Man Overboard. Karen Leabo
men who were after more than sex, money and power. He wanted to prove to her that he was just such a man, a man who could value a woman’s intelligence as well as her body, one who enjoyed quiet walks in the moonlight as much as a night of mindless passion in bed.
But he could hardly prove that to her when it wasn’t entirely true. When it came to Aurora, he might not have money or sex on his mind, but he did have an angle, a self-serving angle. And when Paige discovered he wanted to put her mother in jail, he wasn’t likely to climb in her estimation.
When he and Paige arrived at the door to her cabin, she had to fish around in her handbag for the pass card. Harrison leaned one shoulder against the door frame and folded his arms.
“You could at least give me the benefit of the doubt,” he said. “I might not be the ideal match for Aurora, but with me hanging around, she won’t have time to take up with someone even worse than me. That is what you’re worried about, right?”
Paige seemed to consider his words. “If you and Aurora want to spend time together, there’s not much I can do about it. And I suppose she could do worse than to fall for some wealthy financier—if that’s what you are. But just remember this—I’ll be watching. And if I find out you’re not who you say you are, I’ll show no mercy.” She shoved the magnetic card into the slot and jerked it out, then tried the door. It didn’t open.
“You did it too fast,” Harrison said.
“I know how to open a door,” she said impatiently as she repeated the procedure. This time she got the flashing green light, opened the door, stepped inside and closed it again—firmly.
Harrison felt a pang of guilt, and he had to remind himself again that this was all part of his job. He was being paid to catch a jewel thief. But it seemed grossly unfair that the thief’s innocent daughter would be hurt in the process.
On the other side of the thin door, Paige held her breath until she was sure Harrison was gone and then released a long, tension-filled sigh. The nerve of that man, hitting on two women at the same time.
Well, okay, Paige conceded, he hadn’t really been hitting on her. But she’d had this vague but undeniable feeling that something had been going on between them, something sort of...sexual.
Or maybe she was imagining things. As Aurora so often and annoyingly pointed out, Paige was no expert when it came to men and their baffling ways. Maybe it was only wishful thinking on her part that a wealthy, good-looking man like Harrison Powell would take any interest in an ordinary hospital dietitian like her.
She threw the silly navy hat onto her bed, then followed it, sitting gingerly on the mattress and leaning her head against the wall. How was she going to keep Aurora from making a fool of herself over this guy? And did she really want to? Harrison had made a valid point when he’d said that, so long as he kept Aurora interested, she wouldn’t have time to fall in love with an even worse prospect.
An insidious, nasty thought worked its way into Paige’s consciousness. There was one way she might be able to keep Aurora and Harrison apart, and that was to throw herself at Harrison. For her it would be only a meaningless shipboard romance, and through her efforts she might just keep Aurora from walking down the aisle a fifth time. Despite Harrison’s reassurances that he didn’t have marriage on his mind, he might yet fall victim to Aurora’s charisma.
Nice try, she told herself, attempting unsuccessfully to tamp down her bubbling self-disgust. If Harrison had the slightest interest in her—and that was a big if—it was inexcusable of her to even think of stealing the man her mother had her eye on. And if the very idea weren’t laughable, such a despicable act was not the way to bolster her ego and assuage the five-year-old hurt of Curtis Rittenour’s defection.
* * *
When Aurora finally returned from the cocktail party—half-looped, in Paige’s estimation—she solicitously asked after Paige’s headache. Paige resisted the urge to snap, since Aurora had done nothing wrong per se, and gave a noncommittal reply.
“You’ll feel better once you eat some real food,” Aurora soothed. “I heard there’s shark on the menu tonight. James says they have a new French chef who’s marvelous. He has his own TV show and everything.”
“Mmm,” Paige said, waving her hands in the air to dry her recently polished nails. She hadn’t been able to think of any other way to kill time while nursing her supposed headache.
“You know, that James is a very nice-looking man,” Aurora said, “and I think he’s rather intrigued with you. He asked a lot of questions about you.”
“I hope you told him I have a boyfriend who plays linebacker for the Dolphins.”
“Oh, Paige, I told him no such thing. In fact, I made it known that you were quite available. I hope that was all right. Don’t you like James?”
“It wasn’t all right, and no, I don’t particularly like James—at least, not in that way. Please, Mother, stay out of my love life.”
“I’m only trying to help,” Aurora said, undaunted. “What did you come on this cruise for, if not to meet men?”
To keep you from meeting men. “To relax,” she answered as she abruptly stood and began pacing the tiny floor space.
“It doesn’t seem to be working.”
Paige sat down again. “Give it time,” she said, softening. “I’ve only been on board a few hours. I’ll get the hang of it soon.”
By the time they headed for the nine-o’clock dinner seating in the elegant Seascape Dining Room, Paige’s mood had improved. She felt more like herself in an uncomplicated silk sheath and simple accessories, her unruly hair folded into a sophisticated twist atop her head. She wasn’t looking forward to eating shark, no matter who prepared it, but she figured the menu would also include steak or chicken.
Her optimism took an abrupt nosedive when the steward showed them to their table and she saw who else was seated there.
Harrison and James both stood as the ladies approached. “Good evening,” Harrison said as he took Aurora’s hand between his and gave her a peck on the cheek in an irritatingly debonair gesture.
Who did he think he was, Cary Grant? Paige groused inwardly, although she had to admit he looked the part in his starched white shirt, conservative tie and a charcoal jacket that had obviously been tailored to fit his wide shoulders.
“I hope you don’t mind that we arranged to share a table with you,” he said.
“We’re delighted,” Aurora answered smoothly. She looked expectantly at Paige, who remained silent.
The two men and Aurora carried the conversation through most of dinner, sometimes discussing serious topics, other times sharing silly jokes and laughing until their eyes were moist with tears.
No one seemed to mind Paige’s pensiveness. Every so often James would lean over and offer an aside to Paige, speaking in a low voice much too near her ear. His warm breath against her cheek, far from provocative, made her want to flee to her cabin and wash her face.
When the waiter set the shark steak in front of her, Paige questioned her impulsive decision to be brave and try something new. What was she trying to prove, anyway? But she ate it without complaint, hardly tasting it, washing it down with the less-than-palatable Chablis from her constantly filled glass.
After dinner Paige considered calling it a night. It was almost eleven. But she had promised Bobby she would keep an eye on Aurora, so she found herself following the others to the Copacabana Lounge. A small orchestra was doing a creditable job on some big band numbers despite its size. Bobby had once sung with a similar band, and a wave of unexpected nostalgia hit her.
“Would you like to dance?” James asked her.
“Umm, no, actually...” she stammered.
“C’mon, Paige,” he wheedled. “I’m a terrific ballroom dancer.