Still she hung back. Watched the woman he’d served walk away with an exaggerated wiggle, and noted with approval Nick’s attention was on cleaning his cocktail equipment, not on her bikini bottom. So he took the rules for consorting with passengers seriously. She’d been surprised how severely intimacy with passengers was dealt with on the ship. No doubt instant dismissal wouldn’t look good on his résumé.
Or maybe he just wasn’t interested. He didn’t look gay. At all. She smiled to herself. She wondered how he would look at her if she asked for one of those non-alcoholic ‘mocktails’ they served to teetotallers? She’d never been much of a drinker, most alcohol gave her a headache, and during college she’d usually offered to be the designated driver if she’d gone out.
Maybe that was what Vander had liked about her. She’d often wondered because she’d certainly felt she’d let him down in some way, though he’d never said.
Nick glanced up, saw her skulking behind the pillar, and gestured her over. Well, maybe he wasn’t totally disinterested.
She straightened away from the column and smiled shyly. Funny how that little tug in her stomach made her mouth curve. Her feet seemed pretty eager to move his way too and she tried not to wiggle like the last woman had.
He gestured to a stool at the side of the bar. ‘Hello, there, Dr Tara. Fancy a drink?’
She smiled back. ‘Non-alcoholic?’
‘Sure.’ He gestured to his makings. ‘I’ll have you know there is just as much skill needed for a really top mocktail, if not more.’
‘You reckon you’re pretty good at these, do you?’
‘The best.’
‘I see you lack in confidence.’
‘I know. Sad really. How about a No-jito?’ His white teeth flashed and she had to grin and the extraneous noises faded until it was as if the two of them were in a private little bubble. She bet all the girls behind her at the pool felt like that too. He went on to explain. ‘Crushed mint, loads of limes, sugar syrup and soda?’
‘Sounds great.’ She shook off her absorption of him and glanced around. ‘How’s the bar-manager gig going?’
He smiled at the half-naked women on loungers spread out in a fan in front of him. ‘Always fun.’
She shook her head sadly. ‘Tsk, tsk. Men.’
He leaned towards her. ‘Perhaps it should be “Tsk tsk, women”? Though I don’t mean that. I love women. I have sisters I adore and a new girlfriend every month.’
Tara wondered if he was warning her. Temporary. Don’t plan a wedding. Nice if he was. Because that suited her down to the ground!
* * *
Nick wondered if he was warning her. Bit of an exaggeration, that monthly girlfriend thing, but he certainly wasn’t into permanence. Had discovered long ago that even the most likely couple would stretch to find eternal happy-ever-after. But to warn about his preference for the short term was not his usual tactic when he was trying to chat up a woman.
What made this one different? He’d kept an eye out for her but had been unexpectedly busy with his duties and he’d have much preferred it if his sister had decided on a position with less responsibilities.
Dr Tara had intruded into his thoughts persistently last night when the sea had played games. He’d bet there were a few seasick passengers and some crew not used to the sway of the ship yet. ‘Did the swell bother you last night?’
‘No.’ She shrugged. ‘I have a cast-iron stomach.’ He pushed the peanuts her way but she wasn’t interested. ‘A few of the new beauty staff were a little queasy and we doled out some anti-emetics.’
Nick shoved the cheese and crackers across and she ignored them too. She glanced at the women and changed the subject away from medicine. ‘What about your patrons?’
‘It was pretty quiet for a second night.’ Lord, he just wanted to feed her. He used his tongs to put two hulled strawberries in a dish in front of her. She couldn’t miss them. To his delight she picked one up absently and bit into it. Gorgeous lips, white little teeth… Nick’s stomach kicked as he tried not to mimic her.
He glanced at his watch for a bit of control. ‘So, what time are you off duty?’
‘Apart from being on call?’ She patted her lips with a paper towel he gave her. ‘I’m off now till lunch. Then off again at eight. Why?’
Maybe he shouldn’t do this. He’d always listened to his instincts before so why was this so difficult? ‘Care to join me for dinner about eight-thirty?’
She narrowed her eyes at him and then glanced away. ‘I guess so.’
Had he sounded too eager? She certainly hadn’t. But he’d seen a few other crew members eyeing her and it hadn’t sat well with him. Another out-of-character trait she seemed to bring out in him. Maybe he just needed to demystify her attraction and then he’d understand what drew her to him.
CHAPTER FOUR
AT TWENTY-THIRTY hours they sat in a quiet corner of the crew dining room, or middle mess as they called it, because it was common ground.
Nick was aware she’d normally eat in the first mess because that was where the officers congregated, and on this gig he ate with the auxiliary and admin staff.
The largest staff dining area catered for the seven hundred domestic and deckhand staff but there was always a little mix and match that went on with the dalliances.
It was after the usual time for dinner and before late supper so nobody came near them.
Unobtrusively Nick had been studying the fine veins in her hands. She was so frail when he really looked. There was that stupid protectiveness again. ‘So what made you go to the Sudan?’
He pushed a bread stick her way but she ignored it. Two years? Nick was still flabbergasted. No wonder she looked like a strong wind would blow her over. One of his friends had lasted three months. He wanted to draw her into his arms and protect her. That was a serious worry. Apart from his sisters, he’d avoided the whole emotional responsibility thing.
‘I went with my husband. We wanted to do something worthwhile, use our training, and after he died it was too hard to leave.’
The impact of her statement sat heavily in his chest. He wouldn’t have picked her for a widow. There was a certain naive vulnerability he couldn’t miss. ‘I’m sorry. How did your husband die?’
She glanced away. ‘Cholera.’
Ouch. ‘Nasty.’
She looked back at him. ‘Very.’ Succinct.
‘So why the Sudan?’
She shrugged. ‘We’d both finished our internships and he met a midwife who’d worked in the displaced person refugee camps. She told him how they were crying out for GPs with
