“I don’t think they can,” said Thatcher.
“Exactly.” Cyra took a breath. “Each generation grows up resentful. And when the previous generation’s parents pass on, the new ones assume their place, finally relieved of that awful burden that they now project onto their own kids. It’s a sort of, ‘I had to endure this for years so now it’s my turn to make you all miserable.’”
“I don’t know much about Asian culture,” admitted Thatcher. “Although I do have dreams of visiting the Far East.”
“It’s a marvelous place,” said Cyra. “But it’s also extraordinarily dangerous.”
Thatcher smiled. “I don’t mind danger from time-to-time.” He could smell Cyra’s hair along with the brine of the sea. Combined with the two bottles of wine they’d demolished at dinner, Thatcher was feeling exceptionally relaxed.
And when she turned to him to say something, he leaned in and kissed her lightly on the lips. Cyra returned his kiss and then broke apart from him, turning back to the sea with a sigh. “I didn’t think I would find anyone interesting on this cruise, I must admit.”
“Neither did I,” said Thatcher. “Isn’t it funny how we can sometimes be so utterly and completely wrong?”
“It’s nice to be wrong sometimes,” said Cyra. “I just hope when we reach Lisbon we don’t lose the thrill.”
“Why would that ever happen?”
Cyra stood back up. “We’re trapped on this ship. Thrown together as it were. Maybe once we land in Lisbon, we’ll both feel a sense of urgency about exploring and meeting new people.”
“It’s possible, but who says we couldn’t do all of those things together?”
“You’ll have to start making your new life, won’t you? Isn’t that why you’re going there?”
Thatcher shrugged. “No one told me I had to wait until I reached Portugal to start creating a new life for myself. I’m perfectly happy starting now.”
Cyra smiled. “Has anyone ever told you that you have the most charming smile?”
Thatcher grinned. “I may have heard that once or twice in the past.”
“Only once or twice?”
Thatcher waved his hand. “To tell you the truth, I don’t usually even think about it.”
Cyra eyed him. “I don’t know that I believe that. Men like you know exactly where their strengths lie. I feel fairly confident you know you have a certain look that takes a woman’s breath away.”
“Men like me?”
Cyra nodded. “Handsome, self-assured. Funny without being a clown. All of the things that most women would die to obtain in their future husbands.”
“Most women. Not you?”
Cyra kissed him again and then stared out over the stern. “My future is hard to predict, frankly. I get bored so easily I don’t know that I would ever inflict myself upon a man as his wife. I wouldn’t blame him for wanting to run as soon as he got to know me better.”
“That’s not a very high opinion of yourself,” said Thatcher. “Perhaps you are incorrect.”
But Cyra shook her head. “No, I’m not. As I said, we all have pain and skeletons in our closets. Mine are a tad more grievous than most I would think. There’s rather too much there that I think most men would shy away from if they knew about them all.”
“Most men again,” said Thatcher. “Not all of us.”
“Don’t say such things, Harrison. You don’t know what you’d be getting into.”
Thatcher paused. “I’d like to find out. If I may.”
Cyra laughed now. “I can guarantee you would not like it. Trust me on this, all right? Don’t press anymore to discover my secrets. They’re nothing to be proud of. But they are a part of who I am so I suppose in some way I have to find a means to make peace with them. Somehow.”
Thatcher stood and felt the wine affecting him some more. He took Cyra in his arms and she didn’t pull away. “I’m not asking you to be my wife, Cyra. I’m only asking for a kiss.”
She obliged him and then pulled back and away, but still stayed within his embrace. “Is that all you want from me, Harrison Thatcher? Just a simple kiss?”
Thatcher smiled and she pointed at him. “You see? There it is.”
“There what is?”
Cyra nuzzled him again. “That look. It’s lethal against a woman’s reputation.”
“You don’t strike me as the type of woman who cares what other people think about her reputation. You said as much at dinner.”
“I said I didn’t care what other people think about me. I didn’t say I didn’t care what I think about myself.”
“Fair point,” said Thatcher. He kissed her again. Cyra moved deeper into his embrace and pressed her body against his.
“Do you have a large cabin on board the ship?”
Thatcher shrugged. “It’s modest. I don’t think they have any suites here. Too much cargo being transported to the continent for them to make any real money transporting passengers.”
“That’s why there are so few of us,” said Cyra. “The captain must be charging a fortune to make this dangerous run.”
“Maybe so,” said Thatcher. “I don’t know that much about him.”
“He’s irrelevant to our conversation anyway,” said Cyra.
Thatcher felt her lips on his neck and closed his eyes. “I couldn’t agree more.”
“How far away is your cabin?”
“Two decks,” said Thatcher. “Perhaps a grand total of five minutes walking time.”
“I’m a bit tipsy,” said Cyra. “The wine we had at dinner is catching up with me, I think.”
“Me as well,” said Thatcher.
“I’m afraid the journey back to my cabin may be too far for me to make it on my own. Perhaps you could escort me there?”
“It would be my honor,” said Thatcher. “And as chance would have it, my cabin is along the way.”
“Is it?”
“Indeed.”
“Then perhaps we could stop there for a brief nightcap? Just a way of closing out what has been a wonderful enjoyable evening.”
“I think that sounds like an excellent idea,” said Thatcher. He turned and held out his arm to Cyra. She looped her arm in his and they headed off together.
CHAPTER 15
Thatcher awoke to daylight peeking in through the curtains that barely obscured his porthole. He stretched out with his arms overhead touching the wall of his cabin. Cyra was correct: it was far too small to allow for a proper level of acrobatic shenanigans. He smirked. Somehow they’d made do and for Thatcher, it had been the first time he’d been with anyone since he’d been arrested for the killing. It was wonderful being back in the warm embrace of a spectacular woman. He turned his head at the thought.
But Cyra was already gone.
Thatcher hadn’t heard her leave, but then again, between the wine and the sexual escapades, he had dropped immediately off into a deep sleep after they had finished. The last thing he could remember was Cyra’s head on his chest, telling him all about how she’d grown up in northern Italy on the Austrian border before going off to school in Switzerland. Her voice had been low and rather singsong and had a hypnotic effect on Thatcher who had closed his eyes and drifted off soon thereafter.
The mission, he thought, did have a few perks.
He grinned, rose from his bed, and bathed quickly in the small bathroom attached to his cabin. Thatcher dressed in comfortable clothes: a pair of light slacks, a button-down shirt, and a light sweater. Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was just after eight o’clock in the morning. A frown creased his face. If they were going reach Lisbon by this afternoon, he expected that Raider X would hit them at some point within the next few hours.