“You think I’d dress this way for my mother?” he countered, turning her chin with his finger. “We might as well enjoy—”
“You talk a good line, Aric, but you’re being paid to be my keeper, right?” Lola sighed, gently smoothing his lime-striped tie back into place. “I’m guessing any number of young ladies on this ship would love to be with you. So why don’t I just go back to my suite, and you can spend the rest of your evening—”
“Nice try, Priestess. Shall we sit over here for awhile?”
With an exasperated roll of her eyes, Lola traded her empty flute for another full one and allowed him to steer her toward a small table in the rear. Even after chugging bubbly, her spirits were deflating. Why was she feeling like a misfit at a middle school dance? So damn disappointed because the captain had snubbed her—when Cabana Boy here was trying his damnedest to show her a good time.
Sheesh, if she were with Dennis, he’d be schmoozing at the bar or working the room for new clients in this moneyed crowd, because dancing had never been his thing. Not even a simple slow dance like the one they were playing now—while Skandalis gazed haughtily into the enamored eyes of his third partner since he’d walked away from her.
Lola sighed forlornly. Instead of making her giddy, the booze was taking her down with the sheer exhaustion of this long, stressful day. Damn shame to be all tricked out but ready to bury herself in bed. Alone.
God, she wanted a cigarette. When she realized she was holding the stem of her empty champagne glass in the fork of her fingers, she shoved it away. Damn that Dennis! This was all his fault!
The orchestra struck up a sultry Latin introduction, and Lola could not watch Captain Skandalis faux-fornicate to another tango. “Look, I’ve got to use the little girls’—”
Damned if Aric didn’t stand up, like he planned on going with her!
And then a hand landed on her shoulder and a soft voice murmured, “May I have the honor of this dance, Lola mia? I requested this song just for you.”
Was she dreaming, or had every head swiveled at the raw longing in that voice? She turned to find Rio DeSilva smiling at her, within kissing distance, his Spanish eyes glowing golden-brown in the low light. He stuffed a folded bill into Aric’s pocket. And when her warden didn’t take the immediate hint, the security agent dismissed him with a pointed stare.
No dialog. No king-of-the-jungle guy games. Aric simply headed for the exit.
What was it about this man DeSilva? Oh, it didn’t hurt that his ivory tux and that black shirt with the tab collar rendered him fatally attractive…enough of a rebel bad-ass to make Lola suck in her breath as she returned his gaze. When those eyes wandered down to her lips, she licked them, wondering if her lipstick had held up through all that champagne.
His sigh sounded hungry.
Lola blinked, aware that Rio’s warm hand still rested on her shoulder, and that the orchestra had slithered into a seductive rendition of “Whatever Lola Wants.” Her mother used to ham up the lyrics of this song when she was a kid, acting like the spoiled princess she was…whatever Lola wants, Lola gets….
She smiled. Swallowed. The willowy black singer in strapless red sequins crooned the opening line into her mike—surely a blatant message to Captain Scandalous, who would not be dancing this one with her. Rio’s hand slipped down to the small of her back, and as he escorted her toward the dance floor, her pulse galloped.
This man was not her mother, nor was he hamming it up to humor her. Rio DeSilva knew exactly what Lola wanted, and he intended to give it to her. Maybe right here on the dance floor.
The brief flicker of that fantasy made her blink. Made her think, before she succumbed to the tang of booze on his breath—how would his tongue taste?—and the aroma of smoke that clung to his clothes.
“I—this is so romantic, that you requested this song for me,” she bleated, “but it’s been years since I learned to—”
“Give me thirty seconds in this dark corner, and the basic step pattern’s yours,” he said, effortlessly easing her out of the crowd and into tango position. “Give me another minute, and I’ll be yours, as well, Lola mia.”
Lola swallowed. It’s all she had the strength to do, once his seductive words sank in.
Wasn’t this the man who’d kept his distance earlier, saying he wouldn’t cross the captain’s line? Yet here he was, teaching her to tango in front of God and Skandalis and everyone.
“Gliiide…gliiiiide…step, step, step. Gliiiide…gliiiiide…”
How had she come to be pressed this close to him, thighs rubbing and hips flexing in rhythm? Her arm was dramatically thrust forward with his, and he was whispering the dance pattern as though telling her how he wanted her to make love to him. All the moves and nuances that would take him over the top.
And she was so damn ready to take him there.
“Gliiiide—gliiiiide—step, step, step,” he murmured again.
The singer’s castanets did a sexy click-click-click to that same beat, and Lola realized then that she was dancing, right there on the dance floor, without having to think about what came next, or having to coax her partner along like she’d done in ballroom dance class. Somehow DeSilva had step-step-stepped her onto the parquet floor, and—like an illusionist making magical things happen—the man with the tiger eyes had her dancing the tango on intuition.
The debonair Spaniard held her gently against his hip, his lead so smooth as to be invisible: just the merest pressure and pull of the warm hand that held hers. She caught a glimpse of the captain, who’d paused on the sideline to watch them.
Lola straightened to flaunt herself, her head held high and proud—like she’d seen in the movies. Rio’s grin flashed his approval: his eyes narrowed seductively, which cast the rest of his bronzed face into a mask of sheer seduction.
Gliiiide—gliiiiide—step, step, turn.
Without a hitch they negotiated the edge of the floor and insinuated themselves between other couples caught up in the passion of the dance.
Lola caught a whiff of brandy and fine tobacco, manly scents that increased his mystique and had her inhaling deeply: feeding her need for nicotine, yet firing her desire for something much more addictive. Rio Benito DeSilva was now a very seductive puzzle she longed to solve, slowly. Naked.
The music slowed to a dramatic halt, and as though he’d done it a hundred times, the Spaniard tipped her backwards into a dip that had her holding her breath. His face was mere inches above hers and the kiss on his lips had her name on it.
“Lola,” he breathed.
As though on cue, the ballroom lights went down. How long would he hold her this way? How long could her leg bear her weight?
And yet, she felt no concern. Rio held her firmly against him as time stood still. There was only the silent shimmer of the mirror ball sending its sequins through the room, and those lips inching so, so close she could feel the warmth of his breath.
A vein fluttered above his collar.
Lola stretched to kiss the smooth skin between its rounded black tabs; to feel the beat of his pulse against her lips.
The soft strains of a rhumba brought her upright—through no effort of her own—and Rio led her into the secretive sway of impassioned prey and predator, circling…seducing. Step-step, pause…step-step, pause.
Somehow her feet followed the beat. Somehow her body followed his lead, for Lola’s mind was too swept away to be of any assistance.
Were people really standing along the sideline, watching them? Did she look as perfect with Rio as this felt? It was a heady sensation, to merely let go and let this man take control of her with the power of those eyes. Eyes focused only on her.
And yet, Rio’s gaze wasn’t domineering or arrogant, like someone else’s she knew—some Greek guy whose name escaped her now.
Around each other they went, circling and swaying. Her fingertips remained lightly against his palms so he could have his way—so Rio could lead her into another step pattern without say
ing a word. Why and how their bodies brushed and then parted, Lola didn’t know. There was only the throb of the bass pulse and the whisper of the cymbals, and her hips found the rhythm as though she’d been born dancing this way.
The music ended, and Rio grabbed her hand. Quickly skirting the crowd, he led her through a door marked STAFF ONLY. As if that weren’t enough to set her her heart racing, he whisked her down the short corridor and into a service elevator.
As its door closed, he smiled tightly. Punched the highest button.
“I saw Aric coming toward us, probably on orders from the captain.” He stepped close enough that his knee parted her thighs, pressing her against the cool steel wall. “Why waste a woman like you on a kid like him?”
For a fleeting moment Lola thought he was calling Skorpio a kid, but she got so caught up in watching his lips—in catching that faint hint of liquor and smoke on his breath—that the words lost their meaning.
She did recall, however, that this was a change in course for the security agent. And not a safe one.
“But if Skandalis catches us—he was watching—”
“Yes, he was,” Rio said with a happy snap of those eyes, “and if ever there was a man who wished he were holding you so close and so—but that’s too damn bad! I say we give him a run for his money—if that’s what you want, Lola mia.”
Her sigh escaped with a little hiss as he moved in for the kiss she could already taste. Her eyes fluttered shut. She lifted her face to bask in the glow of him, parting her lips—
But Rio pulled away. Just enough that his question quivered between them in the dim, airless elevator. The shine of his eyes hypnotized her. She sucked air, struggling to think. What was it he’d asked her?
Whatever Lola wants….
And what did she want? In the whirlwind of being ditched by Dennis Fletcher and then tormented by Skorpio’s sensual power plays in the spa and the ballroom, she felt more alive than she had in months. Felt open to the adventure sparkling in Rio DeSilva’s attentive eyes.
The elevator door slid open, punctuating his unspoken call to choose her fate.
9
She rose to meet him, feeling his thigh against her mound. His mouth felt hungry and hot, more predatory than she expected. Lola matched him breath for breath, lips writhing over his firm, moist mouth and reveling in the tickle of that feral mustache. In his eagerness he bumped her teeth a couple of times, but then slapped his hands to the elevator wall on either side of her head, pressing into her body, refusing to ease up.
Rio tried to fight it down, but it did no good. He’d known it would be this way once they danced and courted each other—once Skandalis saw how it was between them and wanted Lola, too, for more devious reasons.
But that was a moot point now: Lola was his. Hadn’t she just taken that ring off her finger?
He felt it in her kiss, and in the sighs that escaped when she molded her mouth to his. God, he loved how she didn’t back down—didn’t come up for air—did not let go or shrink back! She was right there with him, sucking his tongue into her mouth and letting out those little groans that drove him nuts.
She was writhing against his thigh. Undulating like a snake in that deep green dress that made her eyes look wide and childlike—especially with that outrageous hairdo, which shot curls from the topknot like a fountain spewing fireworks. It was a style so brash and unabashed, only Lola could wear it.
And her skin, God it was as soft as he’d dreamed, where her shoulders were exposed. He wanted to grab the dress by its low-slung bodice and rip it down the front, to get a good look at her.
But that would only prove what an animal lurked beneath the facade he’d cultivated since Katya left him. It was how he got through each day, telling himself he could tamp down those desires; could ignore the call of his body when he saw passengers who appealed to him, or made passes at him.
And they did that, women of every age. Every week their eyes sought him out and lingered, questioning as they flirtatiously lowered their gazes. Gratifying, but not the road he wanted to follow. Sometimes the staff rules were handy to hide behind.
So why break them now? Why with Lola? She was in more of a mess than she knew, and she’d probably shoot him when she found out just how deep the muck was. He had no choice but to drag her through it before the week was out.
But for now…for now there was only the soft give of her breasts, heaving beneath his chest, and the madness escalating between them. Her hands found his ass, as though she knew how he loved to be squeezed there. The elevator door gaped open, because he’d jammed the OPEN DOOR button mere heartbeats before he’d taken her this way. Anyone could come along—although, on this penthouse level, there was only one suite besides Lola’s.
But he couldn’t let Skorpio catch them this way. Couldn’t let Aric see them, either—too soon for that. Too damned soon for any of this. When she slid her tongue in and out of his mouth, imitating what she really wanted from him, Rio reluctantly broke it off.
They panted, staring at each other.
Lola’s makeup was wrecked, but he liked that. She looked more warm and willing, So sultry. So eager.
But not here. And not tonight—God, not this soon or the rest of the week would be a lost cause and they’d both be in serious trouble. If he could hold back—make her understand that he was using discretion as the better part of valor, as Clive the Proverbial was wont to say—maybe she’d agree to see him again after this week. After her cruise ended. After she found out the truth about Dennis Fletcher—if she was still speaking to him then.
Lola had to understand that his world was about to change, too, in a way that had nothing to do with Fantasy Cruise Lines. Real life had met him head-on, and she might not want to follow him there.
“Come on,” he whispered, grabbing her hand.
He pulled out his master key card to let them into her suite. The lamps were lit and the bed turned down, but Rio ignored those wrapped chocolates and the rose on her pillow. He glanced around, his senses keen; listening for anyone who might be hiding in the bedroom or the closets.
It was useless against Aric or Skorpio, but he locked the door and hooked its chain anyway, to make her feel more secure. Resting against the solid coolness of the door, Rio let his body absorb its temperature to lower his own.
Like that would happen! Lola stood there with her hands on her canted hips, jutting her bust at him. Daring him to by God get himself over there and take up where they’d left off.
Any decent man would. He wasn’t some clueless kid who’d led her this far and then didn’t know where to go.
A square of pale moonlight on the carpet gave him his next cue.
“It’s a perfect night for that balcony,” he murmured. “Go out there and get ready, Lola mia. Let the wind play in your hair. Soak up the wildness of the sea breeze. Cast your inhibitions overboard, and we’ll…see where this goes.”
“You’re not coming?” she replied with a sly smile. “Don’t think for a minute you’re going to strand me out there on the—”
“I have never stranded a woman—or even kept one waiting,” he insisted with a flash of his eyes. “There’s a bottle of champagne in your fridge. I want to catch up with you, now that I’m off duty—and now that you won’t guzzle it to tolerate Skandalis and his games.”
So Lola stepped out onto the balcony, leaving the French doors open to watch Rio move. He looked as lithe as a cream-colored tiger in that tux, and that black shirt made him so, so dangerous! She still had the scent of him on her skin and the taste of his tobacco on her tongue, and she wanted more of everything.
She wouldn’t quiz him about this change of attitude. It was enough that he’d brought her here so they could be alone for the first time. And he wanted her ready.
Well, she’d been ready from the moment he’d whispered in her ear, back in the ballroom: may I have the honor of this dance, Lola mia? I requested this song just for you.
It was a heady combinatio
n, that elevated Spanish accent and the way he ran his words together in that low growl that made little shivers run down her dress with his breath. And then the tango lesson: as long as she lived, she’d never forget how he’d crowned her the Queen of that ballroom. Because he knew she needed to feel that way; feel like she was worth something, after all the shit she’d been through with Dennis.
The taste of that name made her mouth go sour. Enough of that!
Lola, still ogling the man in her kitchen, reached back to her zipper. It would be more romantic, perhaps, to ask for assistance with it—the age-old ploy for getting a man’s hands on her.
Yet this moment in the moonlight called for something more direct. More provocative—the way he’d awakened her senses by dancing so close, so effortlessly, and by letting his words tickle her ears while his smile turned her insides to honey butter.
The zipper sang its randy song, and as the sea breeze teased her skin, Lola knew this was right. Knew this night, with that bright crescent moon beaming down like a secretive smile, was made for a couple who came looking for love.
And when they went back inside, is that what they’d have?
She wouldn’t ask him. Better to go with the moment, to flow with the current Rio DeSilva had quickened within her. A loud pop announced the champagne he’d soon pour, and she wanted to be ready for whatever he did with it. When he took two flutes from her cabinet, she turned her back to him. Gazed out over the midnight blue canopy of night, where lights twinkled on the horizon and another cruise ship was outlined like a diamond broach on velvet.
She shivered, feeling his approach.
Rio stopped in his tracks. Lola was stepping out of that phenomenal dress, pointing her backside toward him. She was naked! What kind of woman wore nothing beneath a formal gown?
Dennis Fletcher’s woman. You’re crazy if you think you can—
He shook away that pesky thought. Not anymore, she’s not. Not if she entrusted that rock to Aric.
All Night Long Page 7
