Destination Love. Gwynne Forster
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not having a drink with you, Brian.”
“Why not? I pay my taxes, I’m good to my mother, I’m not married and I’ve got a decent job. What’s wrong with me?”
“I don’t know that anything is wrong with you, but I can only deal with one man at a time.”
“And right now you’re dealing with what’s-his-name over there?”
“I have to go, Brian. Bye.” She ducked around him and headed for the escalator. Maybe he was a nice guy who had originally misrepresented himself, but he did not make her pulse race as Wright did when he’d kissed her a few minutes earlier. What would it be like if he really kissed her?
“Watch out, girl. Thinking things like that will get you in big trouble.”
She set her alarm for two-thirty and stretched out on the bed. She could feel his mouth on her, and he didn’t stop at her lips. And, Lord, he was so wonderfully greedy. Her nipples ached, and her hot blood heated her loins. She awoke and sat up abruptly at the sound of the alarm clock.
“Good grief! I promised to be at the bar at three o’clock.” She slipped into a pair of white shorts, a pale blue T-shirt and a pair of low-heel flats, grabbed her bag and raced to the bar.
Wright watched as Sheri paused to speak with Brian King. The man was handsome and a charmer, and he’d rather not have the guy playing on his turf. He hadn’t meant to kiss her. He’d been fooling around as usual, playing a game—though, admittedly, he hadn’t had previous experience at being a player. He didn’t believe she’d intentionally kiss him on the mouth, because she was not an aggressive woman. At least, not with him. But if she felt what he felt, they’d have a time of reckoning before the boat docked again in Manchester.
Isn’t that what you planned? his conscience nagged. When he learned that I wouldn’t graduate with my class, my dad cried, he reminded himself.
In his room, he finished the chapter on the loss of his family’s house during his childhood and how his father built a log cabin for his family to live in. Precisely what I need to keep my head straight about Sheri Stephens, he said to himself as he was putting his writing pad away. He hadn’t used his laptop for that passage because he knew the writing would be difficult, and he thought best with a pen in his hand. One more short chapter, and he’d put the final period to it.
“Hi. I meant to be on time, but I fell asleep.”
He took her hand and walked with her to the dance floor. “Thanks for telling me. I was afraid that yellow T-shirt had hijacked you. That guy is tenacious.”
“Maybe he’s not such a bad person.”
“No? What changed your mind?”
“Nothing. It’s just…what harm can he do on a boat out in the Atlantic?”
“Sheri, I don’t believe you said that. You cannot be that naive.” Her stare reminded him of a child who’d been unjustly accused. Her vulnerability got to him deep inside, and before he realized what he did, he hugged her and stroked her back in a gesture of genuine caring and affection.
The sound of Earl Scruggs’s “Foggy Mountain Breakdown” saved them the need to acknowledge the moment’s reality. “Relax your shoulders, drop your hands to your sides and give yourself to the music,” the teacher called.
The fast pace of the music exhilarated him, and he felt as if he could soar. “Come on, sweetheart, let it fly,” he said to Sheri. “Loosen up.”
She caught the steps, and very soon she put her body into the dance. She fascinated him. He looked at the T-shirt that hugged her body as if it were glued there and sucked in his breath. His mother had always cautioned him against playing with fire for fear he’d get burned. But as her ample breasts bounced to the rhythm of the dance, he wanted to get his mouth on one of them. She had a nice pair of legs, too, he noted, and decided that he would enjoy seeing her get into that whirlpool the next morning. The lady had some lovely attributes, and he meant to enjoy them.
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