Breathless Encounter. Cindy Dees
closed door at the far end of the bridge. “If you’ll follow me?”
Steig stood up when she walked into his compact and very tidy office. “Is anything wrong, Miss Jordan?”
“I thought we agreed you’d call me Sunny.”
He smiled and ducked his head.
“I need your help. I think I made Aiden mad, and I want to make it up to him.”
Steig looked frankly shocked. “Aiden? Mad? Do tell.”
She explained quickly. “I snapped at him when I caught him going through my things, but I’d like to apologize. Make it up to him. I thought maybe dinner with him—” Why did Steig look so stunned? “Is something wrong?” she asked quickly.
“Not at all. Continue.”
“If I invite him to eat with me he might say no. But I thought if you were to ask him, maybe he wouldn’t refuse. It doesn’t have to be anything fancy. Something simple like a picnic, peanut-butter sandwiches on deck, would be fine. I just need to talk to him before he throws me off the ship.”
“Throws you off?” Steig exclaimed. “Just how angry did you make him?”
“I kicked him out of my cabin,” she confessed. “He yelled at me first, though.”
“Did he, now?” Steig was beginning to look amused. “He actually yelled? I definitely think I can help you. But my chef would not be caught dead serving peanut-butter sandwiches to a guest. I’ll take care of the arrangements. Say, seven o’clock tonight in the salon?”
“Uhh, okay.”
“Gemma will be delighted to help you with some clothes. Be sure to mention to her that Aiden yelled at you.” He waved her out of his office with one hand while an unholy smile spread across his face. “I’ve got some calls to make.”
What had she done? Had she just set up Aiden to be the butt of some horrible practical joke that would only make him more angry at her? She visited Gemma, who reacted just as strangely as Steig to the fact that Aiden had yelled at her. The doctor pronounced it excellent news and immediately agreed to set up Sunny with a nice dress for dinner.
What on earth? Why were they all so thrilled she’d made him mad?
The arrangements for her grand apology in place, Sunny made her way back to her cabin. She managed to take a fretful nap but woke to the memory of a giant black shark bearing down on her with the intent to kill. She jolted awake in a cold sweat.
Why would anyone try to kill her? Had she really made a bunch of fishermen that angry? It wasn’t as if deep-sea fishing practices were any big secret. Plenty of other documentaries had been filmed detailing their more outrageous behavior.
Someone knocked on her door, and Sunny opened it to reveal a steward holding a sexy little black dress on a hanger. He also held out a clear plastic bag that contained panty hose, high-heeled shoes that looked a little big for her but would probably work in a pinch, a curling iron, hair spray and makeup. Lots of lovely makeup. God bless Gemma Jones.
Sunny might happily sail all over the world for months on end and never see a tube of lipstick, but when she got a chance to doll herself up, she enjoyed doing it as much as the next girl. Sighing in delight, she took the offerings from the steward and retreated into her tiny bathroom to play.
At ten minutes till seven, another knock sounded on her door. After a quick spritz of some heavenly perfume, whose name she would have to get from Gemma, she opened the door. Steig, wearing a white dress uniform, looked smashing.
“I’m here to escort you to dinner, Miss Jordan.”
“Sunny.”
“It’s Miss Jordan tonight. And may I say, you look lovely.” He held out his forearm to her. Smiling shyly, she laid her hand on it and let him lead her up two decks and down a passageway to a massive living room. At the far end of it she spied a linen-covered table sporting red roses, tall candles and cut crystal.
“You’re not pulling some kind of joke on Aiden, are you?”
“Not at all. Why would you think that?”
“This isn’t exactly peanut-butter sandwiches on deck.”
“Please don’t disappoint the chef. He spent all afternoon working on making this meal perfect. He doesn’t often get a chance to go all out. The crew’s a bunch of crusty old sailors who don’t appreciate his finer gastronomic efforts.”
“You shouldn’t have gone to all this trouble,” she murmured.
“My pleasure. Aiden needs someone in his life who … inspires emotion.”
Now, what did that mean? Before she could ask, Steig made a formal little bow and announced, “I’ll leave you now. Bon appétit.”
“Uhh, thank you.”
The salon felt huge and hollow as silence settled around her. A subliminal rumble of engines was the only sound in the background. But then, out of hidden speakers around the room, quiet chamber music started. She was so not a violins-and-haute-cuisine kind of girl. But hey. If the captain thought this would work on Aiden, she could roll with it.
Promptly at seven, she heard movement behind her. She turned a little too quickly and stumbled in her heels, which were a tad loose. Strong hands caught her shoulders to steady her.
“What’s this all about?” Aiden demanded sharply.
She stared down at his Italian leather loafers in utter humiliation. So. The joke wasn’t on him, after all. It was on her.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I asked Steig to help me apologize to you. I told him a picnic and peanut-butter sandwiches would be fine, but he insisted on all of this.”
“Ahh.” He released her shoulders and took a step back.
She waited for the explosion, but none came. When she couldn’t take the suspense anymore, she risked a peek up at him. It was like looking at a painted portrait. It looked like Aiden, but nothing of the real man was there in his eyes. He looked … dead. Had she alienated him that badly?
“Gemma lent you a dress?” he asked neutrally.
She plucked at the clingy black fabric. “Yes.”
He nodded noncommittally. “The flowers and music?”
“Steig’s idea.”
“Hmm.”
Finally, she burst out, “Say something, will you? Yell at me and tell me how mad you are or what an ungrateful bitch I am.”
He replied politely, “You look lovely.”
She stared in equal parts confusion and frustration as he moved away from her and over to a leather-and-brass wet bar. “Drink?” he asked mildly.
“Sure,” she replied in utter confusion. What was up with him? He was treating her like a rather inconvenient bug.
He concocted something that involved a shaker and lime wedges and poured it into a pair of glasses filled with ice. He carried the drinks over to the picture window where she stood and handed one to her.
“To your health,” he commented wryly.
“Why are you being like this?” she demanded.
“Like what?”
“So … polite. Aren’t you furious with me for throwing you out of my room?”
“I was going through your things without your permission. You probably should have slapped me.”
“I don’t slap. I have a wicked right hook, but no slapping.”
“Check. Beware the right hook.” A pause, and then his voice thawed slightly. “Anything else I should know about you?”
“You’re