wasn’t sure how to take that. Was it a come on?
“I’m from Canada. Alberta’s where I was born, but I’ve been working in Texas for a couple of years. The boots are my tribute to Texas, but we’ve got lots of cowboys in Alberta, too.”
“Cool!”
Marc couldn’t wait for the dance to end. He had no desire to discuss his personal life with a stranger. He tried taking the lead since he could almost hear her counting the salsa beat in her head, but she wouldn’t let him.
Quick, quick, slow. Quick, quick, slow. Although not exactly proficient in salsa, she faked it, using a lot of hip and breast movement to make it look authentic.
“I’m Heddy,” she said, her lips close to his ear.
“Heddy? That’s an unusual name.”
“It’s actually Heather Maxwell but I hate Heather.”
“Heather’s a beautiful name,” Marc murmured.
From the moment he’d arrived at the party, she’d attached herself to him. She’d even accompanied him to the Guest Relations Desk to straighten out a problem with his onboard charge card when his purchase didn’t go through. She seemed pleasant enough but not terribly bright. Right now she was providing a welcome distraction, helping him get his mind off the real reason he’d been forced to take this sudden vacation.
A hand tapped his shoulder. He jumped. He was still jittery and on edge, and rightly so, given everything he’d been through.
“May I cut in?” a well-groomed, dark-haired man asked. He eyed Heddy.
“Of course.”
Ignoring Heddy’s frantic headshakes, Marc quickly turned her over to the man and left the dance floor.
As he made his way across the room, Marc noticed a group of people gathered around someone. His first thought was that it must be one of the celebrity instructors putting on a solo performance. Curious, he slowed his pace, hoping to see one of the greats, but as bits of conversation floated his way, he realized he’d been mistaken.
“It must feel great finding the pendant,” a woman’s high-pitched voice shrilled. “You’re bound to get lots of attention.”
“With looks like that, you don’t need a pendant,” another voice called out. “Hand it over, girl. Some of us need it more.”
“Did the cruise staff tell you what kinds of perks you’ll get if they find you wearing the pendant?”
Marc couldn’t hear the responses to the questions but guessed the fuss had something to do with the treasure hunt mentioned in the embarkation pamphlet. He’d passed on hunting for the pendant. Finding love wasn’t in the cards right now; his primary focus was staying alive.
He was on this ship for two reasons—first, because he’d been ordered by his boss to disappear, and second, because there was nothing he enjoyed more than dancing. Dancing was a great stress reliever. And for the next fourteen days he could take lessons with the best.
There had been threats on his life recently, followed by a dozen or so near mishaps. Marc was ordered to take a vacation and forced out of his beloved Colombia. Leaving the country he loved and his high-profile position at the Canadian embassy only added to his stress, but at least the dance-themed cruise would keep him from thinking about it for a while.
He’d grown up taking dance lessons. Both of his parents had been accomplished dancers. High level government officials, they’d expected their children to know how to dance, and their social life revolved around various ballroom events. His mother, a South American socialite, and his father, also from a socially prominent Canadian family, thought it would instill confidence and at the same time keep them occupied.
At first, Marc had been resentful about having to go to dance classes when his friends were out playing sports. But as he got older he began to appreciate having this skill. Dancing had made adolescence far less painful. While his schoolmates had difficulty crossing a room to ask a girl to dance, he found it easy. And once he was on the floor he became another person, totally uninhibited. This made him a popular and sought-after date.
He stood now at the fringe of the crowd, curious to see who the crew members were filming. Whoever it was must be enjoying their fifteen minutes of fame and eating up the attention.
He caught a glimpse of turquoise clothing and wavy black hair and knew it was a woman. She must be hot since there was a disproportionate number of men in the crowd.
The music in the background swelled, and a female voice took over the microphone. The interview was over.
“It’s lady’s choice. Gals, it’s your turn to grab yourself a man.”
A stampede ensued as women pulled visibly reluctant partners onto the dance floor. Marc wanted to see the woman in the turquoise dress so he hung back. When she turned around and he saw her face, he stared. It couldn’t be, but the flicker of recognition in those violet eyes told him it was Serena. No one had eyes quite like hers. He was transported back to another time, another place.
They were in a dance club, elegant and imposing, with winding staircases and a polished oak floor. He’d been taken there by a business colleague and his wife, people who weren’t serious dancers but just out to have a good time. When Marc had spotted Serena on that dance floor, he’d known that she was the one.
He’d positioned himself in such a way that when the dance ended, he was in her path. He’d asked her to join him in a Viennese waltz, and one dance had led to another. They fell in step easily. The perfect fit. Quickly, too quickly, the evening had passed.
A look of revulsion now replaced the startled expression in Serena’s eyes and she was staring at him as if he were some kind of rodent.
Marc had learned to school his expressions and keep his emotions under wraps. In his business you had to. He’d hoped and prayed for months that Serena d’Andrea would get in touch with him, and when that hadn’t happened, he’d become resigned to never seeing her again. The irony of it was that she was now aboard this cruise ship with him. And he couldn’t do a damn thing about it. He would not endanger her life.
Marc nodded, acknowledging her.
Serena’s violet eyes traveled the length of him, but she maintained a respectable distance. At last she spoke.
“It’s been a long time.”
“Do we know each other?” The lie rolled easily off his tongue.
Serena’s lips quivered slightly. She was thrown.
“Marc LeClair?” she asked, uncertainly.
“Sorry. I’m flattered and wish I were him. My name is Gilles Anderson. You are?”
“Serena d’Andrea,” she answered in the smoky voice he remembered.
She was so beautiful. He’d fallen hard and he still hadn’t recovered. Marc gave Serena a slow, lazy smile. He tried not to let the memories take over. It had been six months since he’d last seen her but it felt like yesterday.
Serena’s
