then thanked him for his hard work and dismissed him for a break. She didn’t make eye contact with anyone inside the dining room. In strides a bit too quick, she made for the stairwell and took the steps two at a time to her room on the third floor.
After unlocking her door with trembling fingers, she stripped down naked, right there in the entryway, and stepped over her pile of clothes into the bathroom to run a hot shower. Safely behind the barriers of two locked doors and a plastic curtain, Allie hung her head beneath the steaming jets and finally let herself cry.
• • •
“You need to find her, Marc.” Ella-Claire’s big blue eyes grew impossibly wider as she slapped the purser’s desk and leaned forward. “This is a full-on SOS.”
“Now, calm down,” Marc told her. “Chef’s fine. I saw him ten minutes ago. And I’m sure Allie’s fine, too. She probably needed some space.”
Ella shook her head, setting her ponytail in motion. “You don’t get it—you weren’t there. Regale kept pushing and pushing, and then it was like someone flipped a switch. The lights flickered and wind came out of nowhere. Allie kind of blanked out and she started chanting a spell or—”
“Wait,” Marc interrupted, his stomach dropping an inch. “What kind of spell?”
Ella bit her lip and admitted, “Well, I don’t know. She wasn’t speaking English.”
Marc released the breath he’d been holding. Allie could have been reciting her grocery list for all they knew. He’d had his doubts before, but lately he’d glimpsed a brand-new side of Allie—compassionate and kind. He refused to believe she’d cause anyone harm. Even to Chef, who clearly deserved it.
“Look, I never believed in
all that
,” Ella argued, “and I know Allie wouldn’t hurt a soul, but the whole thing gave me chills.” Ella lifted her forearm, where a dusting of translucent hairs stood on end. “I’m getting chills now just thinking about it.”
Alex glanced up from his paperwork. “Allie made Chef choke on a nut yesterday.” At Marc’s dubious glare, Alex clarified, “She used the Heimlich on him, but still. He almost died.”
“Let’s see if I’ve got this right,” Marc began. “You dragged me away from the pilothouse so I could track down our pastry chef and make sure she hasn’t cursed the boat?” Marc expected this kind of idiocy from Pawpaw—maybe even from himself at one time—but not from his sister. Perhaps the Dumont crazy had started rubbing off on her.
“Oh, I don’t think she cursed the boat,” Ella said with a flap of her hand. “Just Phil.”
“And we need him,” Alex added. “So see if you can get her to undo it.”
“Uh-huh.” Undo it. Lord, it was too early for this mess. Marc heaved a sigh. “Fine. I’ll go check on her.”
“Nicky saw her take the stairs,” Alex said. “So she’s probably in her suite.”
All alone with Allie Mauvais in her suite . . .
The idea should have scared Marc, but it put a small bounce in his heels as he crossed the lobby to the main staircase. He was still springing when he knocked on her door, but the instant she answered, that buoyancy deflated faster than a leaky tire.
She looked like a drowned rat.
Her soaking-wet curls hung low and heavy, the locks dripping onto the lapels of her fluffy white guest robe. The oversized garment covered her from fingertips to ankles, dwarfing her body beneath yards of terry cloth. Mascara ran down her face in muddy streams as if she hadn’t bothered to wipe away her tears.
Oddly enough, the effect was freaking adorable, but he still felt terrible for her.
“Aw, sugar,” Marc said with a sympathetic tilt of his head. “That bad?”
“Don’t!” She held up an index finger. “Don’t do that! I’m a professional, not some hot piece of ass from th-th-th-th”—she gulped a hitched breath—“the swamp!”
Marc wanted to tell her the two weren’t mutually exclusive, but it seemed like the
After unlocking her door with trembling fingers, she stripped down naked, right there in the entryway, and stepped over her pile of clothes into the bathroom to run a hot shower. Safely behind the barriers of two locked doors and a plastic curtain, Allie hung her head beneath the steaming jets and finally let herself cry.
• • •
“You need to find her, Marc.” Ella-Claire’s big blue eyes grew impossibly wider as she slapped the purser’s desk and leaned forward. “This is a full-on SOS.”
“Now, calm down,” Marc told her. “Chef’s fine. I saw him ten minutes ago. And I’m sure Allie’s fine, too. She probably needed some space.”
Ella shook her head, setting her ponytail in motion. “You don’t get it—you weren’t there. Regale kept pushing and pushing, and then it was like someone flipped a switch. The lights flickered and wind came out of nowhere. Allie kind of blanked out and she started chanting a spell or—”
“Wait,” Marc interrupted, his stomach dropping an inch. “What kind of spell?”
Ella bit her lip and admitted, “Well, I don’t know. She wasn’t speaking English.”
Marc released the breath he’d been holding. Allie could have been reciting her grocery list for all they knew. He’d had his doubts before, but lately he’d glimpsed a brand-new side of Allie—compassionate and kind. He refused to believe she’d cause anyone harm. Even to Chef, who clearly deserved it.
“Look, I never believed in
all that
,” Ella argued, “and I know Allie wouldn’t hurt a soul, but the whole thing gave me chills.” Ella lifted her forearm, where a dusting of translucent hairs stood on end. “I’m getting chills now just thinking about it.”
Alex glanced up from his paperwork. “Allie made Chef choke on a nut yesterday.” At Marc’s dubious glare, Alex clarified, “She used the Heimlich on him, but still. He almost died.”
“Let’s see if I’ve got this right,” Marc began. “You dragged me away from the pilothouse so I could track down our pastry chef and make sure she hasn’t cursed the boat?” Marc expected this kind of idiocy from Pawpaw—maybe even from himself at one time—but not from his sister. Perhaps the Dumont crazy had started rubbing off on her.
“Oh, I don’t think she cursed the boat,” Ella said with a flap of her hand. “Just Phil.”
“And we need him,” Alex added. “So see if you can get her to undo it.”
“Uh-huh.” Undo it. Lord, it was too early for this mess. Marc heaved a sigh. “Fine. I’ll go check on her.”
“Nicky saw her take the stairs,” Alex said. “So she’s probably in her suite.”
All alone with Allie Mauvais in her suite . . .
The idea should have scared Marc, but it put a small bounce in his heels as he crossed the lobby to the main staircase. He was still springing when he knocked on her door, but the instant she answered, that buoyancy deflated faster than a leaky tire.
She looked like a drowned rat.
Her soaking-wet curls hung low and heavy, the locks dripping onto the lapels of her fluffy white guest robe. The oversized garment covered her from fingertips to ankles, dwarfing her body beneath yards of terry cloth. Mascara ran down her face in muddy streams as if she hadn’t bothered to wipe away her tears.
Oddly enough, the effect was freaking adorable, but he still felt terrible for her.
“Aw, sugar,” Marc said with a sympathetic tilt of his head. “That bad?”
“Don’t!” She held up an index finger. “Don’t do that! I’m a professional, not some hot piece of ass from th-th-th-th”—she gulped a hitched breath—“the swamp!”
Marc wanted to tell her the two weren’t mutually exclusive, but it seemed like the
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