Seeking Mr. Wrong

by Tamara Morgan

  The amusement flickering in his eyes indicates that he’s well aware of how mesmerized I am by the thought of taking this sucker home with me, and that he won’t stop until he’s wrung out as much of my agony as possible.

  “I was going to give it back,” I say irritably.

  “Sure you were,” he says and places it on Lola’s head. “There you go. Good as new. Penelope and her quick hands saved you from disaster.”

  “Oh, do you two know each other?” Lola asks, glancing back and forth between us.

  I want to admonish her to stop moving her head so much, but I manage to keep the impulse under wraps.

  “Drat. That means I don’t get to introduce you. And I was so looking forward to it.”

  Grant clears his throat. “Yes, I had the pleasure of making Penelope’s acquaintance last night when she and her boyfriend joined me for dinner.”

  “I never said he was my boyfr—” I begin, but Lola cuts me off breathlessly.

  “Oh, then you’ve met Hijack, too? He’s awfully good-looking, but I prefer her friend Riker. Have you seen him?” She doesn’t wait for Grant to reply. “I’m sure you have—he’s hard to miss. Wears all black, kind of grouchy, probably the most beautiful person I’ve ever met… Am I allowed to say that about a man?”

  A scowl descends on Grant’s previously unruffled brow. Despite the fact that I’m still annoyed with him, I laugh to see such patent jealousy taking hold. That’s what he gets for taking stupid risks with his life.

  “Of course you can say that,” I say, my voice syrupy sweet. “Riker is one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever met, too. I know some women prefer a coarse kind of ruggedness in their mates”—I’m careful to avoid Grant’s perfectly coarse ruggedness as I say this—“but there’s something about a chiseled set of cheekbones that gets me every time.”

  “Attraction is a strange thing,” my husband counters. “Take me, for example. I’ve always preferred tall, subservient brunettes.”

  I choke.

  “I knew you two would get along!” Lola says with an excited clap of her hands. “Don’t ask me how. I think it’s because you both have such laughing eyes.”

  Our laughing eyes meet over Lola’s head, impeded only by the impressive scrollwork of the tiara. My instinct is to back away and let a professional disinterest fall over our exchange, but Grant leans into it.

  “I hate to correct a lady, Lola, but Penelope’s eyes don’t just laugh,” he says. “They dance.”

  “They do, don’t they?” Lola sighs. “I wish she would tell me the secret. All my eyes do is see the way people keep staring at me. I can’t help thinking they’re all trying to figure out how to slip into my room tonight and bash me over the head while I sleep.”

  The reminder of her precarious situation has me sending a glare my husband’s way. He has some nerve, sauntering over here and pretending he’s Lola’s friend. She might be too innocent and trusting to understand the kind of havoc Grant can wreak on a girl, but I’m well acquainted with what can happen once he decides on a course of action.

  “It does seem awfully risky, leaving you to fend for yourself with so many hardened criminals on the loose,” I say. “It leaves one to wonder what kind of an imbecile was put in charge of security.”

  “Oh, Penelope, no…” Lola begins, but Grant cuts her off with a short laugh.

  “You’ll have to acquit me of such an honor,” he says and bows slightly. “All credit for this scheme goes to Lola’s father. I’m merely helping him with some of the more…complex details.”

  Complex details? Is that what he’s calling this disaster? So far, he’s bound himself to the owner of this ship, tied himself to the tiara’s fate, and notified virtually everyone of his false name and even falser importance. If his goal was to keep a low profile on board this ship, he’s earned a big fat zero points so far.

  “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” I ask.

  He shrugs with maddening calm. “Time will tell, I suppose. We can’t all of us be as famous and daring as the great Penelope Blue.”

  Okay, now he’s goading me on purpose. “How great could I possibly be?” I mutter. “You’d never even heard of me until yesterday.”

  His brow lifts in a faintly mocking gesture. “Yes, but that was before I started to hear the rumors of your exploits. A whole truck full of gold, was it? I’d love to hear how—and when—you managed that.”

  “Oh, me too!” Lola chimes in. “Please tell us, Penelope.”

  As Grant knows very well I haven’t done even half the things currently being credited to my name, I assume he thinks I started those rumors myself. Which is ridiculous. While I might have found the attention flattering at first, I’ve since learned that my newfound notoriety is nothing but trouble. Not only is Hijack on my case about stealing the Luxor Tiara, but I’ve also been brought to the attention of people like Peter Sanchez and Eden St. James.

  Between the pair of us, Grant and I couldn’t have pulled this thing off any worse.

  “That’s a story for another day,” I reply with a prim lift of my chin. “Right now, I think the most important thing to do is figure out how to keep Lola out of harm’s way. Or is that not part of the complex details you’re attending to?”

  Grant’s jaw clenches tightly before he forces it to relax. “No, actually, it’s not. You heard Peter. The burden of her safety rests on the general population of this boat. My assistance would interfere with his plans.”

  I’m unable to miss the spasm of fear that crosses Lola’s face—nor the determined way she tries to stifle it.

  “I’m sure I’ll be fine in my room,” she says, her smile wobbling. “All the locks on the Shady Lady are unpickable. My father had them specially installed.”

  My hand moves automatically to the top of my bra, where the press of the master key against my skin feels tight and hot. Unpickable the locks may be, but I have one very distinct advantage in that arena. In fact, I imagine Hijack is regretting his decision to saddle me with this responsibility—unless, of course, he has another backup key he’s not telling me about.

  It would be so easy for him to slip into the poor girl’s room while she’s unconscious, take whatever he wants and damn the consequences…

  “Why don’t you stay with me tonight?” I ask.

  The words are out before I can stop them, and I instinctively look to Grant to see how he’ll react. I expect to see another one of those angry jaw flexes, his natural protective instincts rising up and demanding I play a more cautious game, but there’s no mistaking the warm regard I see there. His eyes aren’t laughing, and they definitely aren’t dancing. If I had to pick an action, I’d say they’re admiring.

  Flustered at the heat of that dark, liquid gaze, I quickly add, “I won’t be able to do much if someone comes at us with a club, but you’ll feel better knowing you’re not alone. And my father is right next door—we can open the passageway so he’ll be able to hear if anything happens.”

  “Oh, Penelope, can I?” Lola gasps. “You wouldn’t mind? Really and truly?”

  “Really and truly,” I say. “But you should probably check with your dad to make sure it’s allowed. I don’t care what Kit says—I find it hard to believe that he doesn’t have other plans for securing you and that tiara tonight.”

  She frowns deeply and shakes her head, the transition from happiness to despair so fast, it seems unreal. “No, Mr. O’Kelly is right. Daddy isn’t going to help. He told me so as we were leaving the stage. He wants me to show some responsibility and backbone for a change.”

  Oh, man. I’d like to show him what he can do with his backbone.

  Grant must see some of my murderous intent, because he clears his throat. “You don’t have to ask his permission, Lola, but you should probably let him know what you’re up to. I’m sure he’ll rest easier knowing you’re among friends.”r />
  “I suppose,” she says and surveys the bar for a sign of her father. He’s not difficult to spot, as he’s seated at a corner booth in the company of what looks like a tall, subservient brunette. I guess he and Kit O’Kelly have that in common. “I’ll be right back. You won’t leave without me, Penelope?”

  The heartbreaking way she voices the request almost has me marching across the bar with her to give Peter Sanchez a piece of my mind, but Grant stills me with a slight shake of his head. I guess upbraiding a criminal overlord will have to wait for later.

  Without Lola there to act as a buffer, a heavy tension settles between us. There are so many questions I want to ask Grant, so many things I don’t understand, but this is hardly the time or the place to voice them. Even with the arc of emptiness around us, several heads are turned our way, watching us interact. If we show too much familiarity, people will start to ask questions.

  “That was a good thing you did, offering to stay with Lola tonight,” he says, leaning back against the bar with an air of calm assurance.

  “Yes, well, someone had to. What Peter is doing to that girl is unconscionable. I find it hard to believe that anyone could be so—”

  Another shake of Grant’s head has me quelling my rage to a more controllable simmer. With a deep breath, I change my tack. “You and he seem awfully close,” I say as neutrally as possible. “How long have you known each other?”

  “We go way back,” he says. “A whole day, in fact.”

  Gee, how helpful. “And did you know ahead of time what he was going to do?”

  His sharp look contains yet another warning, which adds to my mounting frustration. I’ve never been great at blindly following orders, especially when they come from him, and feeling as though I’m missing an important part of the puzzle doesn’t help. Especially not when there’s so much at stake.

  “Dammit, Kit, I know you’re more involved in this than you’re letting on,” I hiss. “If we’re going to make this work, you have to give me something.”

  He looks pained at my indiscretion, but there’s not much he can do about it in a public venue. I don’t care. I want answers, and I don’t know how else to get them. A terrycloth swan isn’t going to cut it this time.

  “Lola was right, you know,” he says in an overloud voice. At first, I think he’s trying to cover for my slipup, but he’s moving in. One of his arms is on the bar top; the other reaches for me, stopping just short of my face as he tucks a wayward strand of hair behind my ear. That small brush of his fingers against my lobe is enough to set my heart skittering.

  “About what?” I ask, trusting neither his fingers nor my heart. Both have a way of getting me in trouble where this man is concerned.

  “About the two of us getting along.” He leans in closer, though his voice doesn’t lower any. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the way you looked in the moonlight.”

  I jolt back as if burned. Is my husband flirting with me?

  “And again this morning at the track, all grumpy and rumpled as you struggled to keep up with us. How are your wounds?”

  Instead of allowing me to answer, he takes one of my hands in his. Cupping the appendage gently, he runs his fingers over the edges of the scrape. He also leans down and blows, the cool air of his breath skimming over the surface of my palm. Even though the hot afternoon sun is blazing overhead, I shiver.

  “I’ll live,” I manage, my voice strangled. “But I hope you realize that woman tripped me on purpose.”

  “Who, Eden? No.” He peeks up at me, dark eyes glinting. “What possible reason could she have?”

  “Gee, I don’t know,” I say with heavy sarcasm. “To rid the Shady Lady of my troublesome presence?”

  He doesn’t pick up my lure for information. “Uh-oh. Sounds like someone might be jealous.”

  “Of your long night prowling the corridors with a six-foot, perfect-haired thief?” I scoff. “I barely know you. What you do with your free time is of no interest to me.”

  “Can I be honest with you?” he asks.

  I can’t think of anything I’d like more. “Please do.”

  He nods across the bar to where Lola is nodding contritely at her father. “I wish I was the one saddled with the tiara for the rest of this trip instead of her.”

  I don’t. This situation is complicated enough as it is. Nor is his revelation terribly helpful in uncomplicating it.

  “No offense, but I don’t think it would suit you,” I say. “You strike me as more of a gold watch sort of guy.”

  He disarms me with a full crinkly eyed smile. “You’re probably right. But if I was the one wearing the tiara, then I’d be the one who gets to spend the night in your bed. I can’t tell you how much I’d love to be under your…protection.”

  Oh, crap. He’s flirting again.

  “Of course, we’ll have to get rid of that pesky boyfriend of yours first,” he says leadingly.

  I refuse to take his bait. “My pesky boyfriend might have something to say about that.”

  “A husband at home, a boyfriend on the side…” Grant makes a soft tsking sound. “You’re a very busy woman, Penelope Blue. Unfortunately, I’m not a very patient man.”

  I gulp.

  “Daddy thinks it’s a great idea!” Lola lopes back to the bar with new enthusiasm and impeccable timing. “He wanted me to convey my thanks for your help, Penelope, and also to tell Mr. O’Kelly that if he’s done trying to seduce dangerous beauties, he could use your input on whether you suggest video cameras in the cabaret lounge tomorrow.”

  Instead of taking offense at being found out, Grant laughs. “Am I that obvious?” he asks, his dark eyes boring into mine. His look is both proprietary and predatory. A flood of intense longing moves through me at the sight of it, settling heavily at the apex of my thighs. I forgot how good Grant could be at this wooing stuff when he puts his mind—and his body—to it.

  “Oh, yes,” Lola says, not the least bit discomfited at finding herself in the middle of our flirtation. “Even I can tell there’s something between you two, and I’m terrible at reading facial cues.”

  “You hear that, Penelope?” Grant says with a quirk of his brow. “Even Lola can tell there’s something between us. Strange that you should be the only one so unaware.”

  I have no response to that, so it’s just as well that Grant chooses that moment to lift my hand to his lips, his gesture similar to the one last night. This time, however, he turns my hand over and lands a kiss on my wrist. The press of his lips against my pulse point is soft and sensual, sending a ripple of delight though both me and Lola. Her gasp is almost equal to mine.

  “I’ll see you at the games tomorrow,” he says, his voice rumbling. “Hopefully, you won’t be placed at my table. I’d hate to have to ruin your chances of making it to the next round.”

  Yeah, right. He’d love it. That man lives to challenge me.

  “I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” I reply archly. “After all, luck is supposed to be a lady.”

  “Yes, but my instincts tell me you’re anything but that. A woman, certainly.” His gaze flicks lazily up and down my body, lingering on the parts that assert my femininity the loudest. “But not, I think, a lady.”

  He’s absolutely right. If he keeps sucking all the air from between us, filling it with an animal magnetism that pulses in my veins, all pretense at decorum will vanish.

  So I laugh as naturally as I can and take my hand back. “I think that’s enough of that for one day,” I say. “Until the poker tournament, Kit O’Kelly. I’m almost looking forward to it.”

  “That makes two of us,” he says with a slight bow.

  Lola and I both watch as Grant moves across the lounge to where her father sits. Grant’s head is held high, and there’s a whistle on his lips. And, I don’t need to add, his figure is an image of masculine perfecti
on. I swear, if I hadn’t already succumbed to that man’s damnable arrogance and swaggering charm, this would have sealed my fate.

  “Oh, he likes you,” Lola says in a whoosh of air.

  “Not as much as he likes the idea of beating me at my own game,” I mutter. “Take my word for it, Lola, and avoid men like that at all costs. They’re nothing but trouble.”

  My advice is similar to what Tara bestowed on me twenty-four hours ago, and I sigh to think how far I’ve come in that time. The tides have turned, our fates reversed. I’m the master and Lola my pupil.

  In other words, both of us are doomed.

  * * *

  There’s a towel animal waiting for me when we get back to my room. Despite my many attempts to convince Lola that she wanted nothing more than to spend her day napping and getting repeat full-body massages, she insisted on making the most of our time together. Lola sitting alone at a pool bar might be a shaking, miserable heap of a girl, but Lola with Penelope Blue at her side is up for anything.

  Anything, as it turns out, is code for bowling with Riker and Hijack, getting pedicures with Jordan, helping the chef in the kitchen make five hundred chocolate lava cakes, and finally—finally—sitting down long enough to watch the sun set at the end of the day.

  I’ve never been so exhausted in my life.

  “Oh, you get your towels made into animals?” Lola flings herself on the bed, reaching for today’s creation, which is a penguin balancing a pair of my sunglasses on the top of his beak. “That’s no fair. Mine have just been folded and put away every time.”

  “No, don’t open him,” I cry, and leap across the room to pull him out of her arms. I want nothing more than to rip into the little guy and see how Grant intends to explain himself for that show at the bar earlier today, but not while Lola is present.

  “I, uh, want to keep him intact for as long as possible,” I explain somewhat sheepishly. “I have a thing for penguins.”

  “You do?”

  Even sweet-tempered Lola finds that odd, so I do my best to move the conversation along.