A Fair Trader

By Amy Gallow

Night Owl Romance Reviewer Top Pick! Dinner at the Captain's table, dancing cheek to cheek, and that uniform!The final night of Ruth Lambert's romantic cruise is pure magic...until Matthew Parker's duty intervenes. A night of promised passion becomes five years of "What happened?" as letters go astray and pride stifles common sense.Their next meeting plunges Ruth into a maelstrom where a love greater than anything she'd ever imagined thrusts her higher than the heavens, drives her deeper than the abyss, and threatens every achievement of her career.At the point when everything she's valued depends on proving she is a fair trader, her fear for Matthew dwarfs all else, and she discovers the true price of loving...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Whiskey Creek Press
• Release date: Nov 1, 2009
• ISBN: 9781603137379

Book preview

Prologue

Ruth Lambert watched the sun’s disc slide into the watery rim of the western horizon, her folded arms resting on the teak rail capping of the Asiatic Princess. Behind her, the deck speakers were broadcasting the four-tone gong calling the passengers to dinner, but she maintained her vigil. She’d kept it each night since Tony Bates, the Third Officer, had described the fabled green flash as the last of the sun slips out of sight, its final rays refracted by the sea and turned green. He claimed he’d seen it, and, although she knew he lied without thought to women passengers, it had become her talisman. If she saw it, she’d know her eleven-day cruise to Hong Kong was not a mistake, and some devilishly handsome man would appear magically, sweep her off her feet and into his bed. She knew it was childish, but the alternative was accepting the hopelessly immature Tony Bates, who believed himself irresistible.

Time was running out for a miracle. The traditional final night party would follow dinner, and all she’d have left were ten days for shopping and sightseeing in Bangkok and Singapore before she flew back to Melbourne. She fought the tremble of her lower lip as the unfairness of it all brought her close to tears.

All too soon, the nineteenth-century prejudices of the male-dominated stock exchange would rule her life at Andrew McLeod and Partners. It would be back to power-dressing in business suits, with her abundance of rich auburn hair firmly disciplined to avoid their criticisms. Andrew McLeod and the senior partners would measure every word she said against their preconceptions as if it were her fault she was twenty-five and still had the face of a teenager.

Tonight, she could still dress to please herself. The russet glory of her unrestrained hair gleamed like burnished bronze as it framed her face. Flowing down in soft waves, it brushed gently on shoulders bared by the halter neck of a green silk cocktail dress, cut to leave little doubt it embraced a woman’s body.

Damn, she muttered, wishing the sun gone. It was stupid, waiting out here for a myth. It was up to her to make the night memorable, not some fairytale prince conjured by her desperation. Her fingers drummed on the rail as if to hasten time, but the sun ignored her, continuing its almost imperceptible movement until it finally disappeared below the horizon without even a hint of green. The voyage had been a mistake. She pushed back from the rail in disgust and turned away, coming face to face with a stranger.

Hello. The fading light illuminated his face clearly. I’ve come to invite you to join us.

Perhaps magic did work. This was not only a prince amongst men, but also someone she’d not seen before. Clean-shaven, with strong, masculine features, incredibly blue eyes regarding her quizzically, his was a face she’d not forget easily. Her backward step was surprise, not fear, but her left heel slipped on the edge of the wooden decking, and she stumbled sharply. She didn’t fall. The movement triggered an instinctive response, and his right hand grasped her upper arm to steady her. The grip, firm but not rough, sent an electric shock through her body, and she quivered, her eyes closing for an instant. When they opened, her prince was still there.

I’m sorry, he said. I didn’t mean to startle you. He let go of her arm, and his hand fell to his side.

Ruth felt the chill rush of shock recede, allowing her to see him as a whole, rather than just a face. An immaculately fitted white uniform with four gold stripes on the shoulder bars explained a great deal.

You’re our mysterious Chief Engineer. The empty chair next to her at the foot of the Captain’s table had been the subject of intense speculation.

Guilty as charged, he admitted, and her spine tingled at the timbre of his voice.

Where have you been hiding yourself?

Prior obligations.

Part of her mind admired the economy of words, but the remainder damned it. She wanted to immerse herself in the sound of his voice. It resonated with some undiscovered truth deep inside her, and she wanted it to go on forever. This voyage suddenly promised more than disappointment.

I am Ruth Lambert, she said, extending her hand.

Matthew Parker, he acknowledged and took her hand. His skin was firm and dry, the pressure of his response precisely measured to match her own. Just politeness on his part, but Ruth found her fingers unconsciously tightening around his to extend the contact. He made no move to escape her grasp.

Are you joining us tonight? She wanted to hear him speak once more.

Yes.

Even in casual conversation, he appeared to measure his words, a questionable virtue to Ruth at this moment. She searched her mind for another gambit, something to provoke a longer response.

You seem young to be a chief engineer, she said. There might be a conscious maturity in his face, but he was physically no more than his mid-thirties and could easily be younger.

Then I must be older than I look, he suggested, his grin hinting she should understand better than most.

Matthew, our table is ready. Will you come in now? a familiar voice interrupted, and Ruth turned to see the captain, who’d come to usher them into the dining saloon.

She turned back when Matthew said, Would you like to go in now?

Ruth nodded and walked to their table with two senior officers of the Asiatic Princess on either arm, conscious of the sharpened interest of every other woman in the room and human enough to enjoy it.

Matthew saw her seated and took his place next to her, greeting the others, politely fending off their inquiries about his prolonged absence deftly enough to offend no one. At the far end of the table, the captain nodded approvingly, and the two men exchanged slightly wry glances when a change of topic released Matthew. The implications fascinated Ruth, with its whisper of a hidden agenda, and she would have followed it through if Matthew hadn’t chosen to capture her attention with a question.

You’re leaving us in Hong Kong?

Yes. Ruth nodded.

A pity. He sounded genuine. Have you enjoyed your cruise?

Ruth hesitated. Her thoughts at the rail were too recent to be easily denied, but this man was weaving a spell around her, deliberately, she hoped. Yes, I am. She stuck to the exact truth, hoping he would notice.

That’s good. His eyes acknowledged her hesitation, but his smile rewarded her compromise. We’ll do our best to make tonight special. He made it a promise.

The stewards started serving their first course, and Ruth damned them for the interruption. She felt witty, exhilarated, and challenged. It was utterly crazy, something so far from her normal life as to be part of a fairytale, and she had no doubt as to the identity of Prince Charming in this tale. She even found herself wondering what it would be like when he kissed her, for it was that type of fairytale. Tony had spoken of a company rule barring public kissing between officers and passengers, but she couldn’t imagine it thwarting Matthew. He might be saddled with the need to set an example as a senior officer, but she suspected he’d find a way. She’d strayed into fairyland without the aid of the fabled green flash, and the heroes there were always gallants.

Do you mind? It was the ship’s photographer. I don’t get many chances to catch this one relaxing. He nodded towards Matthew. The first time I’ve seen him in uniform this voyage.

I’ve told you a hundred million times not to exaggerate. Matthew was smiling, but Ruth detected the whisper of a warning, a friendly one, but still a warning. Ruth’s here to enjoy herself.

She won’t mind if I hang around and take happy snaps then. Gary’s grin was mischievous. Just move your chair a little, and I can get the both of you.

Matthew’s wryly raised eyebrow received a half apologetic smile in reply, a piece of byplay confirming the two were friends. Not surprising, she supposed. She smiled at Gary and cooperated, her happiness encompassing his needs without strain.

They returned to the first course.

When did you join the ship?

Melbourne.

You saw the start of the Sydney Hobart yacht race in Sydney. He seemed amused, and his question, falling into a moment of silence at the table and overheard by others, triggered a flurry of conversation about the event.

Ruth, no longer the centre of his attention, remembered all too well the unexpected diversion to anchor at Bradley’s Head when the Asiatic Princess was leaving Sydney. It gave all the passengers a ringside seat to the Sydney-Hobart yacht race start. The spectacle forestalled any complaints about the unscheduled delay and introduced her to Tony Bates.

He’d joined her at the rail to explain the technicalities of the race start. He was a good-looking young man, resplendent in the white uniform of a ship’s officer, and Ruth accepted his attentions, even if his motives were transparent. She’d embarked for romance, and he could provide it. However, he misjudged her age. Fooled by the youthfulness of her face into thinking her less than twenty, he was too smug to modify his judgment from her manner. Caught by a flash of irritation triggered by one lapse, she’d put him in his place, and he’d reacted predictably, like a spoiled child. Driven by pride, perhaps, he’d persisted in his attentions, apparently staking a claim the other officers had respected—until now.

When someone asked Matthew if he’d seen the start of the race, he just smiled and shook his head. Prior obligations.

The captain rescued him with a change of subject, his intervention quick enough to raise a suspicion in Ruth’s mind that he didn’t want his chief engineer’s activities at the time discussed.

The conversation moved on, and Matthew turned back to her. What does Ruth Lambert do when she’s not taking cruises?

I’m an associate in a stock broking firm in Melbourne.

His nod gave due regard to the significance of her position, and she found herself discussing market trends with a knowledgeable companion. His take on some developments made her nod thoughtfully and make mental notes for when she returned to the office.

You seem remarkably well-informed, she said. Have you ever thought of day-trading?

Don’t have time for the research, and constantly moving from one time zone to the next makes it difficult without an expensive communications setup.

You sound like you’ve thought of it.

We’d all like to be rich. His shrug was minimal, and Ruth thought it was time to change the subject.

Chelsea is the closest thing I know to being rich. We grew up together—went to university together. Her parents were well off, and marrying Glenn Caldwell did her financial position no harm.

I think I’ve heard Glenn Caldwell’s name before. Matthew’s smile was a little mysterious.

He’s the principal of his accounting firm. They have offices in most states now, and their head office is in Melbourne’s CBD, a block or two from the Exchange.

That’s probably it. You grew up with Chelsea? The change of subject was effortless.

Yes. Ruth’s smile came naturally at the thought of her bubbly friend. She considers it her goal in life to see me married too.

A feminist Jane Austen. Matthew’s tone was dry.

P-pardon... Ruth stuttered, the reference obscure.

She believes, ‘It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a young woman in possession of a successful career must be in want of a sperm donor.’ He’d adapted the opening of Pride and Prejudice to his purpose, an indication of how acutely he observed people and how cleverly he expressed it.

Ruth laughed, unconsciously nodding in agreement, but wondering how he would categorize her. She was too afraid to ask, for the good opinion of this witty, erudite, and wholly masculine engineer had become more important to her than anything else in the world.

The meal had finished, and the band began its opening bracket.

Would you care to dance? Matthew’s smile enhanced the offer, and she nodded, allowing him to draw back her chair and escort her to the floor.

When she stepped into his arms and they started, two things were apparent. Matthew had danced competitively, and his sense of rhythm was exact. She recognized the first from personal experience in her teens and the second from his slight pause before he led her into the foxtrot. She matched his lead, allowing him to guide her through the other dancers without interrupting their flow, surrendering to her own pleasure as the pressure of his hand in the small of her back molded their bodies together. It was years since she’d enjoyed this good a partner, and all the remembered moves came fresh to her mind.

You are very good, she said as the first number ended.

I had little choice in the matter. My parents were a competition dance pair who enjoyed some success.

His economy of words failed this time, for a sudden flash of memory had Ruth seeing the posters decorating the wall of her dance teacher’s studio.

Linton and Marilyn Parker? she asked.

Matthew gave her a sharp look and then nodded, leaving Ruth to complete the memory of them being killed with three other couples in a light plane crash as they hurried from the finals of one competition to the beginning of another. They’d been South Pacific Dance Champions for three years running. She bit her lower lip to prevent the spontaneous expression of condolence. Matthew was too complete in himself to invite sympathy.

The band resumed playing, allowing Ruth to escape into the dancing.

The small part of her mind, always acting as a detached observer, tried to pour cold water on her feelings, pointing out she was witnessing a polished professional performance. A Chief Engineer of a cruise liner would exhibit all the social graces or be replaced. Her effort was partially successful, until the end of the dance bracket halted them opposite one of the mirrored columns surrounding the dance floor, and she could see Matthew’s face without his knowledge.

He was looking down at her quizzically, as if discovering something completely unexpected, something he was not sure how to define. She unconsciously tightened her arms around him, bringing their embrace to a level of intimacy beyond dance partners, and she felt him harden in response, a wicked grin replacing the puzzlement.

When the MC chose the moment to announce the floorshow, Ruth damned him feelingly, reduced to following Matthew back to their table. Only the pressure of his hand in hers restrained her from dragging her feet like a spoiled child. The stand-up comedian of the floorshow spent some of the time lampooning individuals among the passengers and members of the crew, assisted by one of the show’s dancers and some simple props. Their dancing made Ruth and Matthew obvious targets, a mortarboard identifying her success at the trivia competition earlier in the voyage whilst Matthew was a robot taken out of his glass case to respond to the need to change a light globe. The mime was good enough no one doubted their identities. Ruth might have found the attention embarrassing, but with Matthew at her side, it was simply fun, even when the comedian produced a large oil can and came to their table, where he proceeded to oil Matthew’s joints to the accompaniment of loud squeaks and groans into the microphone.

Yet the incident on the dance floor wouldn’t be dismissed. Ruth’s mind kept looping back, quivers of excitement making it impossible to sit still. She ached to be dancing again, to feel his body against hers as a preliminary to the other pleasures the night might bring. She was determined to bed this man before the morning ended her cruise. It was odd. Even her wildest schoolgirl crushes had never been like this, and she was no longer naturally impulsive. Cursed by a face making her look still in her teens, she’d trained herself to second and third thoughts before acting, cultivating an air of deliberation and gravitas to impress her clients and colleagues. Tonight it had deserted her.

She glanced at her watch. She’d known Matthew less than four hours.

These things normally continue until well after midnight. He misinterpreted her interest in the time.

What will happen after that? Her eyes challenged him, mischievously testing his mettle.

He understood. Even Cinderella went to bed after the ball, he offered quietly, his gaze steady on her face.

Where, she breathed, aware she’d stepped willingly to the edge of a chasm.

My cabin has a double bed.

How convenient. She was smiling, and he returned it.

The chasm disappeared, replaced by a beautiful garden, bright with exotic blooms and redolent with their scent. Ruth knew how this night would end. Her cruise had become the adventure she sought.

If you were a cat, there’d be cream on your whiskers right now. His eyes warmed as she deliberately licked the corners of her mouth.

The floorshow ended, and they returned to the dance floor, Ruth reveling in the intimacy as the band played slow, romantic music to match the mood of the voyage’s final night. She knew this was just a prelude by the gentle play of his fingers on the bared vertebrae of her spine. Company policy might forbid him