Forever As One (4 page)

Maybe.

Vangie peeked around the next corner, and
then looked back the way she’d come. The view was exactly the same.
Great. She was lost. Some of the doors had markings on them, but
they weren’t numeric, so she hadn’t paid attention. She pulled her
cell phone from her purse and turned it on.

Roaming.

Fine. Roam away. Just get her a bar or two
and she’d be happy. Heck, at this point, she’d settle for access to
the GPS. Heck, she might need a GPS just to find the salon he’d
left her in. This was ridiculous. And her phone was taking
forever.

No Service.

“You must be Ms. Harper.”

Vangie squealed, dropped her purse and phone,
and spun. The giant of a man standing behind her wasn’t remotely
handsome. But he was real. And human. And he found her antics very
funny if the grin on his face was an indication.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Who…are you?”

“Sven Haardrasson.”

“Scandinavian?”

“Swede. How did you know?” he asked.

“Lucky guess.” Vangie bent in the most
ladylike fashion she could manage wearing a tight blue dress suit
to retrieve her phone, a stray tube of lip gloss, and her little
purse. She addressed her next remarks to the carpet at his feet. He
had big feet, too. “Sven. Erick. Dane. Is everybody here from the
North?”

“Mostly. We make good seamen.”

“Pillaging, plundering, rampaging…kidnapping.
The Viking era is over, you know.”

“You ready yet?”

“For what?” No images came to her this time.
Obviously it was just Dane who could control that part of her mind.
That wasn’t comforting, but at least it could be managed.

“I’ve been sent to find you.”

Vangie waited to get back upright, and then
stood with her back against the corner, reaching for her fullest
height. It was easier to talk to him that way, even if she did look
to be straining for a few extra centimeters. “Oh. My transport must
be ready.”

“Transport?”

“Back to shore. Didn’t Mister Morgan tell
you?”

“Dane?”

“Is there anyone else named Morgan
aboard?”

“No.”

“Then yes. I’m talking about that Mister
Morgan.”

There were stupid conversations, and then
there were ‘going nowhere’ stupid conversations. This was the
latter. Vangie waited while he assimilated her statement. Okay. The
guy was big. Muscled. Not very handsome, and not very bright. But
he knew his way about the ship. And he could probably be
manipulated. Vangie glanced up at him and smiled slightly.

“He didn’t tell you to ready a transport for
me?”

“Follow me.”

He didn’t wait to see if she’d obey, he
simply turned down the corridor she’d been in and expected she’d
follow. And she did.

He led her along what felt like another
quarter mile of hallway, up two staircases that didn’t resemble
anything she’d traversed earlier – they were wider and even more
elegant – and then waited for her to catch up. Damn heels.

“Can I ask you something?”

He nodded.

“What on earth are the markings on all the
doors?”

“Runic symbols.”

“Runic? As in
Viking
Runic? And you
can actually read them?”

He sighed, moving a lot of chest. “See that
plate on the doorframe beside the handle?”

She did. It read 212. In normal numeric
form.

“That shows we’re on the second deck. Twelve
doors from the stern. Come along now. Dane doesn’t like to be kept
waiting.”

“So?”

Getting kidnapped, held hostage aboard a
ghost ship, and then scared wasn’t doing her sense of protocol and
etiquette any good. It did wonders for her impatience and
frustration, though.

“So, hurry.”

“Or what?”

“Or, he’ll see me punished.”

“Right. Like I…believe that.” The words were
split with the way she stopped for breath between them, since she
had to jog the steps to reach where he stood.

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“Because lazy…rich…playboys aren’t…the type
to administer punishments. You’d have to…practice discipline
first.” And if she wasn’t panting, it would have made more
sense.

“Not him. The Captain. And I like shore
leave.”

Likely story. But what did she know about it?
A ship this size probably needed a crew to man it. They might even
have a captain that disciplined offenses. Shore leave might be a
rare event, because just maybe they stayed out to sea most of the
time.

“Then why are you here now? Seems to me,
you’d be on shore partying like the rest of the world. Oh no. No.
Please, don’t say it. He wouldn’t.”

At the thought, the slightest lurch happened,
as if engines were starting up, or an anchor had been pulled, or
they’d started moving. And if Dane thought he could put out to sea
with her, he obviously didn’t know a thing about women, and less
about New Englanders. And Sven here wasn’t going to be any
help.

“That’s it. I’m done with nonsense. Just
where is Mister Morgan hiding?”

They reached two enormous wooden doors with
matching chrome handles on them. Dead center. She was the seasick
type. She didn’t take a honeymoon cruise for that reason. Mongoose,
my ass. He was about to meet the mother of angry: a pissed-off New
Englander. There was a reason the Revolutionary War started
there.

Sven knocked loudly on one side of the door.
Vangie turned the handle on the other one, pushed it open, and
stomped in. Or tried to stomp. The carpeting in here was even
thicker than that in the halls. Her heels sank into luxury that
ruined any aggressive entrance. And the man getting to his feet
over by a really ornate fireplace didn’t look like anyone to argue
with.

He’d swapped the shorts for long dark
thigh-hugging denims and the loud tropical shirt for a blue t-shirt
that molded to a torso Michelangelo couldn’t improve while showing
off more toned arms than before. And his hair! Even with it pulled
back, his honey-shaded hair was so dark and shiny it looked
wet.

Her heart decided to torment her with another
low swoop to the pit of her belly. She’d forgotten his effect on
her.

And his handsomeness.

Damn it. Damn it. Damn it
.

“Evangeline. You’re back.”

“Turn…this ship around.” The first word came
out exactly as she meant it. The last part of her sentence limped
out like wet noodles.

“Hard to do,” he answered. “Sven?”

“We aren’t moving. You want to give the
signal?”

“Not yet.”

“You got this, Boss?”

Vangie swiveled to face the giant holding the
door open. “He’s not going to need your assistance, Sven. Not at
the moment. But don’t go hiding, okay? You hear him screaming, you
come running. Got it?”

“Dane?”

“You heard the lady.”

Sven saluted her before shutting the door.
She distinctly heard the sound of a lock clicking into place. She
was getting locked in, too? And they weren’t moving? The strangest
vibration was coming through the soles of her feet, defying that.
They were moving, or she was losing her mind.

“Why did he lock it?”

She sent the words at the closed and locked
doors. It was easier to speak if she didn’t look at Dane while she
did so.

“It’s not locked.”

“Right.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“Heck no. I don’t trust you, either.”

“You don’t trust me?”

Vangie turned around slowly. It wasn’t an
elegant move. Her shoes didn’t slide against the carpet so she had
to pivot by lifting them in little steps. It put him back in her
direct line of sight, too, and that just rattled words off her
tongue.

“You tricked me onto your yacht, you
disappeared and from the looks of things took a swim in the ocean,
and now you’re keeping me against my will. What part of that is
trustworthy, Mister Morgan?”

“It wasn’t a trick. And it’s Dane.”

“Right.”

“You’re also not being held against your
will. You’re free to leave…just as soon as we conclude our
business.”

“Oh. Really.”

“We should be done by dawn.”

“Dawn,” she repeated.

“In about five hours the sun will rise, and
it will be a new day. If you wish, you can leave then. You have my
word.”

“Five hours?”

“A pittance.”

He waved a hand to demonstrate the loss of a
good portion of her sleep time. Vangie’s lips tightened. He might
be jaw-dropping handsome, but the longer she was around him, the
easier it was to form words and make sense.

“You’ll have a hard time ordering that if you
take another ocean swim, won’t you?” She didn’t know why she still
grumbled. He was being fairly amenable. And so far, he hadn’t done
anything threatening. Or anything approaching ravishment.

“I wasn’t in the ocean. The water isn’t cold
enough.”

Her mouth opened and nothing came out. She
had to shut it or remain affixed in that position. What he implied
wasn’t possible. It just
wasn’t
.

“I can’t promise I won’t leave you again,
either. I may need to. Do you play chess?”

“Chess?”

He moved sideways, revealing a heavy wooden
table with what might be a chess board and pieces atop it. Only it
looked massive enough to be used as a prop in an Olympian movie.
The pieces looked over six inches high each, and carved into some
sort of Arabian looking figures. The bases might be black and white
but the rest were painted with all sorts of colors, while what was
probably real gold trim lined every bit of clothing on the
figurines.

She should have paid attention in her
archeology classes. They looked like something from…the Ottoman
Empire or Arabian Nights or something. Her feet moved without her
instruction and within moments she was at the table, with Dane on
her right side. Up close, his chess pieces were even more
impressive.

“Where did you get this?” She was awe-struck.
Her voice carried every bit of it.

“Constantinople.”

She shook her head. “Don’t you mean
Istanbul?”

“Oh. Yes. My mistake. Istanbul. You wish
white or black?”

He bent forward, extending his arms across
the chess board as if to swivel it. That was too much man and too
nicely arrayed.
Wow
. She’d never seen such a physique, and
he wielded it so easily, without thought to any consequence!
Vangie’s eyes widened and she gasped. This was ridiculous behavior.
If he chanced a glance at her, there wouldn’t be much way to hide
it. She was staid, proper. Even Rod called her frigid. Nothing
about her life triggered massive heat and sensual awareness. Until
now.

“Leave…it.” Her voice was breathless.
Panted.

“Black, then?”

Vangie slid around the table, gaining space
from his proximity. She needed it before looking up at him. She’d
been wrong. The sensations he evoked in her weren’t just ridiculous
and impossible. They were insane. He had to possess the deepest,
bluest eyes on record. Not just vivid blue…but deep. Dark.
Mysterious. Little dots hampered her view and they were accompanied
by a sway into the table. Vangie gripped the edge with both hands
to catch what felt like a swoon.

“You’re making this very difficult for me,
Frja
.”

She thought he said it, but his lips didn’t
do more than mold into a perfect kiss shape. He couldn’t possibly
mean he was having the same difficulty? Could he?

“I have given my word.”

“About…what?” Her voice was a sigh of
sound.

His face showed pain before he lowered his
head. Every muscle on him tightened until he resembled one of the
chess pieces. And then he straightened, opened his eyes, and looked
at her with a completely blank expression.

“If you take black, I get the opening
move.”

“Opening move?” Why didn’t that make
sense?

“Chess.” He dropped his eyes to the board
between them.

“Oh. Right. You want to play chess.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t do well with chess. Even if I’m wide
awake. And right now, it’s sleep-thirty. I mean, you already called
it. It’s past two. In the morning.”

“I’m a night person.”

“Figures. Well. If you want to play chess,
I’m willing, but I’m not going to give you a very good match.”

“Really? Why?”

She sighed. Men. Seriously.

“Aren’t you listening? Chess requires
concentration. Oh! And add in that sometimes an opponent takes so
long I get bored. That makes my moves sloppy and ill-conceived.
It’s not that I can’t play. I just lack the proper patience or
something. Chess requires too much mental acuity. It can be worse
than a full body workout.”

“Exactly why I chose it.”

That one eyebrow quirked up and sent her
pulse into overdrive again, and her breathing into nonexistence.
Or, maybe it was the lightning quick images that flitted through
her mind again, even more visual and graphic than before. Red lace.
Satiny sheets. Candlelight. Naked, muscled skin…entwined legs. Her
legs. Wrapped about him.

“Please. Sit.”

His voice interrupted what was rapidly
turning into an erotic fantasy for one. Her legs wobbled and she
fell, then did her best to act like she’d meant to sit that
hastily. The wingback chair was upholstered in a thick damask
fabric and stuffed so full, she bounced. She placed her purse on
her lap and tucked her skirt around her thighs with precision while
she waited for his next words. It was better than looking across
the table.

“Are you right-handed?”

“What?”

She looked up and across the chess board at
him. She’d been right. The pieces were about six inches tall. They
were spectacularly carved, probably inlaid with real jewels, but
they weren’t enough to keep her from looking right at him. And
getting sucked right back into the deepest, most hypnotic eyes
she’d ever seen.