Dreamboat (17 page)

“You never answered my question. Where were you?” His demeanor was serious, and Crissy didn't quite know what to make of it. “I was feeling a little under the weather,” she said, “so I went to bed early.”

He looked alarmed. “Nothing serious, I hope?”

“No,” she said. “Just a little bug or seasickness or something.”

“You must take care of yourself,” he said, drawing her closer to him, his eyes boring into her again. “We wouldn't want anything bad happening to you.”

What a strange thing to say,
she thought. Then she amended the thought:
Maybe not such a strange thing to say, but the way he said it was definitely odd. As was the deadly earnest voice. The steely eyes. Pulling me against him.
She felt an involuntary shiver run up her spine, then told herself as he gracefully swept her around the dance floor that she was being melodramatic. Valentin was simply Bulgarian, and Monika had said he was uncultured and primitive. Maybe she was right and that explained his peculiar nature. In any case, she thought, he dances with many of the women, so he's got to be a stand-up guy. Just a little odd.

When the dance was over, he asked her to dance another, and she did. It was a fast one, and she enjoyed it—especially watching Valentin, because he really was a great dancer, no matter what the music happened to be. When it was over, she told him that she had to take a rest.

“Oh, no. You haven't tired yourself too much, have you?” Valentin asked with concern.

“I'll be fine,” Crissy said. “I just need to take a break, Valentin. Don't worry about me.”

“But I do,” he said, squeezing her hand in his as he took her back to her table. “We want to see you in the best of health, ready for anything, don't we?”

“Yes,” Crissy said, now thinking that perhaps language difficulties made Valentin sound odder than he actually was. He spoke with a slight
accent, but perhaps his vocabulary and basic understanding of English were not as good as his accent would make one think.

“Thank you very much,” he said as they reached her table, then, as he had the night before last, he retreated immediately.

“He's a wonderful dancer,” Monika observed, “but it's rather sad about the clothes.”

“What do you mean?” Crissy asked. She thought he paid a great deal of attention to his dress and grooming.

“Haven't you noticed?” Monika asked in surprise. She had one of her fans in hand, and it fluttered furiously for a moment.

“No,” Crissy said. “What are you talking about?”

“My darling,” Monika said in an indulgent voice, “they will soon fall apart at the seams, and they aren't the best fit, either. Look at him on the bar stool, talking to that dreadful Romanian singer with the pitch-black hair. His trousers are a wee bit too short, aren't they? The blazer is certainly too tight. The tie is outdated. The shoes, well! They're simply all wrong.”

Crissy looked toward the bar and studied Valentin's clothing briefly. He was so engrossed in conversation with Petronella, the Romanian singer Monika mentioned, that he was oblivious to her staring. His trousers were too short, Crissy decided, and his blazer was indeed very tight. His tie, while outdated, she had thought part of his effort to achieve a certain style, a little wit or irony, maybe. The same with his shoes. But what did she know? she asked herself.

“Oh, look,” Crissy said. “Jen and Dr. Von Meckling are dancing.”

“Yes,” Monika said. “They've danced two or three dances together. Even some of the fast ones. But of course he more or less moves in place, doesn't he?” She laughed. “But at his age I suppose that's a triumph.”

“I think it's wonderful,” Crissy said.

“See the way he holds her?” Monika said. “So close. I bet the old devil took some Viagra with his champagne, and he's rubbing himself all over Jenny right now.”

Crissy thought she would collapse with laughter, and Monika grinned at her with evilly glittering eyes.

“Good evening,” a familiar voice said from behind them.

They both turned to look at the source of the greeting, and Crissy quit laughing at once. “Dr. Santo,” she said. “How nice to see you.”

“It's very nice to see both of you ladies again, too,” he said.

Monika batted her eyelashes with great effect, so heavy with mascara were they.

“Would you care to dance?” he asked Crissy.

“I'd be delighted,” she said. She saw that Monika's eyes darted from Luca to her and back again, but the older woman didn't say anything.

Luca led her onto the dance floor and took her in his arms for the slow number that was still playing. “I'm glad you're here.”

“I'm glad you're here, too,” she said, “and that you asked me to dance.”

He smiled but was silent, leading her about the floor with an easy grace that surprised her.

“I thought you weren't a dancer,” she said.

“I'm not much of one,” he replied. “Certainly not like some of these people.”

“You're a fine dancer,” she said. She caught sight of Jenny, straining to look at her and Luca over Dr. Von Meckling's shoulder. She smiled at her, and Jenny raised her eyebrows questioningly. Luca, however, turned her in another direction, and Jenny and the doctor disappeared from view.

They danced another dance, and then he asked her to join him at his table.

“I came up with the captain and a couple of officers,” he said, leading her off the dance floor, “but why don't we get a table to ourselves?”

Crissy nodded. “Oh, but I need to get my purse. I left it at the table.”

They stopped at the table, where Monika sat alone, fanning herself. She smiled broadly when they approached. “Are you joining us, Doctor?” she asked.

“How nice of you to offer,” he replied graciously. “We're going to another table for awhile, but we'll see you later, I'm sure.”

Crissy retrieved her purse. “See you soon,” she said to Monika.

Monika watched them weave their way toward the back of the disco until they disappeared in the people milling about tables and finally the darkness. The scowl on her face, however, was quickly replaced with the smile that she perpetually wore in public.

He led her to the darkest corner of the room, where no one was seated on the banquette beneath the windows overlooking the bow. She slid in
behind the little table, and Luca slid in next to her rather than taking the chair opposite.

“This is nice,” she said. “Away from the lights and the worst of the noise.”

“Yes,” he said. “Maybe we can actually talk here.”

A waitress appeared to take their orders. “What would you like?” Luca asked Crissy.

“Water,” she replied. “I've already had some champagne, so I shouldn't have anything else to drink.”

Luca told the waitress to bring them a large bottle of mineral water, and she left.

“You could've gotten something,” she said.

“I told you I'm not much of a drinker,” he replied, “and I had a glass of wine with dinner. Besides, I have to be on my toes, as they say in English, in case there's an emergency.”

“Does that happen often?” Crissy asked.

“Not too frequently,” he said, “but it does happen. There are a lot of elderly people on the ship, so of course there are inevitably problems.”

“Like what?” she asked.

“Heart attacks, strokes, falls, sometimes with broken bones. It runs the gamut, from colds to death.”

“I never thought about that,” she said. “What do you do if somebody actually dies?”

“We have a morgue on board,” he said. “The bodies are usually off-loaded at the next port, then flown home.” He looked at her and smiled. “But why don't we change the subject.”

“I think it's fascinating,” she said. “Grim, but fascinating. Besides, it's part of what you do, and I'm interested in that. In you.”

“And I'm very interested in you,” he said. “So why don't me tell me about yourself?”

“What would you like to know?”

“Everything.”

“I don't think you would find my life very interesting,” she said. “Not like yours.”

“I think you'd be surprised,” he said. “So don't stall. Tell me your story.”

The waitress brought the mineral water and two glasses of ice with lemon. After she had poured and left, Luca nudged Crissy gently. “Now,” he said, “tell me about yourself.”

Crissy told him about her childhood and family, her schooling and work, leaving out a lot of the more painful and, to her, unsavory details. He listened intently, stopping her to ask questions, to goad her on. As she spoke, he slid an arm across the back of the banquette, brushing her shoulders, and she felt safe and protected, as if shielded from the unpleasantness of the world. When she finished, he asked her more questions, probing into the recesses of her life, anxious to know as much as she would tell him. Finally, she told him it was his turn, that she was exhausted with the topic of herself.

He told her about his parents in Florence. His Italian father, a doctor, as she already knew, was an aloof and busy man and also a controlling one when he chose to participate in his son's life. His mother, an American, had met his father when they were both students in England. She worked as a restorer of paintings in Florence, and her son obviously adored her. He had an older sister who was married and lived in the country near Siena. When he had finished telling her about his past, which he embroidered with anecdotes regarding his family and friends, she asked about his plans for the future.

His dark eyes, even in the dim corner in which they sat, seemed to gleam, as if they were liquid. They were, she thought, the epitome of bedroom eyes, making her anxious to please him, to satisfy his every wish. “I want to settle down and get married,” he said. “I want to have a family, if possible. One child or ten. It doesn't matter.”

She nodded in silence.

“City or country or both,” he went on enthusiastically, “but I have to be near the water. I love the water, and I love to swim. And I love the sun. In Italy or the States. And I want a medical practice of my own, or I will go into a small office with others. I want to be an old-fashioned family doctor, not part of some huge institution.” He paused and smiled. “And at this very moment I want you.”

Crissy felt as if her heart stopped beating for an instant, then started again, racing at breakneck speed. So stunning was his revelation, she was at a loss for words.

“I know it's sudden,” he said.

“It's caught me off guard,” she replied, realizing that she was afraid of her own feelings, but knowing that she wanted to go to bed with this man. The heat and smoke in the disco abruptly seemed suffocating, and the driving beat of the music with its powerful bass beat was like a hammer
at her temples, throbbing through her head, unnerving her. She had to get out of the room.

“I need some air,” she said.

“Let's go for a walk on deck,” Luca replied. Then he added, “Unless you want to be alone?”

“Oh, no. No. I didn't mean that at all,” she quickly replied, shaking her head. “Really. I just need some air.”

He offered her his hand, and they went to the exit along the perimeter of the disco, avoiding the dance floor and the tables near it. Neither of them observed the eyes that followed them as they left together. When they reached the hallway outside, Crissy breathed a sigh of relief.

“This way,” Luca said, taking her to the port side. “There will be fewer people, and you can get all the air you want.” He held the heavy door open for her, and they went out onto the deck.

The cool evening wind was powerful and picked up Crissy's chiffon skirt and tossed it about her. She laughed as she tried to hold it down, and finally gave up, her efforts useless against the gusts. Luca put a protective arm around her, and they went to the railing and stood, looking out at the dark sea. Fine spray misted them from head to toe.

“Do you want to move back against the bulkhead?” Luca asked.

“No,” she said. “This feels wonderful, and I don't care if my hair and dress get a little wet.”

He hugged her closer, and she relished the warmth of his body next to hers. He kissed the top of her head, and she looked up at him. He smiled and wrapped his arms around her, his lips seeking out hers. They kissed, tentatively at first, but their passion quickly overcame them. They kissed with abandon, his tongue exploring her sweetness as she yielded to him. She felt his hands stroking her back, then cupping her buttocks and pulling them gently toward him. He groaned, and she felt his hardness pressing against her. She shivered slightly in his arms, and he hugged her closer still, then his lips brushed across her cheek to her ear.

“This is wonderful,” he whispered. “You are wonderful, and you make me feel like no one ever has.”

“I'm so glad, Luca,” she breathed. “You make me feel wonderful, too.”

His lips trailed down her neck, his tongue flicking at her. Crissy moaned with pleasure, aroused by his masculine scent, which even in the
sea air was like an aphrodisiac, and his hardness against her, which made her body come keenly alive. He brought his lips down to her breasts and began kissing and licking them through the sheer chiffon, pushing them up to his lips tenderly with one hand.

Beneath the satin and chiffon, Crissy felt her nipples harden as he thrummed them between finger and thumb, and her hands grasped his tight, rounded buttocks and pulled him harder against her. She wished more than anything that he could strip off his confining uniform and she could dispense with her dress. Luca brought his lips back up to hers and kissed her, and she felt his hand beneath her dress, sliding up her leg. Her knees weakened as he reached the mound between her thighs and began caressing her, his breath coming in gasps as he felt her wetness seeping through.