by Linda Howard
When she couldn’t put it off any longer, she asked one of the attendants to point her toward the aft bar, the Fog Bank, which turned out to be through a set of swinging doors directly behind her. She went through the doors and found much the same setup as the cafe: The bar itself was under a roof, but most of the tables were in the open air. A band was playing dance music, but not so loud that people had to shout to carry on a conversation, which was a nice change from the usual. The dance floor was crowded with both singly gyrating bodies and couples who were actually dancing together.
From the literature she’d read about the ship she knew there were several bars, but this one was humming with activity. Perhaps people were excited by the first night at sea, and no one wanted to be inside, which made the Lido deck the place to be. Stars were shining overhead, the ink-black ocean waves were gleaming with silver caps, and a brisk breeze tugged at hair and clothing. Even as tense as she was, Jenner felt something magical at being on the glowing ship surrounded by the vast, empty ocean. There were no other lights in sight in any direction, emphasizing how alone they were.
A single stool at the bar came empty, and Jenner squeezed onto it. There were so many people around she wondered how she was supposed to spot one particular couple, especially since she didn’t know what they looked like. Well, that was their problem; they knew who she was, so it was up to them to get close enough to attract her attention. And maybe she’d make it even more difficult by keeping her back turned to the crowd.
The bartender smiled at her. “What can I get you?”
“A teeter-totter,” she replied.
“Have you tried a Ghostwater yet? It’s the ship’s signature drink.” He indicated the drink another of the trio of bartenders was handing across to a passenger; the liquid was a pale gray concoction, and wisps of what looked like fog rose from the tall, skinny glass.
“I’d pass on the Ghostwater, if I were you,” a man advised from her left as he angled one broad shoulder in to the bar. “They pack a big punch. But I’ll have one.”
Jenner automatically looked up, because the man was seriously encroaching on her personal space, and found herself just a few inches from a pair of very blue, very intent eyes. For a split second time froze, her heartbeat thumped hard against her rib cage, and the bottom dropped out of her stomach. Hastily she looked down, breaking eye contact. He was so close she could feel his body heat, so close his hard chest was actually touching her shoulder; a belated alarm skittered along her nerve endings. She didn’t like strangers touching her, didn’t like the way she was being crowded, especially by a man as tall and powerfully built as this one. She tried to shift away, but the crowd around the bar was so dense she couldn’t move without putting some muscle into shoving people.
“One teeter-totter and one Ghostwater, coming up,” said the bartender, turning away to mix the drinks.
She stared straight ahead, unwilling to make eye contact again. Was he hitting on her, or was he just trying to get a drink at a crowded bar? Either way, she couldn’t afford the distraction. Her field of vision was blocked on both sides now, so she couldn’t see what was going on around her, and so many people were talking she wasn’t certain she’d be able to tell if anyone was arguing. As soon as she got her drink she needed to move, find a more isolated corner.
“Are you here by yourself?” the man asked, and because they were so squashed together his voice was practically in her ear, his warm, pleasant breath brushing her cheek.
“No,” she said, because she wasn’t. At least four people were here with her, watching her, even though she was sitting alone. She still didn’t look up at him again.
“Pity,” he said. “Neither am I.”
His voice had taken on a deep, warmly intimate undertone that, against her will, brought her gaze back up to his. The bottom dropped out of her stomach again. She had seen men who were better-looking, but damn if she’d ever seen one who oozed more masculinity than him. What was bewildering was that there was no one facet of his appearance that set him apart. He was tall, but not unusually so; muscled, but not muscle-bound; short dark hair, blue eyes, a hint of five o’clock shadow on a strong jaw. He was simply dressed, in black slacks and a white silk shirt with the sleeves rolled up on his forearms, and yet he seemed more elegant than any of the other men, who were no slouches in the dress department themselves. Taken as a whole, he was quite a package, and that had more to do with the aura that surrounded him than it did with any individual feature.
The bartender set their drinks in front of them. Relieved by the interruption, Jenner reached for her ship’s card but the man beat her to it, handing over his card to the bartender and saying, “Both drinks.”
“Sure thing.”
Now she had to look up at him again, though she really, really didn’t want to. She aimed her gaze at his nose, because those blue eyes were too unsettling. “Thank you.” She kept her tone as neutral as possible.
“You’re welcome,” he said, reaching past her to accept his card back from the bartender. Just then the ship rolled slightly to the left, the first real movement she’d felt, but even as slight as it was that was still too much for a few people who had already had too much to drink. There was a commotion to the right, a yelp, then the man beside her was suddenly moving, both arms coming around her to brace against the bar as he shielded her with his body. He made a soft “oof” as someone landed against him, and for a moment he was crushed against her, his chest to her back, her head against his shoulder.
“Sorry,” someone said, just as the man also said “Sorry,” and straightened away from her.
“Damn you.” It was a woman’s voice, dripping with inebriated scorn and fury. “I saw that! You can’t even get a drink without putting your hands on another woman.”
Uncomfortably Jenner looked around. A curvy brunette with exotic sloe eyes was standing just behind them. She was overdressed in a skintight red cocktail dress that ended just a few inches below her ass, and she teetered precariously on five-inch heels, though whether that was because of the ship’s movement or the amount of alcohol in her blood was anyone’s guess. She was glaring at them, her chandelier earrings glittering as she tossed her head.
Jenner felt him sigh, felt the rise and fall of his chest. “You’re drunk and you’re making a scene,” he said quietly. “Let’s go back to the table.”
The man who had initially stumbled looked around, blinking as he tried to make sense of the situation. He was sober enough to say, “No, that was my fault—”
“I know what I saw!” she said shrilly, dismissing him as she advanced closer to the man who had just saved Jenner from being knocked off her stool. “I don’t know why you asked me along—”
“Neither do I.” His tone was hard and grim. “But I regret it more every minute.”
“That’s easy to fix! Get your clothes and get out, you bastard.” Her voice rose to a shriek of outrage, and tears began to melt her mascara into black rivulets running down her cheeks. More and more people were falling silent, turning to watch the scene, and Jenner began to feel as if she were caught in the middle of a train wreck with no way of escaping. She looked desperately around, hoping she could slip away.
He tilted his head, his expression turning hard. “I don’t believe you can kick me out of my own stateroom, Tiffany, but I’ll tell you what: I’ll let you have the room, because I’d rather sleep in the laundry than spend another minute with you.”
Tiffany!
Oh my God. Horrified awareness swept over Jenner like ice water. This was Cael.
Chapter Eleven
THE SCENE GOT UGLIER AND UGLIER. TIFFANY’S FACE turned an unbecoming red as she began shrieking and sputtering incoherent insults. Cael didn’t respond. He didn’t have to. He let his expression say it all for him; he might as well have been looking at an insect. Beside him, Jenner Redwine was frozen on the barstool, her expression both stunned and horrified.
Before he’d called Tiffany by name, she�
��d been merely uncomfortable, and a little embarrassed at inadvertently being sucked into a scene. He’d been paying close attention to her, though, and he knew the exact instant she’d made the connection and realized who he was. She really hadn’t suspected. He’d made the call not to coach her on the changes they’d made to the scenario, because he’d thought her reaction would be more believable if she was caught by surprise. He’d been right.
Redwine hadn’t been the only one caught by surprise, though.
Funny how seeing her in person could give him a completely different reaction from what he’d expected looking at her photograph. Seeing her picture, he’d thought she might be trouble, but then he’d dismissed her. Seeing her in person, he knew she was trouble, but there was no dismissing her.
She wasn’t a tall person, a little under average height, and she was thin, but on her it looked normal and not like she had starved herself. For one thing, even though she had small breasts, she had a nice, round ass. It wasn’t big, just … round. He liked round. In this case, he liked it too much.
She hadn’t dressed up. Faith had reported that she hadn’t changed clothes at all. But even in simple oatmeal-colored pants and a sleeveless emerald-green blouse, she stood out from the crowd around her. Yeah, that could be because he’d been watching for her, but even looked at objectively she was different: the erect way she carried herself, the reserve, the way she had of looking at people that made them start surreptitiously checking to see if they’d spilled something on themselves. There was a subtle, underlying aggression in everything she did, in her very posture, that said Jenner Redwine would fight for what she wanted and God help anyone who got in her way.
He’d have to watch her every minute, because she wouldn’t be intimidated into quietly going along with what she was told to do. No sooner had that realization flashed through his brain than she was slipping off the stool and edging away, looking for all the world as if she was just trying to escape an unpleasant scene.
Tiffany, bless her, also saw what was happening and shrieked, “Don’t try to run off like you’re Little Miss Innocent! I saw you flirting—”
“I don’t know you,” Jenner interrupted. Cael took the opportunity to shift his position, subtly blocking her avenue of escape. She shot him a bladed look from narrowed green eyes. She looked as if she would gladly have brained both of them. “And I don’t know him, so leave me out of your nasty little scene.” Then she evidently caught the eye of someone she knew because she gave a sort of what-can-you-do shrug. Good girl; that looked completely genuine. Maybe she was a better actress than she’d let on to Bridget.
On cue, Faith approached Tiffany, putting her arm around Tiff’s shoulders and softly talking to her. Tiffany started crying, real tears dripping down her cheeks—how in hell did she do that?— and Faith finally led her out of the bar. Silence spread around them. Then Ryan limped up to Cael, concern in his eyes. Ryan was a hell of an actor, too. He did have a limp, but a very slight one. When he was in public, though, he always exaggerated it because that was part of his persona, and Cael had never, not once, seen him forget. “That was nice of you to give her your stateroom,” Ryan said, just loud enough that everyone around them could hear what he was saying.
Cael shrugged. “I could hardly toss her out, could I?” He and Ryan automatically positioned themselves so Jenner was blocked, with no way to slide past them. She looked so frustrated he had to fight to control a grin.
“There was a mix-up on our suite,” continued Ryan, “and we have a two-bedroom instead of one. You’re welcome to take the other room, if you like.”
“Much obliged. But first I’ll check to see if another stateroom is available. Have you heard if the cruise is sold out?”
Ryan shrugged. “I haven’t heard. But if there isn’t, you can definitely stay with us. I’ve already cleared it with Faith, so don’t think she wouldn’t like it.” He switched his gaze to Jenner, smiling. “What a way to start the cruise, huh?”
“With a bang,” she said a bit sharply, once more trying to slide sideways around them.
Ryan reached out and took hold of her elbow, holding her in place. “Have you two actually met, or were you just caught in the explosion?”
“No, we haven’t met,” Cael said before Jenner could respond. The less she had to improvise, the better.
“That makes the whole scene even more ridiculous, doesn’t it?” Ryan said with a rueful laugh, man to man. “Jenner Redwine, this is Cael Traylor.”
“Pleased to meet you,” said Cael, extending his hand. The brief flash in her eyes said she’d rather touch a cobra, but she held out her hand and he took it, keeping his touch gentle but holding on longer than he should have. Her fingers were slim and cool, her skin soft, and despite everything she firmly gripped his hand in return. She looked up at him, and for a brief moment their gazes locked. He kept his expression blank, but that one glance was enough to see the rebellion brewing in her. He needed to get her out of here, and fast.
He and Ryan talked awhile longer, making things look normal for the people who were still standing with their heads half-cocked to hear what was being said. He thanked Ryan again for the offer of their extra bedroom. Finally he turned and retrieved Jenner’s drink from the bar, as well as the Ghostwater he’d ordered. It was a potent combination of Grey Goose vodka, absinthe—the real stuff—and a couple of other things. He wouldn’t have touched one on a bet, but hundreds of people were sipping the foggy drink as if it were water.
He looked at the Ghostwater, grimaced, and set it aside. “That was for Tiffany,” he said to Jenner. “She’d had one already, and insisted on having another. That’s how I knew they hit hard and fast.”
She nodded, but didn’t reply. That was good. The less she talked right now, the better. All he needed was for her to follow his lead.
He glanced around the bar. The music was playing again, and most people had returned to their own conversations. He nodded to a couple of people he recognized, then said, “Let’s get out of this crowd and walk. I could use some exercise.”
“You two go on,” said Ryan. “I’ll see how Faith is doing getting Tiffany settled.”
The Lido deck was too crowded for any kind of real walking, plus he wanted to get Jenner mostly alone, so they took the stairs. In short order Jenner found herself strolling beside Cael on the sports deck, which was mostly empty. They didn’t talk; she stared straight ahead as she marched along, as if she were in the military and had to walk a fifteen-minute mile. He caught her arm and pulled her to a slower pace. “You look like you’re trying to run away from me.”
“Imagine that,” she said sarcastically. Oh, yeah, she had a mouth on her. The bad thing was, every time he looked at her he liked that mouth more and more.
“Think of your friend,” he replied without inflection, but lowering his voice even more. Sound carried on the wind, and up here the breeze caused by the ship’s movement was brisk. It blew her hair back and plastered her clothes against her body. Good wind, he thought, admiring the shape of her small breasts. She shivered, rubbing her hands over her bare arms and coincidentally shielding those breasts from his view.
“I am thinking of her,” she snapped. “That’s the only reason I haven’t pushed you overboard.”
“Then you’d better think harder, because you’re doing a piss-poor job of selling the idea that we’ve got a thing going.”
“Who am I selling it to? There’s no one up here,” she retorted. That was mostly true. There were a few people walking around, couples, and one man standing by himself and breathing through a cigarette. Cael recognized him as Dean Mills, the head of Larkin’s personal security detail. Had he just come up here for a smoke, or had Larkin sent him? Regardless, this had to look real.
“I decide when you need to sell it, not you. And I’m telling you to sell, now.” He swung her around to face him, not quite touching, but close. Startled, she looked up at him, and something in him seized, frozen, as for a split sec
ond he imagined her looking up at him just this way when he pulled her beneath him. Ruthlessly he shoved the idea away. There was no place for shit like that in this job. Nevertheless, they had to make this appear real. He looked down at her for a long moment, then moved his hands to her waist and pulled her full against him. “Kiss me like you mean it,” he ordered, and bent his head to hers.
She didn’t. She stood as stiff as a mannequin, her arms at her sides, her lips stubbornly closed.
“Sell it,” he growled against her mouth, and deepened the kiss, slanting his mouth over hers, pushing his tongue inside to taste her. She shuddered, then slid her arms up and wrapped them around his neck.
Still, she tried to hold her body away from his, and that wouldn’t do, not with Larkin’s man watching. Cael tightened his grip, pulling her tightly against him, breasts and hips and thighs. The contact hit him low in the gut, and he felt an erection begin to stir. He held her there, knowing she felt it, using his automatic reaction as a weapon to bring her into line. She didn’t know whether he had any intention of hurting either her or Sydney Hazlett in any way, and by God he meant to keep it that way, because that fear was his only means of keeping her in line.
“Don’t,” she whimpered, and the fact that she begged told him how frightened she was. He could feel her heart, hammering away in her chest, and he pushed away the instinct to comfort her.
“Then act as if you mean it,” he said again, and kissed her a second time.
She hesitated for a split second, then did as he ordered. Maybe fear wasn’t a natural reaction for her, because now all he felt was anger, humming through her like an electric current. She plastered that skinny body against him and kissed him as if she were trying to set him on fire with her mouth. His erection shot to full attention, and he backed her against the rail, holding her there with all his weight as he met her ferocity with his own.
Shit. This was more real than he’d bargained for.
