Chapter 21

ON THE THIRD DAY of our journey, the Canada Senator passed through the Strait of Gibraltar and into the Atlantic. The change was immediately noticeable. The ship, despite stabilizers, acquired a gentle roll, a distinct lateral sway that, combined with slow plunging and rising movements as the ship plowed through ocean swells, proved challenging for Callie.

She woke up suddenly and made a dash for the bathroom, the sound of vomiting filtering through the closed door. For the next four days Callie wore a track in the carpet from the bed to the bathroom, throwing up even when she had nothing in her stomach. She turned a subtle shade of green, and yelled at me, castigating me for my insensitivity when I laughed at her.

She was vocal and full of predictions: “Stop having so much fun at my expense, Lightfoot! It’s not funny!” and “What idiot invented sea travel?” and “Oh, God! I’m gonna throw up again!” She informed me vociferously, “I’m NEVER riding in another boat! EVER!”

She offered her opinion on the Captain, insisting, “He can’t even drive a ship smoothly. How did he become a Captain?” Her eyes turned icy blue when she saw me smile. “Don’t you dare laugh, Lightfoot!”

However, after four days of agony, Callie found her sea legs and, once I assured her she’d never suffer sea sickness again, decided she liked sailing.

Halfway though our journey, at dinner, I smiled at Callie’s bright laughter. Her beaming smile, eyes bright with delight, made her look so beautiful. With the crew singing happy birthday to her in a mishmash of accents, all off-tune, the cook, beaming broadly, placed a small white birthday cake in front of her, one full-sized candle flickering on top.

She ceremoniously blew out the candle when the song ended and immediately started serving, every crewmember in the dining room personally served by her. She charmed them. I could see it. The few that declined a slice were cajoled by her and they responded, grinning and accepting.

I listened to the conversations around us. Only Callie knew I could speak several languages. That fact I’d kept hidden from the crew. It made them relax and talk openly believing I didn’t understand what they were saying. Three members continued to concern me. They were vulgar in the things they talked about doing to a girl like Callie. I kept a close eye on them.

“Here’s your piece,” Callie said, handing me a plate. She sat and tasted hers. “Not bad. Coconut vanilla. How did they know it’s my birthday?”

I shrugged, even though it was my doing. I’d asked the chef if he could make her a cake. The word had obviously spread.

Three bites and Callie passed her plate to me. “You finish it.”

I did, but only to avoid disappointing the chef. Callie had no sweet tooth. She rarely ate deserts. In fact, she didn’t eat much of anything. Unlike me, she was a grazer. I was more a gorger - eat when the opportunity presented itself in case meals were missed later. Every morning at breakfast Callie gathered a variety of fruits and vegetable sticks from the dining room and, throughout the day, would nibble on them. It reinforced my perception that she was a little sparrow with hidden strength.

Eventually we left the dining room. The Atlantic was dousing the ship in rain from swollen gray clouds. Swells were big enough to test the limits of the stabilizers, salty spray hitting the deck as the ship muscled its way through the waves. Gusty wind buffeted the ship. A walk outside was out of the question; too dangerous.

In the stateroom, I brought out the backgammon board for entertainment. I’d taught her how to play over the last several days, trying to distract her from her sea sickness. She was hopeless at it but I let her win often enough to keep her interested and trying.

Halfway through the game, I went and dug through my duffle bag.

“For me?” she asked when I handed her a small box.

I nodded.

Smiling, she opened it. “Hunter, it’s beautiful!” she exclaimed.

I’d bought the narrow, solid gold wrist band in Nice when running my errands.

She took it out and opened it, snapping it closed on her wrist. Holding her wrist up, she admired, touching the rectangular, baguette-cut sapphires that lined the upper half. They were a beautiful blue that suited her eyes.

Game forgotten, Callie came and settled in my lap, one arm around my neck, the other still held out to admire the band.

“I can’t believe you did this,” she said with a smile. “When did you buy it?”

“Before you yelled at me in Nice.”

“How did you know it’s my ... Never mind. The file on me, right?”

I nodded.

Callie brushed her lips against my cheek and whispered, “I’ll treasure it forever.”

“We haven’t finished the game,” I pointed out.

“Who cares about the game?” she countered.

I did. “Let’s make a bet on it.”

“What bet?”

Smiling, I suggested, “Whoever wins gets to do anything in bed.”

Callie’s eyes opened wide. Then they narrowed, sneaky. “Anything?”

I nodded.

“Kay!” She jumped off my lap, sat in her chair, studied the board, and, after assessing her weak prospects for a win, announced, “We’ll start over.”

I smiled to myself. It was going to be easy to beat her and I had some lascivious ideas that had been rattling around in my brain, adventurous and new to her. Four days without her affections had been spent daydreaming of sex with her. Now it was time to realize some of them.

With the game in full swing, and Callie concentrating for a change, I dithered on my selfish plan. If she won, what would she want to do? I wondered how adventurous and creative her mind was. What turned her on? It would be interesting to find out.

She spoke suddenly, “Here’s one for you. Brothers and sisters I have none, but this man’s father is my father’s son. Who is the man?“

“You trying to distract me?”

“Is it working?”

“Nope.”

I lost the game.

Callie smiled with success, removing her last piece. “Ta-da! You lose. I win.” Then, studying me, she accused, “You lost on purpose.”

“I didn’t. You won fair and square.” Grinning slightly, I asked, “So, what do you want to do with me?”

Callie studied me suspiciously. Satisfied, she smiled. “I want you to dance with me.”

“Dance?” I asked incredulously. It wasn’t quite what I had in mind, that’s for sure. “I told you, I don’t dance.”

Rising, Callie went to the radio and switched it on, finding something that sounded like elevator Muzak to me. “Come on, Lightfoot. It’s easy. I’ll lead.”

She took my hand, moved close, her other hand on my back. “Just start moving with me.”

I tried.

“Ouch! Take your shoes off,” she ordered, my first step treading on her foot.

Surprising myself, I actually danced. It was easy with Callie, her cheek pressed to my chest. It felt good to hold her in my arms. I relaxed and inhaled the familiar scent of her; jasmine and plums.

Her hand left my back. I didn’t notice until it settled over my groin. My body reacted, penis stirring. She fondled me gently as we danced, making me harder.

“I really like that I can arouse you,” she murmured, her hand now caressing.

I had absolutely no control. None. She affected me like no one I’d ever met. Still dancing to Muzak, she fondled me into a full erection, uncomfortably constrained by jeans.

Callie stopped dancing. She put her arms around my neck and pressed her slender body against me, looking up, pale blue eyes smiling, and rubbed her lower body suggestively against the lump in my jeans. With a soft smile, she drew my face down and brushed her warm lips against mine, paused, and repeated the light touch. Her eyes closed. Her head tilted, her mouth settling over mine.

The kiss became sensual, tongue tips flirting. Then she moaned quietly. It thrilled me, as if kissing me was manna from Heaven. Her mouth opened, the kiss evolving into passion.

This time I didn’t feel the driving urge, that disorienting arousal I’d had before. I felt something different, even more powerful; pulse-quickening adoration, the warmth of love. Callie was wrapping me in her love, anchoring herself to my heart, and I couldn’t stop her - I couldn’t stop myself, either.

So lost in her sensual kiss, I didn’t even grope her ass. It didn’t cross my mind until she ended the kiss, easing away from me.

She smiled. “Get undressed. I’ll be right back.”

“The man is me,” I said as she hunted through a dresser drawer and I unbuttoned my shirt.

Her head turned. “What?”

“Brothers and sisters I have none, but this man’s father is my father’s son. Who is the man? I am that man’s father.”

Callie smiled. “Took you long enough. Be right back.”

Sitting naked on the edge to the bed, my erection waned slightly. I was thankful. It was a bit weird sitting in the room, by myself, with a hard cock.

Callie emerged from the bathroom. She’d loosely brushed her hair and collected it in a hair band at the nape of her neck. She wore a simple pastel green, thin cotton nightshirt that ended at the top of her thighs. It draped over her small breasts, suggestive and sexy.

“Lie down,” she instructed. When I stretched out on the bed, she stood at the side and studied me openly, unashamedly, from my face, down to my chest, then to my partial erection. “You’ve got a great body,” she observed, kneeling on the bed.