Stormy Vows - Iris Johansen [93]
Jane tossed the towel aside and, picking up the clothes she'd discarded, hung them up neatly in the tiny built-in closet. She was glad the jeans and sweater were sturdy and easily cared for, as were the briefs and bra. There was no telling when she would be able to scrounge a change of clothes on board.
She flipped out the light and slipped between the sheets, shivering as the crisp, cool material touched her bare skin. She plumped the pillow vigorously and nestled her fiery head in its softness with a sigh of content. The last thing she was conscious of was the low throb of the engines as the yacht put out to sea.
three
THE NEXT MORNING PROMPTLY AT SIX CAPTAIN Benjamin showed Jane a stretch of deck that appeared to extend into infinity. He then handed her a bucket of water, soap, and a scrub brush, and said silkily, “I won't waste your time on needless instructions. I know how eager you must be to get started on your new duties. Just carry on until you're told to stop. You did say that you'd be willing to do anything, Miss Smith.”
Jane made a face at his straight, uniformed back as he strolled briskly away.
Four hours later she wished her defiance had taken a more tangible form. Very tangible. Like a swift blow with a sledgehammer on that distinguished, gray-streaked head. Jane dipped her scrub brush into the bucket of dirty water, then leaned forward on her hands and knees to vigorously scrub the wooden deck. She felt as if she must have prayed herself around the entire circumference of the blasted ship by this time. She brushed a strand of hair away from her forehead for the hundredth time, leaving still another smudge on her face. Though the denim material of her jeans was quite tough, it didn't offer sufficient protection for her knees. She was dreaming longingly of a lovely pair of thick athletic knee pads when a deep voice spoke over her head.
“So you're our big bad terrorist?” it drawled teasingly.
Jane looked up to see two long legs clad in sparkling white polyester standing directly in front of her. She sat back on her heels to regard balefully the vigorous young male torso and handsome face connected to those legs. Her tormentor was in his early twenties, dressed in the pristine freshness of white slacks and the beige waist-length jacket of a steward. His crisp blond hair and tanned features added to the impression of wholesomeness. The original Mr. Clean, Jane thought sourly, brushing a curl away from her perspiring forehead.
He squatted before her and looked with such frank, good-humored curiosity into her face that she was forced to admit grudgingly that there had probably been no malice in the remark. The clear blue eyes and sunny smile reflected only a gentle camaraderie.
Jane rubbed the small of her back wearily. “Aren't you afraid of being contaminated?” she asked dryly. “You're the first crew member except Captain Benjamin who has spoken to me this morning.”
“It's not the men's fault,” he said defensively, “The old man has passed the word that there's to be no fraternization.”
“Then why are you disobeying the orders?” she asked, “Aren't you afraid of the captain, too?”
“Yep.” He grinned amiably. “But I figure that I'm safe for the next thirty minutes or so. I just took the captain his lunch.” He offered a large brown hand. “I'm Simon Dominic. Did you really plant a bomb in Jake's cabin?”
“Jane Smith.” She started to put her small hand in his; then, noticing the dirt and soap on it, she withdrew it hastily. “Sorry,” she muttered with a grimace, “I'm not very presentable. Yes, I did plant a bomb