In this installment of Portrait of Obsession, Blythe and Ethan get to know each other a little better. Ethan explains that Naomi is his wife, and Blythe tells him she boarded the boat because of a letter she found from a man named Francois to her father. This has piqued her curiosity, and she began her trip to America on a journey to find Francois.

When Ethan learns that Blythe must earn money once she reaches Chicago, which could take a long time, he hatches a scheme for him to teach her how to play poker. Blythe is skeptical at first because Ethan has kissed her again. This time, though, she remembers what Ethan’s “wife” Naomi has told her – that she’s pregnant. But she’s unable to resist and accepts his offer so she can hopefully find her long-lost grandfather sooner.

THREE

During the meal, Blythe learned that Ethan was very friendly and offered him several shy smiles while he charmed her with his wit. Although she enjoyed his company, she was still leery. She had a feeling that he was only being pleasant to get what he wanted—for her to go alone with him to his office. Yet for some reason, she felt drawn to him.

This Ethan was a complete contrast to the one she had passed in the corridor the first day, and he only remotely resembled the violent man on the observation deck. This Ethan Lucas had a ready smile and gracious manner; his dark eyes sparkled mischievously whenever he spoke. Blythe often couldn’t tell if he was serious or joking. He was obviously a complex man who enjoyed life to the fullest. If only she could find some enjoyment in her own life! Maybe then she wouldn’t be so desperate to find the past that her father had lost. But was it wise to look for something she had no proof ever existed?

What a ridiculous thought! Of course, there was proof— tangible proof that had brought her to the River Goddess in the first place. The letter to her father had proclaimed that a man named Francois Bouvier was her grandfather, and she had to find him. There was more proof now, too. Ethan had told her that he had a painting of a woman who looked exactly like her hanging in his office. Either Ethan or that painting might give her yet another clue to her missing past.

“I thought you were hungry, Miss Bouvier,” he observed, drawing her from her thoughts. “You hardly touched your food.”

“I guess I wasn’t as hungry as I thought,” she admitted.

“Or you lost your appetite. I hope the waiter didn’t embarrass you too much by staring at you like you were the other woman in my life. The news that we’re dining together is probably at least halfway around my ship by now, too.”

“Won’t Mrs. Lucas be angry?”

“Mrs. Lucas?” he repeated. “Ah, yes, Mrs. Lucas. If you’re worried, I can assure you that she won’t mind.”

“That surprises me. Most women would be furious.”

“Why? We haven’t done anything but eat and talk. If I’d taken you to my suite for dinner, she’d have every reason to be angry. But I didn’t. We’re in public with a number of people watching us.”

Blythe flashed a quick, nervous smile as she glanced around the dining room. “One can never tell who will start a rumor.”

“Does that mean you changed your mind about coming to my office?”

“People could misconstrue your intentions,” she admitted, “and mine.”

“I promise that my intentions are completely honorable,” he insisted while raised his hand as though taking an oath. “You really must see the portrait, Miss Bouvier. The likeness is so uncanny that you could have posed for it yourself. She even has the same shy smile.”

“Honest?” she asked in a breathy, amazed tone.

“Absolutely. And I find it a most enchanting smile. Please come down with me. I’ll even leave the door open if it will make you more comfortable.”

“All right then,” she agreed, “if you leave the door open. Besides, you’ve piqued my curiosity.”

“Should I still keep my hands in my pockets?” he asked with a grin.

Blythe bowed her head in a vain attempt to conceal her smile. Now she was self-conscious about it. Whenever he smiled at her, though, she felt a warm rush, as if someone had injected a hot liquid into her veins and her increased heart rate sped it through her body. It was a sensation she had never before experienced but one she loved already. It was exciting and exhilarating—and a little frightening because she didn’t know what it meant.

“Are you all right, Blythe?” Ethan asked in a soft, deep voice. “I didn’t say something to offend you, did I?”

“No.” Her eyes met his when she lifted her head. With an inner gasp, she discovered she couldn’t divert her gaze. Her eyes locked onto his dark brown stare, like a tick locked onto skin. The thought caused her to giggle. Here she was, sitting across from an attractive, charming man, and she likened something she sensed was very special to a very dull event. How unromantic!

“That’s a lovely sound,” he said, again breaking into her thoughts.

“What is?”

“Your laugh. It’s as marvelous as your smile. They compliment each other perfectly.”

“Do you know what my mother would call a statement like that, Mr. Lucas? Blarney. But I’ll admit that you deliver it well—almost as well as my father.”

Rounding the table, Ethan extended his bent arm toward her, and she grasped his elbow to rise. Once they were out of the dining room, he smiled down at her again. “I’m afraid, Miss Bouvier, that blarney gives the impression that I was telling a tall tale. But I wasn’t. I honestly believe what I said. Your laugh and smile are both enchanting.”

“That’s very kind of you to say, especially since you’re married,” she said pointedly to remind him of his status.

“Does that bother you as much as it sounds?” he asked.

“I’m not accustomed to married men seeking me out,” she admitted softly. “I find it very … disconcerting.”

“I had a good reason. And once we get to my office, you’ll understand.”

“The likeness is that close?”

“Like I said, uncanny,” he insisted as they started down the steps to the lower decks. “But you’ve seen other paintings. You know how close the resemblance is.”

Keeping her gaze on the stairs, Blythe remained silent until they got to the bottom then lifted her head to look up at Ethan. Instead of him returning her stare, he appeared to be in deep concentration as he escorted her down the corridor to his office.

When he reached out to unlock the door, an overwhelming confusion swept through her. How could she even consider going into the room with a married man, especially unchaperoned? Yet she desperately wanted to, and not only because of the portrait. She wanted to be with Ethan Lucas. Even though her upbringing told her it was wrong, her heart insisted that there was no harm in looking at the painting.

A hand on the small of her back startled her from her introspection. She shot her gaze to Ethan’s face and took two steps backward. “I can’t, Mr. Lucas.”

“Why not?” he asked, disappointment evident in his expression.

“I’m afraid.”

“Not of me, I hope.”

Unable to admit that he had only a minor part in her fear, Blythe bowed her head. How could she tell Ethan that she was more afraid of her overwhelming desire to be with him, something she’d never before experienced.

“Oh, my God,” he groaned. Then his voice began to rise in anger. “It’s because of last night, isn’t it. You’re afraid of me because I could have beaten the …” He stopped then changed his wording in a calmer tone. “… up Moody. I was only protecting your virtue, Miss Bouvier. I swear it.”

“I understand that, Mr. Lucas, but …”

“Please don’t be afraid of me. I swear I’d never do anything to hurt you—or any other woman. Won’t you trust me long enough to at least see the portrait? It truly is very important to me.”

Her heart went out to the man, who suddenly looked like a hurt little boy. Without a word, she passed him and went into the room, her eyes instantly searching for the portrait he claimed to be there. And it was, in a very prominent place. Staring at it in awe, she approached the painting in a daze. He hadn’t lied about its existence, nor had he exaggerated about the extent of the likeness. The hair color, the almond-shaped green eyes, the shy smile, even the four-pointed, lop-sided, star-shaped birthmark on the collarbone were all identical to her own. Tentatively reaching out, she touched the pink mark with her index finger.

“Do you have a birthmark, too?” His voice was so low and soothing that it dragged rather than startled her from her thoughts.

“Yes,” she replied, “in the same spot. Who is she?”

“I was hoping you could tell me. Could she be your mother?”

“My mother died several years ago, and she looked nothing like this. My father didn’t look too much like her, either.”

“But he did somewhat?” Ethan questioned.

“Somewhat. The color of his eyes, the shape of his lips and nose—but that’s about all.” Turning to face him, Blythe gazed up into Ethan’s dark eyes. “Where did you get this portrait? And the other paintings, of course.”

“I won them in a poker game.”

“From whom?”

“The man who painted them.”

“Did he know the woman?”

“He didn’t say, and I didn’t ask.”

“Where did he live?”

“Right here,” Ethan explained. “He owned the River Goddess at the time. Why are you so interested?”

“Wouldn’t you be if you looked exactly like someone in a painting?” she asked.

“Probably, but you act like you have a personal interest in this woman.”

“I’m a curious person.”

“You know the woman, don’t you,” he declared, his voice taking on an angry tone. “You just won’t tell me.”

“I have no idea who she is,” Blythe replied. “And quite obviously, you also have more than a passing interest in her.”

“We’re here for your reaction to this portrait,” he reminded her, his deep voice gruff in his frustration. “You know her, but you’re too damned stubborn to tell me.”

Blythe’s breath caught, and she stared up at him in shock. How had he known that she would stubbornly refuse to tell him the woman’s name—if she knew it—unless he answered her questions first? Then she noticed it. His expression, soft and gentle while he charmed her into his office during lunch, had turned cold and hard in the face of her obstinance. This was the man she had spent days hiding from, and she suddenly wished she was still safe in her cabin.

“Answer me, damn it!” he raged as he stuffed his fists into his pockets.

“I don’t know.” Her voice was heavy with defiance. No one spoke to her like that. While she stood her ground in the middle of the room, Ethan stalked around her. “And even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”

His face told her everything. He was sizing her up. For battle? If not a physical one, then at least a verbal one. After one revolution around her, he backed toward the door, his eyes not leaving hers, and kicked it shut.

Infuriated, she shouted at him. “You said you’d leave that open! You lied.”

“I changed my mind,” he corrected. “Sit down.”

Blythe’s temper bristled further. Nobody got away with ordering her around, no matter how much bigger than she they were. And Ethan Lucas was no exception. Unmoving, she kept her stare riveted on his eyes, which blinked three times while he approached her again.

“I said to sit down.”

“No,” she returned.

“Do you know what I have in my pockets?” He jerked his fists from his jacket to hold them before her in a boxing stance. “These.” But Blythe didn’t even flinch at the sight of his balled hands. Instead, her eyes remained fixed on his in mute defiance. His voice, though, relayed his discomfort despite the ire in it as he continued. “If you were a man, you’d be flat on your back right now—with me sitting on you, throttling you good. In fact, I have half a notion to take you over my knee and spank some of that defiance out of you.”

“Go ahead,” she intoned.

Ethan’s expression showed that some of the fight in him drain away under her dare. That was exactly what it had been, too—a dare. She had expressed it in the sound of her voice.

Good, Blythe thought when he dropped his hands, she had disarmed him. Unfortunately, now she could feel the old fear creeping into her. But the worst of it was over. She had shown him that he couldn’t intimidate her simply because she was small—although five-three wasn’t that small. Ethan Lucas was just tall. Either way, she was no physical match for him, and she couldn’t let him see fear in her ever again.

“Damn!” he exclaimed as he strode to a bottle on a nearby shelf. “I need a drink.”

Moving only her head, Blythe watched him splash some amber liquid into a glass and down it in one gulp. He poured himself more and stalked to his desk.

“Are you going to sit down or not?” he asked irritably.

“Not,” she replied, worried that further words might give away her fear.

“Suit yourself, but don’t expect me to be a gentleman and stand with you.” He collapsed into his desk chair then sipped on his drink.

“That stuff isn’t good for you,” she stated. “I hear it kills your brain, as well as your insides.”

“I’ll worry about my own insides, thank you,” he chided. “Now what are you doing on my boat?”

“I don’t see why that concerns you,” she replied, “since I paid for my passage.”

“Damn it! You’re not going to tell me anything, are you.”

“Why should I? You aren’t much of a …” Blythe cut off her words. If she finished her insulting statement, he would only become enraged again. And he might actually spank her. She certainly didn’t want that.

“I’m a better man than you’ll run across in your circle of friends,” he proclaimed.

Blythe’s eyes widened in horror. Ethan hadn’t needed to hear the word; he had read her mind. The mere idea of what he could do to her made her shudder. Instead of the rage she anticipated, however, he laughed—a rich, full sound that made her wonder if his singing voice was equally beautiful.

An unexpected scene of Ethan whirling her around a ballroom floor, humming above her head, flashed across her mind. Most of her female friends were attracted to a man’s eyes, a few were attracted to a man’s smile, and one—her closest friend Solange—was attracted to the only portion of a man’s anatomy that Blythe refused to consider. If Ethan weren’t sitting behind his desk, she would probably glance to his trousers like Solange would have.

He laughed again, and her eyes shot to meet his. Oh, no! Without even realizing it, her gaze had dropped to the desk concealing his lap. Apparently, he could tell what she was thinking again.

“A man’s eyes don’t mean much to you, do they. It’s a man’s voice—or maybe it’s merely his laugh—that brings out the …” Ethan paused to sip his drink. “… passion in you.”

“I’m not a passionate person, Mr. Lucas.” She sank onto the chair before his desk with a casualness she hoped hid the fact that her knees had suddenly gone weak. “In fact, I rarely even let a man kiss me.”

Finishing his drink, he put down the glass and toyed with his mustache.

“There are many different types of passion, Blythe,” he told her. “There’s passion for learning and passion for life. There’s passion in striving for something you want more than anything else.”

“I see that as an obsession. It engrosses the mind.”

 “Ah, but there’s passion in obsession, too. There has to be, or it wouldn’t be anything more than a dream.” Pausing, he opened his desk drawer, and Blythe wondered what he had hidden in it. He appeared to be toying with something that he didn’t want her to see. “There’s also passion in defiance, in stubbornness—and most of all in anger. Yes, ma’am. There’s passion in you, all right. You just don’t recognize it.”

He was right, but she had no intention of admitting it. Determined to turn their conversation back to the original topic, she said, “I thought we were going to discuss the portrait. I need some answers, Mr. Lucas. I have to have them.”

Again, he laughed. “Such passion about a painting from someone who claims to be dispassionate.”

“Don’t taunt me! Just answer my questions.”

“I can’t. In fact, I was hoping you could answer mine.”

Blythe stared over at him. “What possible questions could you have?”

“Only one—who is she?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“She’ a beautiful lady, so I’m curious.”

“So curious that you went to all of that trouble simply to meet me? That’s quite an obsession to have for a portrait.”

“A passionate obsession,” he agreed with a grin.

Tired of his constant references to passion, Blythe rose and started toward the door. She should have listened to her common sense and stayed away from him. The only reason she hadn’t was because she thought he might be able to give her a piece to put in the puzzle of her background. Instead, he’d given her a difficult time, and she had no intention of ever being with him again, no matter how much she adored his laugh.

A breeze made her stop, and she stared up at Ethan as he blocked the door, ordering, “Don’t leave yet.”

Her fury rose, and she blistered, “You can force me to stay, but you can’t force me to talk. So, what good would it do?”

“I’d be happy just to look at you.”

“Look at your painting,” she countered.

“She doesn’t have a personality. You do.” When he spoke again, his voice was husky; his eyes carried an expression of longing she’d seen in several suitors’ eyes. “She’s a painting, Blythe. You’re real.”

The moment he spoke Blythe wanted to run. She knew what would follow, but she didn’t expect the surge of excitement that shot through her when his hands caught her upper arms. She couldn’t have anticipated that her heartbeat would speed up as he crushed her upper torso against his. Her toes barely touched the floor. She couldn’t have even imagined the power behind his kiss when his lips captured hers for the first time. Above all, she couldn’t have foreseen that the contact would block all thought from her mind and replace it with nothing but feeling.

She should struggle to free herself, should show him that she wouldn’t tolerate his treatment. But she couldn’t move. She could scarcely even think. Somehow Ethan Lucas had bewitched her. Otherwise, she would never allow a married man to kiss her. That’s right! He was a married man, so she had no choice but to put an end to the embrace.

Before she could react, he released her, not touching her anywhere. When he stared down at her, his mouth gaped slightly in astonishment. Unexpected tears stung her eyes, and she fought to control them. From the sound of his sigh, he regretted his actions. But why did she care if he was disappointed in her kiss? It was better this way—since he was married.

“I should go,” she announced in a low voice.

“I suppose you should.”

“Thank you for showing me the portrait.”

“You’re welcome.” Opening the door, he let her pass. “Please come look at it whenever you feel the urge. I’ll even leave so you won’t be uncomfortable.”

“Thank you, but I doubt I’ll feel the urge. Good-bye, Mr. Lucas.”

As Blythe strolled toward the stairs, Ethan closed the door. He wanted to watch her move away, her hips swaying seductively, but that would make matters worse. Stroking the velvet ribbon in his drawer while she stood before him had done nothing to relieve his desire to hold her, and he had acted instinctively. And she might never forgive him for that. The only way to rid himself of the taste left by her lips was to drown himself in another woman. And that woman had to be Naomi, because he hadn’t met any others on board, other than to ask if they’d seen Blythe.

Striding purposefully to his stateroom he entered to find Naomi sleeping soundly. In his desperation to purge himself of Blythe, he’d forgotten that Naomi wasn’t feeling well. As he stood at her bedside, he realized with a start that he couldn’t have satisfied his need for Blythe, anyway. Naomi wasn’t the woman he wanted anymore—Blythe was, and someday he would have to have her.

FOUR

Although Blythe no longer feared Ethan, she was embarrassed that she hadn’t at least chastised him after he’d kissed her. For two days, she avoided being where he might be, her efforts much less concerted than before. At first she couldn’t understand why, then reality replaced confusion. She wasn’t trying because, in her heart, she wanted him to find her.

Both nights she had dreamed of his laugh and his kiss so many times that it became a recurring nightmare of passion. The most interesting man she’d ever met was married! Maybe she would get over these feelings if she confronted him about the embrace. Maybe she would tell him that her lack of decorum didn’t mean she condoned what he’d done. And maybe she wouldn’t. Ethan Lucas was a dark, foreboding man of mystery, possessing an equally mysterious power over her. That was what she should fear—not the man but the spell he could cast on her with a single, rich-toned laugh.

Her best defense against him was to learn to hate him, to force herself to dislike the man. Arguing with him had brought on dislike, so all she had to do was prompt a disagreement if they spoke again. That would fuel her antipathy. A sardonic smile played at her lips. Staring him down would give her the advantage—just as it had in his office. Since Ethan was most dangerous to her heart, she needed to use every shield she could find to protect herself. So far that advantage was the only shield she’d found.

With renewed determination, Blythe returned to the observation deck.

***

Ethan started at the loud knock on his office door and automatically told the person to enter. Facing the door instead of the portrait he’d been staring at, a bright smile lit his face. Maybe Blythe had finally come to see it again. But his lips turned into a severe frown when he saw the red-and-gray-haired captain.

“You all right, Mr. Lucas?” Jennings asked as he closed the door. “You look tired.”

“I am,” he admitted, watching his left thumb stroke the soft, yellow ribbon he held. “I haven’t gotten more than three hours of sleep a night since this trip started.”

“Why not?”

“Blythe Bouvier.”

“What?” Jennings asked.

“Angel’s look-alike,” Ethan explained. “Blythe’s as much under my skin as Angel ever was. No, more than Angel ever was. I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, and I sure as hell can’t work—all because I can’t stop thinking about her.”

“I didn’t think you knew who she was.”

“I finally found her a couple of days ago.” Ethan sighed and turned his gaze to his captain. “What the hell am I going to do?”

“If you know who she is,” Jennings suggested, “why don’t you go talk to her? She spends a lot of time on the observation deck. I can see her from the helm. In fact, she’s there right now.”

Shaking his head, Ethan explained, “I can’t. I want to see her again—God only knows how much—but I can’t do it.”

“That doesn’t sound like you.”

“I know, but I made some mistakes. One, which will probably become something good in the end, was telling her that I have a wife. Now she thinks Naomi and I are married. How can I pursue her when she thinks that?”

“Why would you tell her such a thing?” Jennings asked.

“I couldn’t very well tell her the truth. She’s probably too innocent to understand it. You know I’ve never understood women, and Blythe’s different than any other woman I’ve ever known. She knows how to handle men, and that scares me. She doesn’t do it in an obvious way like other women, either. She doesn’t try to cajole or manipulate; she takes a stand against men. I sure as hell didn’t expect her to be like that. I thought she’d be sweet and innocent because she has such a shy smile.”

“Isn’t she innocent?” Jennings asked.

“Of course, she is. That’s one reason I told her that I was married. I didn’t think she could understand how I live. You know, always looking for a better woman. But there’s a hell of a lot more behind that sweet exterior of hers. She has fire in her, too. I never liked women like that before.”

“I know one thing about her,” Jennings told him. “She loves the water. In the last couple days, she’s spent hours on end at the railing. Sometimes she watches the scenery, but mostly she just stares at the canal.”

Ethan chuckled at the recollection of their interaction. “She likes to stare. You should have seen her stare me down when I lost my temper the other day. I couldn’t believe it. She didn’t blink a long, beautiful eyelash for several minutes. At least, that’s how long it seemed.” Then a frown returned to his lips. “I didn’t like it at all.”

“Sounds to me like …”

“Don’t say it!” Ethan ordered. “I know what the hell it sounds like. It sounds like she has some sort of power over me, and I don’t like that, either.”

“Then talk to her. Tell her how you feel. That’s probably the only way you’ll get her out of your mind.”

“You’re right. I think I will.”

“Good. Now that we’ve found a solution to your problem, could we get down to business? I need some money to get supplies when we dock this afternoon.”

***

Blythe loved the feel of the wind blowing her hair as she stood at the bow of the observation deck, and the crisp spring air seemed to clear her mind. In the open, she could think of Ethan rationally, could see him for the volatile man he was. If only she could see him that way alone in her room—or even in the dining room. Unfortunately, that didn’t seem possible.

In the dining room, she remembered the charming, witty man who had delighted her over lunch. In her cabin, she could imagine his hands on her arms, her breasts crushed against his hard body, his powerful kiss. On the deck, though, she could vividly envision his attack on that man—Herbert Moody. But the memory didn’t produce fear now. Instead, she felt the same pleasant, secure sensation she had when her brother had defended her honor.

But where Ethan had succeeded, Ben had failed and lost his life in the process. She’d wanted to stay with Ben and help, but he had insisted that Dan take her home. As she’d left with Dan, she glanced over her shoulder, making her last image of Ben clutching his chest, and her unwanted suitor running down the alley. When the brother and sister learned of Ben’s death, they were devastated, then …

An unexpected thought came to her. She’d been wearing a ribbon the night Ethan had protected her. What had happened to that ribbon, anyway? she wondered as she glanced around the deck. Since it was nowhere in sight, it must have blown away or somebody threw it away. After all, a ribbon wasn’t something anybody would consider important. It wasn’t important to her, either, but she was curious as to where it had gone.

“Are you looking for something?” a woman asked.

Straightening up, Blythe smiled when she saw Naomi. “Hello, Mrs. Lucas. I lost a ribbon the other day and wondered if it was here.”

“What color was it? Maybe I’ve seen it.”

“Yellow velvet.”

“I didn’t see if, but if I do, I’ll give it back to you.”

“Don’t bother. It’s only a ribbon—nothing to get excited about. By the way, Mr. Lucas told me that you were ill. Are you feeling better?”

“A little, thank you.” Naomi grasped Blythe’s wrist and led her away from several people standing nearby. “Could I confide in you? Living on a riverboat, I don’t have any close friends, and I need to talk to somebody. Can you keep a secret?”

“Of course.”

“You can’t tell anybody, especially not Ethan.”

“You don’t need to worry about that, Mrs. Lucas. I’ve only spoken to him once, and I doubt I will again.”

“Call me Naomi. Anyway, I’m not positive yet. Not enough time’s passed to be sure. But I think I’m going to have a baby.”

“Oh, Naomi,” Blythe said excitedly, “you must be thrilled.”

Naomi shook her head. “I’ve been too sick to be thrilled. Ethan and I have been married a year and a half, and this is the first time I’ve had the symptoms. I’m a little afraid to believe it.”

Unable to contain her enthusiasm, Blythe hurried on. “I hope you are. Babies are wonderful, and every time they learn something new as they grow up it will open your eyes, too. You’ll feel like you’re learning all over again.”

“Do you have children?” Naomi asked.

“No, but I remember watching my brothers grow.”

“I see. You won’t tell Ethan, will you? I want to be sure before I say anything.”

“Heavens no! I couldn’t steal such a precious moment from a husband and wife. The joy of realizing that your love created a new person is something only you and he should share. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll extend my slightly early congratulations and leave. I have a few things to do in my cabin.”

The emotional strength she needed to walk rather than run away from Naomi hurt. Blythe was happy for Naomi and Ethan, but the tightness in her chest was excruciating. It wasn’t fair! Other women didn’t seem to have trouble finding men to love, but she had never experienced the emotion. At this rate, she would never know the joy of motherhood.

At the bottom of the stairs, Blythe stopped short, shocked by the thought that came to her mind. She’d known many other women who had been with child and never hurt like she did at Naomi’s announcement. But it was even harder to admit that she wished she were the one carrying Naomi’s child. She didn’t want just any baby. She desperately wanted that one!

Down the corridor she saw the baby’s father leaning against the wall. His left foot was planted against it, and his knee extended about a third of the way into the hall. Obviously, he was deep in thought again. He was toying with his mustache and his left hand was in his trouser pocket. Drawing in a deep breath to gather the courage to face him, she continued her stroll to her cabin.

“Blythe,” he worded mutely as he rubbed the ribbon with his thumb, “I’m very sorry about the other day. I can’t tell you how sorry I am about the other day, Blythe. Miss Bouvier … I’m sorry for everything. Please accept my most humble apologies, Miss Bouvier.”

Nothing was right—not one phrase. Ethan knew he should apologize for his actions in his office, but he didn’t know how. Blythe was the first woman he’d ever felt he should apologize to, yet he knew he couldn’t do it. And why? Because he wasn’t sorry. He was glad that he’d kissed her. Actually, he should probably apologize to himself. After all, he was the one he’d hurt.

Even before their lips met that first time, he’d admitted that she would have a dangerous effect on his mind. And he’d been right. If he’d been obsessed with finding her, he only grew more so with the memory of their embrace. He could still taste the sweetness of her lips, feel the suppleness of her body, hear his excited blood rushing through his ears.

Maybe she was right. Maybe liquor could kill his brain. That was apparently the only explanation for the lunacy he felt lately.

Glancing down the hall, he saw her approaching. Her light hair hardly moved as she sauntered toward him. For several seconds, he watched her hips as they flowed seductively from side to side with effortless ease, her skirts swishing around her. No other woman he knew walked like that, and he wondered if there was any other who did. Leaving the ribbon in his pocket, he withdrew a key and turned to face her.

“Good morning, Blythe,” he greeted with fraudulent cheer. “How are you today?”

“Fine, thank you,” she replied. “And you?”

“Absolutely wonderful.”

“Absolutely terrible, you mean.”

He gasped in shock. “How did you know?”

“I don’t know, Mr. Lucas. I suppose I sensed it. That, and you didn’t sound very sincere when your said it. What’s bothering you?”

“Nothing important. I just want to talk to you again. I got the impression you weren’t telling me everything the other day, so I came to see if you’d would be willing to continue our conversation.” While he spoke, Ethan unlocked and opened her door then looked down to watch her pass. But at the sight of her irritated expression, he found himself unable to continue.

“How did you get a key to my cabin?” she demanded.

“I have one to all of the cabins, in case of an emergency.”

“Obviously, your idea of an emergency and mine are quite different.”

“I didn’t say this was an emergency.”

“Then why do you have that key?”

“Let’s go in, and I’ll explain. It’s too public here.” Grasping her elbow, Ethan steered her into the room but left the door open. When he glanced down at her, he saw that she stared directly into his eyes.

She was doing it to him again. That green-eyed stare of defiance which he had hoped to avoid was already working its effect on him. He wanted her. Oh, how he wanted her! Struggling to control his almost instantaneous arousal, he spoke in a crisp voice. “I was going to wait for you in here because I didn’t think you’d want to see me again.”

“At least, you’re not a completely ignorant,” she snapped.

“I’m not ignorant at all!” he raged. “You just turn me into a blithering idiot whenever you act this way.”

Blythe sighed, causing Ethan to wonder why. Surely, it wasn’t because he approached her again. After all, he’d been a complete gentleman—until she became angry.

“I didn’t wait in your room, you know,” he said. “I waited outside because I respect your privacy. But I’ll quit respecting it and go through your belongings if you don’t tell me why you’re on my boat.”

“You wouldn’t go through my things,” she declared, “so stop threatening me.”

Shaking his head, he sighed at length. “You’re wrong this time, Blythe. I’d tear this cabin apart to find the information I want if I had to. So why don’t you save us both a lot of fuss and answer my questions.”

Blythe wandered to the bed and sank down onto the edge of it. To be close to her, he sat down beside her. He watched her reaction as she turned her sorrowful gaze to his eyes. Something was bothering her, but he didn’t think it had to do with him being in her room because he hadn’t closed the door.

“Is something bothering you?” he asked after a moment of silence.

“I keep thinking about that portrait, Mr. Lucas. Shortly before I left France, I found a letter in an old trunk. My friend Solange and I were exploring the attic when we found it. The letter is twenty-five years old and was addressed to my father. It said that Jean Bouvier wasn’t my father’s real father. Francois, the man who wrote the letter, claimed he was. The woman I call grand-mere said the man who raised my father was actually his father’s brother. Francois wanted to meet Pӓpa and told him that he would be on the River Goddess. That’s why I’m here. And that portrait just makes me wonder if she’s the reason for the letter.”

“Why didn’t your father come?”

“He may have tried to at the time. I can’t say for sure because he’s dead, but it makes sense. He left France and came to America. He married my mother twenty-four years ago; they had a son but lost him before he was a year old. I was born two years after that. As far as I know, Pӓpa never found his father. He never told us much about his background, either, even though Mӓma did hers.”

“So now you’re trying to find your grandfather. What does your mother think of this?”

“I told you before. She’s gone, too. So are both of my younger brothers.”

Ethan’s heart went out to her. This poor young woman was alone in her life, just like in her travels. “Your family’s non-existent then. How did you lose your younger brothers? Or is it too painful to talk about?”

“I was seventeen, and Ben had just turned fifteen. Grand-mere Bouvier gave him a birthday ball that year. My escort got too amorous; and Ben, like you, intervened to defend my honor. I tried to stop him, but he insisted that our brother Dan take me home so I wouldn’t witness their fight. Ben never came home. My escort stabbed and killed him. Dan was like my older brother who died. He had heart trouble all of his life. He felt so guilty for not trying to stop Ben that he was gone within four months. He was only thirteen.”

“So only you and your grandmother are left.”

“She isn’t my grandmother, Mr. Lucas—not technically. She told me that she raised my father as her son, but there was no direct blood tie to her and no adoption. She had just been married to Pӓpa’s uncle, who died shortly after he came to live with them. Grand-mere never had children of her own and raised Pӓpa as her own. That’s all I know about it.”

“Who’s your real grandmother?”

“I don’t know, and neither does Grand-mere Bouvier.”

“Did you ever stop to think that the woman in the portrait might be your real grandmother?”

Blythe gasped. Scrambling from the bed, she gazed down at him, her wide eyes filled with excitement. “Oh, Ethan! Do you think that’s possible?”

Rising slowly, he studied the young woman before him. Although there were no tears in her eyes, there had been passion in the sorrowful tone of her voice when she’d explained her brothers’ deaths and her father’s background. And there was an equal amount of passion in her excitement now. But when she said his name, so easily, so naturally, he couldn’t control his actions. Tenderly grasping her shoulders, he ordered in a near-whisper, “Say it again.”

“I don’t understand,” she returned, staring up at him. To Ethan’s surprise, another kind of excitement gleamed in her eyes as she asked, “Say what?”

“My name. Say it.”

“Mr. Lucas?”

“No. Ethan. Say it!”

As Blythe stared up at him, Ethan saw the confusion in her expression. “Why?”

“Damn it, Blythe!” He shook her once and watched her long, baby-fine hair settle around her face and shoulders as she stared up at him in shock. “Say my name! Now!”

She opened her mouth slightly to comply, but nothing came out. For the first time in her life, she was speechless. In a way, he sounded angry, but in a different way, he sounded almost desperate. Never before had a man spoken to her like that. She tried again, but the words stuck in her throat. Resigned that she couldn’t do as he asked, she released a long sigh from deep within her chest.

To her surprise, he dropped back onto the bed. His hands caressed her shoulders, and he drew her against him. Then his arms slid around her, his fingers tangling in her hair. This was an embrace she knew she would never forget!

While she stared down at him, he lifted his head toward hers. His hands cupped the back of her head, bringing it down toward his face. Then their lips connected. His tongue taunted her lips until it passed into her mouth, searching for her tongue. At first she didn’t respond, but then … Oh, yes! Then came the fire! The flame of his embrace engulfed her. When his tongue connected with hers, she gave over to these new, unexpected sensations he sent through her.

Blythe loved these feelings coursing through her. She wanted to feel forever, but she was also afraid to. What about Naomi and the baby? Oh, no! How had she forgotten about her new friend? No matter how mind-boggling his kiss was, no matter how much she enjoyed the moment, she had to end it.

Struggling to free herself proved hopeless. Ethan repositioned his arms and held her against him. Standing between his legs, she could feel that he was excited. How could she be doing this to Naomi? This wasn’t the kind of woman she was, but she couldn’t bring herself to push away from him. His mouth moved against hers, compelling her acceptance with his spell until she believed she would faint from all the wonderful new sensations sweeping through her body.

She wanted to collapse, to quit fighting against him. But his kiss demanded her response. She had no choice except to give it in the only way she knew how. Oh, no! Her heart! It was beating so fast. Was she having a heart attack? Was the same fate that her brothers met going to happen to her? No, it couldn’t! She didn’t want to die—not in the middle of what had to be ecstasy. The only way to stop it was to calm down and quit fighting.

The fire died without warning, and Ethan broke the kiss. But when he relaxed his hold on her, she started to fall. His large hands encircled her ribcage, and he set her on his lap before moving her to sit on the bed. Finally, he got off the bed and knelt before her. Her face was hot after having had such a thorough kiss.

“Are you all right now?” he asked.

“Uh-huh,” she replied, afraid to say more.

“Good.” Ethan sat back on his feet and took her hands in his with a tenderness she hadn’t believed possible from such a large man. “Are you going to try and find your grandparents?”

“That’s why I came back to America,” she declared. “But first, I have to get a job and earn more money. I only have fifty dollars left.”

Ethan stared straight at her and toyed with his mustache. “Do you know how long it will take you to earn the kind of money you’ll need?”

With a frown, she admitted, “Years probably.”

“That’s right. I, on the other hand, could teach you to earn up to a hundred times that by the end of your trip.”

“You could?” she asked, shocked by his declaration. “How?”

“Poker.”

Reluctant to accept his suggestion, Blythe shook her head. “I don’t know, Mr. Lucas. I don’t believe in gambling.”

“With a stare like yours, you could make a bundle. Want to try it?”

“What if I lost my money?” she asked, hesitant to agree.

His dark eyes took on an excited glow at the prospect. “First, I’ll teach you to play, then I’ll stake you a hundred. If you blow it all, I’ll take the loss—I can afford it. If you win, you can pay me back.”

“That would mean we’d have to spend a lot of time together.”

“Are you afraid that I’ll …” Ethan paused then added, “Of course, you are, and I don’t blame you. Don’t worry, Blythe. I promise not to … force my attentions on you again.”

“I hope you can keep that promise. Naomi would be devastated if she ever found out.”

“Then you’ll let me teach you?” he asked, his voice filled with hope.

Although her reluctance was faltering, she still had concerns. “What will people think if the married owner of the River Goddess spends so much time with a single woman?”

“We can tell them that you’re my long-lost half-sister. That’s how I explained my actions to Moody. Please, Blythe. Will you try it?”

Blythe hesitated another moment. Then, unable to resist the prospect of spending so much time with him, she said, “All right. If I can earn some money that fast, I’ll trust you to keep your promise. I’d like nothing more than to find my grandparents before they die, too.”

“Wonderful! There’s only one more thing. My half-sister wouldn’t call me Mr. Lucas. Why don’t you practice saying my Christian name again.”

She took a deep breath and obliged him in a whispery voice that surprised her. When he made a speedy exit, Blythe giggled. For such a large man, he had a lot of weak spots on which she could play her own hand.