Tidal Wave (8 page)

He kissed her deeply, passionately, long and slow, while Coco was still massaging his cock with the oil and Mai Ling began rubbing the oil on the insides of Arabella’s thighs.

He whispered in Arabella’s ear as he stroked her hair, “Have you ever been touched by a woman?”

“No.”

“It’s wonderful. They are all here to do the most delectable things to you. All you have to do is lie back.”

She said, “I only want you,” but her body was already moving to the rhythm of Mai Ling’s hands.

“No, you don’t. You want everything, and everything that is possible is what you will have tonight. I’ll be here holding you, making love to you as well.

He watched the girls massage her breasts and between her legs. When she would explode from desire and could hold nothing back she called out to Anthony, “Please, I want you. Please, Anthony, I beg you,” she moaned.

Anthony never let her out of his arms. Every inch of her tingled and silently screamed with desire. She clung to Anthony who kissed and caressed her while tongues and hands teased her. Then Coco and Mai Ling were made love to by the men. Later, after all had performed beyond her imagination and been dismissed, Anthony still had not taken her.

She dozed off in Anthony’s arms and when she woke
up, she was still in his arms. He was lying there calmly smoking a cigarette.

“Very exciting, aren’t they?” he asked, looking down on her.

“It was unbelievable. I don’t want to think about it.”

“Why not?”

“Because with it all as fantastic as it was, I still want
you
to make love to me.”

He crushed out his cigarette and said, “Listen, Arabella,” pulling her up tight against him in his arms. “If I do, I will allow no one else to take you as long as we stay together. Do you understand that?”

She nodded assent.

“Good. I am going to possess you as no other man ever will. You are a magnificent, exquisite, sexy lady and I want you, Arabella. I have from the first day I saw you. I am going to make love to you, wildly, passionately. Afterward, if you want to be mine, all you have to do is say, ‘Yes, Anthony, I am yours.’ Don’t give me your answer now. Now
we
will make love.”

He kissed her on the cheek and picked her up in his arms. He carried her down to the bathroom. The two women were there. They turned on the taps and the bath filled quickly as they poured sweet scented oils into the water.

In the bath, Anthony tended her. He took a large bulbous syringe filled with herbs, perfume, lemon, alum, and liquid soap from Coco and inserted it as far as he could. He held her on his lap in the deep water, pressed his lips to hers, and kissed her passionately as he squeezed the cleansing contents into her.

It was her lover Anthony who washed her body now. It was a tender, sexy Anthony who dried her, took perfumes and oils and rubbed them over her skin. It was he who helped her slip into the caftan and she who helped him slip into his robe. They then walked up to the bedroom and to the bed.

It had been remade with fresh pale-peach silk satin sheets. There were rose petals spread over the top sheet. Anthony
removed her robe, then his. Arabella felt dazed. It was so strange, as if the hours before had all been a dream. She could not understand how but she felt fresh and new, ready to be made love to as if for the first time.

He gathered her in his arms and, lifting her, placed her diagonally across the bed. He removed the long silk braided cord from his robe and stretched it the length of his outspread arms.

“Lie very still, my sweet,” he whispered, “and raise your arms to me.” As she obeyed, with one quick motion he looped the silk cord around her wrists and firmly knotted it to the bedpost. Arabella gasped with alarm and tried to squirm free.

“Don’t move,” he commanded as he moved swiftly above her. The weight of his firm, muscular body pinned her motionless and she was too shocked to speak. He had been so gentle, so loving, and now she was near terror. As he rose above her, he grew erect and every muscle in his body pulsated with tension. “I want you now, Arabella,” he said as he forced her legs apart and moved inside her with one quick thrust. “Don’t move,” he said, looking directly into her eyes. As she attempted to cry out, he pressed his lips to her mouth and forced them open with his tongue. She could not move. She could not make a sound.

To her surprise, she felt her muscles involuntarily contract as his penis throbbed inside her. He slowly withdrew and then reentered her once more. He repeated the motion, each time moving away more slowly and reentering her with more force so that the painful, pleasurable sensations pulsated throughout her body, and all the while her mouth was filled with his tongue.

Each time she quivered, he made her be still. Then his movements became faster and faster as his orgasm came explosively. She could contain herself no longer and she felt her entire body trembling in shivers of ecstasy.

During those moments, his lips remained on hers, but his kiss was much more gentle. He shifted and felt almost weightless upon her. She felt his fullness inside her and she
squeezed tighter around him. He reached above her and her hands were freed.

“Now you are mine,” he whispered. “You are in my power.” She knew he spoke the truth for she felt consumed and had no comprehension of the feelings that overtook her. She felt satiated.

Anthony looked into her face and lightly touched her cheek. He kissed her softly on each eye. He stroked her neck and caressed her breasts with a touch as light as a feather. He moved down and rested his head on her firm belly as his hands moved below the soft mound of hair. He placed his head there and gently kissed the soreness away.

The sensations began inside her again as his lips sweetly drank in her juices. He touched her thighs as he turned her on her side and covered each round cheek with little nibble bites. He stroked her legs, he tickled the soles of her feet. He kissed each toe. She remained motionless and silent savoring every stroke, touch, kiss, and caress.

He moved forward now and, lying alongside her, he said yet again, “I possess you now — you are mine, only mine.”

The last thing she remembered before dozing off was putting her arms around him, kissing him tenderly on the lips and saying “Yes, Anthony. I am yours.”

It was late afternoon when Arabella woke up alone in the great white ivory bed. The room had been cleared. Over the chair near her was draped a white silk caftan. She turned and looked at the vast empty bed. Arabella felt heartsick at his absence. She covered her eyes, trying to hold back the tears of disappointment. They were brought on by the sight of a large, square envelope on the pillow where he should have been.

She pulled herself together and reached for the note. It read:

Arabella crushed the note to her breast, closed her eyes, and sighed.

They had fallen in love.

Arabella picked up the sponge and squeezed it. She gave a shiver; the water was ice cold. She had no idea how long she had been lying in the bath daydreaming about the past. She looked out of the porthole and was shocked to see that it had grown dark.

She was not so much concerned about the daydreaming and Anthony Quartermaine as she was surprised at the Atlantic crossing turning out to be a kind of catharsis. She knew very well that ocean voyages sometimes did that to people. It was connected with the isolation, the claustrophobia of a ship, however large, if you were far enough out at sea on it and for long enough.

Lying there in the cold bath water, Arabella knew how deeply in love she had been with Anthony Quartermaine; maybe a part of her still was. She also knew that she was fascinated by Nicholas Frayne.

Chapter Six

From a brown leather wing chair in a corner of Captain Hamilton’s stateroom on board the S.S.
Tatanya Annanovna
, Arabella had the dubious advantage of being able to watch for Nicholas’s arrival from four different directions. She could catch sight of him from the balcony if he entered on that level, or alighting from the captain’s private elevator that came up into the drawing room, or from the main entrance to the room, or from the door off the captain’s deck.

We all know the trepidation, the torturous despair of waiting. Arabella’s was no exception. He did not show up.

She had arrived at the captain’s quarters at exactly nine o’clock. She looked absolutely magnificent. The petting and foreplay that Arabella and Nicholas had experienced had set Arabella’s senses on fire. After Nicholas had left her, she had realized he had awakened something deep within her and she kept hearing his voice insinuating there was much more to come.

She had dressed that evening for him, for them, and for no one else. She had chosen her new taupe leather evening dress by Armani. It was sleeveless with a high, round neckline and cut straight down to the ankle with a long slit in the front, up to the thigh. It fit her like a second skin. The leather was soft and supple like the finest kid glove. She carried a taupe-and-silver knit bolero jacket over her arm. With the dress she wore a Bulgari necklace, a choker of heavy gold chain links with an ancient Roman silver coin encircled in gold and diamonds hanging from the center. Her earrings matched the coin, and on her wrist was Armand’s
gift, the diamond and emerald bracelet. It was a most elegant yet sensual and provocative outfit.

Her luscious gold and silver hair hung loose and soft on her shoulders with one side pulled back off her face and held in place by a golden comb.

Arabella should have realized Nicholas would not be there when the captain had called her and asked if she would do him the honor of allowing him to be her escort that evening. She remembered thinking it odd but had not dwelled on it, too happy even to think something might go wrong.

As the party continued, she enjoyed meeting some of her fellow passengers and entered happily into conversation, but she was maddeningly aware of Nicholas’s absence. When she had first entered the room, it had not occurred to her that they would not be together that evening. Then, as the minutes dragged by and she became painfully aware that he was not coming, she had a great deal of trouble keeping centered, her mind focused on the conversations. She felt like a teenager — cranky and out of control.

She tried to work out in her mind what had happened, to put the pieces together and make a picture. The pieces of the afternoon were rich, vivid, and beautiful. But now her blood was boiling for other reasons.

The captain introduced her to Millicent Merton, a widow who seemed to be chasing after the ship’s doctor. She smiled at Arabella and said, “Just call me Millie, sweetie.”

Arabella couldn’t remember the last time anyone had called her sweetie. It just made her feel all the more like a child. Millie Merton then introduced her to Mike Mackay, an oil man from Texas who had the stateroom next to hers. The captain introduced her to the Van Renders, very affluent and highly social Americans.

Millie kept droning on about how well she knew life on board ship. She had sailed on all the great transatlantic ships and as soon as she had familiarized herself with this one, she would be happy to organize their life on board. It was during Millie’s monologue that it hit Arabella — he was not coming.

How well we all know those whys. That crash of disappointment, those terrifying, anguished moments of what did I do wrong? The endless going over and over every detail and word that had passed between you. It was only hours ago and there had been nothing wrong. She recalled how it had grown dark and he had turned on the lamp. The beautiful white Ming lamp. She remembered him doing up his trousers, his belt, fastening the silver buckle and looking at her with love, affection, and a great deal of passion. He had stood and helped her to her feet, then raised both her hands to his lips to kiss her fingers. Then he had straightened her dressing gown, tightened the soft sash, and used it to pull her tight against him. He had then kissed her on the mouth and said, “I love your mouth. I wanted it from the very moment I laid eyes on you.”

Suddenly she thought of Anthony again. She had been surprised by his call. He was usually so careful about showing he still cared. He was a cautious man, Anthony Quartermaine, the Earl of Heversham; so was she now, when it came to her feelings about him. She remembered saying yes; she thought it the most wonderful day of her life, looked forward to the voyage, and was thrilled with her new beginnings. But where did Anthony fit? Remembering Alexandria confused her, and the memories conflicted with the present.

Arabella felt someone poking her arm none too gently.

“Oh,” she said.

“You didn’t hear a thing ah’ve said, did ya?”

Arabella flushed and said, “I’m afraid I was distracted. My mind was wandering.”

“It sure was, dahling. Now lookee here, ah’ll begin again, but you pay attention, ya hear? Now then, ah was askin’, are you a gamblin’ lady? Cause ah figure you are a gamblin’ lady.”

“Well, I do play the tables occasionally, Mr. Mackay. But I’ve never thought of myself as a gambling lady. Maybe I am.”

“Ah tell ya, you are, girl. You’re a gamblin’ lady. Ah’m
sort of checking out and seein’ who ah’m gonna have for casino pals here.”

“Then I take it you are a gambling man?”

“Ah sure am, honey. Ah figure ah gotta line a few things up so ah don’t get too bored. Ah’m used to flyin’ everywhere and gettin’ there and chargin’ on with it. This is a long, hard way to get to the States, gal.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll enjoy it. I don’t think you’re a man who tolerates boredom for long.”

“You’re damn right, honey. Ah promised my wife this here holiday is gonna be a good one and I sure as hell am gonna keep ma promise. That’s her, Marcia, over there.”

He pointed to a gorgeous, long-legged Texan beauty dressed in wide white cashmere trousers and a handsome silk shirt with a waistcoat of leopard skin. She was deeply tanned, with blue-black hair, huge blue eyes, and the face and body of a beauty queen. She wore gigantic earrings of black coral and gold, several heavy gold chains around her neck, and an enormous pear-shaped diamond on her finger.

“Now you just confide in me who ya thinking about. Who is he that’s missin’? Who did ya leave behind? Now you looka here, gal, ya not ta worry. A gal that looks like you sure don’t have ta worry. He’ll come arunnin’ as soon as he can. You gals are all alike. You never understand a man’s gotta do what he has to do in his time, not yours.”

Arabella could have jumped up and kissed that big teddy-bear Texan. She knew he was right. She relaxed, smiled, and said, “Listen here, Mr. Texas. I am enough of a gambling woman to believe you’re right.”

He laughed and said, “Ah know ah’m right, Arabella.” He called to the waiter passing by with a tray of cocktails. “Hey, boy, how about a little bourbon for me and what ya drinkin’, gal?”

“Champagne.”

“And champagne for this lady, son. Now, listen here, Arabella. Y’have got one gorgeous name but it’s too long for us Texans, so you can call me Mr. Texas if it pleases
ya and ah’ll call ya Belle. No, ah’ll call ya Miss Belle. How’s that grab ya?”

“That’ll be fine, y’all,” she mimicked him, and they clicked their glasses and laughed.

Arabella had met the first of the friends she would make on the maiden voyage of the
Tatanya Annanovna
. Shortly after that meeting, the captain took her arm and the waiter announced dinner.

They walked into the captain’s dining room two by two. The captain and Arabella led the party, followed by Millie and John James Van Renders. After them came Mrs. Van Renders on the arm of Mike Mackay, followed by Mrs. Mackay and the ship’s doctor.

It was nine forty-five when the captain’s party sat down to dine. At the same time, in the Vanya Bar in first-class, Nicholas Frayne sat holding hands with a beautiful young woman, Wendy Sears.

The Vanya Room was one of Nicholas’s three favorite public rooms on board the
Tatanya Annanovna
. The library and the music room were the other two. The room was not particularly large but it was two decks high, giving it great elegance. It was the original eighteenth-century paneled room from one of the more beautiful, smaller St. Petersburg palaces. The owner, Prince Ivanich Scherbatski, dismantled the palace piece by piece and smuggled it out of Russia to the South of France one year before the revolution.

The Scherbatski Palace on Morskaya Street, in the most fashionable quarter, was considered a jewel among the houses to be seized by the Communists. Much to their disappointment and fury, when they stormed the house they found nothing but a shell. They say that Scherbatski left not a piece of parquet floor, not an ormolu doorknob in the house.

It had to be true because the Vanya Room was perfect, intact — columns with Corinthian capitals of jasper included. From the original dull silver gilt-carved ceiling hung a magnificent rock-crystal chandelier of enormous proportions that supplied all the light needed in the bar. The parquet floor was sensational, more like a Dutch marquetry tabletop
than a floor. But it was the ancient paneling and its color, dark brown tinged with olive green when the light of the chandelier reflected on it, a green-tobacco color, that Nicholas liked most.

The tables and chairs were of the period. Large, comfortable chairs covered in jasper-colored velvet. The tables were round ormolu, simple, almost modern in design but of the period with inlaid tops of solid rock crystal — clear thick slabs with the occasional cloudy vein running through, making the tops of the semiprecious stone even more interesting and elegant.

On the S.S.
Tatanya Annanovna
, the first-class dining room was organized in a more civilized way than on board most ships. The tables were reserved in advance by the passengers and dinner was served any time between eight and ten in the evening. In addition to Nicholas and Wendy Sears, there were approximately twenty first-class passengers sitting in small groups around the barroom. These guests were either having their last martini before dinner or their first cognac after dinner. It was a happy atmosphere still filled with the edge of excitement of an embarkation. People were lively, good-humored, a little clumsy, not quite having their bearings or ship-life together.

Nicholas tried to give Wendy his full attention, but it was difficult. His mind wandered observing his fellow passengers, thinking about the extraordinary woman he had spent the afternoon with and the work that would finally change his life.

He suddenly found the courage to come to the point with the twenty-one-year-old girl. He took her hand between both of his, gently put it on the table, and covered it with his palms, saying “Wendy, I want you to look around this room at your fellow passengers.”

Wendy did what she was told, then turned to him and said, “What has that got to do with anything, Mr. Frayne?”

“It has to do with everything. All of us on board are alike. We share a common hope. We live individually, and as a group we have the same sole purpose — to get to our
destination slowly, safely, in comfort, and, if possible, having had some degree of pleasure doing it. Why don’t you do the same thing?”

“What are you trying to say, Mr. Frayne?”

“All I’m trying to say is that I don’t want to be any more or less important to you than anyone else on this ship. I simply want you to have a grand time.”

“You’re angry, aren’t you? You’re angry because I got Marvin to bring me on board without telling you. You’re angry with me because I got him to give me a job as his secretary to work off my passage.”

“No, I’m not, Wendy. You have it all wrong. I am not angry, but I am annoyed because you are still following me, because you were clever enough to worm your way into a position with my agent where you were able to see me, hoping something would happen between us.

“I am annoyed because I don’t want to hurt you, but you are forcing me into a position to do just that. You are infringing on my privacy and I don’t tolerate that, Wendy, not from anyone.”

He felt sorry for her, but he had no patience because although the position she had placed him in was not unfamiliar, it was particularly uncomfortable because of the ship’s confines.

“Mr. Frayne, don’t you see, I just had to prove I’d do anything for you. I love you!”

“You’re infatuated with a movie star, chasing after an image, not after me, Wendy. You don’t know me. The private Nicholas Frayne is a man who would not interest you at all! I’m an ordinary person, Wendy, with an extraordinary job.”

Wendy stood up. She was nervously pale, her bottom lip trembled and pouted. There were tears in her eyes, but Wendy was a trooper — an honest, intelligent girl who had made a fool of herself over an idol.

She asked, “You have someone else?”

“Yes,” Nicholas replied, “I hope I do.”

Wendy started to leave. Nicholas put out his hand to stop
her. He said, “Now listen, you promise me you’ll join in on this voyage and make an effort to have a good time? I won’t let you go, Wendy, until you do.”

She nodded her head in assent and hurried out of the Vanya Bar.

Nicholas realized that his fellow passengers were trying to be discreet about the scene they had witnessed, but they had certainly taken it all in. He ordered another cold Heineken beer, pulled a cigar out of his breast pocket, clipped off the end, lit it, and suddenly felt depressed and emotionally drained. The evening was turning out far differently than he had planned. He looked at his watch and for a brief moment he thought of Arabella and of joining her at the captain’s dinner, but he quickly put the idea out of his mind. He was so late; his entrance now would only be awkward for them both. She was a new and wonderful woman for him. She was extraordinary. A woman of the world, different from any woman he had ever known. It excited him, and he didn’t want to take any wrong or careless steps with her.