"I'm sorry, girlfriend. I would have waited until you got back to tell you."
"It's not your fault, you goose.” At that moment, Ashley would have given her lotto winnings to have Kim with her. She desperately needed a solid, you're-too-good-for-him-anyway hug that only a best friend could give. Instead, she said, “If you talk to Michael, please don't mention this, okay? I'd like to tell him myself.” She didn't plan to do anything of the sort, but Kim didn't have to know that.
"Okay."
"Promise?"
"I promise. Are you okay? I know that you think you loved Tom, but—"
"No buts, Kim,” Ashley interrupted to say sternly, “I did love Tom, and I don't love Michael, so don't get any ideas. Besides, he's still engaged to Candy."
"That isn't official,” Kim argued.
Ashley groaned silently. She knew where this was heading, could hear the eagerness in Kim's voice.
"And Candy doesn't love Michael, anymore than he loves—"
Very quietly, Ashley folded the phone, breaking the connection. There wasn't any reason to listen when she knew exactly what Kim was about to say. The poor woman would never accept the sad truth, and now, with Tom out of the picture, she would redouble her efforts to get her and Michael back together.
She jumped as the phone in her hand began to vibrate. Without thinking, she opened it and put it to her ear. It would be Kim of course, calling back to berate her for hanging up—"
"Mike?"
Not Kim. Kim never called her brother anything but Michael.
"It's Candy."
Mystery solved, Ashley thought. She put a hand over her lurching stomach as she realized what she'd done. She had answered Michael's phone. Now his girlfriend was waiting impatiently for him to speak.
The right thing to do would be to hang up immediately, before Candy realized she wasn't Mike.
She prepared to do just that, but when Candy began to talk again, she found herself shamelessly listening. She could always hang up afterward...
"I guess you realize that after our little discussion, I won't be there to pick you up when you get back to Kansas City? I'm flying to Vegas with a few friends.” A lengthy pause, then: “Michael? I hear you breathing. Are you still angry with me?"
Ashley's only excuse for what she did next was that the devil-made-her-do-it. The devil ... and Michael's smug, taunting dig about Candy trusting him.
"This—this isn't Michael. It's Ashley. I, um, borrowed his phone.” Which wasn't a lie. She had borrowed his phone—from a dresser that was in a room that housed a bed where they had made hot, steamy love several times. The sudden surge of guilt didn't surprise her. After all, she was the “other” woman, so to speak. Which made her no different than the naked woman she'd caught riding Michael in the hotel room.
The lurching in her stomach turned to outright nausea. Somewhere in the world there was a woman Ashley detested every bit as much as Candy should detest her.
If only she knew.
"Ashley? You mean, Ashley as if ex-wife Ashley?"
Candy sounded so amazed Ashley wanted to giggle. Hysterically, of course. She could always blame it on her head injury.
"Yes, that's the one.” She forced a rueful laugh. “Bizarre, isn't it? That we ended up on the same ship?"
"Yeah,” Candy responded after another shocked paused. “Bizarre."
Shocked, Ashley realized. But not suspicious or angry or jealous. She felt like gnashing her teeth in frustration. Candy was not only beautiful and limber, she was trusting.
Just as Michael claimed.
"Michael's told me all about you,” Candy said, sounding genuinely friendly.
Ashley wanted to gag.
"So I feel as if I already know you."
Oh, no. You don't know me at all or you wouldn't be talking to me. I slept with your trusty boyfriend.
More than once.
Reluctantly, Ashley said, “And Michael's told me a lot about you, too."
"Oh, I'll bet!"
What, exactly, did she mean by that? Biting the inside of her lip, Ashley said, “Congratulations on your engagement."
There was a long, thick pause. Ashley thought she'd lost the connection when Candy finally laughed.
"Tell me you're joking."
Maybe there was some truth to Michael's suggestion that she was delusional, Ashley thought, trying not to frown. “Excuse me?"
"Tell me you're joking, and Michael didn't really tell you we were engaged."
"Well, he didn't exactly say—” Ashley stopped, remembering belatedly that Kim had told her he was thinking about popping the question. Was it possible that he had changed his mind? Or ... what if he hadn't gotten around to it, and she had just blown his surprise? If either possibility turned out to be true, she was in a heap of trouble.
Then Ashley realized that Candy didn't sound even slightly excited by the prospect of marrying Michael.
In fact, she sounded dismayed.
"Look, Ashley, just for the record, Michael and I aren't getting married. Ever. I made the fact more than clear to him when he invited me to go on the cruise."
Ashley was glad Candy couldn't see her gaping mouth. She snapped it closed, honestly speechless.
"God, I had no idea he was even thinking about marriage until he mentioned it!” Candy said, her voice growing more agitated by the minute. “I mean, he's gorgeous and sweet and wonderful, but I would never marry a man I wasn't physically attracted too."
Thumping her head to make certain she was awake wasn't an option for Ashley. She settled for pinching herself.
It hurt.
Before Ashley could remind Candy that this was her first conversation ever with her, and that maybe she should be confiding in someone else, say someone like her mother, Candy groaned. “I mean, I was actually starting to think he was gay."
Ashley clapped a hand over her mouth to smother a gasp. She held it tight.
"Or maybe he just simply didn't like sex."
An image, starkly erotic, rose in Ashley's befuddled mind of Michael grabbing her hips as she braced her hands against the shower wall, his fingers sure to leave their mark on her willing flesh.
Of Michael, his hard, muscled body glistening with water drops, pounding into her, an expression of intense pleasure on his face as he flung back his head and called out her name at the moment of his violent release.
Of Michael, lying naked beside her in the bed, fully aroused. “Give me your hand,” he'd ordered.
Just the not-so-distant memory evoked an ache between her legs.
Michael ... gay? She thought not. And neither did he dislike sex. Oh, no. Not at all. Quite the contrary.
"I probably shouldn't be telling you this,” Candy said, far too late. “But I'm so curious and can't help but wonder if you ran into the same problems with him when you guys were married."
Ashley's mouth was so dry she didn't know if she could speak. What would she say? What could she say to this dim-witted stripper who obviously didn't know squat about Michael?
She found herself feeling outraged on Michael's behalf. “Why did you go out with him for so long if you weren't romantically interested in him?” A question she couldn't wait to ask Tom, as well.
"Romantically?” Candy's throaty laugh held a hint of scorn, enough to make Ashley flush. “How old-fashioned! But to answer your question, I continued to go out with Michael because he was fun and gorgeous. The girls at work were green with envy.” She chuckled. “It was also the first time I've had a platonic relationship with a man other than my father, and for a while, that was kind of nice. I didn't have to worry about groping hands."
Groping hands? Ashley was simply stupefied. Or addled. Yes, she thought, pouncing on the excuse. She was addled from her head injury. She wasn't having this conversation with Michael's girlfriend at all, she was unconscious, or dreaming, or in a coma—
"Anyway, could you give him a message for me? I need to know if he's still planning on taking me to the Policeman'
s Ball a week from Saturday. I've already bought the dress."
"I don't think—"
"Thanks, Ashley. Michael said you were a special woman, and I can see that he was right. So glad we had a chance to chat!"
Ashley took the dead phone from her ear and stared at it. Despite her injury, she shook her head. In the space of a few moments, she had discovered her fiancé was gay and Michael's stripper girlfriend had no intention of marrying him.
Could her life get more bizarre?
She nearly dropped the phone when someone knocked on the door. Hastily, she replaced the phone on the dresser and went to answer it. A steward stood in the hall. He was holding a tray, and on the tray sat a solitary can of whipped cream.
"You ordered a can of whipped cream?"
"No, I didn't.” She couldn't speak for Michael, but she couldn't for the life of her imagine why he would—
"You're Mrs. Scott, aren't you?"
Ashley's face got hot. Now she suspected the reason for the whipped cream. “No. The Scott's are across the hall in room six B."
She shut the door and then gently leaned her forehead against the cool wood.
And very, very carefully, she began to laugh.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Fourteen
Michael didn't like to think he was a coward.
Oh, he feared the usual—plane crashes, snakes, and maybe getting old, but other than that he liked to think he could face just about anything. But there was one thing that shamefully terrified him: getting his heart broken again—by Ashley.
"You wanna another card?"
"Hit me.” Michael waited for the dealer to turn up his final card.
When he lost, he ground his teeth. At the rate he was losing, he will have matched Kim's two thousand by the end of the night, which gave him more reason to hate this no-brainer game. To think people actually became addicted to gambling blew Michael's mind.
Absently, he counted out another twenty dollars’ worth of chips and pushed them forward. “I'm ready,” he said, wondering if the aspirin helped Ashley's headache, and if he was ever going to admit to himself that she still had the power to make him bleed.
Maybe he'd be better off, he mused, just admitting it, facing it, dealing with the facts, and getting them out of the way. Mentally, he went over those facts.
Fact one: He thought of Ashley constantly.
Fact two: He rarely thought of Candy at all, and he had believed that he was in love with her.
Fact three: He had to do something about fact one, and he had to do something immediately. Ashley had already burrowed beneath his skin. Now he had to make sure she didn't reach his heart.
Couldn't happen.
No way.
Never.
Bang her brains out. Care about what happened to her physically. Have a good time with her.
But don't love her. Loving Ashley was like shaking hands with death.
"Damn,” Michael whispered, and the dealer thought he was referring to the fact that he'd lost—again.
"Tough luck, buddy."
"I'm not your buddy,” Michael growled, shoving another pile of chips forward. “Give me another."
"You'll have to wait a minute. I'm going on break and Rick will be filling in for me."
At the mention of the bartender, Michael snapped to attention. He lifted his head from the felt card table for the first time in an hour. Rick with the bleached hair and aqua-colored eyes grinned back at him. “Hi, Michael. Having another rough night?"
Michael wasn't in the mood to share confidences with Rick the bartender-turned-dealer. He hadn't forgotten that Rick's previous advice had backfired. Big time. “Why don't you just deal the cards?"
The bartender's grin didn't falter beneath Michael's hard-eyed stare. “Sure thing. Hey, I heard about your wife's accident."
"Ex-wife."
"Yeah. Hope she's okay."
"She is.” With a faint surge of hope, Michael eyed the ace of spades lying face up in front of him. “Hit me again."
Rick flipped a card up. It was the jack of spades. “Look's like you've got this one.” When he turned a king of diamonds next to his own six of hearts, he watched Michael rake the chips into his own pile before he said, “Going to the pool party tonight?"
"Doubtful.” Feeling lucky, Michael pushed fifty dollars in chips forward, hoping Rick would take the hint and shut up.
"We sure could use a judge in the wet T-shirt contest."
In the “Time Before Ashley,” the prospect would have delighted Michael. The realization that it did nothing for him now didn't improve Michael's black mood. “Not interested."
"Oh. Guess you'll want to stay in with your ex tonight, huh? Have a cozy evening and all. You two getting back together?"
Startled by the outrageous question, Michael knocked over a stack of chips. His first instinct was to laugh at the guy's blatant prying. Unfortunately, he was feeling a tad bit on the violent side tonight, thanks to Ashley. “No, we are not getting back together, not that it's any of your business."
Undaunted, Rick gave a careless shrug. “Okay, that's cool. But I think it's pretty neat that you won one the lottery using the same numbers, you know?"
Michael froze in the act of raking his chips into the cloth pouch provided by the casino, hoping and praying that he hadn't heard what he thought he'd heard.
"It reminds me of that movie, Serendipity,” Rick continued, shuffling the cards so fast Michael's eyes crossed. “You seen it? It's a chick flick, but I liked it. I mean, the way the guy in the movie came across that book with her name and phone number written in it the day before his wedding to someone else, and on the same day the girl came across a five dollar bill he'd written his name and phone number on, well, that was pretty wild, wasn't it? Almost as wild as you playing the lottery for the first time using the same numbers as your ex-wife and both of you winning. I mean, what were the odds of those numbers winning on that particular day? Blows my mind, man."
"How did you find out?” Michael managed to croak when the chatty bartender finally paused. Some of his chips had fallen to the floor, but at the moment he didn't care. What he cared about was how Rick had come by his information and what he intended to do with it. Michael might have been a coward, but he wasn't stupid.
Rick shrugged, looking as cool as a cucumber. “Wasn't hard. At the beginning of the cruise, we all get a copy of the ship's roster so that we can familiarize ourselves with the passengers. Your name had a star beside it for V.I.P., which means you're loaded."
Filled with a sudden revelation, Michael rose and placed his hands on the table. He leaned forward until he was nose to nose with Snoopy Rick. Very softly, he said, “Doesn't explain how you knew I'd won the lottery, and that it was the first time I'd played the lottery ... Rick.” The instant flaring of Rick's pupils confirmed Michael's suspicions.
"Well, I...” Rick licked his lips and glanced nervously from left to right. Finally, he seemed to realize that short of calling security, he wasn't going to escape Michael's relentless gaze. “Um, I just assumed—"
"You know my meddling, conniving sister, Kim,” Michael stated with conviction. He hadn't been exaggerating when he'd told Ashley that Kim had connections everywhere.
"Kim?” Rick pretended to think, but he wasn't fooling Michael. “The name does ring a bell, but I'm not sure—"
"What do you want?” Feeling suddenly weary, Michael straightened. “Just tell me what it will take to keep your mouth shut."
Rick tried to look repentant, but failed. “Well, we do need an unbiased judge for the wet T-shirt contest for women, unless you'd rather judge the bare chest contest for men—"
"And if I do it, you'll keep your mouth shut about what you know?” When the bartender nodded, Michael forced himself to relax.
At least Rick had hit the nail right on the head about him being unbiased, Michael thought, gathering up his bag of chips and stalking away from the blackmailing bartender.
> Because the only wet T-shirt he could imagine appealing to him was one with Ashley in it.
* * * *
Wringing out the T-shirt in the bathroom sink, Ashley shook it and slipped it over her head, welcoming the cool feel of the wet material. The cabin was uncomfortably warm. In fact, she was seriously considering filing a complaint about the faulty air-conditioning. This was a pleasure cruise, surely they didn't intend for her to suffer in a hot cabin?
At first, she had assumed it was her reaction to Michael that had caused the muggy atmosphere inside the cabin. But Michael was gone, had been gone for more than two hours, and she was definitely hot—weather-wise.
She looked at herself in the mirror, frowning at her red face. Had she forgotten to apply sunscreen this morning? It was highly likely, considering her muddled mind these days. Her head ached, as well. Maybe she would just skip the pool party and go to bed early. Tomorrow the ship would be docking in St. Thomas, and she wanted to be fresh and ready. Missing a pool party would be a small price to pay for touring the exotic island of St. Thomas.
Besides, she did not want to face Michael again tonight, not with the information she was carrying around. Candy should have stayed on the line long enough for Ashley to tell her straight out that she could do her own asking about the Policeman's Ball. She had no intention of doing her dirty work, and absolutely no intention of letting Michael know that she'd talked to Candy, or that Candy had told her far more than she wanted to know about their relationship—or lack of it.
Poor Michael. She knew exactly how he felt, although he didn't know it and she had no plan to tell him that, either. To think that she had been planning a future with Tom, only to find out that he was gay!
Dressed in a pair of her ridiculously uncomfortable thong panties and the damp T-shirt, Ashley carefully lay down on top of the covers. She put a hand to her head and sighed. What a disaster this cruise was turning out to be, aside from the terrific sex with Michael.
And that, she admitted shamefully, almost made it worthwhile.
But on the other hand, wasn't it all for the best? She had discovered the truth about Tom before she married him and made a fool out of herself, and Michael had found out Candy didn't love him.
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