Night Music (10 page)

“Hilary!” he said loudly.

“Sick,” she mumbled. “Flu.”

Everything clicked in his head, and he said, “You don’t have the flu. You’re seasick.”

She groaned. “No … took Dramamine.”

“Wonderful.” He looked around the room for help, then remembered his grandmother. He turned and went back up on deck.

“Hilary’s seasick!” he announced.

Marsh glanced at him. “Get her to the bathroom.”

“No, I mean she’s lying on the sofa looking half-dead.”

“Best place for her,” his grandmother said. “Just put a bucket beside her, in case she gets sick
again. Oh, Marsh, it’s really pulling. I don’t think—”

“Of course you can,” Marsh said, helping her turn the spindle.

“What about Hilary?” Dev asked.

“Let her sleep,” both grandparents said.

“What about lunch?”

“Eat it,” Marsh said.

“Save some for us,” Lettice said. “We’ll be hungry once we get this in.”

“Lettice, I think you’ve got a shark! Play him!”

Dev stomped below. Damn lot of good they were, he thought. Once they caught the fish, he’d head back to shore. Hilary would be better then.

He got a blanket and covered her with it, then stared at her, wondering what else he could do. They’d been at sea for less than two hours, and she was completely seasick. He lived by the sea. He loved it. If he’d ever needed proof that they were incompatible, he’d just gotten it.

Why hadn’t she told him she got seasick? Hadn’t she realized it could happen? He remembered her saying something about Dramamine. Had she taken some? Didn’t she know she had to take it
before
she came on board? What a day. He had two septuagenarians playing Captain Ahab up on deck and one half-dead woman in the saloon.

He shook his head, annoyed with himself. He was the one who’d had this brilliant idea in the first place. If he’d just ignored his grandmother’s parade of women, he would be happily content with his life. A little, perverse voice told him,
Not happy and not content
.

Cursing under his breath, he went into the galley. Somehow Hilary had managed to get everything cooked and set out in pretty dishes. One look
at the gleaming black pasta and he knew instantly why she was so sick. Black pasta was enough to flip anyone’s nose up. Still, it smelled good. The salad looked good, too, with its chunks of meaty lobster and big basil leaves.

He got a fork out of the drawer and tried the pasta. It was a little on the cool side, but the flavors burst in his mouth like exquisite ambrosia. A bite of the salad told him it was outstanding. He ate some more of both, straight out of the dishes.

Hilary’s job might be a froufrou, but, boy, could she cook.

Six

Hilary slowly surfaced from a black sleep. Her tongue felt woolly, her mouth had a bad taste to it, her head was pounding, and her stomach felt queasy. Slowly she blinked, then raised her eyelids.

She was in a strange room that seemed to be rocking gently like a cradle. A rough blanket covered her. Underneath she was nearly naked except for a T-shirt and her underwear.

“Ah, she wakes,” Devlin said, coming down some steps on the other side of the room. “About damn time.”

“Where am I?” she asked, instinctively clutching the blanket closer to her as she sat up.

“The
Madeline Jo
,” he said. “My boat.”

Everything came back in a rush. “Where’s my grandfather and Lettice?”

“Back home beginning their
Monday
.”

“Monday?” she squeaked, horrified. “It’s Monday?”

What happened, she wondered, to Sunday afternoon, Sunday evening … and Sunday night?
She glanced down at the blanket covering her in shock, then looked back up at Devlin. He was dressed in jeans and a short-sleeve knit top. She swallowed convulsively and asked, “What—what happened to my clothes?”

“You don’t remember a thing, do you?” he asked in return.

She shook her head. “No … I … no.”

“Well-l,” he said, drawing out the word as he sat down on the edge of the sofa. She scooted back against the wall. “You were something, Hilary. Full of surprises—”

“I slept with you?” she asked in a panic. “I couldn’t have—”

“Clearly a fate worse than death,” he said, wryly.

“I’m sure it was fine,” she added, not wanting to hurt him. “I mean, I’m positive you were … we were …” She stopped. “What were we?”

“Not that.”

She sighed in relief. He snorted and got up from the sofa.

“Then how did I …” she began tentatively.

“You were sick,” he snapped. “
Very
sick. And the damn grandparents refused to take you home. Your grandfather didn’t even put up too much of a fuss about leaving you. ‘She’s too sick,’ ” he mimicked in a high, sarcastic voice. “ ‘She’ll have to stay.’ You were only lying on the sofa, nearly dead. You should have been tossing your cookies when you were halfway to Philadelphia. Instead you tossed them here on my boat. Lucky me.”

She groaned, half from embarrassment, half from the mention of the dirty deed. The worst part was she couldn’t remember a thing.

“You’re not getting sick again, are you?” he asked in terror.

She shook her head. “No. I’m sorry, Devlin.”

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me you were sick?” he demanded. “Why the hell didn’t you say you got seasick? We never would have gone out. I had to cancel the charter for this morning because of this. Do you have any idea what it’s like to face four guys at five-thirty in the morning and tell them to turn around and go home?”

“I’ll pay you,” she said quickly.

“I don’t want your damn money!” he roared.

She pressed her hands over her ears and shuddered. Why did he have to yell?

In a quieter voice he said, “Since you insisted on being so idiotic, why didn’t you take something before you came on the boat so that you wouldn’t get sick in the first place?”

“I did,” she said, holding her head. It ached from his lecture. She couldn’t seem to find the words to shut him up.

Something landed on the cushions next to her. It was a large bowl.

“Use it,” he snapped.

“I’m not sick,” she said, raising her head. “Just mortified, okay? Look, I’m sorry I was such a disaster, but the medicine worked before on the cruise ship, and I don’t understand why it didn’t work this time. I even took three—”

“You took three!” He stared at her. “You were lucky you didn’t kill yourself.”

“I didn’t take them all at once, you cluck,” she said, furious with him for making her sound like a stupid person. “Just the last two, to stop the sickness
before
I got sick.”

He looked her up and down. “It didn’t work.”

Delayed realization finally set in. She was in
different clothes because he’d undressed her. He’d actually taken her clothes off and put a T-shirt on her while she’d been … All of her had been exposed to his view. Devlin Kitteridge’s view. Her rose lace-and-silk panties didn’t hide much. No, they hid nothing, she was positive of it. Of all the men to see her like that. She felt oddly violated and aroused at the same time.

Her humiliation rose one hundred percent at the notion. She wouldn’t show it, she thought, determined to hold on to whatever dignity she had left.

“If you’ll give me my clothes, I’ll be on my way,” she said, raising her chin.

“You don’t want them.” He grinned. “I have to admit that for all my annoyance at losing a charter, it was interesting to see you be human.”

“How lovely,” she said. “Please give me my clothes.”

“I dumped them overboard.”

Her jaw dropped in astonishment. “You dumped them?”

He nodded, raising his eyebrows as if she’d asked a ridiculous question.

“Why couldn’t you have washed them?”

“Do you see a washing machine?”

She looked around. “No, but—”

“Believe me, you wouldn’t have wanted them. I’ll lend you a pair of my jeans.”

“No, thank you,” she said primly. The last thing she wanted was to be in any more of his clothes.

His eyes narrowed. “You intend to walk up the dock in that blanket?” He relaxed his fanny back against the wall, his arms crossed. “This I gotta see.”

She was no fool. “I will take a pair of jeans.”

He shook his head. “Hilary, Hilary, Hilaiy. You
made a decision, and far be it from me to allow you to back out now. You don’t want to be wishy-washy, do you?”

She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “Heaven forbid.”

He would make her do it, she thought. It was just the kind of perverse thing he liked. She’d never met a man who was so full of contradictions as Devlin.

Something landed against her again, clinking against the bowl. She opened her eyes to find a pair of jeans on the sofa.

“I’m not a total ogre,” he said.

She smiled. “No, you’re not. Just first runner-up.”

Her words forced a reluctant smile from him. “Get dressed, and then we’ll get something to eat and take you home.”

She wasn’t sure if she was ready for food, but she’d kill for a cup of tea.

She reached out and picked up the jeans, intending to find the nearest bathroom. Instead the feel of the soft denim instantly brought to mind the image of his body inside those jeans, his skin touching everywhere. In a few minutes
her
body would be inside them, her skin touching everywhere, the most intimate part of her against where the most intimate part of him …

A low moan rose from the back of her throat. She could feel beads of sweat on her forehead that had nothing to do with seasickness.

“Are you sick again?”

His questions dissipated her sensual awareness. She drew in a deep breath to steady herself, her fingers tightening around the jeans.

“No,” she said, and knew it was another lie.

She was sick, sick at heart. She doubted there was a cure.

When Hilary finally emerged from the head, Dev couldn’t help staring at her. His jeans fit tightly around her calves and thighs. She looked just as fabulous as he’d thought she would. And every time he wore those jeans, he’d remember.

Fortunately his black T-shirt was too large for her frame, but unfortunately, he realized as he continued staring, it did nothing to hide the curves of her breasts. She crossed her arms over her chest to compensate for her missing bra. It didn’t help. He knew all too well her bra was down in Neptune’s closet. He’d heaved the thing over the side himself. In fact it had given him great pleasure to throw all of those prissy clothes overboard for more than the obvious reason.

But now … she looked so different. Gone was the social butterfly. Barefoot, with her hair down around her shoulders and brushed shiny, she had metamorphosed into any earthy, sexy, incredibly approachable woman. Yet the elegance was still there, an integral part of her, the part that somehow held the most allure.

She smiled almost shyly, but didn’t step any closer. “I never asked, but how did it go yesterday? With the grandparents.”

“They caught a shark,” he said, his voice surprisingly hoarse. He cleared his throat and found more words. “A four-foot blue, a baby. They threw it back.”

“Together?” she asked, incredulous.

“Yep. They were talking too.” A part of him wished they hadn’t. It would mean no more outings with Hilary. To dispel the disturbing thought, he turned back to the stove and the breakfast. “If the truce lasted through the car ride home, it would be a miracle.”

“I assume they took Lettice’s car?”

“You assume wrong. My grandmother is barred by the family from driving. They took yours. Eggs and toast are ready.”

“They took mine!” she squawked. “Now how am I supposed to get home?”

He grinned at her. “Me. Now, take a plate and eat.”

She did and whirled back into the other room. Dev followed happily. There was something to be said for being behind a woman as she walked. It made a man want to run his hands down the length of her long spine and find the curves of her derriere. From there imagination went rampant.

He drank coffee while she ate, at first tentatively, then with gusto. “It’s not as good as what you could do,” he said.

“It’s terrific,” she mumbled around bites.

“Where did you learn to cook like you do?”

“I was a sous-chef at the White Dog Café in Philadelphia,” she replied. “A friend of mine owns it, and she let me train there. I worked for a couple of other restaurants but got tired of it and went out on my own.” She paused, then added with a little smile, “Into the froufrou catering business.”

“If yesterday’s lunch was anything to go by, you give one hell of a froufrou.”

She chuckled. “I take it lunch did come off, then.”

“Actually I ate most of it. The grandparents were too busy catching fish, although they did eat later. You had it all ready except for being on the table.”

“At least Mr. Savarin won’t be turning over in his grave that I was derelict in my duty.”

He frowned. “What does a coffee manufacturer have to do with your being a cook?”

“Brilliant Savarin was one of the greatest master chefs of all time,” she told him.

“Makes one helluva cup of coffee too.”

She giggled, then grew serious. “I really have made a mess of your day. What can I do to make it up to you?”