Fearless. Fern Michaels

vacation. To do what she wanted, when she wanted, without fear. Last night had put paid to that theory.

      A light knock on her door sent her flying out of the lounge chair.

      “Just a sec,” she called. Hurrying to the bedroom, she took a fresh robe from the closet, slipped her arms through the sleeves, then returned to the door. “Who’s there?” she asked, feeling like an idiot for even asking.

      “Ma’am, it’s George. I’ve brought a tray for you,” he answered in that sexy Jamaican accent.

      She adjusted the belt on her robe, planted a smile on her face, and opened the door. “Come in,” she said, feeling completely washed-out.

      George was all smiles. He was wearing a crisp white jacket and matching pants creased to the nines. It was obvious that, unlike her, he had not awakened with a hangover. He was very easy on the eyes. She stood aside and allowed him to enter her suite with the rolling cart of what she guessed was breakfast.

      “You were not well last night, Anna?” he asked, as he removed silver covers from several plates.

      That was putting it mildly, but he didn’t need to know more than that. “I was a bit seasick, I think. I took Dramamine and slept like a log.” She hated lying to him but told herself sometimes a little white lie was necessary.

      “Quite common,” he said, placing the plates on the dining table. “This is what we call ‘the morning after’ brunch. It should perk you up in no time.”

      Food was the last thing on her mind, but he was right. She’d feel better with something in her stomach.

      “This is enough for a family of four,” she said, eyeing all the food.

      “This is a small feast, yes, but a bite of each and you’ll feel brand-new,” he said, a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eyes.

      He pulled a chair out for her. Sitting down, she assumed that he was going to stand beside her and watch her eat. “Why don’t you join me?” she asked, certain that he would decline her invitation.

      “Thank you. It will be my pleasure,” he said, and seated himself in the chair opposite her.

      Did he think she was coming on to him?

      She nodded and took another sip of her now-cold coffee.

      “The green tea and honey are especially good for . . . your health.” He placed a tea bag inside a fresh cup, added a huge dollop of honey, then poured boiling water from a carafe over the tea bag.

      “True, but I’m going to have another cup of this,” she replied, holding her cup in the air. Once in the kitchen, with her back to him, she asked, “Is this part of your duties? Having breakfast with me?” She waited for the dark brown liquid to fill the cup.

      “Yes, it is, if required,” he answered.

      Fair enough, she thought. Turning to face him, she leaned against the countertop, sipping the much-needed caffeine for the extra jolt it provided. “So how do you determine if this is required?” she asked, a smile on her face. She couldn’t help it. He was so handsome, so proper. Had he been twenty years older, she might be in trouble.

      “I have my ways,” he said, filling her plate with scrambled eggs and slices of avocado.

      “Look, I know what you’re thinking, and I’d think the same thing if I were in your position, but I only had two glasses of that champagne last night. What’s the alcohol content of that stuff anyway?” she asked, pretty sure of the answer but needing to say something in her own defense.

      “Ah, the Veuve Clicquot. No more than any other quality champagne. Around twelve or thirteen percent, I believe, but I’m no Philippe Clicquot, the founder of the French champagne house, one of the largest in the world. After he died, his wife—they called her the Grande Dame of Champagne—took over for him. Very successful. I believe she was in her late twenties when she was widowed. Quite the businesswoman for her generation, she invented the first-known rosé champagne by blending red and white champagne wines, a process still used to this very day. Very brilliant woman, as most are.”

      “I’m impressed,” Anna said. “You’re quite the sommelier and teacher.”

      He took a bite of egg, then a sip of tea. “Some would say it’s part of my job to know these things.”

      “Again, you’ve impressed me.”

      “Eat, Anna. Please,” he implored, not bothering to acknowledge her compliment.

      She sat down, feeling more like herself after her third cup of coffee.

      “What time is it, anyway?” she asked. “I wanted to attend the cooking class.” She took a forkful of eggs and a slice of avocado. Chewing, she realized she was hungry and hadn’t eaten since yesterday afternoon. She took a slice of watermelon from the plate, a banana, and a few strawberries. All good hangover foods, she knew.

      “It’s after two,” he said.

      “In the afternoon?” She waved her hand in front of her. “Never mind. Of course, it’s afternoon,” she replied, answering her own question. Glancing outside to the balcony, she could tell by the sun’s position that it was midafternoon.

      “You missed the class, but they will have another on the return trip. Tonight, there is a dancing contest. It’s always one of the most attended events. You should go.”

      “I’m not much of a dancer,” she said. The only rhythm she possessed was in the kitchen.

      “As you’ll find, most of the guests aren’t. However, many will lose all inhibition when a bit of alcohol is consumed.”

      “That’s not going to be me. I am a teetotaler from here on in,” she said, then realized her mistake. “Possibly a fruity cocktail. I’ll have to get my sea legs before I indulge.” She almost added anymore but caught herself.

      “Then I’ll leave you to finish and prepare yourself for tonight. The fun starts at seven o’clock. If there is anything you need,” he said, as he returned his chair beneath the table, “all you have to do is push a button. Enjoy your afternoon, Anna.” He nodded, then returned to wherever he was supposed to be.

      “That was fast,” she said to no one.

      Her first day at sea was a total flop. Literally. What to do until seven? She left the table, food and all, and returned to the chaise lounge. Unsure if George’s behavior was normal, she reached for the satellite phone extension and dialed Mandy’s cell.

      “Hey,” Mandy said, sounding out of breath.

      “Hey, back. You okay?” Anna asked.

      “Out of shape is what I am. Hang on,” Mandy told her. “Okay, that’s better. I had to sit down. Christina is on a roller coaster. No way was I going with her. She’s fine. I had to trek across the park to the first-aid center. I’ve got blisters the size of golf balls.”

      Typical Mandy. “Please tell me you’re not wearing those espadrilles? The ones with the four-inch platforms?”

      Mandy didn’t answer.

      “You are, aren’t you?”

      “I didn’t realize SeaWorld was so . . . hilly.”

      “Then go buy yourself a pair of sandals! I’m sure there has to be some sort of gift shop there that sells shoes. I can’t believe you,” Anna said, and laughed. “Looks before comfort, I know.” Those were the words Mandy lived by. “Hilly? Isn’t Florida as flat as West Texas?”

      “Even more, if that’s humanly possible.”

      “I have a question. . . .”

      “I’m sure you do. Shoot,” Mandy said.

      “My steward, George. Super nice guy, but I’m wondering exactly what his duties consist of. I slept in”—another lie—“and