"Toni!" Max said, and shook his head at her.
Toni sighed. Yes, her mind had drifted again. She was sitting with her feet up on the desk, absent-mindedly plucking threads from the hem of her red silk kimono, dreaming of being miles away from the ship's cabin they currently inhabited.
Max patted the pile of printed pages that lay on their double bunk. "Learn your lines. We'll be docking in New York in two days."
"I know the lines already." She got up, pacing back and forth across the small space, measuring her steps against the sway of the rough seas they were being subjected to. They'd invested in the largest available cabin, so that they would have a private space to rehearse and work in while they travelled, but still she felt cooped up.
She steadied herself with one hand on the wall and glanced out of the porthole. It was after eleven and very dark. The waves were barely visible now, just heaving masses tipping into each other where the ships lights caught them. She sighed again. She was missing their dockside flat in London, her plants, and the cat. She wasn't going to tell Max that, though, this trip was important for both their careers. To appear in a Broadway play, albeit a very minor production, was the break they had both been waiting for. She kind of wished they'd opted to fly over with the rest of the troupe, but they thought this would be an adventure. No such luck. Well, not so far.
She wandered over to the built-in double bunk and threw herself down next to him. "It's so boring," she declared, with a laugh.
"You're not bored with the part already, are you? That's a bad sign." He was frowning, his dark hair hanging over one eyebrow.
She rolled up against him and smoothed it back, savouring the feeling of it against her fingers. She took in the look of his sexy, kissable mouth as she did so. That was one thing she would never get bored with. "No, I adore the part, you know that. I meant the journey is boring. I thought it would be more fun being on a ship, lots to do and see, people to meet."
She had envisaged evenings socialising and days spent productively learning their lines. As it turned out, bad weather had struck on day two and the corridors and rather grand function rooms were all but deserted. Whilst neither of them had travelled by sea before, they found they were unaffected by seasickness--much to their relief.
"Ah, but the wretched weather turned on us, my dear, sending those who are weak-stomached down into their cabins for the duration." He spoke in his most outrageous Shakespearean voice, for her entertainment, his grey-green eyes twinkling with amusement.
Toni chuckled at his description; it was so apt. She pictured the pale, distressed passengers who'd been hit badly as soon as the weather turned. They'd hurried along the corridors, gripping onto the ropes that the crew had strung along the walls, on the way to hibernate in their cabins until the rough weather passed.
"Mademoiselle is not satisfied with her accommodation?" Max said, lifting her fingers to his lips and adopting the Belgian accent of Gerard, the character he was currently studying for.
Toni smiled, sensing fun, and stroked her hand against his stark cheekbones.
"Why, Gerard, that is rather a forward question to ask, and who gave you permission to touch Mademoiselle Lawrence?"
Yes, it was a challenge, and she flashed her eyes at him to make sure he realised that.
He stared at her silently for a moment. She saw the mischief flicker in his eyes as sexual tension rose between them, as real as electricity breaking up the atmosphere around them. He reached out, his arm enclosing her, and kissed her passionately, his tongue teasing against hers, opening her up to his inquisitive exploration.
She experienced an immediate response to his touch: the welling of desire in the pit of her stomach, her core throbbing with anticipation, the surface of her skin tingling with arousal. She squeezed her thighs together and her clit throbbed erratically. Coiling her arm around his neck, she lay on her back and drew his body over hers.
His hand slipped inside her kimono to caress the knotting skin of her nipple. "Gerard is very aware that Mademoiselle desires his touches," he whispered, in between moving over the surface of her neck with a trail of kisses.
She purred in response. Nothing turned her on quite as much as pretending they were other people, somebody who was in a very different situation to their own. It was a mutual fascination they often played out to its full effect.
"Max..." she whispered, a powerful sense of physical need building inside her. But he drew his hand away, looking thoughtful as he observed her. She pouted and pulled at his fingers, quickly drawing his hand back so that his warm palm covered her breast again. She wanted sex.
"No, not Max." His eyes flickered with amusement. "Gerard. I am Gerard, and you are Mademoiselle Isobel Lawrence."
)
