Hot and Steamy by Jean Rabe Read Free Book Online Page B

“She’s finishing some business in town and will be onboard the ship before we sail.”
    Jameson spent the rest of the afternoon under Captain Keel’s watchful dark eyes, and he was “allowed” back to his cabin to change for supper, one of the captain’s men keeping watch outside the door.
    He changed his shirt and tie, buttoned his vest, and paged through a portfolio of pen and ink sketches and pencil drawings he’d made of ruins and artifacts that were cataloged on his last expedition to Egypt, hoping these would interest Sinclair. By messenger, he sent her an invitation to join him for the evening meal. “Please,” he’d ended the message.
    The dining salon was full of passengers, not an empty table anywhere. Under other circumstances this would have made Jameson happy that his steamboat was doing such a brisk trade, but he was more consumed with thoughts of her. Her absence tore at his heart. The chandelier cast its glow over the crisp white table linen, the exquisite hand-painted china, and shimmering crystal goblets. He sipped on some whiskey and checked his watch. The captain had tossed out all of the absinthe. Lost in thought, and trying to keep his mind off Sinclair, he scribbled into a notebook. He didn’t hear the slight creaking from the enormous chandelier that hovered above his head.
    Every few moments he nervously checked to see if Sinclair had arrived. He’d confirmed that she’d returned to the ship, but she hadn’t returned his message.
    The bodyguard who was ordered to stay nearby was lighting his pipe when Jameson dipped under the table to fetch his fallen pen. In that instant the brass chandelier crashed onto the table. Glass flew and the thick maple table split neatly in two.
    Jameson moaned from under the wreckage.
    Diners rushed to dig him out just as Sinclair stepped into the room, shrieked at the sight, and promptly fainted.
    Â 
    Battered and bruised and suitably bandaged, the archaeologist limped to answer his cabin door the following morning. His broken arm was trussed in a sling. A lovely shade of purple bloomed around his left eye below a lump large enough to cast a shadow.
    Sinclair flinched when she saw his face in the dim light. “Oh, dear,” was all she said.
    Jameson felt his temperature rise. She was lovely, an angel come to ground.
    She held out her hand and offered him a small package. “I’m so sorry to see you hurt,” she said in a concerned voice. “I brought you a small token. It’s nothing, really. Don’t try to talk.” She touched his swollen lip with her finger. “Oh, this is my fault. If I hadn’t asked you to come to shore with me . . .”
    He shook off her words and held her fingers in his good hand, trying to draw her close, but the motion was awkward with his bandages and he practically stumbled into her.
    â€œMaybe we could meet later, Professor? Say this evening, after you’ve had the day to rest. I’ll be leaving as soon as we dock in the morning, and I’d hate to go without a proper farewell . . . a long, proper farewell.”
    His blood pounded in his ears. “Leaving?” the word came out as a croak.
    â€œUnfortunately, yes. Business, you understand. But that doesn’t mean we can’t . . . you know . . . if you feel up to it.”
    A smile crept to his swollen lips.
    â€œIt’s settled then. I’ll be on deck . . . say . . . around ten. We’ll watch the stars on the water and then . . . retire . . . for the rest of the night.”
    Jameson watched her sway away and closed the cabin door behind her. He swallowed a powerful pain remedy with some bourbon sent by Captain Keel and woke not knowing if he’d slept an hour or an entire day. As he swung his stiff legs over the side of the bed and gathered the strength to stand, his blood tingled with the thought of seeing the willowy redhead for perhaps the final time.
    He