by Rebecca York
He wasn’t going to slip into that hell on earth again.
Turning to the computer, he sent out an executive order.
“All slaves not currently entertaining guests will be placed in lockdown. All requests for private entertainment will be cleared through security. Security will be increased in all public areas with staff working double shifts if necessary.”
Then he fired off a memo to Ben. “Interrogate the man and woman who were entertaining at the dinner. Find out if they let the attackers in.”
His own honor and satisfaction demanded that he keep the upper hand.
He reached for the phone and called Greg, one of his trusted security men.
“Yes sir?”
“Have Karen Hopewell moved from the Tropical Lounge to the brig on Deck Three. Immediately.”
“Yes sir.”
Issuing the orders made him feel better. He would not lose control over his own ship. He’d blow the damn thing up before he let that happen.
Which was an option. He could escape in the boat he kept at the ready. Then activate the charges that were already in place.
It would be sad to lose the ship, but it was insured.
And he could figure out how to start again—more safely.
The decision made him feel better.
oOo
Emma stared at the closed door, trying to understand what Cole was doing. When they’d left Del Conte’s office, all she had wanted to do was get back here and reach for him.
Instead, he’d just walked out. Leaving her confused, angry and feeling hollow inside.
She’d thought she was starting to understand him. Apparently not. She had half a mind to follow him down the corridor, screaming at him. Would Emma Ray do that, or would she roll over and do what her sugar daddy ordered?
Still unsure of her ultimate decision, she crossed the room on shaky legs and locked the door, hardly able to believe how fast everything had changed.
Cole had started a fight—and used that as an excuse to leave her in the room. What the hell was he thinking? Had he decided he could explore better on his own? Or what?
She sighed, aware that she’d gotten emotionally involved in the scenario they’d been acting out for the benefit of the people who were bugging this room. But her nerves were already raw, and she couldn’t hold her reactions in check.
She paced from the door to the bathroom and back again. It would serve him right if she went out and did some investigating on her own.
As soon as that plan formed, a chill went through her. This was a dangerous environment for a woman alone. Some guy would hit on her, and she’d have to fend him off. Maybe with extreme prejudice. Which would be out of character for Emma Ray.
But Cole wouldn’t have any problems with the female staff and guests. And apparently he’d had something in mind when he’d left.
Better wait for him to report back.
Still, his strategy galled her. Not just the strategy. His failure to consult her before leaving. Another male who assumed she’d just fall in line with what he wanted.
The thought sent her mind spinning in another direction. Back to the conversation in the car when she’d taken offense at his talking about her family. But if she was honest, she’d admit that she’d joined Decorah Security to get away from the domination of her father, who’d run their household like a military base. Either you obeyed the rules, or you were punished, often with his belt.
Still, she’d hung on his tales of outwitting thugs, white collar criminals and government operatives. Even so, there was no way she’d work for Kent Richards. Then she’d taken a class with Frank Decorah and thought that maybe he was the right kind of boss, even when she’d been prepared to leave if it turned out she’d made the wrong judgment call.
The job had worked out. Better than she’d hoped. She’d built a career in the company. But was Cole Marshall going to screw that up?
Not necessarily, she told herself. This is just one evening during one assignment. And she wasn’t going to throw their personal relationship into the mix.
She took a deep breath and then another, struggling to calm herself. Getting mad at Cole wasn’t going to do either one of them any good. And how was he supposed to consult her? They were in an environment where the walls had ears, to use an old cliché. Maybe even eyes.
Too bad she didn’t know Morse code. Then they could have had a constructive conversation before he left. Unless he really was angry with her.
She stopped herself again. That made no sense. It was Cole Mason who was mad. Not Cole Marshall. She hoped.
oOo
A number of women in the bars around the Windward received some new information. One of them was Stella Marie who was often assigned to the entertainment areas. Although she was dressed like an elegant companion, she was on the security staff. When the transmitter in her right ear buzzed, she went still as she listened to a hard voice giving instructions. She’d been working in the Royal Island Lounge this evening, keeping an eye on the guests at the gaming tables. Now she hurried to the door and scanned the corridor, looking for a tall man with dark hair and dark eyes who might be coming her way. He’d had a fight with his girlfriend, and she was supposed to ease his pain.
oOo
Cole got off the elevator on Deck Three, not quite sure where he was going. He’d had no concrete plans. He’d only known that he and Emma’s emotions were too raw for them to remain in the same room.
Or—to put it another way—if they stayed in the same room together, they’d end up making love again to relieve their tension, and he was determined not to let that happen.
He sighed. He’d never gotten his business and personal life more mixed up. Which was another reason why he’d decided to go off alone. He might not find Karen, but at least he knew Emma was safe for the next few hours.
So now what?
He’d been talking with one of the entertainment consultants when he’d gotten the message about Del Conte inviting them to dinner. There had been no problem about locating him on the ship, which meant that he’d probably been under observation all along.
He’d stormed out of the room saying that he was going to have a good time. He thought about the Tropical Lounge where Karen was being held. Del Conte had said you needed special status to get invited there. But maybe he could wangle an invite. What if he made friends with one of the guests who could get in there.
“You alone?”
A woman spoke nearby, and he looked up to see a slender brunette wearing a clingy, low-cut emerald green evening gown. She was standing at the entrance to a lounge area. Inside he could see comfortable couches and hear low, sultry music.
“I am.”
Tall and elegant, she looked at him as though he was the most fascinating man in the world. An interesting technique. Another time he might have walked on past, but she was providing him with an opportunity he shouldn’t turn down.
A smile flickered on her lips. “You’re Cole Mason.”
He tipped his head to the side, staring at her. “How do you know?”
“The staff has a list of guests.”
“I guess that makes sense,” he answered, wondering how many people had been watching for him.
She studied him with interest. “Didn’t you come to the Windward with your girlfriend?”
“Yes. But she’s . . .” He paused, wondering how to put it. “She’s not into this place.”
“Too bad. But that doesn’t mean you can’t have some fun.”
“I was thinking the same thing.”
“Come sit down.” She led him into the dimly lit room with comfortable couches scattered about, much like the setup on the hovercraft when they’d come over from Miami.
They wove their way to a far corner where he stood for a moment beside a plush couch—until she took his hand and eased him down.
“Why don’t we get comfortable.”
He sat, wondering if she could get him into that Tropical Lounge—if he
asked nicely.
Almost immediately, a hostess wearing a bikini glided over. She and the woman in the green dress exchanged a quick glance. “What can I get you to drink?”
“Soda water with lime,” Cole answered.
The server raised an eyebrow. “Nothing stronger?”
“I prefer keeping my wits about me.”
“A sound plan. Too bad more of our guests don’t follow it.”
The hostess withdrew, leaving him alone with his new friend.
“My name’s Stella,” she said, sliding along the couch so that her thigh was pressed to his.
“Cole, as you already know.”
“Uh huh. But I don’t know what you like to do when you let your hair down.”
“Well, that Tropical Lounge I saw looked pretty nifty. Can I get in there?”
“I think it can be arranged.”
“No bull?”
She smiled. “If that’s what you want. No bull.”
She laid her hand on his thigh, stroking. He felt nothing. He’d bonded with Emma, and he wasn’t interested in any other woman. When her hand crept inward toward his crotch, he lifted it away.
“Don’t.”
“You don’t want to play with me?”
“I want to play, but with my girlfriend.”
“She’s not available.”
“I’ll wait till she is,” he answered, then said, “You’re good at your job. How did you get here?”
“I heard about the ship and signed a one-year contract.”
“You like it?”
Something he couldn’t read flickered across her face. “Yes.”
“You take part in . . . scenes?”
“Yes.”
“What are you trained to do?”
“I can be either a dominant or a submissive.”
“Which do you like better?”
“I like them both—when I get into the spirit of the thing.”
“What if you’re not in the mood?”
“The pay’s good enough to put me in the mood.”
The hostess set the drinks on the low table in front of them, and Cole took a swallow. To his werewolf senses, it tasted strange, and he set the glass down again.
“I hear some of the scenes get a little rough. Does anyone get hurt?”
“We have strict rules about how far we can go.”
Yeah, he thought. I’ll bet.
The woman took a sip of her drink. He left his on the table. It had an unpleasant quality, and he thought he shouldn’t have any more.
He should steer the conversation back to the previous topic. “In that Tropical Lounge, I saw a girl in a cage. Could a guy get in there with her, and you know . . .”
“I thought you only wanted to play with your girlfriend.”
“She could come too.” He laughed at his clever joke, then leaned back, feeling a little dizzy. Damn, what the hell was wrong with him?
When he looked at the drink sitting on the table, insight struck. It had been drugged, and it hadn’t taken much of what was in the soda water to make a werewolf woozy.
With a low curse, he started to push himself up. “I’d better go.”
Her eyes had a satisfied gleam. “You look like you’re not feeling well. I’ll help you.”
“No,” he protested, hardly able to get the word out.
“I think you need to lie down.”
In his blurry vision, he saw Stella make a motion with her hand. Moments later, a burly man appeared at Cole’s side. “Leave me alone,” he muttered.
Some of the other people in the room turned toward him, then quickly looked away. Obviously they didn’t want to get involved.
“Take me back to my room,” he said, hearing the slurred quality of the words.
“I’m afraid you’re not going to make it,” Stella said in a firm voice. She and the guy led him out a back door and down the hall. He tried to pull away, but he didn’t have the ability to make his muscles work well enough.
How far was it to the room? A thousand miles.
“Emma,” he called out, his voice still slurred. She didn’t answer because she wasn’t there, and he knew he never should have walked out on her tonight. If he’d stayed and made love to her, he wouldn’t be in trouble now.
His head was pounding, making it hard to think as the woman and the man led him down the corridor to another room. He couldn’t see the number on the door, but inside was another suite. They led him across a sitting area and dumped him on the bed. When he tried to get up, the woman pressed a hand to his shoulder. She was surprisingly strong. Or he was weak as a puppy.
“Got to go,” he muttered, feeling his heart thumping inside his chest.
“After you answer some questions.”
The woman picked up the phone beside the bed, dialed a number and spoke. Although Cole couldn’t hear what she was saying, he felt her hand caressing his face, felt her fingers drift down his body and press over his cock, rocking against him, but he didn’t respond.
“What’s wrong with you? You’re limp as a slug. I thought you came here to have a good time,” she murmured.
“With Emma,” he answered.
“Then why were you asking about the girl in the cage?”
A trick question.
“Curiosity,” he muttered.
“Oh come on.”
“Leave me alone.” He closed his eyes, needing to sleep.
“The girl in the cage excites you, but I don’t?
“Emma excites me.”
“I’ll get her.”
Through slitted eyes, he saw the woman stand up. He should leave and find Emma, only he didn’t think he could get to his feet.
He lay with his eyes closed, drifting again. Someone sat down beside him. “Honey, I’m glad I found you.”
“Emma?” he asked. It sounded like her. “You smell wrong,” he muttered.
“A new perfume.”
“I don’t like perfume.”
“I’ll wash it off before we go to bed.”
He tried to open his eyes, but she pressed one hand over his closed lids while she slid the other down his body, stroking his nipples through his shirt, making them stiffen before gliding downward, pressing over his cock.
“Emma?”
“Mumm,” she answered as she began to caress him through his slacks, arousing him.
“That’s better.”
She unbuckled his belt, then opened the button at the top of his slacks before lowering the zipper and reaching inside, pulling his penis out.
“Nice equipment,” she murmured as she clasped her fist around him, stroking up and down with a teasing pressure that had his hips rising in response. When she stopped, he made a pleading sound.
After a moment, she replaced her hand with her mouth, taking him into the warm, wet cavity and sucking strongly for a moment before lifting her face away and blowing on him.
He moaned. “Don’t stop.”
“You like me to make you come this way? Is it better than fucking?”
He’d never done that with Emma. His eyes flew open to find the woman in the green dress grinning down at him.
When he tried to wrench away, she held him fast. “So you can get it up,” she purred.
Another voice intruded. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Having some fun with a guy who probably doesn’t like to be submissive,” a woman’s voice answered. Definitely not Emma.
“You’re not here to screw around. Put his johnson back in his pants.”
He felt his penis being shoved back into his trousers.
A large hand shook his shoulder. “Let’s get back to business.”
CHAPTER TEN
Cole’s eyes blinked open, and he found himself staring at the hard-jawed guy named Ben. From security. Big Ben, the people in the Tropical Lounge had called him.
“Where’s Emma?” Cole asked. Jesus, had this guy been watching them?
“She’s not here. I’m asking the ques
tions. What are you doing on the Windward?”
Cole thought about that carefully. He was here on assignment—to rescue Karen Hopewell, but he’d better not talk about that.
“Came to have a good time.” he managed to answer.
“Who are you working for?”
Cole fought confusion, struggling to remember the answers that were in the dossier he’d read. “Have my own company.”
“Doing what?”
“Uh . . . car detailing.”
“Un huh. What’s your name?”
Another trick question. He had a real name, but he wasn’t using on the Windward. “Cole Mason,” he finally answered.
The guy took Cole’s chin in his hand. “Your real name. Hurry up.”
“Cole Mason,” he repeated, hanging on to coherence by his fingernails, wondering if that was the right answer.
It didn’t sound quite right. Maybe he should give his other name.
No. That was the wrong thing to do. On this ship, he was Cole Mason.
The man straightened and spoke to the woman. “How much did he drink?”
“A big swallow.”
“Maybe that’s not enough to make him tell the truth. But I’ll give it another try.”
oOo
If someone had told Emma a week ago that she’d be all wound up with Cole Marshall, she would have called him a liar. That was then. This was now.
Struggling to keep from cursing aloud, she paced back and forth across the carpet in the luxury suite, her hands clenched into fists as she tried to contain her roiling emotions.
Where the hell was that bastard who was supposed to be her partner on this assignment? He’d left hours ago, and she had no idea where he had gone. Was he out there on Bruno Del Conte’s pleasure craft having the time of his life? Or had he gotten himself into trouble? And now he needed her. Only she had no idea where to even start looking for him.
That thought made her chest clench. She was worried about him with an all-consuming anxiety that threatened to drive her insane.
It was almost impossible to keep herself from charging out of the room and start searching for him. But her rational self knew that was a very bad idea.
Which meant she was reduced to silent cursing. And brooding.
