Burn: A Novel Read online

  “You were sleeping like Dracula at high noon. I thought about pouring cold water on you, but I appreciated the peace and quiet too much.”

  He’d shaved, she realized; the shadow was gone from his jaw. That meant he’d showered, leaving her alone in the bedroom. To test her cooperation, maybe? Would it have been the kind of test where Bridget waited right outside the door to see if she tried anything? Or had he not played any games and had Bridget here in the suite, watching her? Probably the latter, because she couldn’t see him taking any chances, if what they were doing was important enough to rate all this trouble. She knew she wouldn’t, if she were in his position.

  He was also wearing different clothes, khaki pants and a royal blue silk shirt that darkened the blue of his eyes to something approaching breathtaking. Bridget must have brought his clothes from the stateroom he’d been sharing with Tiffany. Jenner couldn’t believe how soundly she’d slept, with all that activity going on.

  Then she realized something else, something that stole the breath from her lungs: He was watching the movement of her breasts under the flimsy tank top.

  She wasn’t easily embarrassed, but heat flooded her face. Last night she hadn’t given a damn whether or not she was wearing a bra, but she’d slept since then, finally, and moreover she’d slept with him. Even though she’d been cocooned in the covers, he’d been mostly naked, and a muscled body like that wasn’t one she could easily forget, though she intended to do her level best to ignore it.

  Or maybe not. She found herself jamming her finger at him. “Don’t even think I’ll go all Stockholm syndrome. You got that?”

  “God save me,” he returned. “But if you don’t want a man to look, then don’t bounce up and down in front of him. Not that yours are big enough to do much bouncing, but they do wobble a little.”

  “What they do is none of your business. Just keep your eyes north.” There didn’t seem to be any way she could drive that point any further, so she went on to a different subject. “I’m going to take a shower and wash my hair, so I’ll be awhile.”

  “Don’t take too long,” he advised, glancing at his watch. “You have forty minutes.”

  That ticked her off, because she hadn’t put a limit on his bathroom time. Her shoulders stiff, she marched to the closet and got out the clothes she was wearing that day. She couldn’t find her toiletries, though, and began going through all the built-in drawers in frustration.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Looking for my shampoo and stuff.”

  “Everything’s already in the bathroom. Didn’t you notice last night when you washed your face?”

  Last night she’d been practically comatose, so, no, she hadn’t noticed anything. She’d even brushed her teeth without wondering how her toothbrush and toothpaste got in the bathroom. Wheeling, she took her things into the bathroom and jerked the door shut. Everything was there, from perfumed lotion to hair spray. Her shampoo was sitting on one of the shelves under the sink.

  Forty minutes, huh? She thought about locking the door, but didn’t want to provoke him—he might retaliate by making her leave the door open at all times, and she didn’t want that. When she was in the bathroom was probably the only time she’d be alone. The time limit meant she couldn’t have a long soak in the whirlpool tub, not that she was the soaking type anyway. Her normal routine was to jump in the shower and jump out again as quickly as possible, so that was what she did. She’d been issued a challenge, and she met it head-on.

  The bathroom came furnished with a hairdryer, a good one. Her hair was fairly short, so drying it didn’t take long, and her current style was more windblown than sleek. Her makeup during the day was no big deal, just eye shadow, mascara, and lip gloss, so that didn’t take a lot of time. She was out of the bathroom well within his time limit.

  He raised one eyebrow, which was damn annoying because she couldn’t control her own eyebrows that way, and took a leisurely sip of coffee.

  Coffee. Her attention zeroed in on it like a bear on honey. She had the beginnings of a headache that said she’d better get some caffeine soon, in any form. “Is there any more coffee?”

  Coffee might mean food, too. She hadn’t eaten much the night before, and they were several time zones past her normal breakfast hour. A glance at the clock told her they’d even gone past her normal lunchtime.

  “You might have time for a cup,” he said, getting up. He glanced at the surveillance equipment, evidently assuring himself it was still working, then escorted her into the living room. The small dining alcove was to the right, tucked in a nook close to the door. A tray bearing a coffee carafe, another cup, and a variety of sweeteners and creamers was in the middle of the round table. “Sit,” he said, and when she did he deftly handcuffed her to the table leg.

  Mentally she rolled her eyes, but the coffee carafe had the lion’s share of her attention. There wasn’t any food in sight, but right now coffee was her number one priority. At least this time he’d handcuffed her left hand, instead of her right. Setting the clean cup upright, she poured the coffee and gratefully took her first sip.

  She’d had exactly four sips when there was a knock on the door, and a half-second later Bridget unlocked it and stepped into the suite, crisply announcing herself as she shut the door. “Lifeboat drill, five minutes,” she added.

  So that was why he’d given her the time limit, though he could have explained. Jenner glared at him as he removed the handcuff key from his pocket and freed her from the restraints. “Less than half a cup of coffee. Was that worth the trouble of the cuffs?” she snapped.

  “Keeping you under control is worth any amount of trouble. Now behave,” he ordered, giving her a look that said he meant business.

  “Bite me,” she returned as she got to her feet.

  Bridget coughed, but the sound was suspiciously like a laugh.

  His eyes narrowed. “If I were you, I wouldn’t mention the word ‘bite,’” he advised as he took her arm.

  Bridget went into the bedroom, and returned with a pair of orange life jackets that had been stored in the closet. She said, “When the alarm sounds, take the PFDs and report to Muster Station Three. Directions are on the back of the door.”

  Jenner hadn’t had enough coffee, and she was starving. She would much rather call room service and get some food, instead of reporting to any Muster Station. “We can’t play hooky?”

  “No,” Bridget replied. “Lifeboat drills at sea are a serious matter. They have to take place within twenty-four hours of sailing. Roll will be called, and anyone missing will be tracked down and instructed to report to the appropriate Muster Station.”

  “And we aren’t going to do anything to draw attention to this suite, are we?” Cael asked in the insufferable tone of an adult dictating to a wayward child.

  “What if someone comes in to clean the suite and finds all your toys?” she taunted.

  “They won’t,” said Bridget. “This suite is my responsibility. Pay attention to what you’re doing, and leave my job to me.” Cael caught her eye, she nodded briefly, and left.

  “What was that about?” Jenner asked.

  “Nothing you need to know.”

  “Do I need to know what a PFD is? It sounds sexually transmitted.”

  “Personal Flotation Device.” He nodded toward the orange life vests. “When the drill starts, don’t get any ideas … about anything. All rules still apply and they will until we get back to San Diego. You do exactly as I say when I say it.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” she said.

  The alarm brought an end to that particular exchange, and was followed by a calm voice over the shipwide intercom. Cael picked up the life jackets—PFDs—that Bridget had placed over a chair, and tossed one to Jenner. He paused to take a quick look at the map on the back of the door, where there were simple directions to Muster Station Three.

  “Smile, sweetheart,” he said as he took Jenner’s arm and ushered her into the passageway, where they immedia