Stormy Vows/Tempest at Sea (34 page)

“Well, it would be a bit like taking a prizefighter to bed,” he granted dryly. “But you know how we satyrs are—anybody would do in a clinch,” he punned.

She groaned. “That's terrible, Jake. I think I'd prefer the black eye.”

He grinned unrepentantly. “You're lucky I can still joke after a night like this one. For a while it was a draw whether the mob would kill you before I did.”

“Oh, my God, I haven't thanked you!” she gasped, horrified. “You and Captain Benjamin probably saved my life, and I didn't even tell you how much I appreciate it.”

“You were a little busy at the time,” Jake said mockingly. “For that matter, so were Marc and I.”

“And you were hurt,” she cried remorsefully, her fingers gently touching the bruise on his cheekbone. Impulsively she reached up and pressed a fairy-light kiss on the bruised flesh. Then she drew back in a panic of shyness.

There was a curious flicker deep in Jake Dominic's eyes, but his voice was light. “Do you always kiss to make well? It's not a half-bad idea. Perhaps I'll try it.”

His hands slowly reached up and cradled her face tenderly. She forgot to breathe as she stared wide-eyed up into the dark intentness of his eyes. “Shut your eyes, brat,” he said huskily. “I'm about to conduct a medical experiment.”

She obediently closed her eyes, and was immediately rewarded with a kiss on the lips that wooed and caressed like the first gentle breath of spring. It was followed by a butterfly kiss on the closed lid of her bruised eye and then another, just as light, on the other lid.

“That eye wasn't hurt,” she protested dreamily, lifting her face like a flower to the sun.

“Stop complaining,” Jake ordered. “I threw that one in for balance.” His lips brushed the tip of her nose with infinite gentleness. “Now, is there anyplace that I've missed? I'm completely at your disposal.”

Jane slowly opened her eyes, feeling almost drugged by the honey sweetness of the moment. She felt as if he had wrapped her in a silken protective cloak of warmth and affection and irresistible tenderness.

Jake's face was close, only a breath away, his black eyes laughing into her own. Then suddenly the laughter was gone and his eyes held something else in their flickering depths. Something that charged the atmosphere with electricity and caused the blood to race in her veins as if she'd been running a marathon race. She felt radiantly alive and at the same time languidly dreamy.

“Jane,” Jake said huskily, his flickering eyes mesmerizing her with their dark flames.

“What's happening?” Jane whispered breathlessly, feeling suddenly as if she were captured in a melting pool of sensation whose nucleus was the intent face and virile body of the man before her. “What's happening to us, Jake?”

The words ripped the gossamer spell that surrounded them. Dominic drew a deep breath, and his eyes became shuttered and impenetrable. His hands dropped from her face, and his mouth twisted in familiar mockery.

“That, my innocent little nitwit, is what is known as
chemistry
. Or to put it more succinctly—sex. For a moment, there, you looked pretty good to me despite that black eye.”

“You looked pretty good to me, too,” she said quietly, her eyes shining serenely.

Jake shook his head wonderingly. “They shouldn't let you run around loose,” he said flatly. “Didn't anyone ever tell you that you shouldn't say things like that to a man like me? God, you'd be a pushover for a man who was really on the make.”

Jane's eyes filled with tears at the cynicism in his voice. “So I'm stupid,” she said huskily. “I'm not like you. I can't hide what I'm feeling. I wouldn't want to.”

She tried to slip off the vanity counter, but he stopped her with his hands on her shoulders. “I know,” he said resignedly. “Like I said, clear as glass. It's time you learned to put up a few defenses, Jane.”

She looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, then slowly shook her head. “You don't mean defenses, you mean armor,” she said quietly. “I couldn't live like that. Hiding behind a shield because I was afraid to reach out and touch someone.”

“There is a middle road, you know,” Jake observed.

“Not for me.”

Jake Dominic studied her determined face and clear, steady eyes for a long moment. He lifted her gently down from the vanity. “No, not for you,” he agreed quietly. “And may God help you, redhead!”

He touched her cheek gently with one long finger, before he turned away and said briskly. “I believe a dose of remedial whiskey is in order. I'll call Marc and tell him to meet us in the lounge.”

six

JANE WOKE UP TOO LATE TO HAVE BREAKFAST
the next morning, having opted to sleep for a precious thirty minutes more, after her late night. As this was the first morning of her training as cook's help for Sam Brockmeyer and she did not want to be late, she was half running when she came up on deck.

Simon Dominic hailed her cheerfully and fell into step with her. He noted the black eye and cut lip with frank curiosity. “What a shiner!”

Jane made a face at him. “You should have seen the other guys,” she loftily. “I should have known that our little adventure would have been all over the ship by this time. And they say women are gossips!”

Simon grinned. “Well, you can't show up with a fighting cock in your arms, and the three of you looking as if you'd been in a barroom brawl, without exciting a little curiosity.”

“I can't tell you about it now,” Jane said briskly. “I don't want to start off on the wrong foot with Mr. Brockmeyer by being late.”

Simon gave her an understanding look. “I'll see you at dinner and help you lick your wounds. There may be even more of them by then. Brockmeyer is a terror to work for.”

“Don't worry. I cut my teeth on top sergeants,” Jane said flippantly. “You only have to remember to get in the first punch.” Ignoring Simon's answering chuckle, she broke into a brisk sprint in the direction of the kitchen.

She had only a moment to appreciate the stainless-steel cleanliness of Brockmeyer's domain, before a voice bellowed menacingly from the planning desk in the far corner of the room. “You're late!”

This was patently untrue, as could be seen by the large clock on the wall. Jane moved forward serenely to stand before the cluttered desk and forbore apologizing, which the archdemon of the
Sea Breeze
obviously expected of her.

“Good morning, Mr. Brockmeyer,” she said cheerfully. “I'm Jane Smith. I'm looking forward to working with you.”

Sam Brockmeyer was a tall, lanky man in his late thirties, with a slightly receding hairline and the creased, jowly face of a mournful bloodhound. His soft brown eyes should have been appealing, but there was nothing endearing about the stony glare that the chef was directing at her.

“And I thought they had given me the dregs before,” he said scathingly, his eyes running distastefully over her battered face and diminutive figure, in its oversized garments. “You must be Captain Benjamin's final revenge.”

Jane smiled at him sunnily. “No, actually I'm your reward for being such a brilliant chef,” she said sweetly. “My grandfather hated poor food, and since we often lived in less civilized corners of the world, he had me trained in Paris. Naturally, I'm not up to your standards, but I think you'll find I'm adequate.” She paused. “I think you can teach me a good deal more, and I'm not about to be intimidated by your shouting or slave driving. Do we understand each other?”

Brockmeyer stared at her for a long moment, his face impassive, before saying slowly, “We understand each other, Miss Smith.” He gave her a toothy grin.

In the next four days Brockmeyer appeared to be trying to make her eat those brave words. If Jane had not been absolutely sincere in what she had told the chef, he would have terrorized her, as he had her predecessors. Jane found herself working ceaselessly from six in the morning until nine at night in an atmosphere of turbulence that made a tropical hurricane appear as gentle as a summer breeze. The slightest clumsiness or mistake was met with a virulent diatribe from Brockmeyer's scourging tongue, and he obviously was taking malicious pleasure in singling out Jane for attention.

Jane accepted both the exhausting labor and verbal abuse with a cheerful serenity that frequently brought a look of baffled frustration to the chef 's face. Though only allowed to do the donkey's work to begin with, Jane was gradually permitted minor cooking tasks. She made it her business to be in the general area when Brockmeyer was cooking, in order to observe the master at work.

Brockmeyer considered himself personally responsible for lunch and dinner for the crew and all of Jake Dominic's meals. The meals for the crew, since they were presented cafeteria-style, were less elaborate, but Brockmeyer still insisted that they be excellent. The meals prepared for Dominic were epicurean delights.

Jane gradually became aware that her hard work and un-complaining attitude were earning Brockmeyer's grudging respect. This fact was brought home to her when a mistake by Ralph, the steward, who was entrusted with serving Dominic's lunch, threw Brockmeyer into a towering rage.

“What's the fool trying to do to me?” Brockmeyer howled, his spaniel eyes shooting fire. “I make Trout Almondine and the idiot serves red wine! I'll strangle him with my bare hands!”

As the guilty party had discreetly vanished at the first blistering words, this was not very likely to happen. However, Jane and the other kitchen minions busily went about their own tasks
knowing that any word would immediately bring the chef 's wrath down upon their own heads.

“How can I be expected to tolerate these blunderheads?” he raged, storming to the phone and dialing rapidly. Jane could not hear what he said and was quite surprised when a frowning Marcus Benjamin strode into the kitchen. Jane hid a smile. So even the captain was not immune to Brockmeyer's autocracy.

“I won't use that ass of a steward again!” Brockmeyer declared explosively as soon as Benjamin walked in the door.

Benjamin shrugged. “So I'll assign you another one,” he said soothingly.

“And have the same thing happen again?” Brockmeyer asked caustically. “Your men are all ignorant philistines where fine cuisine is concerned.”

“They're all good seamen,” Benjamin said. “Ralph's mistake was surely minor.”

“Minor!” Brockmeyer roared, “You call red wine with Trout Almondine minor?”

“Well, perhaps—”

“It will not happen again,” Brockmeyer interrupted. “You'll assign her as Dominic's steward.” He punched a finger in Jane's direction.

Jane almost dropped the potato she was peeling. She looked up, her eyes wide and startled.

Benjamin looked equally startled. “You want her out of your kitchen?” he asked slowly. “I suppose that I could change her duty assignment again.”

“I didn't say that,” Brockmeyer snapped. “She's adequate at her job.”

Jane grinned happily at this grudging admission, which was the equivalent of the highest praise.

“She can be excused from her kitchen duties long enough to attend to Mr. Dominic. At least she can't be worse than those other idiots you sent me.”

“Then it's done,” Benjamin consented, relieved. He turned to go, obviously eager to escape.

“Just a moment,” Brockmeyer said. “We're not finished.” He waved a hand at Jane. “Look at her. Just the sight of her is enough to put anyone off his food. Even my food. You must get her out of those monstrosities she's wearing, before tomorrow. Do you understand?”

“We happen to be at sea,” Benjamin reminded him dryly, “or didn't that occur to you?”

“That's your problem,” Brockmeyer said tersely. “I won't have her serving my meals looking like a ragpicker.”

“I'll speak to Mr. Dominic,” Benjamin said, “but I can't promise anything.” He turned and left the kitchen.

Whatever the tenor of Benjamin's conversation with Dominic, that evening the
Sea Breeze
anchored off the tiny port town of San Juárez. The next morning a launch was sent to pick up a number of packages that had been flown there, first by jet and then by helicopter, from Mexico City.

When Brockmeyer piled the packages into Jane's arms a few moments after they were delivered by launch to the
Sea Breeze
, he had a grimly triumphant smile on his face.

“You'd best check to see if they fit,” he said gruffly. “You'll be serving lunch today.”

Jane hurried happily to her cabin, more excited by the gift of these garments than she could ever remember being before. It wasn't surprising, she thought wryly, after tripping around in clothes that made her look like the second banana in a vaudeville show.

She hurriedly ripped off the heavy expensive wrapping paper on the packages and stared blissfully at her treasures. There was not only a handsome steward's uniform much like Simon's, but also several pairs of designer jeans, blouses, sweaters, a swimsuit, a nightgown, low-heeled shoes, and bras and panties. There was even a lavish makeup kit.

For the next twenty minutes Jane tried on everything that she had received, with a growing appreciation for the person who had ordered her new wardrobe. Everything fit perfectly. Someone had a very good eye, and she rather suspected that that someone was Jake Dominic. After all, he had probably had a lot of experience in buying clothing for his women.