at her watch for the umpteenth time. It’s not as though she hadn’t given the system a chance. In the three years since she’d been back on the single scene, she’d had her share of dates—enough to make her more than a little cynical about finding Mr. Right. Besides, the longer she was on her own, the more she liked it.

She heard a door open and close in the next room. Michelle stopped playing with her fingers and dropped them in her lap. This anxiety was counterproductive. She had to control her wavering emotions and think positive thoughts.

For a start, she remembered this morning’s clear blue sky and the weatherman’s prediction of sixty-two degrees by noon— almost unheard-of for mid-March in Detroit. If being here was wrong, surely there’d be a blizzard with icy, impassable roads. The paper crinkled under her legs as she shifted positions and wrestled with her nagging doubts.

Looking for a distraction, she surveyed the small, sterile room. White walls displayed framed photographs of pudgycheeked cherubs, each one seeming to smile in her direction, each tweaking her heartstrings and causing her eyes to mist over. More than anything, she wanted a baby. If only there was another way…

After a loud knock, the door flew open beside her. Startled, she twisted toward it. An intense, white-coated doctor sprang into the room, his entrance instantly reminding her of Kramer on the sitcom “Seinfeld.” She almost laughed before eyeing the footlong sheathed instrument in his hand.

Ceremoniously, the doctor placed the syringelike object on a stainless-steel tray, then picked up her chart and perused his notes. Michelle studied his thick crop of wildly curly hair until he lifted his gaze. Finally, he flashed a wide smile, exposing large white teeth.

“Michelle Purdue! And how are you?”

Great! Another poet. She hated it when anyone rhymed her name in that singsong way. “Fine…I guess.”

An exaggerated frown replaced his smile. Deep furrows creased his high forehead. “You guess? Oh-oh. Second thoughts?”

More like third, fourth or fifth. She lifted her chin and lied. “No. Not at all.” This was one strange man. But then what kind of doctor would make a career at a place like this?

He put the chart down and rubbed his hands together, the smile back on his long, angular face. “Good. Then today’s the day. Right?”

She smiled back and nodded. “Right.” He was almost vibrating with energy. She hoped it was his eccentric personality, or too much coffee. The alternatives were scary.

“Any questions?”

She thought about asking him if he’d ever watched “Seinfeld,” but then she shook her head.

He grabbed the door handle with the same gusto as when he’d entered and called over his shoulder, “The nurse will be right in to get you ready.”

Michelle let out a soft laugh as he exited but cut it short when a more sedate, middle-aged woman walked in behind him and closed the door.

“My name’s Ellen. If there’s anything I can do to make you more comfortable, just ask,” she said, wasting no time in positioning each of Michelle’s feet in cold, stainless-steel stirrups. This wasn’t exactly making her feel more comfortable.

She squirmed on the hard table, knees pointing east and west. When her teeth began chattering and goose bumps appeared on her arms, she asked, “Is there anything warmer than this paper sheet?”

“Sure there is!” Ellen smiled sweetly. “I’ll be right back.”

Michelle drew her knees together in an attempt to retain some body heat and restore a modicum of dignity. But Ellen was back in seconds, covering her with a blanket and prying her legs apart once again.

Now the gray-haired nurse held up earphones in one hand and a half-dozen cassettes in the other. “Would you like to listen to a tape?” Michelle studied the selection and pointed to an instrumental medley of Andrew Lloyd Webber show tunes. Ellen inserted the tape and handed Michelle the headset.

“Anything else I can do for you, dear?”

How about bringing in Kevin Costner and dimming the lights? “A magazine would be nice,” she said instead.

Ellen moved to a small wall-mounted rack. “Good Housekeeping, Better Homes and Gardens or People?” she asked.

Ah, the double standard. How successful would this place be if donors were given the same choice? “People will be fine, thank you.”

Ellen moved toward what looked like a doorbell and pressed it. “The doctor will be back any moment.” The nurse returned to the table and laid a warm hand on Michelle’s shoulder. “Try to relax, dear. It will increase your chances of success, you know.” Michelle glanced at the long tube on the tray and shuddered involuntarily. “I know it looks scary, but I’m sure Dr. Adam explained. It has to be that long in order to reach through the cervix and up to the eggs. There’ll be some cramping, but not for long.” With one last pat, she smiled and moved to her observation post at the end of the table.

Michelle closed her eyes and played with the volume on the headphones. She let her mind float with “The Music of the Night,” for the moment ignoring the magazine on her chest. She wondered if she could relax enough to fall asleep. She had twenty minutes to lie here once the procedure was finished.

But before long, she felt Dr. Adam’s latex-covered hands lift the covers, and she knew sleep was out of the question.

Heart pounding, she kept her eyes shut and conjured up images of Costner, hoping he would provide a respite from this bizarre reality. Her mind raced through his many roles, stopping when she remembered Dances With Wolves. The scene in which he was reunited with his pregnant wife after a long separation came into focus. She pictured him jumping off his horse and running to meet her. They kissed and hugged each other wildly, dropping into the snow, rolling in ecstasy, oblivious to those around them.

The doctor warned her she was about to feel some pressure. Michelle felt a cold steel instrument followed by more pain than she’d anticipated. A small groan passed her lips. Within seconds she felt a tug at the end of the table and she glanced down. The doctor lifted her feet from the stirrups and brought her legs together on the extended table. Then he gave her what she guessed was a reassuring wink and a quick pat on the knee, before brusquely leaving the room, Ellen in tow.

Michelle stared at the closed door, dumbstruck by the speed and cold efficiency of it all. But then what had she expected? For the doctor to lie down on the table next to her and offer her a cigarette? She looked at the ceiling and blinked away an unexpected tear. If she was going to be a single parent, she had better get used to going it alone.

Determined to recapture her earlier fantasy, she picked up the forgotten magazine and flipped through the pages, hoping to find her favorite actor’s handsome face. All she found was Billy Crystal and Jack Palance with a big cow.

Exasperated, she slapped the magazine shut against her chest and pressed the earphones to her head. “Kevin, Kevin…” She shook her head and exhaled a long, weary breath. “Where are you when I need you?”

“Kevin!”

Dr. Kevin Singleton stopped at the end of the hall and looked over his shoulder, annoyance pinching his forehead.

The chief of staff, Paul Westerfield, closed the distance between them. “Have a couple minutes?”

Kevin looked at his watch, already knowing the answer. “Not really, Paul. Got one in postop and another up in half an hour.”

Paul placed a hand on Kevin’s shoulder and nudged him back toward his office. “I’ll be brief.”

Kevin eyed his friend as they stepped inside the office. Paul closed the door behind them and motioned for Kevin to sit. Instead of taking the seat beside him as usual, Paul sat heavily behind his desk, sending a clear message.

“Since you’re in a hurry, I’ll get right to the point.”

Kevin crossed his arms, ready to take his medicine. It was probably another resident complaint. Those poor delicate egos. Okay. He’d take the reprimand, promise to try harder, and be out of here in two minutes.

“I’ve been looking over your schedule.” Paul held up a printout. There were numerous pencil markings and what looked like calculations in the margins. “Are you aware that you logged more hours than any other doctor on staff last year? And outoperated the next-closest by nearly twenty percent?”

Kevin shrugged. It didn’t surprise him. So where was the problem?

“And that this year you’re ahead of last on a per-week basis?” Paul dropped the paper and leaned back, the creaking of his worn leather chair the only sound for the next few moments.

Kevin watched and waited while Paul studied him over the rims of his half glasses. Finally Kevin propped his elbows on his knees and hunched forward. “What? Just tell me.”

“You’re pushing yourself too hard, my friend…and you’ve lost something along the way.”

Kevin bristled. “Like what?”

“Your sense of humor, for one thing.”

Kevin slapped his hands on his knees, then stood. “I’ll try to get to a comedy club next week. If that’s it, I have work to do.” He turned and started to leave.

“Sit down.” Paul raised his voice, bringing Kevin back around. “We’re not finished.” He pointed to the seat.

Kevin ground his teeth. With great restraint, he lowered himself into the chair, not masking his irritation.

In a quieter voice, Paul continued. “We’ve been friends a long time, guy. I have to tell you, you’re headed for trouble.” He shook his head and smiled. “All work and no play. When was the last time you got—”

Kevin narrowed his eyes and glared. “Is this personal or business? Because if it’s personal—”

“See what I mean? No sense of humor. I was going to ask, before you so rudely interrupted, when was the last time you got eight hours’ sleep? But if you’d care to share other information with me, feel free.”

Kevin slouched back in his seat. “Okay. Guess I had that one coming.” Maybe he was a little uptight lately. If all Paul wanted him to do was shave a few hours off his schedule, he’d see what he could do.

“I’m not going to sit here and say I know how you feel. If my marriage ended like yours…” Kevin looked at the floor between his knees and Paul changed tacks. “It’s been nearly four years, Kev. I know you don’t need the money. Hell, you give more away than most people make. And the new cardiac care wing you donated is fully operational now. You can’t use that project as an excuse anymore.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll cut back.”

Paul took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I’ve never pulled rank on you, Kev, but this time’s different. It’ll take more than cutting back. I’ve scheduled you for two weeks’ vacation, beginning April 15th.”

Kevin’s head snapped up. “I can’t. I have surgeries booked—”

“Reschedule.”

“It’s not that easy, I—”

“It never is. If you can’t fix it, I will.”

Kevin held Paul’s even stare. He could see the determination in the set of his boss’s jaw. Kevin could argue, but he knew he wouldn’t win. Besides, there wasn’t time for a major confrontation. “If that’s it, I have to get going.”

Paul’s face relaxed, seeming relieved. “Just one more thing. No seminars or anything work-related. A real vacation.” Kevin was halfway out the door when Paul called out, “Someplace warm, with women in bikinis.”

“Yeah, yeah.” In spite of himself, Kevin smiled over his shoulder. “I’ll see what I can do.”

He strode down the hall, raking his hair off his forehead, trying to feel annoyed with the chief, but not succeeding. Actually, a vacation didn’t sound half-bad. Someplace warm, huh? Florida in April was out of the question. With his luck, he’d find himself in the middle of spring break and all those raging hormones. No, something more sedate, maybe farther south.

He pushed open the door to Recovery vowing to do two things on Saturday: get a haircut and visit a travel agency.

As long as he stayed in Recovery, his every thought remained with his patient. But a few minutes later, scrubbing for his second bypass surgery of the day, he let his mind drift back to the conversation with Paul. He despised being ordered around, anyone telling him when, where or what to do. But as the idea took root, he had to admit to feeling a certain amount of excitement. When was the last time he’d taken a real vacation? It had to be before Jessica.

Damn. He was doing it again. Measuring everything in terms of Jessica. Before she this. After she that.

With his sterile hands pointed to the ceiling, he pushed the operating room door open with his back. Later, he’d thank Paul for forcing this command down his throat. But for now, taking a closer look at the young mother of two on the table in front of him, he said a silent prayer, and put all other thoughts from his mind except this young patient and the precarious life he held in his hands.

* * *

For the next two weeks, Michelle worked with a vengeance, refusing to dwell on the calendar and the significance of each passing day.

It was Easter Sunday and she’d planned to go to St. Mary’s for mass, then Greektown for breakfast. But at eight-thirty, as she looked out the seventh-floor window of her waterfront apartment, ice pelted against the glass and she changed her mind. The Detroit River and Windsor beyond hid behind a curtain of sleet and gray. A melancholy settled over her sparsely furnished apartment. It was too quiet. Too empty. She started a CD of Streisand’s biggest hits and tightened her robe around her waist. Holidays were the toughest.

It’d been over two years since her parents’ fatal accident, right on the heels of her divorce. As an only child, she’d grown up with a lot of time to herself, but never completely alone. The last Easter she spent with Mom and Dad, they’d still hidden bright-colored eggs all over their Traverse City home. And pretending to be too old for such games, she’d happily gathered them up, thinking the game would never end, that there would be many more Easters.

Michelle settled into the recliner facing the window, covered her legs with her mother’s handmade afghan, and picked up a romance novel from the table alongside the chair. She read two chapters before she set the book down and stared out the frosty glass. Until this very moment, she hadn’t admitted there was something else weighing on her mind. And it had nothing to do with the weather or missing her parents. It had everything to do with the mild cramping in her midsection. She threw back the afghan and marched to the bathroom, angry with herself for postponing the inevitable. A quick check would tell her whether her fears were substantiated.

They were.

Numb with disappointment, she dragged herself to the kitchen.

“Enough, Purdue.” She swiped at a lone tear with the back of her hand and sniffled loudly, then slapped a filter into the coffee maker. While the brew dripped through, she found a yellow legal pad and pencil. A moment later, she poured her coffee and took everything to the table.

Making lists always empowered her; crossing things off gave her a sense of accomplishment. For the next hour she wrote out her plan…Call clinic, make another appointment, continue taking temperature daily, log results, finish urgent jobs within two weeks, clear calendar for week following, call travel agent, make reservations for someplace warm…

She chewed the end of the pencil and lingered on the last entry. After the first insemination she’d buried herself in work to keep her mind occupied. Maybe the pace and tension had ruined whatever chances she’d had. This time she’d give her mind, as well as her body, a well-deserved break. But where should she go?

Restless, she pushed out of her chair and began pacing the small area from the table to the living room window, finally stopping at the window after half a dozen turns. The sleet had stopped. Windsor was now in clear view. Idly she watched cars making their way along the Detroit River on the Canadian side. Her apartment was small, the rent steep. But this was why she’d signed the lease. She never tired of the awe-inspiring view.

A freighter, low in the water, made its way down the river. Michelle watched it, wishing it was warmer and she was on it, feeling the sun and wind on her face.

That was it! That was what she’d do! Not a freighter but a cruise. She’d thought about it last January and even gone as far as picking up a few brochures.

Michelle raced for her computer workstation, nestled neatly in the corner of her bedroom. Opening a bottom drawer, she riffled through a stack of magazines and brochures until she found what she was looking for: Norwegian Cruise Line-ninety-three full-color pages. with countless choices. She closed her eyes and pressed the glossy pages to her chest. She thought about the last year’s worth of charts and temperatures. She’d been blessed with a fairly regular schedule. Only twice had she been late ovulating, and then merely by one or two days.

She grabbed her calendar and returned to the kitchen table. She did a quick calculation, then flipped through the pages looking at departure dates. There it was. The Norway departed Miami at 4:30 p.m., Saturday, April 15, which should be the third day of her fertile cycle. If she was late by two days she would still be fertile Saturday morning. Perfect.

Excited, she refilled her mug and returned her attention to the glossy pages in front of her. Tomorrow she’d call the travel agent and book passage. She’d heard there was usually lastminute space, sometimes at bargain prices. And she’d call Donna at the clinic and let her know she’d be back April 13th, 14th or 15th, depending on her temperature.

Michelle closed the brochure, a vague uneasiness creeping up her spine as she thought about Donna. After months of working with the young woman on the clinic’s computer system, she’d thought she’d allayed all her concerns about using a sperm bank. But surprisingly, one small detail still bothered her—the unknown face of the donor, should her lucky day ever come. She sipped her coffee and tried shrugging off the thought, but the idea of a faceless father niggled away at her otherwise perfect plan. According to Donna, this was a common problem. She’d said some women found handsome men’s photos—either in magazines or catalogs or the ones that came in frames—and pretended they were the daddies.

She leaned back and thought about it for a moment until a devilish idea tugged at the corners of her mouth. What if she found someone on the ship? Not a relationship. Just an affair of the heart with some perfect stranger…a face to remember if—no, when the time came she needed one.

Yesiree. A great plan. Later tonight, a little mood music and a glass of chardonnay, and she’d imagine the perfect face…and maybe the perfect body, too. Suddenly the cruise was taking on a whole new dimension, and the thought of it sent shivers of excitement down her spine. Next month everything would work out and today’s disappointment would be history. She could almost smell the salty night air, feel the wind whipping her hair away from her moist neck, music drifting from a dance floor…

Two

At six o’clock Saturday morning, April 15, Michelle opened one eye and drew a bead on the waiting thermometer on the nightstand, hoping to instill a conscience into the unrelenting object. Both Thursday and Friday it had been a cold, heartless fiend. If it didn’t cooperate today, she’d be faced with the choice of canceling her cruise or missing a fertile month. Somehow she doubted a letter from Dr. Adam would qualify as a medical emergency. She could kiss the cost of her airfare and the cruise goodbye. She reached for the thermometer, hoping it would save the day.

It did. Sort of. It read higher, but not as high as she’d expected. She stared at it a moment, wondering if it was high enough, then kissed its hard, pointy little head and logged the number on the chart. She should have purchased one of those ovulation indicator kits months ago, but it was too late now. Trying to remain calm and confident, she called the clinic and said she was on the way. Once she was there, they would test her and tell her everything was okay. Today was the big day.

* * *

At eight-forty-five Michelle eyed the clock on the dashboard. Her flight for Miami didn’t leave until ten-fifty. Plenty of time. She eased up on the accelerator as she headed west on 1-94 for Metro Airport.

She’d missed last night’s stay at the Marriott in Miami that came with the trip, which meant she’d have to catch a cab directly to the ship. Then she’d have a couple of hours to rest in her cabin before departure. Michelle forced down the anxiety she felt pushing at her rib cage, willing herself to remain calm.

It had barely been an hour since the procedure and the doctor’s words still hung over her like a dark cloud. You’re not ovulating yet…Probably tomorrow…It would be better to wait… But in the end he’d agreed that sperm could live a couple of days with a high count such as her donor’s, and that as long as she ovulated soon, she still had a fairly good chance.

She turned the car radio to an easy-listening station and breathed deeply. Tomorrow at this time she’d be on the Norway, halfway to St. Martin and other ports of call. A weeklong cruise full of sunshine, fresh air and, best of all, no phones. All those odd-hour emergencies would somehow be handled by her clients. If all else failed, maybe they’d open their software manuals and figure things out for themselves. She frowned. If too many customers did that, would they need her when she got home? Finally she laughed and relaxed her grip on the steering wheel. Sometimes she worried about the silliest things.

She’d been free-lancing now for three years and had more referrals than she could handle. In fact, one of the changes she’d have to make before any baby arrived was to cut down on the sixty-hour workweeks. She exited the freeway at Merriman Road and headed for the terminal. The income was nice. It enabled her to take this cruise and pay for all the tests and trips to the clinic. But she didn’t have to put in so much time anymore. Years of hard work and no frills, plus her parents’ life insurance proceeds, had netted her a healthy nest egg.

“Humph!” She pulled up to the curb and flagged a skycap. Nest egg. Even her analogies were hormonal lately. Tick, tick, tick. It was so annoying. Thirty-six wasn’t the end.

The skycap tagged her luggage and stapled receipts to her ticket. A couple of laps around the long-term parking lot and she found a spot. She grabbed her purse off the passenger seat and locked the car, annoyed with herself for growing harried. If she let the possibility of motherhood monopolize her thoughts for the next month, she’d go crazy. And if she wanted those little swimmers to live until tomorrow and have a chance at reaching their destination, she’d better forget about them and relax. With a new resolve, she exhaled loudly and strolled toward the terminal.

Shortly after two o’clock, Michelle followed the porter and her bags up the gangplank, a humid head wind slowing their pace. At seventy-six degrees, it was already twenty degrees warmer than home and the ship hadn’t even left dock.

Michelle smiled. This had been the right decision. She had a good feeling about this trip. With any luck, a new life was already beginning inside her. And with the throngs of passengers leaning over railings and still boarding, certainly there had to be at least one handsome fantasy man among them.

They made their way up to the Viking Deck and aft to her stateroom, where the porter deposited her bags and promptly departed. A pair of portholes drew her to the far wall. She peered out and saw another ship making its way out of the harbor, waving arms visible from her many decks. On a satisfied sigh, Michelle turned and scanned the space around her. The room was small, but tastefully decorated. Actually, all she needed was clean and private. She didn’t plan on spending much time in here, anyway. She placed her hands on her hips and wondered what to do next. What she usually did first when she traveled was unpack. What she probably should do was lie down and rest.

Neither seemed appealing.

Her stomach growled and she looked at her watch. She’d chosen late meal settings, which meant dinner wasn’t until eight-thirty, more than six hours away. Sandwiches were supposed to be available near the pool, wherever that was.

She found a diagram of the ship and studied it a moment, getting her bearings. The pool was one level up, on the forward end of the Pool Deck. That seemed logical.

A moment later she pocketed her key and headed down the narrow hallway. It was all she could do to keep from laughing. The idea of cruising each deck in search of her fantasy man had already brought her hours of entertainment.

Now the game could actually begin.

She’d decided on blue eyes, dark hair, six-two or so, a rugged, tanned complexion and the body of an athlete. It might take her all week to find such a specimen, but hey, the looking would be half the fun.

Animated passengers swarmed around Le Bistro, plastic tumblers in one hand and paper plates in the other. Michelle pressed her way through the crowd, helped herself to a couple of tuna points, celery sticks and iced tea, then looked around for an empty seat. Finding none, she strolled back along the railing to the stairway and walked up a level. A quiet place where the sounds of the seas replaced the drum of the city was just what the doctor ordered. It was either that or go to her room and stand on her head in the corner. She’d heard some women actually did that to increase their chances…

Damn. She had to get her mind off this morning.

She turned to starboard and found a comfortable chaise longue. There she settled, placing her plate and tea on the table beside her.

With a celery stick between her lips, she took in the endless blue-green horizon, suddenly feeling very small, and that life’s little foibles were insignificant. She finished her snack, her eyes never leaving the gently rolling waters. It was so hypnotic she felt her lids grow heavier and heavier, until finally she leaned back and closed her eyes.

A cool breeze stirred the salty air. Waves slapped steadily against the hull far below, each one by measure stripping away layers of tension, leaving her limbs languid, her mind afloat. Her last waking thought was that she might never leave this spot.

* * *

HOOOHHHNNN…HOOOHHHNNN…

The nasal blast reverberated through the ship and Michelle sat up with a start. Looking left and right, she didn’t see a soul. Disoriented, she blinked rapidly, then remembered where she was.

She pulled herself awake and followed the hoopla coming from the other side, half expecting the ship to list—like in that coffee commercial she’d seen. She smiled at her own private joke as she rounded the comer. The elbow-to-elbow crowd was covered with confetti and streamers tossed from above. At first glance, the scene seemed too contrived for her tastes. It reminded her of plastic leis at backyard luaus. But apparently her attitude wasn’t shared.

She scanned the noisy crowd until she spotted the only other uninvolved figure. He was leaning on his forearms, looking like a poised cat amid a field of scurrying mice. In contrast to the riotous tourist garb that surrounded him, he wore a light blue button-down shirt and darker blue Dockers pants. His thick chestnut hair was cropped short, a breeze lifting a few strands from his pale forehead. While he was lean, he didn’t have the look of an athlete, and he certainly wasn’t someone who spent much time outdoors.

Below, the mighty engines toiled and vibrated as the ship pulled slowly from the dock.

Still, the man didn’t move.

And neither did Michelle.

She noticed the older couple to his right were still waving toward shore, smiling and chatting among themselves. The young couple on his left wrapped their arms around each other and hugged. The man in the middle looked like an island unto himself, staring, straight ahead, his posture not encouraging conversation. He didn’t fit the profile of her fantasy man, but nonetheless, something held her attention.

He straightened and turned his back to the railing and Michelle continued her assessment. About six feet tall, around forty, square jaw, dark eyes—though at this distance she couldn’t be sure of their color. She squinted and tried harder to see. Suddenly there was a dimple between his brows and he folded his arms across his chest.

Oh, God. He was looking right at her. She’d been caught—ogling him like a woman on the prowl. Heat crept up her neck and she spun on her heel. As quickly as she could, she walked back the way she’d come and out of sight before exhaling the breath she’d been holding.

Whew! She’d have to be more discreet in the future, she lectured herself, heading for the stairway. But for now, she’d give up the game and unpack. Then she’d take a shower and change for dinner. Later, she’d take a stroll and resume her search.

Kevin stood there and stared. He watched the sun play on the woman’s copper ponytail until it sashayed out of sight.

Now what was that all about? he wondered, turning and walking in the opposite direction. Was this what he was in for all week? Single women looking for unattached males? Or maybe that one had just watched too many reruns of “Love Boat.” Either way, he’d keep to himself and watch what he said. One thing was certain. He wouldn’t let on he was a doctor. Why women found that a turn-on, he’d never understand. How many birthday dinners or concerts or parties had he been dragged away from for a patient’s needs? Unless it was the money, he couldn’t imagine what attracted them.

He stopped and looked down at the water churning below. He’d thought Jessica understood the long hours and constant interruptions. Apparently, she hadn’t.

Jessica. She’d always wanted to take a cruise, but he’d forever been too busy. Damn. When was he going to stop beating himself up over the past? He walked on, staring blindly at his loafers. Maybe this trip had been a mistake.

After changing her mind three times, Michelle settled on a silk pantsuit. The pants were cut full, the top long. The watercolor fabric in soft shades of fern green complemented her burnished hair, which she wore down tonight, the blunt-cut ends brushing her shoulders.

She stood back from the mirror behind the door and made a final inspection. Even with low-heeled pumps, she thought she looked taller than her five feet five inches. The fact that she’d lost ten pounds since Christmas added to the long, clean lines of her outfit. Months of swimming and water aerobics had paid off. Without thinking, her hand moved over her flat stomach. She could probably get away with clothes like this for several months.

She jerked her hand away and turned from the mirror. It was too soon to think this way. It was one thing to think positive, but if she continued to assume it was a done deal, she could be setting herself up for a major disappointment.

She looked at the small clutch purse on the bed, then decided to leave it behind. There was no need for money, and if her lipstick wore off, oh, well.

The Windward Dining Room was midship, two levels down. Michelle sauntered along the halls and stairway, marveling at the architectural splendor—teak rails, hand-laid tile mosaics, marble statuary, art deco murals. A person could get used to this. At the entrance to the dining room, Michelle retrieved her seat assignment card from her pants pocket and handed it to the tuxedo-clad maître d’.

She followed him up the right side, weaving her way through the lively crowd, losing sight of him toward the end. She kept moving and found him again, standing behind an empty chair at a rectangular table for six. On the side facing her she saw a young couple who had the starry-eyed look of honeymooners, seated next to a kind-faced, blue-haired woman of about seventy. Across from her she could see the back of another woman about the same age who looked as if she’d visited the same beautician. Next to her was a man. In the few seconds it took to reach her seat, she couldn’t figure out where he fit in.

Michelle’s chair was no sooner pushed in than the young man in front of her extended his hand across the table.

“Welcome aboard. I’m Mark, and this is my beautiful bride, Kathy.”

Kathy elbowed her husband and giggled before lowering her lashes. “We just got married last night,” she said shyly.

“Congratulations!” Enjoy it while you can, she wanted to add but didn’t. “I’m Michelle.” She clasped each of their hands in turn.

The older woman spoke next, her gaze lingering on the new bride beside her. “Isn’t it romantic?” Then she turned her attention to Michelle. “My name’s Millie, and this is my sister Hazel.” Millie’s head shook involuntarily, reminding Michelle of Katharine Hepburn’s later years. “Nice to meet you, Michelle.” Too far to reach, both women offered friendly waves with bejeweled freckled hands.

“Nice to meet you both.” Michelle could see the mischief dancing in their eyes, not certain what they were up to, but deciding instantly she liked the pair.

Millie laced her fingers in front of her chest and smiled expectantly. “Michelle, allow me to introduce our new friend sitting next to you.”

Michelle turned sideways in her seat, her smile still on Millie who was obviously enjoying herself immensely. Finally Michelle faced the stranger to her right. He turned his head slowly, his square jaw and gray eyes scant inches away.

Oh, no. It couldn’t be.

But it was.

She knew a blush had turned her cheeks crimson, but she could do nothing to hide it. Fighting the urge to get up and run, she held out her hand as Millie finished.

“His name is Kevin. I always liked that name. And now with Kevin Costner and all…well, well…” She fanned herself and the others laughed. All but Kevin, who held Michelle’s gaze and didn’t smile.

“Kevin?” She hadn’t meant for it to sound like a question, but it came out that way.

“Michelle?” He cocked an eyebrow and mocked her response. She was about to drop her hand when he finally took it in his. “And so we meet again.”

“Oh! You two already know each other?” Millie asked.

Michelle pulled her hand back and straightened in her chair. “Not exactly. We just…saw each other on deck earlier.”

Millie pushed on. “We haven’t had much time to get acquainted, but Kevin told us he isn’t married. Are you, Michelle?”

Hazel reached across the table and slapped her sister’s hand. “Really, Millie. You can be such a busybody.”

Michelle took a sip of water and kept her eyes on the glass. “No, I’m not,” she said quietly, not wanting to underscore her answer.

Oh, God. A whole week of sharing meals with this man. How would she ever explain her earlier actions?

The waiter came and asked if anyone cared for a cocktail. What she’d give for a good stiff drink. But after this morning’s visit to the clinic, she’d sworn off alcohol just in case…

“And you, ma’am? Would you care for something?”

“I’ll have a Virgin Mary, please.”

Kevin started to laugh, then turned it into a cough and drank some water.

She wanted to turn on him and ask, “What’s your problem?” but she kept her face forward and smiled at the newlyweds, who had all but forgotten everyone else at the table.

Millie and Hazel kept up a running commentary on the menu until orders were taken. Then, later, between dainty bites of food, they educated the table on the history of the ship.

“She was originally called the S.S. France, you know,” Millie said.

“Did you know she’s as long as the Eiffel Tower is tall?” Hazel asked the group. Heads shook and the pair prattled on, no one seeming to mind, though Michelle hadn’t a clue what Kevin’s expression was. She hadn’t looked at him once since the introduction.

When it was time for dessert, Michelle pushed out her chair and stood. “It was very nice meeting all of you, but I think I’m going to call it a night.”

“Oh, so soon?” Millie pulled an exaggerated frown.

“I think we will, too.” Mark looked into Kathy’s eyes and she nuzzled closer to his side.

“Until tomorrow.” Michelle forced a smile and turned left, purposefully avoiding eye contact with Kevin. She walked away, back straight, gait slow. From the rear, she hoped she appeared relaxed and unruffled. Inside, she wanted to scream and run from the room.

Why did he have to be at her table?

Leaving the dining room, she quickened her pace to her room. Once inside, she kicked off her shoes and dropped onto the bed.

And why did he have to be so damnably good-looking? And Kevin, no less.

She closed her eyes and recalled his reaction when they’d met. What was it she’d seen in the brief moment she allowed herself to look him in the eye? Disdain? Arrogance? Curiosity? She couldn’t be sure. It had happened so fast and so unexpectedly.

Michelle inhaled deeply and blew out slowly. Relax. She had to relax. She stretched out on her back and stared at the ceiling.

“Okay. So it was embarrassing,” she said aloud. “Now what?”

She could ask for a new seat assignment, but then how would she explain it to Millie and Hazel and the newlyweds? Millie would certainly seek her out and ask why she’d moved. Besides, she liked these people. New table companions could be a lot worse.

No. She’d stay put.

So what about Kevin? She could A, explain her actions, or B, ignore it and hope things smoothed over.

She thought a moment about A. How would she explain? Well, you see Kevin, I was artificially inseminated this morning and I was looking for a certain face to use for the fantasy father. yada, yada, yada.

Right. He’d probably swallow that.

B it was. She’d look him in the eye, whenever necessary, and pretend nothing happened.

Michelle pushed off the bed, undressed and went about her nightly routine. Having decided she’d have the breakfast buffet on deck instead of at the table, she found her romance novel and climbed naked between the cool sheets.

Puffing a second pillow behind her head, she found her place and began to read.

She gazed into his steely gray eyes, and in that fleeting moment she knew he was the one.

Michelle slammed the book shut and turned out the light.

Three

Dawn crept through the twin portholes above Michelle’s bed, and she stretched languorously. The gentle rocking of the ship had cradled her into a dreamless sleep, leaving her more rested than she’d felt in years. It wasn’t yet seven, but her stomach was growling and she longed for some coffee.

She threw herself into gear, eager for the feel of ocean breezes. Breakfast on deck sounded heavenly. And it meant postponing dealing with Kevin, too. A little food and a good book. That would tide her over for a while. Later, she’d resume her search for the fantasy father, but with more finesse than yesterday.

After a quick shower, she pulled her hair into a ponytail and donned a pair of white shorts and a white T-shirt. So what if it wasn’t after Memorial Day? She was on vacation and so were the old rules. With her book tucked securely under her arm, she left her stateroom and strode down the hall, the salty scent growing stronger with each long stride.

At the top of the stairs, she followed the aroma of fresh brewed coffee, surprised to find a number of early risers already in line at the buffet tables near the pool. Goose bumps rose on her bare arms and legs and she wished she’d dressed warmer. She spotted an empty table in the sun. Helping herself to coffee and juice, she headed toward it. She deposited her beverages and book, then joined the line for food, all the while gazing out over the endless sea.

The line inched forward at a turtle’s pace, which for a change didn’t bother her in the least. There was no client waiting, no place she had to be. Smiling at a pair of lovers strolling by, she took another step forward.

And ran right into the person in front of her.

Michelle jumped back. “Excuse me. I’m so sorry.”

At the sound of her voice, Kevin turned abruptly. “You!”

Openmouthed, Michelle stared up at him, not liking the acerbic tone he’d so easily adopted. She jutted out her chin and took the offensive. “Are you following me?”

His laugh was low and sardonic. “You’re the one behind me, Michelle.” He leaned heavily on her name. “Look, maybe we should get something straight up front. I’m not interested.” He’d started to turn back when she grabbed his arm.

“And what makes you think I am?” The words were no sooner out than she knew the answer.

Kevin cocked his head and arched an accusatory eyebrow.

“If you’re talking about that departure incident, don’t flatter yourself. I was watching something behind you. I didn’t even notice you until you started staring at me,” she lied, with more aplomb than she’d known she had in her.

“Right.” He dropped an English muffin on his plate and turned his back on her.

Of all the pompous, arrogant…Her breathing was rapid, her face hot. She searched for a clever retort, but was too embarrassed and angry to think.

Michelle slapped food onto her plate, barely taking stock of her choices. Well, she could have been looking at something behind him. How did he know?

Kevin wandered off in the opposite direction as she rushed over to her table. She positioned her chair away from the crowd and faced the railing, then dropped heavily into it.

Men! No wonder she was still single—a fact that sounded better every day.

Michelle munched on a piece of rye toast as her breathing returned to normal. What was wrong with her? It was a gorgeous day and she was on her way to a tropical island. There were about two thousand people on this ship. She couldn’t let one insolent man ruin it all. She drank her coffee, feeling its warmth trickle through her, then picked up her book. One thing was certain. She’d have lunch outside, too, and be sure he was nowhere in sight when she approached the buffet. Tonight she’d deal with Mr. God’s Gift.

Michelle read the same page twice before closing her eyes and lifting her face to the sun. Damn, but he was good-looking. That probably accounted for the attitude. Poor baby—getting hit on at every turn.

A slow smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. Maybe she should give him a little of what he expected. Why not? If he didn’t like it, he could ask for a new table and the problem would be solved.

Kevin tightened the knot on his tie, buttoned down the points of his collar and mumbled under his breath. He’d spent the better part of the day peering around corners for that ever-present redhead, not once spotting her. Had he been wrong about her looking for action, or had he just been lucky not to run into her again? He slipped on his navy blue pinstripe suit coat and stepped away from the mirror. It wasn’t a tux, but it would have to do. He wasn’t about to put on a monkey suit just to meet the captain of the ship. In fact, he didn’t see a need to stand in some long line to shake the guy’s hand, either. What a strange custom. How many pilots had travelers met? This was simply a bigger ship. He shrugged and left the room. Guess it made as much sense as throwing confetti overboard.

Maybe Paul was right. He’d lost his sense of humor. Everyone else had seemed caught up in the departure ritual. All but Michelle, he remembered, as he entered the dining room and pressed his way through sequins and satin. Maybe he’d been wrong about her. If she hadn’t changed tables, he’d do his best to make amends.

Across the room he spotted Millie and Hazel already seated, along with the lovebirds. They’d all assumed the same places. It reminded him of the one time he’d served on jury duty. The jurors had always taken the same seats in the deliberation room. He wondered what havoc he’d wreak if he sat in a different chair. The only one left now was Michelle’s. If he wanted to start fresh with the woman, that probably wasn’t the way to begin. Millie waved excitedly as he approached.

“My, don’t you ladies look gorgeous!” he said. They did, each in their own way. “I guess I’m a little underdressed.”

“You look very handsome, Kevin.” Millie smiled coyly, then lowered her gaze. Hazel reached over and patted his hand reassuringly. Maybe they thought he couldn’t afford formal attire, which was just as well. He’d hate to think how much more active their obvious matchmaking efforts would be if they knew the truth.

“Did you meet Captain Olson?” Hazel asked.

“No, I’m afraid I didn’t.”

“Sis and I arrived early and were near the front of the line. He’s soooo charming, don’t you think, Millie?”

“Oh, yes.” She hunched her narrow shoulders and wiggled them. “I’ve always loved a man in uniform, all epaulets and braid, every crease to perfection.” She winked at Kevin and he couldn’t help but smile. “Kevin, tell us about your day—” Her gaze suddenly left his as she stopped in midsentence and stared openmouthed at the space behind his left shoulder. “Oh, my, my, my!”

Curious, Kevin turned in his chair, his face just inches away from ample cleavage squeezed firmly in place by a shimmering silver strapless gown. His jaw dropped as his gaze traveled north, stopping at the most beautiful green eyes he’d ever seen. “Michelle?” His voice cracked like an adolescent’s.

She held out her hand to him. “Kevin?”

He didn’t miss the instant replay of their first meeting, but he was too dumbstruck for a clever retort. He didn’t know whether to shake her hand or kiss it. Instead, he held on to it and stood up, his gaze never leaving hers.

Finally he closed his mouth and pulled out her chair. She sat gracefully, then eyed him evenly when he rejoined the table.

“Thank you, Kevin,” she said with a smile. “It’s a lovely evening, isn’t it?”

He nodded, not sure what to make of this poised and polite stranger beside him. Could this possibly be the same creature who had nearly assaulted him at breakfast, deserved as that might have been?

“Did you enjoy your day at sea?” she asked, still smiling.

Not really. He’d wasted most of it trying to avoid her. Why—looking at her now—he hadn’t a clue. Before he could answer, Hazel leaned in and talked around him.

“I love your hair that way, dear. Did you do it yourself?”

Kevin looked at the burnished curls swept atop her head, a few strategic tendrils gracing her temples and long neck. He could picture her in a whirlpool full of bubbles with her hair like that, the ends wet above those perfect bare shoulders. An alarm went off in his head and he looked away.

“No,” Michelle answered. “I treated myself to the works today. Hair, nails, even a massage—which I highly recommend. It was heavenly.”

Millie’s eyebrows shot up. “Masseur or masseuse?”

“Millie!” Hazel sent a warning glare, but Michelle found the question amusing and laughed.

“It was a woman,” she answered.

“Oh.” Millie seemed disappointed.

Kevin felt relieved. Though he wasn’t sure why he should care.

Millie shifted her attention back to him. “Now, Kevin. You were about to tell us about your day.”

He shrugged. “Not much to tell. I read a little, walked a lot. And you two?”

Hazel burst in. “We won a hundred and fifty dollars between us at the blackjack tables. It was so exciting.”

“Of course, we lost most of it at the roulette wheel, but it was fun anyway,” Millie added.

Kevin noticed no one asked the honeymooners about their day. There were whisker burns on the bride’s neck, and their lips looked like recent collagen recipients. Go for it, he thought and smiled. You never know how long…

The waiter appeared and took drink orders, cutting into his petulant thoughts. This time, when Michelle ordered a Virgin Mary he didn’t laugh. Apparently she wasn’t much of a drinker. Later, when the groom ordered a bottle of champagne for the table, Kevin noticed she still refrained. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if she was a reformed alcoholic, but then he let the suspicion pass. With a body like hers, she was probably a health nut. When dessert was served and she waved it off, he remembered she hadn’t eaten any last night, either. Nothing wrong with that, he decided. He’d seen enough clogged arteries to appreciate a good diet.

Millie wiped her mouth daintily with the comer of her napkin before speaking. “Hazel and I were thinking of going to…to…What was the name of it, dear?”

“Checkers Cabaret.”

“That’s it. They’re supposed to have exotic coffees and after-dinner drinks.plus music for dancing.” Kevin noticed her gaze darted between him and Michelle, a hopeful expression on her frail little face. He lifted his champagne glass and stalled, hoping Michelle would answer first, which she did.

“I think I’ll just take a stroll around deck and then call it a night,” she said. “But thanks for asking, ladies. Maybe another time.” She pushed out her chair and stood, the slit up her right side exposing a well-formed thigh sheathed in silky sheer hose.

Kevin tried not to stare, but he knew she caught his glance.

Hazel said, “Maybe we’ll run into each other at the shore excursion desk tomorrow.” She looked up at Michelle. “You are going to St. Martin Tuesday, aren’t you, dear?”

Michelle clutched the back of her chair and smiled demurely. “I don’t think so. Unless I change my mind, I was thinking of staying aboard.” The sisters moaned in perfect unison. “I’ve been to St. Martin before, but this is my first cruise,” Michelle added. “I thought I might enjoy roaming the ship when it wasn’t so crowded.”

Millie was now staring at Kevin, who refused to take the bait. He didn’t know what he would be doing ten minutes from now, let alone day after tomorrow. Right now, a walk with Michelle had its appeal, but not under the close scrutiny of the well-intentioned matchmakers. They didn’t need any encouragement.

“Can you dance, Kevin?” Hazel asked unexpectedly.

“Well, I…”

“Of course he can!” Millie scurried around the table, beaming from diamond-studded ear to diamond-studded ear. “I get the first waltz, Hazel,” she called over her shoulder, tugging him from his chair.

“Oh, Millie. Don’t be silly. I bet they don’t even play a waltz.” They each claimed an arm and continued their banter as if it were a sure thing he would join them.

Kevin smiled down on the pair of bobbing blue heads and let them lead him away. One dance each and then he’d leave, hopefully before Michelle finished her walk.

Forty minutes later, longer than he had planned, Kevin excused himself and took the stairs two at a time to the Sky Deck, then systematically made his way around and down each level. But no slender redhead graced the railing. Finally, he gave up and headed for his stateroom, disappointment and relief warring inside his gut. Who was this woman, anyway? And worse yet, why did he suddenly care?

Tuesday morning Michelle found an empty chair on the Sun Deck and finished the dregs of her coffee. It was nearly noon and for hours she’d watched tender after tender transport excited passengers ashore. Earlier she’d wondered if she’d made a bad decision staying behind, but now, bathed in sun and serenity, she wasn’t sorry.

With the side of her hand shielding her eyes she studied the private yachts dotting the seascape. One in particular caught her eye. It was anchored far from shore, away from the others, and had to be at least a hundred feet long. Lifting her binoculars from around her neck, she adjusted the focus and slowly swept the ship’s length. She was about to drop the lenses when a sole figure appeared on the fan tail. A bearded man dressed in a tartan plaid kilt, of all things. Fascinated, she watched and waited. He hoisted something over his head and positioned a strap across his shoulder and chest, tucking a large bag beneath his upper arm. When he began blowing into a tube, Michelle knew her first guess had been correct.

Bagpipes.

She lowered the glasses and moved to the railing, anticipation racing through her veins. Before the melody began, she knew she was in for a treat. But when the first haunting refrain of “Amazing Grace” wafted toward her, she wasn’t prepared for the emotion it evoked. A favorite since childhood, the poignant tune began spinning its web about her. Transfixed, she stared at the source of the magic, the words forming on her lips without sound. It felt as though he played just for her. Each high-pitched note wailed and lingered until the next, weaving a mystical spell around her soul. God was talking to her—what the message, she wasn’t sure, but the power and passion were like none she’d ever known. The Caribbean was her cathedral. And hers alone.

Even the footsteps behind her didn’t break her concentration. When the person stopped beside her she remained riveted, wishing the music would never stop, hoping whoever joined her would possess the sensitivity not to speak. Tears trailed down her hot cheeks, but she did nothing to hide them, fearing the slightest movement might break the spell.

With only the slightest pause, the tune began again. She closed her eyes and felt her body sway with the gentle rocking of the ship. And then a new sound pierced the stillness beside her. In one of the most beautiful tenor voices she’d ever heard, the words she mouthed came soft yet clear from the person at her side. His intonation returned the soulful tune with as much meaning and tenderness as its sender.

Michelle gripped the railing, her legs trembling from sensual saturation. And when the last note faded into nothingness, she felt both sad and relieved, the intensity of the experience one she would never be able to explain to another human being.

Except maybe this man beside her. But then words were inadequate.

Minutes passed in total silence. Still, she didn’t move. Nor did he. She wanted to sit down before her legs buckled, but should she turn away from him without comment? Or did she turn toward him? Suddenly she felt vulnerable—an unfamiliar and uncomfortable feeling. She’d let someone see a part of her she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen herself. Better to have been caught in the buff than to expose her soul.

Finally, gathering all the courage she could muster, she turned toward him. His eyes were shiny, his cheeks damp. And he was gazing down at her like a vision from heaven.

“Kevin,” she whispered, surprised yet somehow relieved. He took her hand, but didn’t speak. They turned back to the railing and gazed out at the yacht, her deck now deserted. For a moment Michelle wondered if the bagpipes had been real, but then Kevin squeezed her hand ever so gently, telegraphing a message only the two of them could understand.

Others began wandering over to the railing, speculating on what they’d heard moments earlier. Still holding her hand, Kevin led her away from the crowd, their steps measured, trancelike. When they reached the stairs they descended in silence, then strolled leisurely down the Fjord Deck. Lifeboats lined the perimeter, partially obstructing the view. Apparently the few travelers who remained aboard preferred better spots. But to Michelle this was perfect. It provided time and space to think about what just happened.

When the bagpipes first began, she’d been happy to experience the moment alone, resenting the intrusion of someone else. But when Kevin opened his mouth and sang, the magic had taken on new heights and her spirit soared like never before.

Michelle slowed her pace so that she was barely moving and Kevin followed suit. Was there a message in this somewhere? Could God be trying to tell her how much happier life would be if shared with the right person?

She quickened her pace. Where was that old cynical Michelle who doubted the existence of Mr. Right?

But at this very moment, she was so filled with love and peace she couldn’t help but think kindly of this man beside her. Was he merely a symbol of what she could have if she opened her heart and took another chance? Or was Kevin…

No. She shook her head, the last of the cocoon evaporating and reality seeping in. Without breaking stride and in a voice that sounded as if she’d just awoken, Michelle finally braved a few words. “Do you sing in church?”

They kept walking. Both looked straight ahead.

Kevin’s answer seemed tentative, cautious. “No. I wish I could, but I’m usually working Sunday mornings. I used to sing in the men’s choir in college, though. Now I’m lucky if I have time in the shower.”

Michelle smiled as they rounded the corner and sauntered on. She liked this new Kevin. “What kind of work keeps you so busy Sunday mornings?”

At last he stopped and turned toward her, looking relaxed and self-assured. “What do you think I do? Take a guess.”

She lifted the hand still in hers and studied it. “It’s so clean and soft, no calluses. Definitely white-collar.” She looked up into his magnetic gray eyes and her pulse quickened.

“So far so good,” he said, his steady gaze saying so much more. “Could you be more specific?”

Michelle looked back to his hand in hers, its warmth now traveling up her arm. A part of her wanted to tell him what profession she’d pegged him in two days ago at the breakfast buffet, but she didn’t feel that way now. Unfortunately, her thoughts betrayed her and she felt the corners of her mouth tug upward.

“Go ahead. Tell me. It’s obviously amusing.”

“Two days ago I was sure you were a lawyer.”

He chuckled softly, his breath warm against her forehead. “And now?” he asked.

She braved a glance upward. “Now I’m sure you’re not.” He smiled, more with the corners of his eyes than his mouth.

“Why’s that?”

Because I saw your soul and lawyers don’t have one. But she couldn’t bring herself to say that. “Because…because…” She held his steady gaze as the distance closed between them. He didn’t seem interested in her answer. His soft lips pressed against her forehead and words disappeared, lost on a wave of emotion that left her trembling against him. He drew her closer until her cheek pressed his T-shirt. His soap and musky aftershave filled her nostrils while his hands circled her back, slowly, soothingly.

“I don’t know about you, but I came on this cruise to get away from work.” His breath brushed across her ear. “Do we have to talk about our jobs?”

They had better talk about something, Michelle thought. Soon. What had started as a spiritual experience had quickly become sensual, sending messages to long-forgotten parts of her.

She stepped back and forced a casual smile. “Why don’t we make up something? And where we’re from, too.”

He slid his hands down her arms, then clasped her fingers in his. “Why not? Could be fun.” The corners of his eyes crinkled, his gaze warm and steady. “I’ve always loved San Francisco.”

“Really? So have I. Could we be from the same place?” He squeezed her hands and she felt the simple gesture travel up her arms and to her chest.

“A nice coincidence, don’t you think?” He dropped one hand and started to stroll along the deck, still holding tight to the other. “So what do you do in San Francisco, Michelle?”

She walked on, matching his relaxed stride, and thought for a moment. “I’m in the medical field.” She thought she felt him stiffen, but then he smiled down at her.

“Doing exactly what?” he asked.

“I…I, uh…I’m a nurse at a hospital.” She liked this idea and decided to elaborate. “I work mostly with babies in the nursery. Sometimes in Pediatrics.” Kevin stopped walking, propped his elbows on the railing, and stared at the water. Had she said something wrong? He suddenly seemed a million miles away. When he didn’t speak, she asked, “And what do you do?”

He heaved a sigh and turned his back to the railing, avoiding her curious stare. “Let’s see.” He took a moment, then looked at her, seeming relaxed again. “I’m a general contractor. I restore old homes. There were some beautiful Victorians damaged in the last big quake that are still in need of repair.” He took her hand and began to walk again. “It keeps me busy.”

If she hadn’t known this was a game, she’d have believed him. There was something traditional, even old-fashioned, in his demeanor that lent credence to his story. She liked their little charade, but suddenly she felt compelled to clear up their murky meeting. “About that departure scene…”

He stopped and faced her. “I sure jumped to the wrong conclusion, didn’t I?”

“I really wasn’t looking to meet someone—”

“I was rude to you at breakfast the next morning—”

“I thought you were a…a—”

“A real jerk?”

She smiled. “Probably better than what you thought I was.” His laugh was low and easy. “And to think I almost—”

“—asked for another table?” Kevin finished for her. “Me too. How about if we start over?” He extended his hand and straightened his back in mock formality. “My name’s Kevin.”

Michelle clasped his hand in hers. “I’m Michelle. Nice meeting you, Kevin.”

“Would you care to accompany me to lunch? I know of this perfect table.”

Michelle emitted a nervous chuckle. His hand was still on hers—a fact that was both comfortable and unsettling at the same time. “I’d love to, Kevin.” She extracted her hand, only for him to bend her arm in his.

They strolled on, with Michelle all too aware of the muscular arm that occasionally brushed the side of her breast.

Four

When they approached the table a few minutes later, they chose different seats on opposite sides, then sat and stared at the menu selections. They avoided eye contact for several minutes, until the waiter took their orders and removed their props. Now Michelle let her gaze travel slowly to his, her heart thudding beneath her sundress. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this way around a man. And she wasn’t sure she liked it. It wasn’t part of her plan at all. Making peace with this stranger was one thing; getting hot and bothered was quite another.

“Do you swim?” Kevin asked, seeming unaware of her musings.

“Y-yes,” she stammered. “Nothing too serious, though. Just like to play around. in the water,” she finished quickly, feeling like a babbling fool.

“I noticed you had a book with you the other day. After lunch, why don’t we put on our suits, catch up on our reading and hang out at the pool for a while?”

She just stared at him, thinking of the skimpy new bikini in her room.

“Unless you’d rather have the afternoon to yourself…”

“No,” she practically shouted. Then finding a remnant of poise, she started again. “No. Your idea sounds perfect.”

Lunch was served and she turned her attention to her chicken salad and melon, grateful when Kevin filled in the spaces with idle talk of the ship and the weather. He truly was a kind and interesting man.

And so good-looking.

Each time she met his steely gray eyes, she thought he could read her mind. If she didn’t find the old cynical Michelle pretty damn quick, he was certain to revert to his original opinion of her.

How she finished her meal and found her cabin, she wasn’t quite sure. But now, standing in front of the mirror, appraising her chartreuse bikini, she wondered how she’d get through the afternoon without making a total fool of herself. How could she act poised around him dressed like this? A shudder coursed through her as she wrapped herself in a white cotton cover-up and slipped into a pair of sandals. Halfway out the door she remembered her book and went back for it, stopping to look at the half-naked clinch scene on its cover. Rolling her eyes, she exhaled a loud breath and made her way down the hall and toward the Pool Deck.

In navy blue swim trunks, Kevin stood sideways in front of the mirror and sucked in his stomach. He didn’t look heavy, he decided. Just a little soft. How long had it been since he’d played racquetball with Paul? All work and no play. Paul was right. He’d become a dull and out-of-shape body mechanic.

He turned back to the sink and leaned straight-armed against the vanity. Paul had been right about many things. He did need a vacation, as well as a change in attitude.

But was he ready for the next step? The mere idea of dating balled a knot of anxiety in his stomach. With Jessica it had been easy. It had been lust at first sight. He’d been just a kid, and he’d never given romance a thought. They’d met on campus, studied together, hung out at the student union and copulated like rabbits.

He lifted his head and stared into the mirror. Next year he’d turn forty. He knew less about women now than he’d thought he did in school.

He pushed off the counter and paced the small quarters. Michelle was intelligent, witty and…and…okay, beautiful. The face and body he had tried to ignore. Unsuccessfully.

Was that the attraction? After all, it had been over four years since…

He stopped pacing. Wait a minute. He’d only held her hand. There was a big chasm between hand-holding and…

This train of thought was crazy. He didn’t know a thing about this woman. Even if he did, that wouldn’t mean she was interested in him. And what about sexually transmitted diseases? He’d never even bought a condom, let alone used one.

He pulled a T-shirt over his head, shoved a newspaper under his arm and practically ran from the room.

“Slow down, man,” he grumbled under his breath.

Grace under fire. That was what he needed. He drew on it every day in the operating room. Where was it now?

Michelle read the same page for the third time, trying again to concentrate on the words in front of her. Finally, she shoved the bookmark into place and laid the novel aside. She tugged at her cover-up, checking that nothing provocative was exposed, just as she spotted Kevin approaching. She wished his white body was a turnoff, but as he strode confidently toward her, his commanding posture and lean physique made her stomach do another somersault.

“Is this seat for me?” he asked, smiling down at her.

“I haven’t had a better offer.” Michelle gestured for him to join her, doing her best to match his casual air.

“It doesn’t look like you’ve been in the water yet,” he said, looking her over.

“No. Not hot enough to tempt me yet.” Poor choice of words. And a lie, to boot. It could be twenty degrees cooler and she’d still be feeling this unyielding heat.

But the idea of removing her cover-up and displaying her body seemed about as appealing as jumping overboard. The chartreuse bikini had seemed like a good idea after a week at the tanning salon. Now she was sure it would look like a neon sign that shouted, Take Me, Take Me.

Michelle looked out of the corner of her eye. Kevin had unfolded his paper and was reading the business section, oblivious to her discomfort. She reached for her book, if for no other reason than to provide a prop for her unsteady hands.

She flipped the page pretending to read. A moment later she turned another one, the silence becoming unbearable. She couldn’t see what had captured his interest. It must be an engrossing article since he hadn’t turned the page once. Finally, she gave up the pretense of reading and sauntered over to the pool. Still covered, she sat gingerly on the edge and dangled her legs over the side. The water was warm yet refreshing. If Kevin wasn’t behind her, she’d shrug out of the cover and slide in.

But in a flash he wasn’t behind her. Without moving her head, she watched his long legs slip into the water next to her.

Whose idea was this, anyway? Spending the afternoon with this…this handsome, eyes-of-steel, male person. She let her breath out slowly, trying not to show her anxiety.

He splashed water in front of him with his feet, still not saying a word. Just when she thought she couldn’t take the silence another moment, he spoke.

“What are you hiding beneath that white thing?” He turned his head and she caught his devilish smile. “Midriff bulge or an appendix scar?”

Michelle straightened her back. “Neither. I…I didn’t want to get sunburned.”

He arched a disbelieving eyebrow. “Okay. Leave it on.”

That did it. She never could back down from a challenge. Implied or otherwise.

As with removing a bandage, she decided fast was best. She stood, untied the sash, dropped the cover and dived into the tepid water. Doing a perfectly clean crawl, she swam the distance of the pool and back to Kevin before stopping for air.

Her chest was heaving rhythmically below the surface. Kevin was staring at her openmouthed, his gaze at water level.

“Nice…stroke,” he said, his eyes eventually straying north.

She caught her breath. “Want to race?” At least it was something physical that wouldn’t get her in trouble.

“I don’t know.” He cocked his head to one side and smiled. “You’d probably win. I’m not in the best of shape.”

“I noticed.” She smiled back before diving deep, coming up near the far end. When she turned and swung her wet hair from her face, he was inches away, his smooth freestyle carrying him past her and to the wall.

With elbows hooked over the edge he eyed her as she came alongside. “How many laps?” he asked.

His breathing was already labored. This would be a piece of cake. She glanced to the opposite end, then back to his challenging smirk. “How does five sound?” She fully expected him to protest.

He took a couple of deep breaths and exhaled loudly. “I’m ready when you are.”

She positioned her hands and feet behind her, gave him one last look, then shouted, “Go!”

They started with a flurry, arms flying. Right, left. Right, left. Kevin was half a length in front of her.

No big deal. So he was a sprinter. She was a long-distance runner.

She let him set the pace, purposefully holding back, measuring her energy. He wouldn’t be able to keep it up. Let him have his ego intact a little longer.

Michelle pushed off the wall as he came out of his turn and stayed with him through laps two and three and into four. Finally, he slowed his pace, his arms chopping instead of slicing through the water, less splash on his kick.

Keeping her same steady rhythm, she pulled alongside, then passed him on the last turn. He was gassed. No doubt about it. But then her own lungs were begging for relief, too.

She could do it. Just half a lap. God, her legs were tired. They felt like dead weights pulling her down. She slowed slightly, gliding the distance with each stroke, hoping the next one Would result in her fingers touching the wall. Two more. Three max.

There was a splash beside her followed by a wake. She pulled hard and touched the wall.

A second behind Kevin.

Gasping for breath, she hung on to the side with one hand and wiped chlorine from her eyes with the other. Kevin’s chest was heaving as fast as her own. He was inhaling, exhaling, lips white with exertion.

But still, she didn’t miss his smile of victory, the glint in his you-didn’t-think-I-could-do-it-did-you? eyes.

“Let me guess,” she said between gasps. “Besides choir, you were on the swim team?”

“The first couple years. Then I got too busy. It’s been a long time since…” He eyed her steadily, his words trailing off.

For some reason, she didn’t think he was talking about swimming anymore, which did nothing to slow her heart rate.

Michelle pushed off the wall and floated on her back, keeping her ears below water, listening to the muted sounds of her own labored breathing. She tried to relax, but the race was no longer the cause for her discomfort. Kevin was an interesting, multidimensional man. Okay. Sexy. Not a model-perfect specimen, but a man with depth, a passion seething right below the surface. She’d heard it earlier when he sang, and seen it these past few minutes in the way he attacked the lane. It wasn’t just the competition that pushed him. She sensed something far deeper in this man—and the observation attracted and alarmed her at the same time.

She heard a splash and lifted her head in time to see his lean torso clear the water and amble over to his towel.

It was only Tuesday. How could she make it to Saturday without succumbing to this growing fantasy? As Kevin had started to say earlier, it had been a long time since.

She swam to the side of the pool nearest her cover and, giving her suit a few last-second modesty tugs, used the steps and left the water.

Kevin wiped his face, then eyed Michelle standing by the ladder as she tightened the sash on her thin white cover-up. Within seconds, the moisture of her suit penetrated the outer fabric and her puckered nipples were clearly visible.

He groaned inwardly, feeling a tightness in his trunks. He hadn’t thought it possible he’d experience such feelings again. Maybe it was merely lust. God knew he was overdue for a little action. But what bothered him was that he liked this woman and he wanted to know what made her tick. He’d always prided himself on being able to see past people’s masks. Now he wondered what some man had done to Michelle to leave her so defensive and wary, so competitive and conflicted.

When he regained control of his traitorous body, he walked over to her, curious what persona she’d display next.

“What shall we do now?” he asked, a smile quirking his lips.

“We?” Her gaze darted back and forth. She picked up her beach bag and looked past him. “I don’t know about you, but I want to get out of the sun, put on some dry clothes and maybe do a little shopping.”

There was no invitation to join her. He took the hint with a mix of relief and disappointment. “Maybe I’ll catch up on some reading back in my room, take a little nap.” She didn’t move. Had he misread her? Had she been expecting another response?