by Nora Roberts
name was called yet again. The smile wavered for an instant, then held solidly. She was, after all, a pro.
“Sam. What a small, small world.”
“Isn’t it?” He might have stepped out of an article on cruisewear in Gentleman’s Quarterly. His buff-colored trousers had knife-edged pleats that looked sharp enough to draw blood. His shirt was unpressed cotton—the type that cost the earth to look casual. His sockless feet were encased in Docksiders, and his arm was draped around a sleek and polished blonde. She wore billowy silk slacks in an aching blue to match her eyes, with a softly draped blouse in the same shade. Roxanne was more impressed with the simple strand of creamy pearls and their sapphire enhancer that was as big around as Mouse’s thumb.
“Justine, darling, I’d like you to meet a very old friend. Roxanne Nouvelle. Roxanne, my wife, Justine Spring Wyatt.”
“How nice.” Justine offered a pleasant smile that didn’t reach her eyes, and a quick firm handshake that pretended to be personable.
The perfect politician’s wife, Roxanne decided. “My pleasure.”
There were earrings as well, Roxanne noted. Two tear-drop-shaped indigo stones dripping from lustrous pearls.
“I was amazed to see you on deck,” Sam began. “Doubly amazed to see you’re staff.” His gaze skimmed down to the name tag over her breast, lingered, then rose again. “Have you given up the magic business?”
“Not at all. We’ll be performing on board for the next few weeks.”
“Fabulous.” He’d known, of course, had made it his business to know. He hadn’t been able to resist the idea of spending a week with the Nouvelles. “Justine, Roxanne is quite an accomplished magician.”
“How unusual.” Her lips parted in a smile that revealed perfectly aligned teeth. “Do you perform for children’s parties?”
“Not yet.” Roxanne took a cocktail from a passing waiter’s tray. “Is this your first trip on the Yankee Princess?”
“On this particular ship, yes. I’ve done quite a bit of cruising—the Caribbean, the Mediterranean, that sort of thing.” She lifted a narrow white hand to toy absently with the enhancer. The diamonds circling the sapphire burst into tiny flames of light that stirred Roxanne’s blood. The arousal was as thoroughly sexual as a long, slow, wet kiss.
“How nice.” It took most of her control to resist licking her lips. “I hope you’ll enjoy this cruise as much.”
“I’m sure I will.” The sapphire winked like a seductive eye. “I was delighted when Sam suggested this cruise as part of our honeymoon.”
“Oh, you’re newlyweds.” Knowing it was a womanly gesture, considered harmless, Roxanne studied Justine’s wedding ring set. Oh yes, she thought, ten carats, emerald cut for the engagement rock, and a nice platinum band studded with channel-set diamonds for the wedding ring. She yearned for her loupe. “How perfectly lovely. Congratulations, Sam.”
“Thank you. I’d love to see your family again—and Luke, of course.”
“I’m sure you will. Wonderful meeting you, Justine. Enjoy your cruise.”
She was smiling when she walked away. At last, they’d found a worthy mark.
Luke took advantage of a lull to bake away fatigue in the sauna belowdecks. He doubted he’d had more than five hours’ sleep a night since Roxanne had walked into his room armed with ivory silk and hot-blooded determination.
Not that he was complaining, but the sauna couldn’t hurt. If nothing else it would give him a few minutes to clear his head and think through what Roxanne had told him when she’d tracked him down that afternoon.
Mr. and Mrs. Samuel Wyatt.
Of all the cruise ships in all the ports in all the world, he thought with a grimace. Well, hell, they were stuck for the next week. But he wasn’t sure he shared Roxanne’s enthusiasm for relieving the bride and groom of the lady’s glitters.
No, he wanted to take that one slow, and careful, and calculate all the odds.
When the wooden door of the sauna room creaked open, Luke opened one eye. He shut it again and remained leaning against the back wall, the white towel carelessly hooked at his waist.
“Heard you slithered on board, Wyatt.”
“And you’re still pulling rabbits out of your ass for a living.” Sam settled on the bench below Luke. It had taken only a few discreet inquiries to discover where Luke was spending his hour off. “And dancing to the old man’s tune.”
“Ever learn how to do a one-handed cut?”
“I gave up games quite some time ago.”
Luke only smiled. “I didn’t think so. You always had lousy hands—not good for much except pushing little girls around.”
“You hold a grudge.” Sam spread his arms comfortably on the bench. The years had been good to him. He’d jumped on the trend for physical fitness, and his body reflected his daily workouts with his personal trainer. He used his position, and now his wife’s money, to indulge in hair-stylists, manicurists, spas where they pampered the skin. He’d slipped seamlessly into his image of a young, attractive up-and-comer. Now he had wealth to ice the cake.
“Odd,” he continued, “Roxanne doesn’t appear to. She was quite—friendly earlier.”
It wasn’t rage, as it once might have been, that Luke experienced. It was pure amusement. “Pal, she’d chew you up and spit you out.”
“Really?” Sam’s arms tensed against the baking wood. There was one thing his position and his money hadn’t been able to give him. A sense of humor about himself. “I think she might find me more her style than you realize. A woman like Roxanne would appreciate a man of position rather than one who has never been quite able to smooth off those rough edges. You’re still a loser, Callahan.”
“I’m still a lot of things.” Luke opened his eyes and, tilting his head, studied Sam’s face. “They did a good job on your nose. Nobody’d know it had been broken.” He stretched lazily then climbed down. “Except me, of course. See you around.”
Sam clenched and unclenched his fists as the door swung shut behind Luke. It appeared his old friend needed a harder lesson. A telegram to Cobb, perhaps, Sam thought, forcing his angry muscles to relax. It was time to squeeze harder.
He opened his fist and studied the smooth palm where the manicured nails had bitten deep.
Much harder, he decided.
“I tell you it’s perfect.” Roxanne scowled from face to face. The meeting between shows in her father’s cabin was not going according to her plans. “Any woman who wears rocks like that in the afternoon has to be loaded with them. And any woman who’d marry a scum like Sam deserves to lose them.”
“Be that as it may.” Max steepled his fingers and struggled to focus his concentration. “It’s risky to steal from someone you know, and who knows you, particularly in a situation as narrow as this.”
“We could do it,” she insisted. “LeClerc, if I got you photos and detailed descriptions of some of the better pieces, how long would it take for your contact to make up paste replicas?”
“A week, perhaps two.”
She nearly snarled. “If you put a rush on it.”
He began to consider. “If we sweetened the pot, four or five days. But, of course, this doesn’t include delivery time.”
“That’s what Federal Express is for. We switch them.” She swung back to her father. “The last night of the cruise. By the time Justine gets home and notices any difference, we’re clear.” She waited impatiently for a response. “Daddy?”
“What?” He jerked himself back, panicking for a moment as he searched for the thread of the conversation. “There isn’t enough time to plan properly.”
How could he plan when he could barely think? Sweat had begun to trickle cold down his back. They were all looking at him, all staring at him. Wondering.
“The answer is no.” The statement whipped out as he sprang to his feet. He wanted them to leave, all of them, couldn’t bear to have their pity and curiosity staring him in the face. “That’s an end to it.”
“But—”
“An end.” He shouted it, causing Roxanne to blink and Lily to bite her bottom lip. “I’m still in charge here, young lady. When I want your suggestions and advice, I’ll request them. Until then, do as you’re told. Is that clear?”
“Very.” Pride kept her head high, but there was shocked hurt in her eyes. He’d never shouted at her before. Never. They had argued, certainly, but always with an underlayment of love and respect. All she saw in her father’s face was fury. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to take a walk before the show.”
Luke rose slowly as the door slammed behind Roxanne. “I have to go along with your reasons for rejecting the job, Max, but don’t you think you were a little hard on her?”
Max rounded on him, his temper a wildly slashing sword. “I don’t believe I need your opinion on how to deal with my own child. You may sleep with her, but I’m her father. My generosity to you over the years does not equal the right to interfere with family business.”
“Max.” Lily reached for his arm, but Luke was already shaking his head.
“It’s all right, Lily. I believe I’ll take a walk myself.”
The sea was splattered with starlight. With her hands clasped tightly on the rail, Roxanne stared out at it. There was a vicious headache behind her eyes, the direct result of refusing the tears that burned them. She would not blubber like a child because her father had scolded her.
She heard the footsteps behind her and turned eagerly. But it wasn’t Luke as she hoped. It was Sam.
“Charming,” he said and caught the flying ends of her hair. “A beautiful woman in starlight with the sea behind her.”
“Lose your wife?” She glanced deliberately behind him before arching a brow. “I don’t believe I see her anywhere.”
“Justine isn’t the kind of woman who needs to be in a man’s pocket.” He shifted, caging her between his arms as he placed his hands on the rail. A quick bolt of lust twisted through him. She was beautiful, and belonged to someone else. He needed nothing else to covet her. “She’s attractive, smart, rich and ambitious. In a few years, she’ll be an excellent Washington hostess.”
“How you must have charmed her with all those romantic compliments.”
“Some women prefer the direct approach.” He leaned toward her, stopping only when Roxanne’s hand shot up and pushed against his chest.
“I’m not your wife, Sam, but the direct approach is fine with me, too. How’s this? I find you revolting, pathetic and obvious. Sort of like a dead skunk on the side of the road.” This was said in the most pleasant of tones, with the most pleasant of smiles. “Now, why don’t you back off before I have to say something insulting.”
“You’re going to regret that.” His voice was mild as well, for the benefit of the few people strolling the deck. But his eyes had chilled to ice. “Very, very much.”
“I don’t see how, when I enjoyed it tremendously.” Her eyes were as cold as his, but with a shimmer of inner heat that threatened to erupt. “Now, please get out of my way.”
Anger veiled discretion so that he gripped her arms and pushed her back. “I’m not through with you.”
“I think—” She broke off, shoving Sam aside so that she could scramble between him and Luke. “Don’t.” She curled fingers around Luke’s lapel and spoke between clenched teeth.
“Go inside, Roxanne.” He stared at Sam over her head. If eyes were weapons, Sam would already have died a painful death.
“No.” She recognized murder in his eye. If she stepped aside she thought it was more than likely Sam would end up overboard. However much the image appealed, she couldn’t allow Luke to be responsible. “We have a show in a few minutes. You won’t be able to do what you need to do if you break your hand punching in his face.” She tossed a furious look over her shoulder. “Get the hell out of here, or I swear, I’ll let go of his coat.”
“All right. It wouldn’t do to cause a scene here. There’ll be another time.” He nodded at Luke. “Another place.”
Roxanne continued to hold on until she saw Sam stroll inside. “Damn you,” she hissed.
“Damn me?” His fury still churned like the water in their wake, but he could only stare at her and repeat. “Damn me?”
“Yes. Do you realize what a mess you almost caused?” All the fury and frustration she’d felt since slamming out of her father’s cabin shot out and smacked Luke with a bull’s-eye. “Just how were we going to explain to Jack, or the captain for that matter, why you beat up a passenger and dumped his unconscious body overboard?”
“He was touching you. Goddammit, when I walked out he had you trapped against the rail. Do you think I could stand by and watch someone treat you that way?”
“So, what are you, Sir Callahan? My white knight? Let me tell you something, pal.” She shoved a finger hard against his chest. “I can slay my own dragons. I’m not some weak, wimpy female who needs rescuing.” She poked him again, her nail almost piercing flesh. “I can handle myself. Got it?”
“Yeah. I got it.” Because he thought he did, he yanked her against him and kissed her hard until her muffled protest died and her arms came tight around him.
“I’m sorry.” Turning her head, she buried her face in his shoulder. “It has nothing to do with that idiot, nothing to do with you.”
“I know.” He kissed her hair. He’d felt the sting of Max’s whip as well, a burn infinitely more painful than any belt Cobb had lifted.
“He hurt me.” Because her voice had sounded too small, she pressed her lips together and tried to strengthen it. “He’s never hurt me like that before. It wasn’t the job, Luke. It wasn’t—”
“I know,” he said again. “I can’t explain it, Rox, except that maybe he’s got something else on his mind, maybe he isn’t feeling well, maybe a dozen things. He’s never come down on you like that before. Don’t hold one slip against him.”
“You’re right.” She sighed, drew back. “I’m overreacting.” Gently, she lifted a hand to his cheek. “And I took it out on you when you were being such a macho guy. Would you have beat him up for me, baby?”
He grinned, relieved she’d recovered enough to tease. “You bet, doll face. I’d’ve cremated him.”
She gave a quick shiver and lifted her mouth. “Oooh, I just love being kissed by a tough guy.”
“Then you’re going to get a real charge out of this.”
It was one of the most difficult paths Max had ever walked, that narrow carpeted passageway from his cabin to Luke’s. He knew his daughter was in there, along with the man he’d considered his son. He lifted his hand to knock, lowered it again. There was pain in his fingers tonight, bone-deep pain. He rapped them hard against the cabin door as if to punish himself.
Luke answered the door. He instantly felt that stiff-necked embarrassment that displayed itself in numbing politeness. “Max? Is there something you need?”
“I’d like to come in for a moment, if you don’t mind.”
Luke hesitated. At least he could be grateful both he and Roxanne were still fully dressed. “Sure. Would you like a drink?”
“No, nothing. Thank you.” He stood miserably just inside the door, his eyes on his daughter. “Roxanne.”
“Daddy.”
They stood another moment, frozen in a triangle. Three people who had shared so many intimacies. Max found all the speeches he’d prepared had vanished from his brain like smoke. “I’m sorry, Roxy,” was all he could think of to say. “I have no excuse.”
The stiffness went out of her shoulders. “It’s okay.” For him, she could set even pride aside. She did so now as she held out her hands and crossed to him. “I guess I was nagging.”
“No.” Humbled by her easy forgiveness, he brought both her hands to his lips. “You were stating your case, as I’ve always expected you to do. I wasn’t fair or kind.” His smile wobbled a bit as he looked up at her. “If it’s any consolation, it’s the first time in nearly twenty years that Lily’s shout
ed at me and reverted to name calling.”
“Oh? Which ones did she use?”
“Jerk was one, I believe.”
Roxanne shook her head. “I’ll have to teach her some better ones.” She kissed him and smiled again. “You’ll make it up with her?”
“I think I’ll have a better shot if I’ve made it up with you, first.”
“Well, you have.”
“Both of you,” Max murmured and looked toward Luke.
“I see.” Though she wasn’t sure she did, Roxanne understood what was needed. “All right then, why don’t I go clear your path with Lily?” She touched Luke’s arm as she passed, then left them alone.
“There are things I need to say.” Max lifted his hands in a rare helpless gesture. “I believe I’ll take that drink after all.”
