Anthropologist Moriah Mallory had always been the ugly duckling of her family. So when she accompanies her sisters on a Caribbean charter cruise, she doesn't expect their dashing captain to notice her. So why did Austen Blye seem to set his sails in her direction?
Why was it that the only Mallory sister Austen wanted was the one who was ignoring him? Somehow, he'd have to maneuver Moriah's mutiny...and make her his first mate forever.
There are no customer reviews available at this time. Would you like to write a review?
May 01, 2010
Number of Print Pages*
Adobe DRM EPUB
* Number of eBook pages may differ. Click here for more information.
Excerpt from Moriah's Mutiny by Elizabeth Bevarly
The weather on St. Thomas was hot and muggy, but the throngs of people drinking and dancing inside The Green House Restaurant and Bar didn't seem to be affected by it. The band onstage was playing what Moriah Mallory guessed was supposed to be their rendition of a popular reggae tune, but in her opinion they were nowhere near as harmonic or hypnotic as the group who had originally recorded it. Yet the scantily clad bodies that crowded onto the tiny dance floor and spilled into the dining area didn't seem to notice or care. They swayed and sweated in time to the irregular drumbeat, tipping back green and brown bottles of beer, or pink and yellow rum drinks to alleviate the steamy tropical heat.
If Moriah rose up enough from her bar stool and craned her head around the group of inebriated divers beside her, she could just glimpse the harbor of Charlotte Amalie, now hidden in the night, spattered by patches of glittering light that scattered across the darkness, the result of a small fleet of sailboats and cruise ships anchored offshore. Moriah sighed deeply, inhaling the warm night, and ordered another beer.
Tomorrow morning she would be boarding one of those vessels, or another very similar, and would embark on a two-week cruise through the Caribbean Islands, viewing the lush green jungles, the sparkling, pearly beaches and clear, turquoise-and-emerald waters from the deck of a quiet, softly rocking, tranquility-ridden sailboat. So why this feeling of utter dread that had settled like a cool clump of sand in her stomach? Why the worry that she was about to set sail on a ship of woe? Why did she want so desperately to hightail it back to Philadelphia and forget the entire episode?
Because this whole experience was going to be anything but quiet, and certainly none too tranquil, she amended, remembering that her three sisters would be accompanying her as usual on her summer vacation. As if she could forget them, she thought morosely, slugging back a deep swallow of cold beer. God, why did she continue to put herself through the misery of these annual vacation excursions? Why didn't she do more than leave a day early to have just a little bit of time to herself? Why couldn't she stick by the plans she made every summer after the ordeal ended, always swearing to God and heaven above that next year she was going to get away alone?
You can't, because they're your sisters, her inconvenient conscience nagged. They're your family. It's tradition.
The four Mallory sisters had been vacationing separately from their parents ever since they were children. Ever since the elder Mallorys, Theodore and Diana, understandably wanting to remove themselves from the shrieks and demands of their somewhat spoiled offspring, had begun a tradition of sending their daughters on a variety of exotic adventures befitting the children of a wealthy industrialist and an affluent bank president.