All Night Long

by Melissa MacNeal

  “Well I didn’t!” She wrapped her arms around her middle, unsure of what to believe. God, what she’d give for a smoke right now! “If he’s saying my diamond was a—how would he know? Or why would he insinuate—”

  “Let’s not forget that younger men sometimes say things just for the effect.”

  Rio perched on the chair beside hers, struggling to keep his hands and remarks to himself. After all, Lola had painted her nipples a startling scarlet, presumably for the man who’d bought her that ring. While it was heartening that she’d removed the damn thing before they’d danced last night, it was still a very visible sign that Ms. Wright was spoken for—no matter how he’d had her howling on that balcony last night.

  Poor woman looked ready to either throw up or pass out.

  But with all the unfortunate information he had to pass along to her, he couldn’t make any sympathetic moves right now; couldn’t get the least bit personal, either, considering how Skandalis might walk in to be briefed on this Fletcher affair.

  “I—I’m sorry to say, your ex-fiance has an effect on the ladies, as well,” he offered, aware of how inelegant he sounded. “We put together some footage from the security cameras in the casino, and from a lounge called Fedora’s, that show him at his…most effective, I’m afraid. But first, fill me in on what went on before you read that message he sent to your room. It might help me fill in some blanks.”

  Lola blinked. So much had happened since she’d read that damn note, she had to stop and think.

  “We—we boarded the ship in San Juan like everyone else,” she faltered.

  “And we were at sea all day Monday, en route to Aruba,” Rio reminded her gently. “Did you notice anything strange about his behavior then?”

  Her lips were parched and her voice was starting to crack.

  “Strange?” she asked with a sarcastic little grimace. “Fletch was keen on casino gaming—especially lucky at Caribbean Stud poker. So I wasn’t surprised that he wanted to play. Once I lose twenty bucks or so in the slots, I lose interest.”

  Rio nodded, encouraging her with his smile. So far, nothing surprised him. He’d figured Lola for a woman who worked too hard to drop a wad at the tables, and her face bore out her story. “So what’d you do while he played?”

  She shrugged sadly. “Strolled in and out of the shops. Figured it was too early to spend a lot on souvenirs from the ship, before we got off at the ports. Looked at the display of art for sale at the auction, but I’m not into that, either. Played some Bingo.”

  “Win anything?” Damn but he wished they were talking about something else! Here was a woman on a Caribbean cruise, and words like fun weren’t in her vocabulary.

  “Nope. Sorta hung around till Dennis got back, just in time for dinner. Took in the show—”

  Still she sounded like a shell of a woman: no excitement in her eyes or lilt in her voice, or details about what she’d eaten or seen in the theater. Damn shame she’d come on this trip to get married, because she sounded like anything but a bride.

  Encouraging maybe, but sad. He dropped that thought so he could stay on track: his fingers itched to smooth her hair back from her pale, freckled face. When a tear slithered from the corner of her eye, it took all his strength not to wipe it away.

  “And then you got off the ship yesterday morning, when we docked in Aruba?”

  “For awhile, yeah. Went to the flea market shops near the pier, and then walked into town,” she mused aloud. “And of course when Fletch saw that snazzy casino, we had to go inside. Just as well, since I had to use the little girls’ room.”

  She blinked, embarrassed that Rio had to be in on all this nitty-gritty—and that she had to reveal such a fiasco of a romance.

  “I’m thinking that’s when Dennis must’ve hooked up with the chick with the villa. Just like I now think he must’ve contacted her before we ever left home,” she said with a sigh. “We came back to the ship and I wanted to shower…get all freshened up, since Dennis said he wanted to play the tables on board for awhile.”

  DeSilva watched her expression; didn’t have the heart to point out that the casino on board remained closed whenever they were in port. Fletcher had fed her a big fish story, and she’d been too intent on getting caught—really trying for his attention, with that nail polish—to see the loopholes in his net.

  But Lola’s story did indeed confirm some suspicions, so he steered the conversation away from her feelings, toward the nasty business at hand. Might as well get it all out and get it over with.

  “Well, here’s what we’ve caught with our cameras—but I’ll warn you, it’s not complimentary,” he said with a nod toward the bottom monitor. “Try to stay calm and fill in some blanks for me. It’ll be a big help, all right?”

  Lola glanced at the screen he pointed to, feeling sicker by the minute. The picture was fuzzy and the color wasn’t clear, because the casino lights were dim, but that was Fletch, all right.

  He was at the ATM near the teller windows. Slot machines and poker tables were teeming with business, and when the view flickered into a close-up, probably from the camera on the bank machine, she saw him snatch several big bills from it. Then he punched numbers for another transaction…which she recognized as the PIN for her Well Suited account.

  She let out a sick groan, not wanting to watch yet riveted to this evidence all the same.

  “Here’s a printout of Fletcher’s transactions from this ATM and others aboard the Aphrodite,” Rio said, handing her a page that was nearly filled with entries. He turned on a small lamp.

  Lola scanned the long list, which took awhile because her hands were shaking. “Not a surprise, considering what I learned from the credit card rep in Mr. Kingsley’s office.”

  But then the scene on the monitor changed. Dennis was at one of the poker tables, where an attractive girl was dealing cards with dexterous flicks of her bangled wrists. By the looks of the bets, these players were devil-get-screwed wealthy—especially the classy blonde beside Fletch. Or at least she had an impressive stash near her hand—not to mention those two assets bulging out of her strappy little camisole.

  Blondie batted her eyes when one of the other players collected his winnings, and then she and Dennis got up. Fletch ordered drinks from a passing waitress, flirting with his poker companion as she approached the ATM. She slipped in her card and punched the numbers with a long, dark nail that had to be fake.

  Lola’s jaw dropped. “Dennis has a memory for figures that won’t quit—and not just chest measurements,” she added shakily. “Do you suppose he’s accessed her accounts, too?”

  Rio remained silent, directing her back to the screen with his nod.

  The tape flickered at a splice, and Dennis was again at a poker table with Blondie as a new game was being dealt. She bantered with the dealer—a sexy Jamaican guy this time—as she placed her bet, and meanwhile Fletch set his drink down near her fresh stash. He was teasing this gal to go for it, giving her the ole come-on eye contact, while, with a magician’s quickness, his cocktail napkin landed on her credit card. Just that fast, he slipped it into his sport coat pocket!

  “He—he never missed a beat chatting her up,” Lola gasped. “Doesn’t she know better than to leave her cash and card out where—”

  Rio shushed her with a gentle finger, his gaze foretelling more unpleasant information.

  “This next footage,” he said, scrolling forward, “is from our cocktail lounge, Fedora’s. After watching this a few times, I’m thinking Fletcher’s new ‘soul mate,’ as he called her, is setting her hook. Her cash and card might’ve been her bait.”

  Lola watched in horrified fascination as Blondie, bulging out of her black cami top, wagged her finger playfully at Dennis. Never one to miss an invitation, Fletch devoured her with his kiss, right there on a leather love seat with other people looking on. His hand slipped up under one of those bazooms, as though one little tug would bare it.

  “That goddamn bastard,” she mutte
red. “Wasn’t wiping out my accounts enough for him? He—he’s a financial manager, you see. Invests his clients’ accounts—my accounts—and has control over huge—”

  She drew a shaky breath, looking away so Rio wouldn’t see her tears. “I’ve made the mistake of my lifetime, falling for that man. Trusting him with my personal and business accounts. I—I never in a million years saw this coming. I feel so—so stupid.”

  “Don’t.” DeSilva stood up, clicking the monitor off.

  “But—I need to see that part where—”

  “It won’t change anything, Lola,” he murmured. “I’ll walk you back upstairs now. I’ve given you plenty to think about.”

  The man in white was still all business, yet she sensed he was steering her out of that cozy little office to avoid temptation—and talk—as much as to remove her from the images he’d shown her. Lola kept seeing them, those incriminating pictures that rolled through her mind in fast-forward, as she and Rio got into the elevator.

  “I suspect Fletcher is extremely charismatic,” he went on in that low Spanish accent. He reached for her hand, to weave his fingers loosely between hers. “Attractive enough to charm the ladies, obviously—but an expert at presenting himself—presenting a facade to outfox even intelligent, rational women like yourself.”

  He tried to coax a smile from those trembling lips, but it didn’t work. Lola still looked shell-shocked as they stepped into the upstairs corridor.

  “If it makes you feel better, Fletcher has conned a lot of high-powered men, as well,” he remarked. “Although I’m guessing he performs white-collar thievery, on paper, with them.”

  “What a relief,” Lola jeered, still pissed at herself. “Such a comfort to know I’m not the only one!”

  A tug on her hand made her look up at Rio DeSilva’s kind smile.

  “I never wanted to hurt you with this information. I just thought you should see first-hand how he’s operating.”

  The slender hand inside his was quivering, and somehow Rio resisted kissing it. “The stats on the Fletcher Financial Group show nothing but a sterling reputation, which means some Fortune 500 executives gave him excellent ratings. Not a clue that he was ripping them off. So you’re not stupid, Lola mia.”

  While she clung to that little endearment—finally, a sign that something had happened between them last night!—Lola grunted in disgust. “Yeah, well he had a way of making me feel stupid. As though I couldn’t run my business without him. Or couldn’t have conceived of it, and gotten the ball rolling enough that I needed his financial services.”

  When they stopped outside the suite door, Lola knew DeSilva wasn’t coming in this time. He had that on-call look about him—and he did have a job protecting hundreds of other passengers, after all. She smiled up at him, wishing she didn’t feel ready to bawl.

  “Thanks for believing I could tango last night. And for making me believe,” she murmured.

  He put the key card in her door. She marveled again at the smooth, slender muscles of those hands…the way they’d taken her to unbelievable heights on the balcony last night.

  Rio’s hazel eyes said he was recalling that, too, while suggesting some sad secrets he’d never let Lola see. It was part of his white knight act, covering the chinks in his armor, she figured.

  “Never assume you’ve cornered the market on feeling stupid,” he whispered wistfully. “This world’s full of liars and frauds who never come clean. Predators too slick to get caught before they’ve left a big hole where your heart used to be. Bank accounts can be reconciled, but hearts and spirits—well, that’s another matter entirely.”

  His expression vacillated between that of a fallen angel and a lost, lonely puppy—a potent mix. A magnetism Lola couldn’t resist. So she stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

  Rio smiled. Reminding himself to remain an enigma. “Tell Aric to escort you ashore, so you can enjoy Grenada today. I’ll be in touch.”

  Lola blinked. Why did that sound like a kiss-off?

  She watched him walk to the elevator, with that glide like a tiger’s. Had she been stupid again, to fall for this man after one wildly ecstatic night?

  Out of the frying pan, into the fire. Either way she got burned, right?

  She had no time to feel sorry for herself, however. The red light on her phone was blinking, and it was Skorpio Skandalis giving another command:

  “I want you to come to my quarters immediately,” he crooned in that Greek accent that had first turned her on to him. Now she saw him for the shark he was, but what could she do? There’d be hell—and a lot of debts—to pay if she didn’t follow through.

  “You are to wear a tight black dress—the shorter, the better,” the captain continued. “Nothing underneath it. Stiletto heels. Don’t make me wait.”

  11

  Was the captain finally going to give her what she wanted? Finally going to grant her fantasy and take control by making her lose it?

  It was a head game, same as the ones he’d played on her before. Yet right now, a pretty pretense felt fantastic, compared to thinking about how Fletch had screwed her over.

  And there was nothing like a tight black dress and stilettos to make a girl feel like getting some—even in the middle of the day. Even when exotic islands called and every sane passenger was going ashore to indulge in tourist-trap shopping and sightseeing in the Caribbean heat.

  Sane. That left her out, didn’t it? Why else would she have made this cockamamie deal with Captain Scandalous, when she could’ve called her lawyer—could’ve called the credit card companies again—to assure this cocky Greek he’d get his fucking money.

  Without the fucking.

  But no, here she was, swaying down the corridor with Aric keeping close watch. Close appreciative watch, at least, after she’d asked him to sweep her hair up into something provocative, and then touch up her face.

  Hah! He’d painted her up like a slut, with extra eyeliner and lipstick that matched her Very Cherry nipples. Ah, those nipples—pebbling up as they rubbed her dress’s built-in bra. Ready to party. It was kind of like Halloween for hookers, although she assumed she’d be the only one at the party.

  Wrong.

  She entered the captain’s quarters—why hadn’t she guessed his suite was the only other one on the penthouse level?—to find him lounging on his four-poster bed. He wore a shimmering robe of deep green Lola would’ve stolen for herself, except it showed off Skorpio’s dark chest hair and an expanse of olive skin that veered downward, far enough to prove he had nothing on under it.

  Far too masculine for her wardrobe…but damn, it did wonderful things for him. A hint of musky cologne suggested he was fresh from the shower.

  Skandalis truly looked the part of Captain Scandalous as he sipped a drink and then chose from a tray of exquisite canapés. Lola hadn’t had a chance for breakfast, so she eyed them longingly. But all he gave her was a crocodile smile.

  “How lovely to see you, my dear,” he crooned. “You look as hard and jaded as I hoped you would. High-maintenance. Well worth the debts I’m waiving for you.”

  Lola held his gaze, refusing to scowl at this reminder of reality. “Thank you, sir. How may I be of service?”

  “Ah, a woman who knows her place.”

  His gaze raked over her as he gulped the rest of his drink. Not many men could control such a situation while appearing ready for a nap.

  Then he snapped his fingers, three times.

  “Yes, mon capitain?”

  In flounced Odette, wearing a very short French maid’s uniform and seamed, patterned stockings attached to a garter belt. She fluttered to his bedside with a feather duster—

  Yep, it’s Halloween for hookers, all right.

  —like a kiss-up debutante at a benefit ball. Except her eyes held a hurricane warning Lola didn’t dare ignore. She’d almost laughed out loud at that clichéd, ridiculous uniform. Surely guys didn’t still go for that fantasy?

  Yet Skorpio’s fingers found the
inside of the housekeeper’s thigh and began to stroke it. The rise in his robe said he was very much into this fantasy, and when he fondled higher up, Odette parted her legs to let him.

  She wasn’t wearing panties. Just that little Mohawk, framed by the black elastic bands that bisected her thighs.

  “Do you like what you see, Lola?”

  She blinked, frowning. But something told her not to get sassy with the captain today: those obsidian eyes narrowed with a predatory, proprietary air as her silence ticked by.

  He was indeed going to screw her. One way or another.

  “Odette, my love,” he went on in that maddening accent, “I want you to strip Miss Wright. I want you to slowly peel off her cocktail dress so I may view her body in all its glory, wearing only those stiletto heels.”

  Skorpio paused to sip his drink and assess her reaction.

  “And then, when I’ve looked to my heart’s content,” he continued in that lord-of-the-manor voice, “you’ll take off your uniform and dress her in it. I’m guessing it’ll be a nice, tight fit—don’t you think?”

  “Oui, mon capitain,” the masseuse-turned-maid replied gleefully. “Eet weel be far too short, ze uniform, and we weel have to punish her for letting her poof-poof show. Non?”

  “No! Not a chance!” Lola replied, stepping back.

  Except that damned Aric, behind her all this time, kept her from going any further. Meanwhile, Odette was moving in to do the captain’s bidding.

  And Skandalis, the jerk, was laughing at her! Making that robe shimmer over the tent pole beneath it.

  “I like my women to know their place,” he repeated, sitting up straighter to make his point—partly because that one point now jutted up out of his open robe.

  “I like to watch them excite each other, too,” he added, his nostrils flaring. “What a lovely contrast, when Odette lets down her raven hair to tease your pale breasts into hard, aching peaks. Like the one you see under my—”

  “No way!” Lola made a cross with her two digit fingers, flashing it in front of the advancing maid. “I don’t do women! You had your fun tricking me with Miss Christy, but—”