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"Then please excuse me."
With a smile and a nod he left, and returning to the living room, she kicked off her shoes and dropped onto the couch.
"Duncan Rhys-Davies," she said dreamily. "That's one heck of a name. Could he be my crazy fling? I hope so."
Closing her eyes she pictured his panther-like walk, the sensuous twinkle in his hypnotic blue eyes, and his wicked grin with those kiss-me-now lips.
He was all sex.
He reeked of it, and she idly wondered if he was a man who enjoyed his women packaged in something slinky and sensuous, or a decadent outfit like garter belt and stockings. She carried salacious fantasies, but had yet to meet a man to make them a reality. Her pondering sent a need firing between her legs, and stretching out on the sofa, she slipped her hand under the waistband of her lacy lemon panties. In her mind's eye Mr. Gorgeous stood over her admiring the view laid out before him. Shuddering with the tantalizing imagery, her well-practiced fingers expertly circled her sensitive nub. She could see him naked, his member standing at attention, oozing drops of his need. The vision took hold, and as she let her mind wander, she pictured herself on all fours as he kneeled behind her and slowly peeled back her panties to spank her naked backside with gusto. Crying out as the eruption sent shock waves through her body, the spasms caused her back to arch and her legs to tighten, until finally sinking into the residual tingles, she let out a happy, satisfied sigh. Grabbing a throw cushion and cuddling it against her, she made herself a promise.
"I'm going to make this happen with him! I don't know how, but I will."
CHAPTER ONE
Brittany watched and waited, but two days had passed and Duncan Rhys-Davies remained mysteriously missing. Though other men had approached her, she remained consumed by thoughts of the intriguing Brit. Each time she walked past his cabin, she prayed, by some miracle, it would open and he would appear. On the third morning, after indulging in a buffet breakfast served on the deck and returning to her room with no sign of him, her disappointment began turning into anger.
"Why is it so damn difficult to bump into you?" she muttered as she changed into her bikini. "What's the point in taking a cruise if you're going to stay locked away in your stateroom day and night? I have to summon the courage and knock on your door."
Ambling on to her private deck, she stretched out on the deeply cushioned lounge chair. The sun was mild, the sea twinkling, and the cool ocean breeze tickled her skin, but she found it impossible to relax. Moving to the railing she stared down at the foamy wake created by the immense ship as it powered through the water, then leaning forward she turned her head. The decks were designed for maximum privacy, and though she could peek around at the patio next to hers, the others remained hidden from view.
"What do you
do all day, and who are you? What I wouldn't give to have a poke around your cabin."
She'd done some crazy things in her life, and for a moment the notion tickled her, but dismissing it as completely ridiculous she returned to her lounge chair and sank into the soft, enveloping foam pad. Picking up one of several fashion magazines she began to flip through the pages, but after five minutes she threw it back down. Bored and frustrated she returned to her bedroom, changed into shorts and a T-shirt, and headed off to the ship's jogging track. An avid runner, she pounded out the kilometers, but try as she might she couldn't exorcise the sexy man from her thoughts. Returning to her cabin, she took a long, hot shower, then donning her robe, she strolled into the lounge and dropped into the sofa. As she picked up the folder outlining the ship's activities and services, her eyes fell upon the advertisement for their massage therapies. Perhaps the hypnotic effect of kneading, practiced hands would erase Duncan Rhys-Davies from her thoughts, at least for a short time.
* * * * * * * * * *
Brittany liked the spa the moment she stepped into the lobby. The subtle aroma of lavender filled the air, and the smiling receptionist offered her a glass of chamomile tea. It was only a moment later the attractive massage therapist appeared, introduced herself as Martha, and led Brittany into a warm, dimly lit room.
"I'm sure you know the drill," Martha said. "I'll be back in a minute, and I hope I'll be able to erase that crinkle on your forehead."
"I didn't realize I had one."
"My eyes are trained," Martha replied with a wink. "Make yourself comfortable. I'll be right back."
Removing her clothes and covering herself with the thin sheet, Brittany nestled her face in the cushioned headrest.
"Are you ready for me?" the therapist asked, tapping on the door.
"So ready. I need this like you wouldn't believe."
"This is a cruise," Martha said as she entered. "It's supposed to be relaxing."
"Yeah, well, I've run into some stormy weather."
"Let me guess. Is this a man problem?"
"How did you know?"
"It usually is. I'm like a priest or a doctor. If you want to talk about it, I won't tell a soul. Sometimes talking helps more than the massage."
"Maybe you're right. It's not a big deal, not really. I met this guy when I first boarded and I can't stop thinking about him. He's British, which totally turns me on, and he's so good-looking he could be James Bond. He's driving me crazy."
"That would drive me crazy too. Do you know his cabin number?"
"That's what makes this so frustrating. He's only three doors down from me, but I haven't seen him. Not even a glimpse. Not once!"
