Cabin Fever. Mary LeoЧитать онлайн книгу.
Becky stood.
Mark stood. “I say we should honor Becky’s wishes, Estelle.” He walked to the buffet, taking Connor with him.
Laura went over and took Sarah by the hand, then led her to the buffet. They passed Bob, who was returning with a plate of food for Kim.
“Fine,” Estelle conceded. “Bob, darling, you did such a good job with Kim’s plate, do you think you could do the same for me? It’s been such a long day that I think I’ll pass out if I have to get up and pick out my own food.” She peeked over at Kim’s plate. “No chicken, darling. Do they have any baked white fish? I would love a little baked fish. It digests so easily and my poor little tummy has been slightly upset ever since we boarded. Do you think you could find some, dear?”
Bob nodded. “It would be my pleasure, Estelle.”
Becky shook her head and walked away from the table, knowing perfectly well that by the time this dinner was over, Estelle would have everyone at the table waiting on her, including Becky.
She headed straight for the nearest buffet, grabbed a white plate and began the process of deciding what she wanted to eat. Her stomach was actually growling for food.
“There’s this great broccoli salad you should try,” a voice said just behind Becky’s right ear.
Becky turned to see Dylan’s tanned face smiling at her.
“I saw what you did for that woman,” Becky said, ignoring his opening suggestion, “You were incredible. How is she doing?”
“She’s fine. Resting in her stateroom.”
“You saved her life. That was amazing.”
“Thanks, but she was the amazing one. She never put up the least resistance. That’s what saved her.”
“I’ll remember that the next time I’m choking.”
His grin widened. “Good idea.”
There was a moment of awkward silence while Becky searched for something to say. “Wh-where is that salad?” she stammered at last.
She loved broccoli, but ever since Ryder had died, she found herself eating more and more comfort foods like pasta and homemade breads. She’d put on about ten pounds in the last two years, even though she still worked out with weights. But the strange part was, she didn’t seem to care about the added weight. Or maybe she simply didn’t have the time to think about it.
“On the other side of this station,” he said, eyes shimmering like pools of sea-green water, and a smile that could make a girl swoon. But she wasn’t going to be one of them. Nope, not her. She knew better. Besides, she wasn’t ready for romance, especially with this type of guy. His interest had to be all PR. It couldn’t be real. Or could it?
She didn’t want to reflect on that. She had her kids with her, for heaven’s sake. What would they think of their mother swooning over some man who would sail off again at the end of their cruise. The whole thing was ridiculous. She needed to stop these crazy thoughts right now, before her fantasies got completely out of control.
And she’d start with the broccoli.
“Never mind. I’m not really that fond of broccoli,” she said without flinching at her little white lie, meant to prevent him from accompanying her to another buffet station.
“I would have thought you were.”
“Is there a broccoli type?”
She was sure there was a teasing glint in his eyes. “Well, actually, there is.”
“And just what would that be?” He had her smiling now. She liked how easy it was to talk to him.
“She usually has an athletic body, strong arms and an equally strong opinion on matters that count. She eats whole grains, avoids most carbs and never eats anything with hydrogenated or trans fats, but she loves gelato, all flavors, and only has it when she’s on vacation. By the way…Artemis deck, Just Gelato. Best on the ship.”
Becky turned back to the cornucopia of steaming food and added a square of lasagna to her plate. She considered lasagna the perfect food, at least lately. “And you’ve done research on this broccoli-woman theory, have you?”
“It’s just an observation. You can tell a lot about a person from the foods they eat.”
He followed her down the line as she added scalloped potatoes to her plate, and then some kind of stuffing with thick, creamy gravy. She figured this would do the trick. He was looking for a broccoli babe, and right now she was the carboholic.
“And what if a person doesn’t eat vegetables? What does that say about her?” She stopped and turned to him. He looked down at her plate, which was now a mess of carbs swimming in brown gravy. She felt a little of the gravy drip off her plate and onto her toes.
He gave her a sly smile, reached over, swiped the dripping gravy from the side of her plate, and quickly licked it off of his finger.
“They make the best beef gravy on this ship,” he said, wearing a pirate’s smile. Then he turned and walked away.
Becky watched him for a moment, angry at his audacity, but also charmed by it at the same time.
She spotted a waiter, apologized and handed him her dripping plate, then, wearing her own pirate’s smile, she went in search of the broccoli salad.
DAMN IF HE DIDN’T RUN into Ms. Becky Montgomery. And damn if he didn’t have to go right up to her and start a conversation. Dylan couldn’t understand why he hadn’t left as soon as he’d seen her. No. Not him. He’d had to joke with her, laugh with her, and even flirt a little. All right, a lot.
Dylan walked back to his cabin as if he were late for a meeting. He didn’t talk to anyone, nor did he gaze out at the full moon that seemed to hang just out of reach in the black sky. If a staff member had seen him swipe that gravy off her plate and lick his finger, he’d be on the carpet in no time. What was he thinking?
That was the problem. He wasn’t thinking. Not rationally, anyway. He was being led by his emotions and he knew his emotions always got him in trouble. He had to be more logical about this. After all, it couldn’t lead anywhere. She was a passenger.
It had been a long day and he was eager to get to his cabin. He had to admit that when he couldn’t get a good hold on that choking woman at first, dread had crept in and almost made him want to give up entirely. He hadn’t felt that way since he was a little boy and his dad used to take him out fishing off the coast of Twillingate, in northern Newfoundland. It was crazy, but at the time he just couldn’t bear to watch all those cod suffocating around him. He would try to push as many as he could back into the water, and his dad would scold him for doing it, so he stopped. But he never got used to it. Never got used to the thrashing, their need to breathe, their gasping for breath.
He’d had the same feeling with that woman. He’d had the power of life and death in his hands, and for a moment it had scared him to the point of wanting to run. But he hadn’t, and that’s what he needed to hold on to. He hadn’t run. Not this time. He had stayed the course and gotten her through. And because of him, she would enjoy the rest of the cruise and the rest of her life.
He needed a drink to calm down, to stop the internal shaking, but instead he just walked at a fast clip, ignoring everyone around him. He wasn’t rude. He would nod when it was appropriate, or smile when someone looked his way, but for the most part he kept his head down and his feet moving forward.
When he finally reached the crew’s quarters, he unlocked the door to his small cabin and shut it behind him. Then a sense of ease took hold and the shaking began to subside. He took a deep breath and let it out again, then searched for his cranberry juice, poured himself a tall one, sat in a comfortable dark blue chair, pushed off his white shoes, opened his shirt and let the day fade away.
Too bad that the minute he closed his eyes