The Great American Bachelor Read online

  “Assistant editor, bottom rung.” She frowned and plunked both elbows on the table and rested her chin on her hands. “To tell the truth, at the moment I don’t know what to do about that. You see, ‘the bum’ was my new boss’s brother. Small complication.”

  “Untenable situation. Find another job.”

  “Just like that?” She laughed, her brows zooming into her bangs.

  “Just like that. You wouldn’t want to work for that person. And you can do better than that job.”

  “And you can read my fortune? What do you have, a crystal ball?”

  “Better than that. A lot of experience. And enough connections to make things happen. Is it an editorial job you want?”

  Her shoulders were shaking with silent laughter, her eyes sparkling. “That easy, huh? Well, then I want”—she tipped her head, studying the ceiling, or beyond—“I want a cabin in the woods, and a huge old desk to write at, or an apartment in the middle of some big, bustling city, and lots of people to meet and discuss books with, and a huge old desk to write at, or—”

  “Or both?” he finished for her, his gaze touching lightly on her cheekbones, her chin, her smiling mouth, thinking how easy it was for him to get those things: a cabin, an apartment. Anything. Anywhere. “And is that what you really want to do? Write?”

  “Yes,” she answered honestly, meeting his eyes. “That is what I really want to do. And I will. Someday. For now there are bills to pay, and money to send home, and I’ll get myself a good, practical editorial job at another company.”

  “Let me help you.”

  Teasing, she tossed her head. “And what makes you think I need help? They may be knocking down my door the minute I get back to Orlando.”

  “They will if they’ve got any sense at all.”

  “Thank you.” Her smile was warm, a flame, a sunburst. “And thanks for the offer. But I’m sure I’ll be fine. And right now I’m happy to be alive and sharing soup with you.”

  And that was the truth, Cathy realized with surprise. Foolish but true. She made a habit of studying people, and she knew well that Michael Winters was from another world, another planet, for all the differences between them. But for the moment, in this absolutely absurd situation she had fallen into, he was a wonderful mealmate, no matter who he might be in real life.

  She swallowed a spoonful of soup then. “Chowder! I really shouldn’t eat something I’ve just been swimming with.” She laughed, and took a long drink of wine. “I suppose I ought to watch this.” She nodded toward the wine. “I wouldn’t want to sleep away my few hours on this floating palace. Perhaps I could use some of it for a story. Throw in a few outrageous lies. Sell it to some lurid tabloid!”

  She took another gulp of wine.

  What the shower had begun the wine was finishing—a lovely loosening of her body. After the terrible tenseness of this day, it was certainly what the doctor ordered.

  Michael watched her face and body relax, and with the gentle easing of her muscles, the robe slipped down her shoulders and a teasing V of silken flesh appeared. Her skin looked rich as honey, and for a moment Michael wondered if she would taste honey-sweet if he were to lean over and touch his lips to her skin right there.

  Whoa! Michael pushed his chair back from the table roughly and stood up.

  Cathy was startled. “Is everything okay?”

  “Just fine.” There was an undisguised edge of irritation to his voice.

  “Funny, you don’t look so fine.” Cathy followed his lead and stood quickly. The movement was foolish. The blood from her head drained as quickly as she had drained her wineglass, and she grabbed for the edge of the table.

  Michael was at her side in an instant. “Cathy, sit!” But he didn’t allow her to sit. Instead, he scooped her up as he had wanted to do all evening, and he pressed her clean, lovely body into his chest. “It’ll be okay,” he murmured into the soft curls of her hair.

  He carried her back to the couch and sat down, drawing her gently onto his lap. “It was too much, that’s all. The wine and the day had a bit of a rift.”

  Cathy closed her eyes and let her head drop against his chest. Rift, shmift, she thought drowsily. This was what she needed, this gorgeous man holding her close. She tilted her head back. “Am I going to spend the rest of my life drowning or fainting so you can pick up the pieces?”

  Michael touched her cheek. “It has definite possibilities.”

  “I’m not usually like this, you know.”

  “So you say,” he joked, his voice gone low and husky with desire. But it was not just the pressure of her warm, lovely body wedged into his lap, it was the sweet smell of her skin and the brush of her soft hair against his cheek.

  “Cathy,” he said finally, “I’m either going to put you down right now, and cover you up until you’re feeling clear-headed enough to dress, or I’m going to kiss you.”

  “That’s a tough one,” she whispered, looking straight into his eyes. But when she tilted her head back and tipped up her chin, there was just the hint of a smile on her mouth.

  Michael leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, gently at first, exploring the curve of her lips, their petallike softness. But the feel of her was so longed-for that it was not a first kiss, but rather a sort of rejoining, and he pressed more eagerly now, his tongue gaining entrance so he could taste the sweetness of her mouth.

  Cathy pulled away first, her hands pressing reluctantly against his chest. “Ummmm, enough,” she said softly, her words barely audible over the beating of her heart.

  Michael looked down at her, breathing quickly. “I’m afraid I took advantage of the moment. Sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you—”

  “No.” Cathy tried to control her trembling. “No, frightened is not the word I’d use right now. And that’s why we’d better stop.”

  She slid forward and stood up in front of him, then turned and placed one hand on his shoulder to steady herself, feeling giddy. “Well, Michael Winters, this has been … unbelievable, but I think I better get back.”

  “Back?” For a moment Michael did not know what she was talking about, and then the heat of the moment cooled and reality snapped into focus. She meant back to shore.

  “In my robe?” he asked quickly. “Your clothes aren’t even dry yet.”

  Cathy looked down at herself and laughed. “You’re right, of course. Maybe there are extras on the boat? I’d return them.”

  Michael did not answer. Instead, he reached for his wineglass, letting his mind leap ahead to the evening’s agenda, the gala party in the salon. And small talk. And interviews for the follow-up story. And pictures. They were sure to want more of those, though he had had enough pictures taken to last a lifetime. Damn, just too many hours left to get through. And this woman? She would vanish as quickly as she had appeared.

  “Michael?”

  He had been gearing up, making plans. “Sorry, you were saying—?”

  She gave him a quizzical look. “I was saying I’m going to take a look at my clothes and then I’ll have to decide—”

  “Right. About leaving.” He nodded. That was what was supposed to happen next.

  But when she closed the door behind her, he picked up the phone, gave a terse message to the captain, and hung up.

  Cathy came out carrying her thin sundress. “Well, it’s not so bad, Michael. I mean, it’s still a little wet, but who’s going to see me?”

  “Cathy—”

  “I think if I shake it a little,” she said, loosening the dress in her hands, “it’ll be okay.”

  “Cathy, I want to talk about this—”

  “Do you hear that?” she interrupted, her head tipping toward the outside door.

  “Yes, that’s what—”

  “We must be heading into shore! I’d better hurry!” Throwing open the door, she stepped out and rushed to the railing.

  Michael hurried after her. “Cathy, let me explain!”

  But it was too late. She was leaning against th
e railing, her hands gripping the cold metal rung. Even in the shadowed lights of the deck he could see her face grow pale.

  Cathy stared in shock. The tiny pinpoints of light that indicated land were fading fast behind them. Ahead, behind, all around as far as she could see, there was nothing but the churning black waters of the Atlantic Ocean.

  Three

  “Michael,” Cathy shouted, “we’re going the wrong way. Stop the boat!”

  Michael looked calmly at her. The wind was whipping her brown curls around her cheeks and her pretty face was flushed with anger. And the fact that she had called this million-dollar oceangoing yacht a boat seemed the only point worth commenting on. “She’s called a ship, Cathy.”

  “Unbelievable!” Cathy groaned. Her fingers clung to the railing and she yelled at him above the roar of the engines. “I don’t care if you call it a duck, Michael, do something!”

  “I did.” He leaned down and try to direct his words into her ear. “I told them to get this thing moving or I’d never make my meeting in the Abacos tomorrow.”

  “What?” Cathy yelled. Her hands flew to her head now as she tried unsuccessfully to press the flying curls back against her scalp. The robe flapped wildly against her body.

  Michael took her by the elbow and steered her back into the stateroom, closing the door behind them. “I said,” he repeated slowly, “that we’re going to the Abaco Islands. I have a meeting there tomorrow morning.”

  Cathy’s eyes widened even more. “The Albatross Islands—” Her voice began to rise. “I never heard of them. And I don’t have a meeting there, wherever there is!”

  “Abacos,” Michael said in the same quiet, controlled voice. It was the same voice that won him million-dollar deeds, surely it would calm Cathy Stephenson. “It’s an interesting place, Cathy. You’ll like it.”

  Cathy stared at him as if he had two heads. The man was incredible. He was the most conceited, arrogant … the most handsome, kind …

  She squeezed her eyes closed for a minute and wished for an ounce of Gap’s wonderful patience. Then she opened them narrowly. “Listen, Michael Bradford Winters, I don’t care if you’re meeting the President or the Pope or Bonnie Prince Charlie there—”

  “Actually, he’s a sheikh,” Michael interrupted.

  “I want to go home!” Cathy’s voice bounced around the stateroom. Her eyes blazed furiously. “You have no right to do this. It’s kidnapping, it’s abduction, it’s—”

  “Expedient.” He shrugged. “You’ll be able to get a flight home from the Abacos more easily than finding a rental car in the middle of the night. And it fits my plans.”

  “Oh, good.” Cathy snapped. She folded her arms across her chest and made herself count to ten. Think it through. Be rational. Here she was on a yacht. On her way to goodness knows where. With strangers.

  Well, not complete strangers, not considering the last few hours. The man had saved her life—and done several interesting things since then.

  “Michael,” she said softly, “I appreciate what you’ve done for me, I really do. I’m sorry I lost my temper. I’m sure from your vantage point, my troubles must seem insignificant. Easily solved. You rescued me. And I do owe you my life, truly. But right now I’ve got to get back to Orlando and decide what to do and find a different job and try to patch everything back together. Can’t you understand?”

  Her eyes were huge again, dark as sweet chocolate, asking nothing but a way back home.

  Michael looked away. “Listen, Cathy, why not think of this as just a little detour? A one-day excursion? I promise, on my honor—” He placed his palm flat against his broad chest and Cathy followed the movement with her eyes, remembering the feel of that chest when he had held her.

  “Honor?” She echoed weakly.

  He misunderstood. “Hell yes. In spite of what you might think, Cathy, I am an honorable man. And I will get you back to Orlando.” He glanced at his watch. “But right now I have to go. There’s a party that got under way a while ago, and since I am the guest of honor, I’d better change these clothes and make an appearance.”

  “Yes, you’d better,” Cathy acquiesced, her thoughts already unraveling like so many loose threads. Maybe if he left she’d be able to clear her head, figure all this out.

  Michael had his hand on the door. “Listen, why don’t you rest for a while and then come on up to the main salon? You’ll enjoy yourself.”

  Before she could respond, he was gone. His faint musky smell remained, mingled with oiled teak and the tang of the sea. Cathy shivered. Then she flopped down on the couch and pulled the terry robe tightly around her. “Tired as I am, I can’t be dreaming,” she said softly. “You don’t smell things in dreams, do you?” She rested her head against the back of the leather sofa, sighed, and closed her eyes. “Oh, Gap, if you could see me now.”

  A crisp knock on the inside door of the cabin startled her awake. “Yes?” she said.

  “Mr. Winters sent me, ma’am,” a man’s voice said. “He sent down some clothes.”

  Cathy made sure her robe was fastened tightly before she hurried to the door. Clothes, great. Now she could get out of this robe and into something else, a nice warm pair of sweats, maybe. She pulled open the door and smiled brightly at the uniformed young man who stood straight and tall in front of her. He held a hanger wrapped in blue plastic.

  “Thanks a lot. I appreciate it.” She stepped aside and he walked in and laid the bag flat across the couch.

  “Anything else, ma’am?” he asked. “I’m Bradley, and Mr. Winters said I should watch out for you and bring you anything you want.”

  “Do you have a taxi?” Seeing the confused expression on his face, she laughed and patted him on his sleeve. “Just a joke. Nope, I think I’m fine.”

  “Good night, then, ma’am.” Bradley tipped his head politely and Cathy fought the impulse to salute back. The second the door closed behind her, she began to tear the plastic covering off the clothes.

  “Good grief!”

  Gingerly she lifted the silky garment from the wraps and stared at it. It slipped across her fingers like tinsel from a Christmas tree.

  This definitely was not for sleeping in, nor would it pass for exercise clothes—at least not for the kind of exercise she’d had in mind! Cathy moaned. The man was outrageous!

  But it was gorgeous, the most elegant dress, in fact, that Cathy had ever seen. She imagined an actress wearing it to an opening night, or maybe a movie star to the Oscars, where everyone would point and screech and the next day there’d be a million replicas flooding the market. This one was surely an original, that much was apparent even to Cathy’s untrained eye. She held it up and glanced at an oval mirror next to the door. The dress was midnight-blue silk. When light fell onto the fabric, the color changed in places, deepening or lightening into streaks of shimmering midnight sky.

  Cathy swayed slightly, and the dress slid luxuriously against her body. Who would wear a gown like this? Someone glamorous, exciting, interesting. But not an assistant editor—ex-assistant editor, to be more precise—from Bloomington, Indiana.

  Cathy put the dress back on the hanger and hung it on a brass hook behind the door. So much for elegance. She sank back down into the cushions. Why was she so surprised, she wondered. He was Michael Bradford Winters, multimillionaire, jet-setter, real-estate tycoon, and the Great American Bachelor. The tabloids did not call him that for nothing. What did you expect him to send you, Stephenson? A pair of jeans and a pizza? Ha!

  At the thought of food, her stomach made a long, indelicate sound that Cathy thought might be misjudged as a foghorn if anyone had been walking past her door. She pushed both hands over it. “Silence,” she scolded.

  Food! Cathy looked around. There was a cabinet full of brandies and a can of peanuts. She opened the small refrigerator. Olives, soda, anchovies. She scowled and let it fall shut. Here they were in Florida and there was no fruit! No, scratch that, she thought. Here they were leaving Florida, crossing t
he ocean, going to someplace she could not pronounce. It all made her head ache.

  She padded over to the door and opened it a crack. The hallway was dimly lit, thickly carpeted, and empty. Cathy took a few steps out and looked around. It was as elegant as a fine hotel. Beautiful paintings hung on the walls and low brass lights illuminated the paisley pattern in the carpet. At one end of the hallway were wide steps, and Cathy could hear faint music, laughter, the clinking of glasses. But mostly she could smell food. Maybe if she could make her stomach happy, she’d be able to think more clearly and come up with a way out of this mess.

  She slipped back into her stateroom and closed the door. “You do what you have to do,” she murmured to herself. How many times had Gap preached that to her as a child? Well, maybe there was some truth to it.

  Cathy untied the thick robe and let it fall to the carpet. She stared at the blue gown hanging from the back of the door. Finally, her fingers shaking, she slipped it from the hanger and over her head.

  “Oh, my goodness.” Her hands shot up to her breasts. They were very much there, and a goodly portion was exposed for the world to pass judgment on. Cathy was no prude, and certainly wasn’t naive, but there weren’t a lot of women running around in clothes like this in Indiana.

  She turned and looked at herself in the mirror. The dress was beautiful. It fit perfectly, flowing over her curves like dark blue honey. The thought made her laugh, and she felt the strain across her breasts. Another slice of skin slipped out.

  “That settles it!” she announced to the room in general. “Nice try, Michael Winters, but there is no way on earth I’d be able to eat with this thing on. And that, after all, is the sole reason for my leaving this nice, safe room.”

  Slipping out of the dress, she tossed it on the couch and began a more careful search, checking drawers and doors she had not opened before.

  Finally, inside a mirrored closet in the bathroom, Cathy found an assortment of garments hanging neatly from the rack. Quickly she fingered through them. There were beach robes, slinky nightgowns, bathing suits, and bathrobes. Just when Cathy was about to despair and settle for olives and peanuts, her fingers touched on a silky red shirt. She pulled it out. Attached to the back of the hanger was a pair of loose, flowing pants. “Yes!”