Hot Number

by Sheridon Smythe

  They all looked ridiculously guilty.

  The steward slowly descended the stairs, keeping his eye on Deckland. Ashley held her breath, willing him to be on his way without delay. If he started asking questions...

  After the steward disappeared around the corner, the group expelled a community breath of relief. For several long moments, nobody spoke.

  Then everyone tried speaking at once, eager to justify their foolish reaction to the steward. If the situation hadn't been so dire, Ashley would have found the moment humorous.

  "He could have been the kidnaper,” Deckland said, daring to glare at the empty space where the steward was last seen.

  Tanya, with a hand to her racing heart, let out a shaky laugh. “He looked like a pirate, didn't he? A mean one."

  "Did you see the way he looked at us?” Bart asked. “As if he knew what we were up to."

  "You all look guilty as hell,” Michael said, startling them all into round-eyed silence.

  Ashley had never been so happy to see him in her life. There had always been something about Michael that made her feel safe.

  "Thank God, you're back!” Tanya said with heartfelt sincerity.

  Apparently, Ashley thought, surprised at her lack of jealousy, she wasn't alone in the feeling.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Michael swallowed the question three times before he gave up and asked Ashley. “Why aren't you eating?"

  With a visible start, she looked up at him, her eyes storm-dark. “I can't stop thinking about Birdie. She was really looking forward to this Mexican buffet."

  "And the magic show,” Tanya added glumly. She pointed her fork in the direction of the bar where Bart sat on a stool nursing a drink. From their position in the center of the dining room, they could see into the dim bar through the wide, arched doorway. “Poor Bart. He's lost without her, isn't he?"

  Ashley's lovely eyes suddenly gleamed with unshed tears. Michael resisted the urge to scoot his chair around and offer her a comforting arm. Hell, he wanted to pull her onto his lap and shield her from the entire world.

  He settled for pressing his foot against her's beneath the table. At the contact, she shot him an enigmatic look, but didn't shy from his comforting touch.

  "I'll bet Birdie and Bart regret taking this particular cruise,” Tanya continued, pushing her food around on her plate with the same lackluster motion that Ashley used. “I just hope that Birdie's okay. I hate to think of her being manhandled by some swarthy, bearded fellow with rotting teeth and an ugly scar across his cheek."

  If they thought she was being overly dramatic, nobody commented on the fact.

  Deckland sighed and pushed his plate aside. “There's a good chance the kidnaper won't harm a blue hair on her head,” he said.

  Tanya shot him a suspicious glance. “Are you just saying that to ease our minds?"

  "No. It's based on statistics."

  Michael silently applauded Deckland. Maybe the doctor wasn't such a bad guy after all, he mused, staring at Ashley to see if Deckland's professional assurance had eased that worried look in her eyes.

  It hadn't.

  He frowned, wishing he had the kidnaper's neck between his hands. He'd take great pleasure in twisting the life out of him.

  When the meal was finished, they moved to a table near the bar and continued their vigil. Deckland joined Bart at the bar to check on the older man's state of mind. The band began to play a slow, sultry tune, giving Michael an idea.

  He rose and grabbed Ashley's hand. Her eyes widened when she realized his intent.

  "No, Michael. I couldn't."

  "You can, and you will.” He tugged on her hand again, and she reluctantly came to her feet. Pulling her soft body firmly against him, he moved with her to the tiny dance floor. Several other couples joined them.

  With his mouth close to her ear, he whispered, “If Birdie were here, she'd be stomping her feet and cheering us on, and you know it."

  "And making crude comments about your anatomy."

  Sighing, she relaxed against him, laying her head on his shoulder. Michael could feel the warmth of her body seep into him as they swayed to the sultry beat of Black Velvet. For once, he ignored his instant arousal. It wasn't something he could control, anyway.

  "Ashley—"

  "Michael—"

  She lifted her head and looked at him. Time seemed to stand still as they gazed into each other's eyes and swayed together. Slowly, Michael touched his mouth to hers in a kiss that was as sweet as it was brief. He had to swallow several times to get rid of the suspicious lump in his throat. “You first."

  "I was just going to say thank you."

  He lifted an inquiring brow.

  She blushed and ducked her head. “For helping Bart. That was a lot of money to just give away."

  Michael stumbled. Was she suspicious? He wondered. Or just fishing? Striving for casualness, he shrugged, as if her compliment made him uncomfortable. “A woman's life versus six thousand dollars. Hm. Nope. No contest."

  "But she's virtually a stranger."

  "How about yourself? You didn't hesitate to hand over your money."

  "But I won the lottery. It wasn't like I had earned it, the way you have."

  For one insane moment, Michael considered blurting out the truth.

  The moment came and went as he imagined her taunting laughter, her smug smile. It was only difficult to imagine, he assured himself, because she was in his arms and looking at him as if she might actually care.

  Tomorrow was another day, and the day after that, they would be sailing home to resume living apart. She hadn't mentioned love, and he hadn't either.

  Lust.

  Passion.

  Body chemistry.

  Physical attraction.

  Everything but love. He loved her, and he ached to tell her.

  But he was a coward. That, and pride kept words of love locked inside him. If she wanted to talk about a future, then she would have to initiate the conversation, starting with a sincere apology for not believing in him. He didn't think he could never put the horrible past behind him unless Ashley believed he was innocent.

  "Michael? You look so serious. Is something wrong?"

  He jerked his attention to the here and now. “No. Nothing's wrong.” He forced the lie out, because he knew that he had to. “I've made a few lucrative investments.” She looked disappointed with the brevity of his answer. Was she thinking about the long, lively discussions they used to have about their careers? He wondered.

  "Oh. That's good.” She fiddled idly with the top button of his shirt, causing his body to harden in response to the innocent action. “For a moment I thought you were going to tell me you joined the mafia."

  "Very funny.” He kissed the top of her head, and she sighed and pressed her face against his chest as if they hadn't spent the last two years avoiding each other.

  Her hot breath fanned the ever-present embers of his desire. Not that it ever took much, he mused ruefully, wondering how he was going to live the rest of his life without her.

  Right now his future looked pretty bleak.

  * * * *

  Ashley toweled her hair dry in the bathroom and slipped one of her sexy nighties over her head. A pale, shimmering pink with spaghetti straps and a plunging neckline, it was like all the others she'd packed; it revealed more than it covered.

  The hem came to the top of her thighs, hardly covering the matching thong panties and leaving her tanned bottom self-consciously bare. What in the world had she been thinking? Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and stepped from the bathroom.

  Michael was in bed, propped against the pillows with the sheet pulled to his waist.

  The rest of him was deliciously bare.

  He took one look at her and groaned. “Dammit, Ash! Don't you have one single piece of clothing that doesn't scream ‘take me'?"

  Despite the fact that his growled statement turned her bones
to mush, her chin rose a notch. She glanced pointedly at his bare chest, swallowing quietly at the sight of his bronzed skin dusted with dark, curling hair.

  The line of hair tapered down across his washboard belly, disappearing beneath the sheet.

  "At least I'm wearing something. And no, I don't. I bought an entire new wardrobe just for this cruise."

  He patted the bed beside him, an unmistakable gleam in his eyes. “At least it wasn't wasted on what's-his-name."

  Ashley grimaced. “Did you have to mention him?"

  "Sorry.” He crooked his finger, since she had yet to move from the bathroom doorway. “Come here."

  "Why?” Her heart beat faster. She knew why, of course, but she didn't want to appear too obvious. But Michael surprised her with his husky, low-voiced answer.

  "I want to hold you."

  She went very still. Holding implied tenderness and caring, not passion and lust. Her gaze dropped to the bulge in the sheet covering his hips. The sight of his arousal strangely reassured her. “You—you want to just hold me?"

  He flashed her a crooked grin. “Don't sound so skeptical, Ash. You've had an upsetting day. Did you really think I would take advantage of you?"

  Once again she glanced at his arousal.

  "Hey, don't hold it against me,” he said softly, teasingly. “There are certain parts of me that are obviously not connected to my brain. Just ignore it."

  Ignore it? Ashley stifled a laugh at the thought. What normal woman could ignore anything about Michael? Slowly, she approached the bed and slipped beneath the sheets.

  He pulled her firmly against his side, urging her to snuggle her head against his shoulder. He let out a soft, contented sigh while Ashley's heart did a triple-somersault.

  Just inches from her face lay the silken, talented body part he suggested she ignore.

  She tried closing her eyes, but it didn't work.

  Even with her eyes firmly closed, she could still see the hard length of him outlined by the sheet. Her thighs quivered. Was she truly over-sexed? Why couldn't she ignore it, like he suggested? Did she have no shame?

  "You're trembling,” he observed, sounding concerned. “Are you cold?"

  Cold? Not by a long shot. Oh, no, she was far from cold. Hot to the point of melting would be closer to the truth.

  "And your heart's beating a mile a minute. Are you sure you're okay?"

  When would he get a clue? Ashley wondered, feeling her nipples spring to attention. Could he feel them poking him? How could he not?

  She blew out a frustrated breath—but slowly, quietly.

  His arousal leaped in response to the gush of warm air.

  Ashley slammed her eyelids closed and tried to leave his arms for safer ground. He tightened his hold, sounding so innocently puzzled Ashley wanted to punch him.

  "Hey, where do you think you're going? What's wrong?” She tried to avoid his hand, but he managed to grasp her chin and tilt her face so that he could see her expression.

  She kept her gaze stubbornly lowered.

  "Ash?"

  His soft query made her shudder. “For a sharp business man, you're remarkably dense sometimes. This is one of those times."

  "I don't get it."

  "I know.” She clenched her jaw, letting her breath hiss out between her teeth. “Why don't we just turn out the lights and go to sleep?"

  "Is that what you want to do?"

  He was either teasing her or he was truly as dense as she claimed. “Of course."

  "Then...” Michael paused a beat, as if he'd suddenly realized something. “Oh."

  She jumped as he placed the tip of his finger squarely on top of an aching nipple. Very slowly, he brushed his finger back and forth.

  Literally fanning the flames.

  Ashley bit her lip to keep from moaning. Her face felt fiery as she tried to guess what he was thinking without having to actually look for herself. If she looked ... and found him grinning that cocky grin of his, she didn't think she could handle it.

  Very softly, he asked, “Why didn't you tell me, Ash? I'm lying here, aching like hell for you, but determined to be a gentleman. And, if I'm finally understanding you correctly, you want me as badly as I want you."

  "Yes.” What was the point in lying? Besides, she didn't want to take the chance that he might believe her if she lied.

  "Aw, honey,” he whispered, his mouth brushing hers. His tongue came out and moistened her lips, then slipped between her teeth, teasing her with rapid strokes similar to what she hoped he'd be doing to her very shortly.

  If there had been such a thing as pro lovers, Michael would have been an All Star.

  With the lights on, Michael undressed her, kissing and stroking his way to her navel ... then lower still, until she was crying and begging him to stop ... or go faster.

  She couldn't make up her mind.

  Finally, he released her from the mind-boggling pleasure of his tongue and teeth, laying her gently beneath him. Hovering over her, he stared into her desire-glazed eyes, his own bright and intense as he lifted her legs over his shoulders and brought his erection to her moist center.

  He bent his head and suckled one breast at a time, until she was clutching his head with her knees and arching upward. Then he looked at her again.

  "This time,” he ground out, as if the mere act of speaking pained him, “we're going to take it slow and sweet."

  Ashley smiled into his taut, determined face, knew his control was shaky, at best, and very softly, she said, “Liar."

  Smiling at her challenge, he supported himself with his arms as he sank into her, inch by incredible inch. Ashley bit her lip and tried to squirm closer, but he dodged her attempts to capture all of him.

  "You are going to regret calling me that,” he promised, sinking to the hilt, then slowly, torturously withdrawing. He sank into her again—and did that swiveling dance with his hips.

  Her smile abruptly faded. “No fair!” she gasped, arching against him as her insides caught fire and began to spasm. “Don't—don't do that!"

  "Don't?"

  "No, don't—yes, do! Ahh, Michael!"

  "That's it, baby,” he panted, increasing his pace as he watched her. “Come for me, darling. I want to see your face light up with wonder."

  The sheer beauty of his voice, filled with raw passion and joyous anticipation, sent Ashley tumbling over the edge. She arched her entire body into his, pushing him deep, suspended for a brief moment as they exploded together, the force of her orgasm temporarily shattering her sanity.

  Very slowly, her sanity returned. Something warm and wet trickled down her cheek. Ashley brought her hand up, quickly wiping away the tears she hadn't known were going to fall.

  Her body felt gloriously renewed from the inside out, yet her heart felt hollow and sad. How could two people be this good together, yet be so wrong for each other?

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Michael was awakened by someone pounding on the door.

  "Just a minute!” he shouted, dancing around the room as he tried to put his pants on and lost his balance. Behind him, he heard Ashley yawn.

  When he opened the door, Tanya came rushing in, followed by Deckland. Michael frowned and looked out into the hall. “Where's Bart?"

  "We can't find him,” Tanya announced. “And his bed hasn't been slept in."

  Ashley sat up in bed, holding the covers to her chin. To Michael's eyes, she looked warm and sexy and adorably sleepy. He fought the urge to push Deckland out into the hall and slam the door until Ashley got dressed.

  "What's that?” Ashley asked, knuckling her eyes. “Bart's bed hasn't been slept in?"

  "He's missing,” Deckland confirmed, shoving his hands into his pants pockets. “We coaxed the desk clerk into opening his door—"

  "We told him Bart had a bad heart,” Tanya finished.

  "Does he?” Michael looked from one dumbfounded face to the other.

  "Does who what
?” Tanya asked.

  "Does Bart have a bad heart?” Michael repeated, feeling as if he'd fallen into a rabbit hole. Apparently, the stress of the situation was wearing on them all. Nobody was making any sense.

  Tanya waved an impatient hand. “Oh, that. Not that I know of, but the desk clerk believed us and unlocked his hotel room door. He wasn't there."

  That much Michael had garnered. “Where could he be?"

  "We were hoping you might have some idea,” Deckland said, politely keeping his gaze averted from the bed.

  Michael rubbed a hand over his whisker-rough chin, forcing himself to concentrate. “The drop off time is noon. Maybe the kidnaper changed his mind and contacted Bart?"

  "I don't think Bart would just leave without telling us,” Ashley said.

  Tanya and Deckland agreed.

  "He probably couldn't sleep,” Tanya said. “And is it any wonder? For all we know, Birdie had to sleep on the ground last night or in a lice-infested hut—"

  "This is Barbados 2008,” Deckland reminded her irritably. “Not the middle ages. They don't sleep in huts anymore."

  "Oh, well.” Tanya shot him a sour look. “Still, you don't know what kind of conditions she's having to live with. I doubt her kidnaper is concerned about her comfort.” She shuddered visibly. “I don't know if I can last another three hours."

  "We've got to find Bart."

  Everyone turned to look at Ashley, including Deckland, which made Michael stiffen and scowl. He didn't want the man—any man—looking at Ashley half dressed or otherwise.

  The knowledge did not improve his mood. “Why don't we meet downstairs for breakfast?"

  "I couldn't eat a thing.” Tanya put a hand over her stomach. “For all we know, Birdie could be having to eat—"

  "Oh, please,” Deckland interrupted before Tanya could launch into another drastic description. “Let's go downstairs so Ashley can—so they can get dressed and join us."

  When they were gone, Michael shut the door and turned to Ashley. “If Bart shows up before noon, I'm going to follow him,” he stated, bracing himself for an argument.