Tidal Wave (4 page)

Xu appeared behind her and with strong, deft fingers worked the muscles in the back of her neck, the two lobes at the base of her skull. With one huge strong hand he circled her neck, kneaded the muscles, and felt her relax. The heavy silk satin chemise slipped forward revealing her magnificent breasts — large, lusciously firm, and voluptuously round and high. She looked in the mirror and put her makeup brush down, thinking she had never looked more relaxed and beautiful as she did right there and then.

Xu worked across her shoulders and with his thumbs massaged her spine just below the neck.

“Oh.” She sighed. “What ecstasy!” Closing her eyes as he worked down one arm to her very fingertips, she felt as loose and easy as a piece of string. Xu massaged down the other arm and then, with both hands, the back of her neck again.

She slowly opened her eyes and watched the handsome Xu in the mirror. His massive strong hands became gentle as he kneaded around her neck and throat and moved across her back up her shoulders.

All tension was gone. The warmth she felt within her was delicious. She looked into his face and said, “Thank you, Xu.” She slipped her arms through the sleeves of her dressing gown, and the touch of the silver peach silk against her skin made her shiver, it was so sensuous.

“Would you like me to stay?” he asked.

“No, Xu. You go now and enjoy these next few days on board ship. I promise you that if I need you, I’ll find you.”

He thanked her and left.

Arabella went through the dressing room and caught a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror: her perfectly made-up face crowned by the pinned-up, tousled fair hair, the magnificent heavy breasts, the tiny waist, slim hips with full, high, rounded buttocks, and flat stomach. She had long, elegant legs. Her nipples were erect and her body, still tingling, longed for more sensations. She felt lovely and was enjoying her loveliness.

Chapter Four

Arabella heard her stomach grumble, and it reminded her of her hunger. She was slipping into her dressing gown when the buzzer rang at the stateroom door.

She called out, “Come in.”

She went through into the bedroom to her dressing table to take her hair down and brush it, but before she could do so the buzzer rang again.

“Oh, dear.”

She replaced the brush on the table and went into the drawing room.

“Come in,” she called, approaching the door, her head down as she fastened the braided frogs on her dressing gown.

The doorknob turned hesitantly, and she instinctively reached out, her hand moving with its turning. She pulled as the man pushed and the door opened. She looked up, stepped back, and was taken by surprise.

In the door, leaning against the frame, was a man in a well-tailored, rough tweed jacket and faded blue jeans. Their eyes met. Arabella took a deep breath and tried to compose herself, involuntarily blushing.

It was he who broke their gaze by reaching out with his forefinger and tenderly tracing the shape of her lips. He raised his eyes to her hair and then slowly drank in her beauty from head to toe.

Pink with embarrassment, she was simply not able to get herself under control. She was flustered and said, “I thought you were the waiter with my lunch,” still standing there with her hand on the knob of the open door.

The man straightened up and the famous smile that went to the heart of millions of movie fans broke across his face.
Nervously he pushed a heavy lock of fair hair off his forehead and said, in his slow, deep, sexy voice, “No, I am not the waiter, but I have brought your lunch.”

He turned away and pulled a serving trolley into sight. It was covered with a crisp white damask cloth and laden with a silver soup tureen and other silver covered dishes.

Arabella, mesmerized by the handsome profile emanating virility and power, was not yet aware of the table. She was as if burned by the passion, desire, soul, and spirit he directed at her. They matched her very own.

Their eyes met again. He saw the confused look on her face, the fragility, vulnerability; beneath that he saw desire, excitement — the ingredients that made up this glorious beauty. At that moment it was not his or her heart — but their hearts — that skipped a beat, and they were then linked together.

It was Arabella who looked away, feeling deeply embarrassed at having been caught off guard and giving so much of herself away. She nervously put one hand to her hair, trying to arrange it better, her other hand to her face, trying to brush away her high color. Suddenly she recognized him as the actor Nicholas Frayne.

“You must forgive me, I am not usually so …” Her words trailed off and she tried again. “Well, it’s not often one opens the door to a waiter and finds a movie star in his place!”

Nicholas was enjoying her embarrassment; it brought her closer to him. With the back of his hand, he touched her cheek and said, “Do you always blush?”

His voice excited her. She felt stupid and as if she could only say inane things. She said to herself, “For God’s sake, stop behaving like a middle-age groupie!”

She wanted to say something clever, but came out with “I think I’m giving myself away.”

“I hope so,” said Nicholas Frayne. He reached up and pulled the jade pins slowly from her hair. It tumbled to her shoulders and he touched it.

“It’s like silk,” he said, as he bent closer to her, tilted up her chin to his face, and kissed her mouth. The warmth of her lips aroused him, and he pressed his kiss just a little harder. He drew away slowly, trying to control the passion he felt.

He stepped back and said, “I do have your lunch, madame. May I please bring it in?”

His question snapped Arabella momentarily out of the soft-focused haze she seemed to be in.

“Of course, please come in, Mr. Frayne,” she said, backing into the room, allowing him to enter. He wheeled the trolley to the center of the room and then turned and walked past her out the door.

For a split second Arabella’s knees went weak and she said to herself, “How extraordinary — he’s gone!”

But then he was back, and in his arms he carried an enormous florist’s box, tied with a wide satin ribbon. She could see huge white lilacs, long-stemmed white roses with just a hint of peach in them, creamy tulips, and several sprays of white baby orchids.

Arabella’s expression changed. All confusion gone, there was pure delight. She placed her hands together as if in prayer and touched their sides to her lips. She smiled and exclaimed, “They’re absolutely gorgeous!”

“You see, I have not just come as a waiter. I’ve come courting,” he said as he walked past her into the room and placed the box on the floor next to the coffee table. Then he went out into the corridor again, returning this time with an ice bucket containing two bottles of champagne under one arm and a box of chocolates under the other. Chatting nervously, he explained, “White chocolates. Leonidas handmade white chocolates with fresh cream filling from Belgium.” He placed them on the coffee table, then turned to look back at her. He asked, in the famous, husky whisper, “May I join you for lunch?”

The sound of that familiar voice brought Arabella to
attention. It helped her get her emotions under control. She closed the door, leaned against it, smiled, and said, “Oh, yes, you must!”

She went up to him and, putting out her hand, said, “I am Arabella Crawford.”

He picked up her hand and touched it to his lips. “I know,” he said. “And I’m Nicholas Frayne.”

“I know,” she said, and they both began laughing, releasing some of the incredible tension that filled the room.

“You couldn’t have chosen more perfect flowers. They’re absolutely gorgeous. Let me put them in a vase.” Arabella opened an antique Chinese cabinet and found a perfect cut-crystal vase, which she filled with water.

“Where shall we have our lunch?” Nicholas asked.

“Why don’t you take everything from the trolley and put it here on the coffee table while I arrange your lovely flowers.”

Arabella picked up one branch of white lilac and held the heavenly scented tiny blossoms forming the full, pear-shaped head cupped in the palms of her hands and buried her face in them. What madness! she thought. “What delicious, romantic madness. This can’t be real! I must be in a movie with Nicholas Frayne!”

The glossy movie star, the brilliant actor, the intelligent film director, Nicholas Frayne, and the clever, aggressive business tycoon, Arabella Crawford. Four hours before on dry land, would they have even spoken to each other? Only here, on a romantic voyage made for lovers, in an isolated world away from the reality of life it all seemed right, quite normal.

Nicholas stood watching her create a beautiful arrangement. When she had finished, she held out her arms, silently asking him to help her up. He took her by the hands and raised her up from the floor. They looked at the flowers in a silence that spoke volumes.

He squeezed her hands, smiled, and said, “Oh, I almost forgot.” He reached for something in his breast pocket. He
pulled out a white envelope and handed it to Arabella, saying “I’ll open the champagne. You read your letter.”

They pulled cushions off the white sofa onto the floor and sat on them. He opened the bottle while she read:

Arabella put down the note and smiled. “You do very unconventional things, Mr. Frayne, under the most conventional camouflage.”

“And you, Arabella Crawford,” he said, with a twinkle in his eyes as he handed her a glass of Dom Perignon. “I’m sure you always go on first dates in your dressing gown.”

“Oh, my God!” Arabella exclaimed as she reached for the glass, looked down at her robe, and blushed, as if it were all one motion.

They began laughing once again, but they never took their eyes off each other. The embarrassment was fast becoming a shared experience rather than a reason for discomfort.
Their eyes met and soft smiles appeared simultaneously on their faces.

“Oh,” said Nicholas, “it’s all right then for me to stay? Now that we’ve been formally introduced? How lucky I am!”

“And I,” said Arabella.

They sat opposite each other sipping champagne from Lalique crystal goblets, sensing the buildup of emotions and anticipating the excitement that comes with the voyage of discovery when you are falling in love. Nicholas sat with his back to the portholes. The afternoon light poured out behind him. His virile good looks against the light gave him an even more heavenly aura than the movie cameras reflected.

Arabella sat there thinking how extraordinary it was that such a sexy man should make her think of pure joy, a flock of angels singing, yet, at the same time, she yearned for him to touch her, have his hands touch her breasts and his fingers feel the passion he aroused in her. His smile caressed her and that alone made her want to make love to him, feel his lips against hers, be electrified by the touch of his skin. Whatever it was he emanated across the table drew her to him like a magnet.

He said nothing, did nothing, and yet she felt herself drawn into his arms. He reached out without reaching out and she fled to him across the table without moving.

How amazing, thought Arabella. What magnetism!

True, she had seen most of his films and had more than once gone home sexually aroused by him, wanting him. How mad, insane, a fantasy come true! He was there with her in her stateroom on board the
Tatanya Annanovna
and on this day of all days, the first day of her new life.

The light behind him spilled out around and over him to the flowers and the silver covered dishes. The light picked up his straight reddish-brown hair peppered with strands of silver gray, making it look even more golden.

The cold champagne burst upon Arabella’s tastebuds. She felt a ripple of silk from her sleeve roll over her arm,
a wave as if from a warm tropical ocean. It was so delicious she unconsciously put her glass down and smoothed the silk over her arms with her hands. It was glorious. She felt her nipples grow erect as Nicholas Frayne made love to her passionately, sexually, with his eyes and his smile.

He put his glass down and removed his jacket, asking “May I?” She nodded. The soft cashmere against his chest aroused his fantasies of how soft and delectable she would be in his arms.

His fantasies took flight. He had her in his arms, was exploring her body, her wonderful breasts. He fondled them; they were supple and full. He could feel the nipple in his mouth, he nibbled and sucked, it grew hard, erect, and swelled as she became excited by him.

He imagined her open and ready for him as he entered her, at the same time kissing her eyes, her chin, the tip of her exquisite nose, and her mouth. He opened her with tenderness and kisses and was deep inside her. Her mouth embraced him, tantalized him.

She would reach down, feel his erection, and make love to him. She would be thrilled by him, fondle him, suck him, lick him, She would kiss him, take him in her mouth and her throat while he nuzzled his face between her legs. He would play with her and drink the sweetness from her. They would make love that way using their fingers and tongues.

The bulge in his trousers was becoming uncomfortable, and he needed to move to adjust himself. He saw a cassette deck across the room and went to pick out a tape. He thought some Chopin waltzes might be nice — lively but not too intrusive. He inserted the tape and returned to the couch.

“That’s perfect! Some background music to lunch by.”

He watched Arabella remove the silver cover from the soup tureen. Smoothly, almost imperceptibly, she changed position, gliding onto her knees. She sat back on her haunches and ladled out steaming lobster bisque into the soup bowl before her. She picked up the elegant china bowl by its two
handles and passed it to Nicholas, saying “I hope you like lobster bisque. May I have your bowl, please.”

He watched as she put the heavy silver ladle back into the tureen and slowly stirred the thick, creamy soup. His fantasies took off again.

This overwhelming attraction he had to Arabella was one that he had played out in various ways on the silver screen many times; only then it was acting, someone’s play, a role. This was no play. It was real and it had never happened to him in his life before. Not even with Maggie whom he loved, his childhood sweetheart, the woman he married, the mother of his children. Not even with Sylves, the woman he had lived with for many years, a woman who had satisfied his sexual needs and social life until only a few months before.

They spooned the sensuous liquid to their lips as they looked at each other. Their tastebuds were open and the soup was sheer ambrosia. The perfect bisque — rich, creamy, and flavorful. They were silent, taking each other in as well as their soup.

Arabella remained sitting on her haunches. Nicholas poured more champagne for them and when they touched their glasses for a second time and drank, he knew that she understood how he felt, that she felt something for him. She was in control of their destiny just as much as he was.

“You are exquisite, Arabella. I want to know all about you. Where did you come from, that is, apart from out of heaven?”

“Paris.”

“And before that?”

“I’m American — Washington, D.C., and the banks of the Potomac. But that was eighteen years ago.”

“And in between?”