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  She reached across the table for the fattest, juiciest-looking chocolate-covered strawberry nestled among the almond cookies, but before she could grab it, another hand bumped hers.

  “I guess the gentlemanly thing to do would be to let you have my strawberry,” an American male’s voice remarked. “But let the record show that I did see it first.”

  Gabrielle turned to find herself looking into a vaguely familiar face. “Do I know you?” she inquired.

  Returning her gaze, Doug felt his stomach flip. He was stunned to see her. Gabrielle had crossed his mind several times since their meeting over a year ago. She’d impressed him that night, not just with her outstanding physical attributes but also with her genuine interest in his work and her shy but sharp sense of humor.

  “We always seem to meet over Italian food. I think the last time—well, the only time—we ate together, you tried to steal my focaccia,” Doug told her, unable to keep a smile from overtaking his face. “Doug Sixsmith. In case you don’t remember, we met at the Hilton Hotel in New York a little over a year ago.”

  “I’m Gabrielle Donovan, and I believe that it was my focaccia that you tried to sneak onto your plate,” she responded, causing them both to laugh.

  “I assume that since you’re here, your interviews with the modeling agencies worked out.”

  “They did. I was picked up by a great agency, and I’ve been working pretty steadily. Now, you were working on a story about the death of Communism when we met, so I’m surprised that the rise and fall of hemlines is within your area of expertise.”

  “It’s definitely not. I’m here doing a last-minute favor for a friend. Ruthanna and I went to Penn State together. Apparently the original writer got the chicken pox, so she asked me to fill in and write one of those ‘day in the life’ pieces on one of your colleagues.”

  “You don’t sound like you’re looking forward to this assignment.”

  “Watching a beauty queen have her picture taken isn’t exactly my idea of a formidable assignment,” Doug responded before realizing what he said. “No offense, it’s just that I’m use to writing about more important—I mean, challenging—Well, not that your work isn’t challenging …” Having babbled himself into a corner, Doug simply shut up. Try to take your foot out of your mouth without chipping any teeth, asshole.

  Gabrielle smiled broadly. Doug was obviously too embarrassed for her to take offense at his remark.

  “Doug, there you are,” Ruthanna called out as she approached. “I was beginning to think you’d missed the boat. Bad puns aside, I’m so happy to see you.”

  “Ruthie,” Doug answered, his arms enveloping his friend in a warm hug. “You haven’t changed a bit. You look terrific. God, how long has it been?”

  “Too long. I see the life of the roving reporter agrees with you.”

  “There you two are,” Felicia said as she pulled up to the trio, Trace by her side. “This is turning out quite nicely don’t you think?”

  “It’s wonderful,” Ruthanna agreed. “Felicia, this is Doug Sixsmith. Doug is the fabulous writer I literally begged to do our first cover story. Doug, this is Felicia Wilcot. She is one of the best PR people in New York, and we’ve hired her to help us launch Appeal.”

  “Hello, Doug. I always enjoy your work. I’m glad you could join us on such short notice.”

  “So am I. I think this is going to work out for all of us,” Doug responded, thinking of Gabrielle. He hoped that once he was finished interviewing the cover model, he and Gabrielle would have an opportunity to spend some quality time together.

  “Everyone, this is my husband, Trace Gordon. Trace, meet Ruthanna Beverly, Doug Sixsmith, and Gabrielle Donovan.”

  “Good evening,” Trace said, shaking everyone’s hand. He was impressed with Ruthanna’s introduction of his wife. Felicia was obviously developing quite a reputation in her profession. Good for her. Perhaps after their kids were older and in school, she could return to her business.

  “And, Doug, I see you’ve met our cover girl,” Ruthanna said.

  “It’s true. I’m the beauty queen,” Gabrielle revealed, laughing at Doug’s pained expression.

  “Ruthie, you may need to find another reporter for your story. I wouldn’t be surprised if I’ve insulted Gabrielle into not speaking to me. My foot is so far down my throat, it’s tickling my intestines.”

  “I think we’ll let you two work this out. Just remember, your day in her life begins tomorrow morning at seven,” Felicia said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to dance with my husband.”

  “Oh, I’ll be there,” Doug promised. The way he saw it, he and this young lady were going to have to spend all four days and three glorious nights getting to know each other. How else could he write an in-depth profile about the day in the life of a model? Any story worthy of carrying his byline had to be thoroughly researched. If that meant conducting interviews on fabulous pink-sand beaches or walking the deck at all hours of the night under star-filled skies, so be it. He’d made it through the Los Angeles riots and the Persian Gulf War. Somehow, some way, he’d get through this as well.

  “Why are you smiling like that?” Gabrielle asked.

  “I was just thinking how much I liked cruising. You know, Felicia has the right idea. Would you like to dance?”

  “Sure, but first …” she said, turning back to the buffet table. As Doug looked on, Gabrielle plucked the forgotten strawberry and took a big, satisfying bite. Her action set them both off, and, laughing, they headed out to the dance floor.

  20

  “Okay, that’s a wrap, kids,” Austin shouted seven hours and five costume changes later. The photographer, known for the sex and humor he infused in his work, was pleased. “Good work. I’ll see everybody back here bright and early for the sunrise shot.”

  Doug had spent the entire day observing Gabrielle. Before he began his interviews, he wanted to get a feel for the woman and the way she operated. Tomorrow he would begin talking to her about her work. Tonight, however, he was not interested in the model. Tonight Doug hoped to have the opportunity to learn about Gabrielle Donovan, the woman.

  “So, what do you think?” Gabrielle asked.

  “I had no idea you girls work so hard. I’m impressed by how easy you make it look.”

  “Some jobs are easier than others. I have my share of horror stories.”

  “I’d love to hear them. Why don’t we grab a bite together—for the story,” Doug added, not wanting to put her off by sounding as if he was asking for a date.

  “I can’t. I’m having dinner with the captain.”

  “How about a quick drink afterward?” Don’t beg, stupid. Doug couldn’t help himself. He had to have some one-on-one time with this delicious woman.

  “Okay, as long as it’s not too late. I have such an early call in the morning.”

  Finally she throws me a bone. Be cool, don’t show your relief. “No problem. How about the Alfresco Café, say eight o’clock? Though even a few hours is an awfully long time to wait for you.” That was good—rather James Bond—esque, Doug congratulated himself.

  To his dismay, Gabrielle responded with a polite laugh.

  “Did I say something funny?” Doug asked lightly.

  “It’s just that Captain Di Angelo said something very similar.”

  “That’s because men all over the world have the same training manual,” Doug quipped, forcing himself to laugh, though he was feeling like a complete idiot. Compared to the suave, debonair, accented Captain Di Angelo, he was sure he’d sounded less like 007 and more like Maxwell Smart.

  “I’ll see you at eight,” Gabrielle said, chuckling as she walked away.

  Well, Dougie, you’re on a roll. Last night you insult her work, today you toss her a line another man has already used. Smooth, real smooth.

  “Hi. How’s it going?” Felicia asked, taking a minute while Trace was working out to check in with her office.

  “Things are just fine. Deena and I ar
e holding down the fort quite nicely,” Stephanie answered, her irritation plain.

  “Are you okay? You sound a little angry?”

  Why should I be angry? Is it because instead of letting me write the story on Gabrielle that would jump-start my career, you have me here writing public-service announcements on weather stripping—a subject that nobody with a life gives a rat’s ass about? Or maybe I’m mad because after screwing me royally you keep calling instead of having the common courtesy to leave me the fuck alone!

  “I’m fine, Felicia. It’s just that this LILCO account is being difficult about this copy.”

  “Do I need to make a phone call?”

  “No, I can handle it.”

  “Good. Is Deena around? I want to get my messages.”

  “She’s on the phone. Hold on, I’ll get them for you.”

  Waiting for Stephanie to return, Felicia found herself hoping that Lexis had called. She felt confused and ashamed when it dawned on her that she wanted an excuse to call back and hear his voice.

  “Not much here, since everybody knows you’re on vacation. Your mother called; Faith Taylor called about Fred 2 Fine, but says it can wait until you get back; and a Lois Jourdan left a message for you to call when you return.”

  “What a surprise. Lois is a friend from Georgetown. I wonder what she wants. Anybody else?” Felicia asked lightly, not wanting to mention his name.

  “Yeah, Lexis called. He wanted your number in Martinique.”

  “I’ll call him when I get to the hotel tomorrow.”

  “I guess that’s it.”

  “Okay, then. I’ll see you in a few days.”

  Lucky me, Stephanie thought, hanging up the phone.

  Felicia was still smiling when Trace walked through the door. “How was your workout?” she asked.

  “Great until I called my office.”

  “Why? What’s up?”

  “Tom has totally screwed up the Acey Newit case, and they need me back pronto to pull it out of the toilet. Sorry, Feli, I’m going to have to cut our trip short and catch the first flight out of Martinique.”

  “Can’t somebody else take care of it?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “Trace, you could work something out if you wanted to. I did. Instead of working this entire trip as I should be, I arranged to leave midway so we could spend some time together. I compromised; can’t you do the same?”

  “This is an important case. It’s a bit more involved than holding some glamour girl’s hand while a reporter asks her inane questions about her beauty secrets, or playing hostess at some client party. For Christ’s sake, Felicia, millions of dollars are at stake.”

  “So we’re back to this, are we? Your work is platinum and mine is cheap nickelplate?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Not in so many words, but your meaning came through loud and clear. If this were me interrupting our vacation because of work, you’d serve my head on a platter, but because it’s you, I’m suppose to smile and understand.”

  “We haven’t been able to even begin our vacation together because of your work,” Trace lashed back. “Have I said anything about that? No. I’ve been following you around like some lapdog while you try to keep everybody else happy.”

  “You haven’t changed at all, have you? All your nice talk and sweet playacting these past months was just sugarcoating. You’re the same self-involved, egotistical bastard you always were,” Felicia accused her husband angrily.

  “And you, my dear wife, are a spoiled, unsupportive bitch. The next time you want to accuse someone of being self-involved and egotistical, take a good look in the mirror.”

  “You have a lot of nerve—”

  “I’m not going to argue about this, Felicia. I have to go back to New York. Now, are you going to start packing?”

  “No. Frivolous or not, I have a job to finish, and then I am going to Martinique tomorrow to relax and unwind—with or without you.”

  “Fine, Felicia, you go to Martinique and have a good time,” Trace said calmly. He was angered by her reaction, but he refused to fight with his wife. His energy was focused on the big picture. Soon all this bickering would end, replaced by the pitter-patter of his son’s little feet. Yes, you go to Martinique. All mothers-to-be need their rest.

  Doug stood outside in the Alfresco Café at the ship’s stern waiting for Gabrielle. He took a refreshing breath as he observed the magnificent view. The sun had set hours ago, leaving in its place a dark sky packed with bright, twinkling stars. The moon was full, and its silver glow rippled over the waves of the Caribbean Sea.

  He peered out into the perfect night and, pushing away his usual propensity to engage in rational thought, allowed himself the luxury of daydreaming about Gabrielle. Doug found himself basking in the delicious edginess brought on by the anticipation of seeing her again. He hadn’t felt like this in years. The giddiness he was experiencing was as refreshing as it was embarrassing. At his age he should be well past sweaty palms and nervous butterflies, but there was something about being with Gabrielle that brought out the unsophisticated high-schooler in him. If he didn’t know any better, he’d swear he was falling in love.

  Don’t be ridiculous. How could you be in love with someone you just met? Ah, but technically we met over a year ago, he quickly reminded himself. And Gabrielle Donovan is no mere someone.

  “Are you okay? You look like you’re lost in space,” Gabrielle told him, appearing at his side.

  “It’s amazing how this sea air can clear your head,” he told her. Gabrielle looked so exquisite standing before him. There was a sparkle in her eyes that lit up her face when she smiled. It took all he had for Doug not to bend down and kiss her.

  “Isn’t this an amazing experience?” she asked dreamily, totally ignoring his comment. “Out here on the ocean, the moon and stars creating a perfect mobile above this floating cradle.”

  “That was very lyrical.”

  Gabrielle laughed, which sounded like falling rain to Doug’s ears. “It must be this sea air. It’s bringing out the poet in me.”

  “Would you like to take a walk?” he asked.

  “Sure.”

  They leisurely climbed the stairs to the Capri deck in silent awe of this lovely night. They walked to the ship’s rail and stood silent in the moonlight for several moments. There was a light breeze blowing, and Gabrielle felt herself shiver.

  “Cold?” Doug asked.

  “A little bit, but it’s too beautiful to go inside.”

  “Here,” Doug said, removing his cotton sweater and tying it around Gabrielle’s shoulders. “Better?” he asked as their eyes met, their gazes welded together by the innocent but compelling intimacy of his action.

  Doug smiled slightly as he felt a tug at his heart. Deep down he knew that he and Gabrielle were obviously meant for each other. Why else had they been thrown together again? Last night at the bon-voyage party Doug could feel a strong current flowing between them. The way they danced and laughed together all evening, the easy banter that flew back and forth between them—all proof, in his mind, that Gabrielle was at the very least intrigued by him. Even back when they’d first met in New York, hadn’t Gabrielle used that upside-down-newspaper ploy just to get his attention? What was that, if not interest? And now, as she stood before him, her skin flushed not with lunar glow, but, he hoped, with the same delicious current that was surging through him.

  “You know, Ms. Donovan, I could have predicted that we’d meet again,” he announced, breaking the tension.

  “Are you some sort of fortune-teller?” Gabrielle asked with a flirty lilt to her voice.

  “I have been known to read a palm or two,” he admitted, taking her hand into his. “Now, this is your life line,” Doug said as he gently traced her palm with his index finger. “I’m glad to report that you have many long and happy years ahead of you. And this is your love line …” he said, not bothering to continue. Smiling directly into her face, D
oug slowly placed his hands against Gabrielle’s, matching each of his fingers with hers.

  Once again their eyes locked as they stood silently, palm to palm. Gabrielle was mesmerized as Doug folded and refolded his fingers into hers. For several intensely sweet moments he tenderly massaged and caressed Gabrielle’s hands with his own. With a featherlike touch, he seductively explored the contour of her exquisite hands, visiting each valley between her fingers. Doug paid equal attention to both front and back, while occasionally curling his hand around her slender wrist in a loving handcuff. There was strength in his gentleness, and possession in his touch.

  Unable to contain himself, he brought her right index finger to his mouth, first to kiss and then gently suck. The sensation of his action was gentle and erotic, causing Gabrielle to respond with a soft moan and a slight tremble. Confounded by this pleasant yet unfamiliar sensation, she slowly pulled away.

  “Still cold?” Doug asked, trying to regain his composure. Their encounter had been the single most sensual experience he’d ever had, and though the sexy spell was broken, a thick, lusty fog still enveloped them.

  “Something like that.”

  “Why don’t we go inside?”

  “So this ‘day in the life’ article includes a report on my nighttime activities as well?” Gabrielle asked with a smile.

  “Absolutely.”

  “Well, then follow me.”

  Doug paused and momentarily watched Gabrielle’s long, shapely legs carry her away from him. Oh, yeah, there was definite interest brewing here. With a cock of his head and a broad smile, he followed her down to the Portofino deck and into her suite.

  “This should be more than enough light for what I have in mind,” Gabrielle remarked, turning on the small bedside lamp and casting a low, soft light around the cabin. “I’m going to get comfy. Don’t go away. I’ll be right back.”

  Doug could only guess what was on Gabrielle’s mind, but whatever it was, he was up for the challenge. He stole a glance in the mirror, combed his fingers through his shaggy mane, and wished like hell he had a breath mint. He heard the bathroom door open behind him and turned to find Gabrielle dressed for a night of one-on-one.