Resonating Souls (Bermuda Nights #1)(4)

I stripped off my clothes, pulled on an old t-shirt, and climbed into my own bed.

And then it hit me.

I didn’t even know his name. I had never even seen his face.

The thought staggered me for a moment, craving and longing melding with rich, agonizing despair.

I had lost him.

My one chance, and he had vanished. He was gone forever.

A silver shimmer, and suddenly our porthole was awash in soft light as the moon finally broke free from its thick cloud cover. I looked at the porthole and remembered the row of portholes along the side of the ship.

A smile glistened in my soul as I remembered just where I was.

For seven long days, we were all trapped on this one vessel. Somehow I would find him. Even if I had to talk to every single passenger and crew member on this massive ship, I would track him down.





Chapter 3


I climbed out of the hot tub and wrapped my turquoise sarong around my hip. The noon sun soaked golden heat into my shoulders. I scanned the crowd which swirled around me, a mix of half-drunk college students, moon-eyed newlyweds, and hyperkinetic teenagers, all bright with joy.

Which man here had been the one?

I knew little about him. He was about six feet tall, well built, with dark hair and dark eyes.

I gave a wry grin. That could be a third of the men enjoying the beautiful blue sky and ice-cold beer.

I’d have to listen for the voice. That would be my cue.

I picked up my Champagne mimosa from the edge of the hot tub and gave it a sip. It looked like I’d be eating lunch alone, just as I had breakfast. Kayla had been gone before I woke, and I hadn’t seen her all morning.

There was a flurry of drumbeat from the gazebo at the center of the pool area, and I looked up with interest. The heavyset drummer was leaning over his cymbal, turning the nut on it.

Aha! I had firm suspicion I knew where Kayla would be any minute now.

I walked over toward the gazebo. To the right on a stand was the bass guitarist’s all-black instrument, shaped rather like an ebony lightning bolt. And to the left ...

I stepped toward it, my smile coming of its own accord. The guitar was work of art. In the daylight I could see it was coco bolo, with finely crafted layers of mahogany, elm, and was that maple?

I dropped to one knee to examine it more closely. My hand stretched out of its own accord.

A velvet voice, warm with amusement, came from over my shoulder. “You can touch it if you’d like.”

I closed my eyes for a moment, soaking in the rich sensation which flowed through me like molten chocolate.

It was him.

Against all odds, the man who had soothed me was the guitarist I’d been watching last night, the one with the steady, sure fingers. I could imagine those fingers wrapping around my waist, turning me so my lips came up to meet his ...

He dropped to a knee at my side, his breath warm on my neck. “Go ahead.” I could hear the sparkle of teasing deep in the rich tones. “You know you want to.”


A flush coursed through my body, and I opened my eyes, turning to look at him.

God, he was stunningly handsome. His hair was dark, chocolate brown, tousled by the sea air, and I longed to twine my fingers in it. His eyes were deep green, the color of a pine forest, with flecks of gold. He wore a black t-shirt which caressed the rippled muscles of his chest. His body held a leanness which made me think of rugby.

His lips curved up into a knowing smile, and his gaze settled on my mouth. His voice was a purr.

“Like what you see?”

My throat closed up, and I could barely speak.

“Like?”

He nudged his head to the right. “My guitar.”

I gave a choking laugh. “Oh, right. Yes, that’s coco bolo, isn’t it?”

He blinked, surprise showing in his gaze. “Yes, and maple.”

I nodded, looking away from him, sanity taking a small hold over my mind as I fell into the familiar topic area. “I thought so. That grain is gorgeous; is that spalted?”

He smiled appreciatively. “You know your woods. Yes, there’s a place out west that custom makes guitars. I’d played others with this combination, and the sound is just the right melding of rich and sharp.”

Kayla’s bright laugh carried across the patio, and I looked up. She was dressed in a hot pink bikini, and her arm was curled possessively through the Viking’s. He had on a dark grey t-shirt and black shorts. He gave her ass a sharp spank, then stepped up onto stage. He looked around, his head swiveling to where the bass player lounged at the bar. He lifted his hand in a calling motion.

I drew to my feet. “I guess it’s showtime.”

His dark green eyes held mine. “Shall I make some music for you?”

When he looked at me that way, it was all I could do not to melt into a puddle at his feet. I found I could only nod.

The corners of his mouth turned up, and he ran his eyes down my body for a moment, caressing me with his gaze. Then he swept up his guitar, settled the strap across his shoulder, and nodded to the Viking.

The blond stepped up to the microphone. His voice belted out across the expanse. “Welcome to your vacation! How many of you are here from Massachusetts?”

It seemed like half of the crowd bellowed in response, waving arms and cheering.

The singer smiled. “I’ve got two words for you guys – Boston Strong!”