Free Separate Cabins by Janet Dailey

before turning in.” It was a defensive answer, as if she needed to justify her reason for being there. She was disturbed by the effect he was having on her.
    “Don’t let my coming chase you inside,” Gard murmured, seeming to know it was in her mind to leave now that he was here.
    “I won’t,” she replied in denial of her true desire.
    “It’s a calm night,” he observed, briefly releasing her from the steadiness of his dark gaze to cast an eye out to sea. “You’re lucky to have such smooth seas on your first cruise.”
    “It’s been perfect,” Rachel agreed.
    His gaze came back to drift over her smoothly composed features. “It isn’t always like this when you sail on the ‘bosom of the deep.’ At times you’re forcibly reminded that bosoms have been known to heave and swell.”
    The downward slide of his gaze lingered on the bodice of her gown, subtly letting her know that he was aware of the agitated movement of her breasts, which betrayed her altered breathing rhythm. The caressing quality of his look seemed to add to the excitement of her senses. Irritated that he had noticed her disturbance and, worse, that he had drawn attention to it, Rachel could barely suppress her resentment.
    “And I’m sure you are an expert on bosoms, aren’t you, Mr. MacKinley?” There was veiled sarcasm in her accusing observation.
    “I’m not without a limited experience on the subject,” Gard admitted with a heavy undertone of amusement in his voice.
    “I believe that,” she said stiffly.
    “I knew you would,” he murmured and dragged deeply on the cigarette. Smoke clouded the air between them, obscuring Rachel’s view of him. “I don’t believe I mentioned how becoming that gown is to you.”
    “Thank you.” Rachel didn’t want a compliment from him.
    “I suppose it’s fitting. Black, for a not-so-merry widow.” He seemed to taunt her for the apparent absence of a sense of humor.
    “It’s hardly widow’s weeds.” She defended herchoice of dress. “No well-dressed woman would be without a basic black in her wardrobe.”
    “I’m glad to hear it. If you aren’t regarding that gown as widow’s black, you must have begun accepting social invitations,” Gard concluded. “I’m having a small cocktail party in my suite tomorrow evening and I’d like you to come.”
    “A small party ... of one?” Rachel was skeptical of the invitation. A jet-black brow arched in challenge. “Am I supposed to accept, then find out when I arrive that nobody else was invited?”
    “That’s a bit conceited, don’t you think?” The glowing red tip of his cigarette was pointed upward for his idle contemplation of the building ash before his glance flicked to her.
    “Conceited?” His response threw her.
    “You inferred my invitation was a ruse to get you alone in my cabin. That is presuming that I
want
to get you alone in my cabin. Don’t you think you’re jumping to premature conclusions?”
    “I ...” Rachel was too flustered to answer, suddenly caught by the thought that she might have misjudged him. An inner heat stained her cheeks with a high color.
    An ashtray was attached to the railing post and Gard snubbed out the cigarette and dropped the dead butt into it. When he looked at Rachel, she was still struggling for an answer.
    “I admit the idea is not without a definite appeal, but it isn’t behind the reason I invited you to my suite,” he assured her. “I am having a few of my friends on board in for cocktails—Hank and the purser among others. I thought you might like tojoin us—especially since you expressed an interest in the suite at dinner this evening.”
    “That was for Helen’s benefit.” Rachel admitted the reason behind her inquiry.
    “Why?” he asked with a quizzical look.
    “Because she found our names on the passenger list posted in the Purser’s Lobby, with the same cabin number.” She paused to lend emphasis to the last phrase. “She remembered I had said we