Playing the odds by Nora Roberts Page B

trying to get to me. She wouldn't have been the least surprised if while she had been working and wondering, he had spent his time lazing in the sun somewhere, knowing it. Infuriating. He'd probably had that cozy little drink with Mrs. Dewalter, too, she concluded, and grabbed her brush. Taking it through her hair in hard, quick strokes, Serena scowled at herself in the small mirror.
    "So what?" she said aloud. "If he's nipping around her ankles, he's not nipping around mine." The last thing she'd wanted on her final days on the ship was a constant battle, verbal or otherwise. So it was just as well that he'd found something else to keep him occupied; that saved her the trouble of ignoring him.
    He stirred her up when he was around. He stirred her up when he wasn't around, too, she thought, and tossed the brush back on the dresser. Where was the justice? I won't think about it, Serena decided, flopping down on the floor to slip on her sandals. I'm going to do some snorkelling, buy some trinkets—a case of Scotch—and, she added grimly, I'm going to enjoy myself. I won't give him another thought.
    It's deliberate, she thought, slapping a sandal against her palm. He dangled that business about managing his casino in front of my nose, then disappeared. He knew it would drive me crazy, she decided with fresh frustration. Well, two can play, Serena reminded herself as she wiggled her foot into the sandal. I'll stay out of his way for the next couple of days if I have to claim seasickness and lock myself in my cabin. And that, she determined, would be a lesson to him.
    Serena continued to frown when the knock sounded on her door. "It's open," she called shortly.
    The last person she'd expected to see in her doorway was Justin. The last thing she'd expected to feel was pleasure. Oh, my God, she realized, I've missed him.
    He saw the quick smile light in her eyes before she successfully turned it into a glare. "Morning."
    "Passengers aren't permitted on this deck," she told him in a tone that was both cool and prim.
    "Oh." He stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. Ignoring her hiss of annoyance, Justin glanced around the tiny cabin.
    It should have been drab and colourless, with its plain bunk and white walls, but she'd given it an odd sort of style with only a few touches. A flashy painting of sailboats, a bottle-green free-form bowl filled with crushed shells, a boldly striped needlepoint pillow that reminded him of Anna. The pantry in Hyannis Port, he mused, was larger.
    "No wasted space," he ventured, letting his eyes roam back to her.
    "It's my space," Serena reminded him. "And it's strictly against the rules for you to be in here. Would you go away before you get me fired?"
    "You've already quit." Easing between her and the bunk, Justin took a closer look at the painting. "This is very good—the harbor here in St. Thomas?"
    "Yes." Serena stayed seated deliberately, knowing it was next to impossible for two people to stand in the cabin without touching. "I'm sorry I can't entertain you, Justin, but I'm just on my way out"
    With an absent sound of agreement, he sat on the bunk. "Sturdy," he commented, nudging a reluctant smile from her. It was hard as a rock.
    "It's great for the back." They sat eyeing each other for a moment as she fought off the simple pleasure of having him with her. "I thought I was rid of you."
    "Did you?" Lifting the flimsy teddy she'd slept in, Justin ran the lace through his fingers. Without any effort he could picture her in it, picture the thin, creamy material sliding over her skin as he slipped it off of her.
    "Put that down." She leaned over to snatch it out of his hands, going across his body to do so.
    "So you have a taste for silk and lace," he stated, letting the lingerie slip back to the bed before Serena could grab it. "I've always admired women who wear things like this, then sleep alone." Justin looked down at her as Serena knelt on the floor, frustrated. "It shows a certain