First of all, let me say thanks to all of you who took the time to read and review this story. I appreciate every one of you! My apologies it has taken so long to update, but rewriting everything after my computer crashed has taken awhile, especially when trying to do so around job and kids and school and everything real life throws at us. The only good thing I can say about the current world crisis is that it has given me more time, since I cannot work, to focus on writing. I am now using this as my therapy to keep from worrying about sickness and bills and schooling kids and all the million other things there are to be concerned about.

Hopefully, you can use reading to do the same! Please let me know what you like, don't like, hope to see and so on! Enjoy!


After assuaging her, by then, extreme hunger, Rose begged Cal to walk the outside decks once again with her, this time from stem to stern. He agreed and, after a short wait to acquire a warmer wrap for Rose, set out.

Rose was as exited as a child and Cal was hard put to contain his own interest in the ship to an acceptable level. He had followed its creation in the papers and had determined to be aboard for its maiden voyage and now here they were. He was delighted at Rose's excitement and shared willingly all he remembered about it from the articles he had read. They had made their way around the 1st class decks and most of the second. There was a steep stairway to the 3rd class level and Cal was hesitant to take Rose there, least of which was maneuvering those stairs in her dress..

Rose was undaunted however and before he could make his reservations known, had cornered a porter and, under the sway of her considerable charm, he had shown them an easier way onto the third class deck. Cal felt distinctly and massively uncomfortable as they stepped out onto the deck amidst the myriad of people there taking the air. The class difference could not have been more obvious. A difference he felt acutely as the people around them began to stare but which seemed to phase Rose not at all. She smiled and greeted those who looked her way and looked up and around herself at the ship as if they were the only two present, clutching his arm and pointing to various things she found interesting with utter guilelessness.

"Well, an' it looks as if the gods have descended from on high to mingle with the common folk," a voice in a strong Irish brogue spoke from somewhere to their left.

Cal stiffened but Rose swung around to see who had spoken, the power of her incandescent smile going before her like a lighthouse beacon in the fog.

"Sure an' it must be Venus herself, for I've never seen a prettier maid," the speaker, a curly haired young man in a tattered bowler, smiled charmingly back at her from his place with a small group of other young men.

Rose canted her head, "An' tis sure such as you must have kissed the Blarney stone to be full of such honeyed lies," she said with a fake brogue, smiling sweetly and causing the men with the one who had spoken to burst into raucous laughter.

Rose pulled a reluctant Cal closer and the man in the bowler stepped forward, "By the Rood tis no lie to tell a beautiful woman the truth of it," he stopped a pace away and executed a neat little bow, "the name's Tom. Tommy Ryan, at yer service, ma'am."

Rose gave a ringing little laugh and, despite Cal's restraining hold on her arm, extended a hand, "A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Ryan. My name is Rose and this," indicating the stiff and unsmiling Cal at her side, "is my fiancé, Mr. Caledon Hockley."

Cal was at a loss, but, with Rose looking expectantly at him, extended his hand to be grasped and heartily shaken by the man before him.

Mr. Ryan indicated the men that he had been standing with and began to introduce them as Cal cast his gaze around to note that nearly all the passengers in their immediate vicinity were avidly engaged in their exchange. He fought the urge to compulsively pull Rose to him and leave hastily.

It was Rose's exclamation that pulled him back precipitously to the introductions at hand.

"But I remember you! You were the young man who was staring at me earlier!"

This brought Cal's gaze crashing onto the man in question as he smiled at the lovely Rose, running a hand diffidently thru his shaggy hair and answered.

"Yeah, sorry if that bothered you. I'm an artist, you see. People fascinate me and you had such a pensive look about you. Not to mention you're beautiful and Iike most men, I find it hard not to look at a beautiful woman." He smiled sheepishly as the other men made noises of agreement.

Rose blushed to the roots of her hair and Cal glared grimly at the brazen young man.

Rose rallied quickly though.

"An artist, you say? And what form does your art take," she asked interestedly.

"Drawings mostly, of people I find interesting," he grabbed a sketchbook that had been laying, previously unnoticed by his side.

Before he could stop her, Rose scooted closer to the man to better see the drawings he began to eagerly describe. The men around him made their feelings on this quite clear as some began rolling their eyes and all started discreetly moving away. Cal felt quite the same but drew closer along with Rose, absolutely unwilling to leave her to her own devices with this younger (and rakishly attractive, he unwillingly admitted) stranger.

Rose sat right down on the spot one of the men had just vacated and started looking at the drawings, listening as their artist described each one. Cal looked over her shoulder and had to admit that they were quite good, they actually looked like something…much better than those weirdly disturbing ones that she had purchased from that Picasso fellow…

Rose praised the young man's artistry and Cal watched as he lit up like a city at night. He recognized that look…and the feeling that caused it, having been subject to it himself.

Rose had apparently made another conquest.

Cal shifted uncomfortably, their recent accord being too new for him to feel anything but concerned about this situation. Did she find this younger man with his easy manner and art more compelling than himself?

For all his confident facade, Cal was devastatingly insecure about his personal appeal.

Too serious, too reserved, too grim, too dull, such an oddball, not athletic enough, not good enough…the litany he had heard his entire life in various voices all began repeating fiendishly in his mind.

"Rose we do need to be heading back," he suddenly snapped, unable to tolerate the noise in his head any longer.

Rose looked up, completely oblivious to the sharp tone in his voice and affably agreed.

The young man was not so unseeing and caught the measure of the situation as he looked up and swiftly between the two. He gathered his drawings back quickly and adroitly placed them back in their book and stood hastily as Rose was standing.

He awkwardly stuck out his hand, "Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Rose, Mr. Hockley," he nodded stiffly in Cal's direction, "and thanks for the kind words about my drawings. I'm sure someone like you has seen loads better stuff but it means a lot that you like them."

Rose smiled and shook the young man's hand. Jack Dawson. He had a very genuine and kind look about him and she found him to be quite interesting. She bid him good day and placed her arm on Cal's to continue on.

He was as stiff as a board. She could sense the waves of…something coming off of him and shot a quick glance upward at his expression. His face was as blank as an unpainted canvas.

She wrapped her arms around his and, unsure of what was wrong but certain something was, decided to cut short their tour and asked quietly if he was ready to return to their rooms.

Taking a small measure of comfort from her tight hold of his arm, Cal began to head back to their area of the ship with alacrity. The tension that thrummed through him was setting her on edge. What in the world had happened to cause her charming and eager companion of earlier to turn into this grim-faced and quiet stranger?

They silently made their way back to their state rooms where Cal immediately turned her over to her maid and entered his own room, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Rose stood in the middle of the sitting room, nonplussed and staring with confusion at Cal's closed door.

"Do you wish to change, miss," Trudy began hesitantly, not quite sure how to read the strange undercurrents around her.

"Yes, Trudy," Rose said firmly, narrowing her eyes at the closed door, "something comfortable though. I'm tired and want to stay in for a while."

Trudy bobbed a curtsy and followed Rose into her rooms, unsure how to handle this suddenly steely-eyed stranger before her. Had she any doubts as to the truth of the earlier fantastic tale she had heard, they were now put paid as she viewed the woman before her. Her own mistress had never exuded such a…presence before.

This woman before her was definitely that, a woman, and most certainly not the girl she had once served.

"Trudy, has my mother returned," she asked suddenly.

"No, mum," she answered quietly.

"Good. When we are finished, why don't you find her maid and you can both take a turn outside on the decks. It's a lovely day," Rose's tone left no room for refusal and Trudy gladly agreed, not having had a chance to see much of the ship yet.

"and make sure you lock the doors when you leave."

Trudy's eyes widened and she looked hastily down so her mistress wouldn't see, "yes, ma'am," she whispered.

As soon as Rose was attired in a comfortable, loose-fitting day dress (absolutely minus the corset), Trudy scampered out.

Rose waited til she heard the two maids voices and the outer doors shut before she set forth on her own mission.

Determinedly she marched over to Cal's door, rapped shortly and entered. He looked up in surprise and she stopped short, surprised herself at his appearance.

He had tossed off his jacket, vest, collar and tie, his shoes and socks had been discarded haphazardly as well, looking as if they had been torn off and perhaps thrown with extreme prejudice to opposing ends of the room. He had stood leaned against the wall staring out the portal, head in hand, hair disheveled in the most distracting way, a full drink tumbler in his hand.

He looked utterly distraught and utterly shocked as he straightened at her appearance in his doorway.

"Rose! What are you doing," now he just looked, and sounded, utterly confused.

She turned then carefully shut the door behind her, buying a few moments to think. It was quite obvious to her now that something was indeed troubling him…and she was determined to know what.

She turned back and walked slowly toward him.

"I came to find out what it was that was troubling you. And don't," she said, raising a warning hand, "try to tell me nothing because it is quite obvious something is."

She was now standing beside him. She reached out and took the tumbler from his non resisting hand, set it on the nearby table, then turned and deliberately moved into his space, forcing him to turn as she wrapped her arms around him and leaned her head against his chest.

"Please, Cal, don't shut me out," she whispered into his shirt, "talk to me," she pleaded.

He stood frozen for a fraction of a moment before his arms took her in an almost too tight hold as he crushed her against himself. Rose, more sure than ever now that something was wrong, tipped her head back to inquire and was met with his mouth as it came crashing down upon her own.

His kiss was desperate, hungry. She could feel him searching for…something from her. Unknowing of what else to do, she threw herself into the kiss, melting into him as she opened her mouth, as eager for him as he seemed for her. Her arms slid up his back and around, wrapping around him like vines as she sought to pull him closer.

He was pushing against her, moving them, and before Rose knew it, she felt the wall at her back. He kissed his way down her neck, open-mouthed, devouring kisses, as he tugged hard and pulled the neckline of her gown down further to allow him access as he latched onto her breast, the heat of his mouth as he kissed and sucked his way from one to the other driving her mad.

The fine edge of tension she had sensed about him earlier had now exploded into a raging intensity that vibrated the very air around them. She was helpless in its power as she held on, her hands roaming incessantly over him, pulling at his shirt, seeking any way to be closer. Her leg slid up his, trying to pull him closer to the aching void within her. Without missing a beat, he grabbed her knee, pulling her hard against him and making her cry out as that most needful part of her was brought into full and direct contact with what it most desired. He groaned harshly, pushing her hard into the wall and grinding his arousal into the cradle of her hips and making the fire burning within her blaze even higher. She breathily whispered his name and, as if it was an unspoken signal, he went wild, dropping her leg to rip at his own clothing. Her arms refused to turn loose but within seconds it seemed he had her back in his grasp, hands on her thighs, rucking up the filmy material of her skirt as he hoisted her up and entered her in one sharp move. Rose cried out at the intense, aching pleasure of him deep within her and as he began to set a punishing pace, driving thrusts pushing her hard against the wall as she held on for dear life, reveling in the aching look of need and pleasure that was etched across his countenance.

He met her gaze for one eternal moment, what she saw writ there tearing her heart open with its vulnerability, before he buried his face against her neck, the harsh gasp of his breath upon her sensitized skin another level up in pleasure.

It wasn't long before she started to come undone, her wailing, rapture-filled cry of his name setting off his own climax and he drove deep, shaking uncontrollably as wave after wave of delicious sensation shivered thru him.

She was his. His by promise of her word and her body. She couldn't leave him. Wouldn't.

He let that refrain repeat itself through his head as he struggled to find his breath. Rose held him tightly to her, her own breath coming in panting gasps. He was buried deep and could still feel her around him, her inner walls clenching and pulling convulsively. He knew she had found her pleasure but he knew also he had been rather rough with her and he worried for a moment that he might have unintentionally hurt her.

He was afraid to look at her.

Scared, undeniably, of how much, and how quickly, he had come to need her. It had been driven home to him earlier as he had watched her talking and laughing with that young artist.

He couldn't bear to lose her now, to lose this. It would kill him. If she were to suddenly turn away, turn that cold and uncaring self to him again, to look at him with eyes that did not warm and shine after knowing, experiencing what could be…

The knowledge of his dependency on her terrified him.

It had hounded him all the way back to their suite and sent him running into his own rooms to hide away and seek equanimity in liquor.

He felt her hand on his cheek forcing his gaze to meet her own. Her satiated gaze met his own and she quirked a small smile at him.

"Well, I'm still not sure what brought this on, but feel free to repeat ad infinitum at anytime."

His small attempt at a smile quirked one corner of his mouth but her humor was unable to pierce the unreasonable fog of fear and worry in his mind.