All Night Long

by Melissa MacNeal

  “Virtue, my ass! Get me outta this thing so I can piss!”

  He was tall enough, with strong enough arms, to release both leg straps from their pegs and lower them at the same time. When her arms were freed, Lola had to gave her prickly limbs time to get the blood pumping again.

  She looked around for her cocktail dress.

  Damn that fake maid! Odette had not only made the bed beneath her, but she’d picked up the room, too. It looked like a picture in a travel magazine.

  “They stole my clothes!” Lola gasped. “That new black dress and my best stilettos! Can you believe the nerve of that man, to abandon me this way?”

  She used the bathroom and came out wrapped in a fresh towel. She was tired of being naked; vulnerable to everyone else’s whims.

  Aric was waiting, still looking way too amused about this whole thing. If he knew anything about where Skandalis and Odette had gone, he wasn’t telling. He just strolled down the deserted hallway between the two suites with the key card in his hand.

  “Tellya what,” Lola muttered. “I’ve had it with surprises for one day! If I come within sniffing distance of a cigarette—”

  Cabana Boy reached deep into the pocket of his long, loose shorts. “Camels okay?”

  She stopped, staring at that oh-so-lovely pack he was holding out to her. Was it her imagination, or did that camel and the desert sand glow with a heavenly light? The pack was still wrapped, but she smelled that fresh tobacco with its hint of mint. If only in her dreams.

  Lola inhaled deeply. After all these months of being such a good girl, she really shouldn’t blow it now. “You—you got those for me?”

  “No friend like an old friend, when things get crazy,” he remarked as he opened the Aphrodisia Suite’s door.

  Now how was she supposed to interpret that? This same smart-ass kid who’d delivered her into the captain’s clutches awhile ago was now being so damn considerate of her needs.

  How did he know she smoked Turkish Jades?

  She wasn’t ready to ask him. Wayyyy too dangerous, to think Cabana Boy knew her so well.

  Lola wasn’t ready for what awaited her in the suite, either. There on the coffee table—like she might have laid them there last time she came in—were her purse and her cell phone.

  12

  As though that damn phone knew she was staring at it, it began to play a razzy-jazzy version of “Hey, Big Spender.”

  Was there a camera hidden in this room? How else could anyone calling her know the moment she’d come through the door?

  And if they didn’t have a cell signal before this—and if Dennis had stolen her purse and cell phone when he ran off with that floozy in Aruba, then how on earth—

  “Maybe you better answer it,” Aric suggested above the raucous music. He, too, was gawking at her cell like it might explode.

  Half afraid to touch the damn thing, Lola finally reached down to—

  The song stopped.

  Lola gripped her towel, stepping back. The Camels fell to the floor.

  “OK, so where’d you find my stuff?” she accused, glowering at her warden. “You put it here while the captain had me trussed up from his bedposts, didn’t you? If you’re trying to mess up my head, playing these little—”

  “I had nothing to do with this! I swear!” Pale green eyes peered through his loose curls, imploring her to believe him. Cabana Boy looked as spooked as she felt.

  They both jumped when the phone rang again.

  This time Lola grabbed it. She flipped it open, but neither the caller’s name or number appeared on her screen as that music taunted her. By God, those lines of odd symbols would not keep her from the answers she needed.

  “Hello?” she demanded. “Look, if this little prank is your idea of a good time, you can—Dennis?”

  Her pulse throbbed against the slender phone as she pressed it to her ear, straining to hear what he—or whoever—was saying between bursts of static.

  “Talk louder! I can’t—Fletch, if that’s you—”

  The voice sounded far away, and the signal was fading so badly she couldn’t be sure it was anyone she knew. A few phrases sounded like a foreign language—like maybe a call from Caracas had been misdirected to her cell. But the way things were going, it felt right that her ex-fiancé would pick this particular moment to scare the bejesus out of her.

  “Would you please repeat—if you need help—”

  Click-click-click.

  Then nothing.

  Lola threw the phone at the couch and stood there shivering. She could’ve been standing in the ship’s meat freezer, she felt so cold.

  Aric frowned. “What was that about? Do you really think it was—”

  “I have no idea. It went dead and I freaked.”

  For once, she was glad Aric was around. Had she been alone, she’d have run screaming into the hall—and as it was, she was now sweating with a nicotine fit that had pounced on her like a savage cat.

  Lola yanked her purse open, driven by an overwhelming need to see if her security blanket pack of Camels had survived their misadventures. Fumbling, cursing because this purse she traveled with was so damn deep, she exhaled with sharp relief when her fingers found the suede cigarette case and the bulge of the Bic snapped to its side.

  How many hundred times had she held this piece of paraphernalia, needing the ritual as much as the cigarette? She didn’t care if Cabana Boy thought she was some crazed old junkie! She unsnapped the deep teal carrier and gripped the pack of Turkish Jades with a trembling hand, forcing herself to take long, slow breaths as she gazed at the layer of strapping tape encasing the pack.

  It was grimy from being gripped, but by God she’d carried these little babies for months without being desperate enough to hack through all that tape—

  Until now, maybe.

  Except Cabana Boy was watching.

  Lola swallowed hard. She willed her pulse into a lower gear, reminding herself that it was only a crank call; only her assumption that Fletch had made it. Her bad-ass traitor fiancé really wasn’t worth the indignity of ripping this pack open to light up, was he? Especially in front of this impressionable young man, who was looking at her like he might call 911 any minute.

  Letting out a shuddery breath, Lola tucked the Camels back in their case. The metal fasteners shut with a satisfying snap, and she gave Aric a tremulous smile.

  “Thanks for not asking.”

  “Not a problem, Priestess.”

  He picked the phone up from the couch cushion to study its little screen; pushed the call-back button, and held the phone to his ear. Cabana Boy shook his head, and then pressed a few buttons to see what he could find out about the incoming call.

  “Don’t know what to tell you,” he finally confessed. “I’m not getting a signal now.”

  This got Lola to thinking more rationally. “If Fletch was calling me from Aruba…would he be able to ring me because we’re in port? But that makes no sense! If he took my purse and the phone with him—”

  She studied her warden’s smooth young face. Aric was keeping lots of little secrets, wasn’t he? But hadn’t she worked her way around hundreds of savvy, secretive men in her business? Cabana Boy still wore a highly mystified expression, so she would have to take the reins. Somewhere, they were making wrong assumptions—going nowhere fast, unless she consulted other sources.

  Lola lifted the receiver from the phone on the end table. Of all the buttons and services to choose from, not one of them dealt with emergencies or security issues—as though passengers would never have those on this erotic fantasy cruise.

  So she punched the 0.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Wright! And how may I direct your call?” came a too cordial female voice.

  Lola nearly came unglued again, until she realized the ship’s operators would identify callers by the suite number. “I’d like to speak to Rio DeSilva, head of security, please.”

  There was a pause, so long Lola nearly hung up to try again.r />
  “I’m sorry, but Mr. DeSilva cannot be reached at this time. If there’s an emergency—”

  “All right then, let me speak to the captain! Put on Skorpio Skandalis himself!” she blurted. “He’s probably responsible for—”

  “I’m sorry, but the captain cannot be reached at this—”

  “Why the hell not?” Was this a recording or something?

  The operator’s sudden intake of breath told her she’d been unnecessarily rude.

  “I—sorry, but there’s been a creepy little—”

  “Captain Skandalis is in the bridge and cannot be interrupted, Miss Wright,” came a chilly reply. “He’s preparing the ship to pull away from the pier right now, to sail us to Grenada. May I give him your message?”

  Lola blinked sadly. Another day, another port of call she’d missed. It really didn’t matter where they’d been or where they were going—except it was farther away from Aruba and, presumably, Dennis Fletcher.

  “All right then,” she sighed. “Please connect me to the concierge. Clive—”

  “I’ll ring Mr. Kingsley immediately. Thank you, Miss Wright.”

  Closing her eyes, Lola inhaled. Where was the take-charge woman who single-handedly ran Well Suited? Why was she getting so damn freaked about her phone ringing, when disconnections and wrong numbers happened every day?

  Because once again the details aren’t matching up. And I’m getting damn sick of it!

  “Yes, Miss Wright!” came the Brit’s familiar accent. “And how may I assist you on this fine evening, my dear?”

  Was it? If she used Kingsley’s chipper, unruffled greeting as her guide, why, she could believe there was nothing amiss. Her vacation could now proceed like it was supposed to—before Fletch messed it up a few days ago.

  Lola sighed and got real. Took the direct approach. “Would you care to tell me how my purse and cell phone appeared in my suite?” she asked archly. “I was—out for awhile, and when I came back, I found them on my coffee table.”

  The concierge cleared his throat. “This is the same purse and phone Dennis Fletcher took from your room?”

  “Yes! And there’s no way—”

  “You’re quite certain those items weren’t simply put away in a drawer, when your belongings got transferred to the Aphrodisia Suite?”

  She hadn’t thought about that. Hadn’t even found all her stuff yet, what with the captain and Cabana Boy and DeSilva demanding her every waking moment.

  So many men, so little time.

  But it wasn’t all that funny, was it?

  “If Fletcher took my stuff,” she mused aloud, rewinding her thoughts through the past couple of days, “and if he didn’t return to the ship—because the man at the security computer verified that he didn’t…then how have my purse and phone come back to me? And who put them here?”

  There was a very lengthy pause. “I think you’d best come down to my office at once, my dear.”

  13

  “Everyone’s certainly gotten into the adults-only mode,” Lola remarked as she and Aric got off the glass elevator. “Don’t tell me I’m missing Nude Beach Night because of this damn business we’re attending to.”

  The atrium, an open area for live entertainment and exhibitions, thrummed with men and women of all ages, peeled down to bare skin, dancing to the laid-back beat of the Kalypso Kingz. Others lounged in overstuffed love seats with tall, colorful drinks, flirting and flashing their attributes. A few more adventurous guests flaunted themselves on the open spiral staircase, wearing only their smiles and some interesting tattoos.

  Cabana Boy surveyed the noisy crowd as though he experienced this incredible spectacle every week. Which he did.

  “The evening’s young, Priestess,” he murmured, swaying playfully to the island music. “You could join the fun after we see Kingsley. If you invite me along, of course.”

  “Right. Like I’d parade myself naked in public.”

  She paused to gawk at the amazing variety of shapes and sizes on display, among fake palm trees and paper lanterns strung for this occasion. The noise level was pretty amazing, too, so she had to lean close to Beach Boy and talk loudly. “You’d have to pour more than a couple martinis down me to get me out there naked.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  She rolled her eyes as he took her hand and started toward the purser’s desk. As they snaked between the dancers and drinkers, Lola had to laugh when several ladies called out to Aric to get naked and join them.

  “Ladies and gentlemen!” a melodic voice came over the speaker system. “Ladies and gentlemen, if I may have your attention, please! This is Mike Mannering, your cruise director, and have we got the fun lined up for you tonight!”

  The Kingz grinned, flashing white smiles on ebony faces. Their dreadlocks kept swaying, even though the music had stopped.

  The noise level lowered to a dull roar.

  “Next up, we’ve got speed dating! Yes, that would be speed dating naked,” Mike clarified in his disk jockey jive. “Numbers and tables are now up for grabs in the Voyeurs lounge on Deck Six!”

  Lola felt Cabana Boy’s snicker against her back.

  “No, we are not going there!” she warned him with a jab of her elbow.

  “And poolside, our Kalypso Kingz will be set up and ready to play for—are you ready for this?” Mannering led them on in his carnival barker’s voice.

  “Ready!” some of the party animals replied.

  “LIMBO-O-O-O! It wouldn’t be Nude Beach Night without a limbo contest!” he crowed. “And volleyball! And of course, our drink of the day—Sex on the Beach—in our special flashing souvenir glass! See you poolside—or in the Voyeurs lounge—in fifteen!”

  “Limbo? Naked?” Lola gasped.

  “I could get that way for you in a heartbeat, babe. Say the word.”

  She turned to fire a pithy come-back at him, yet those glimmery green eyes and pouty lips made her bite it back: Aric was sounding half-serious. And it wasn’t as though he hadn’t seen her that way.

  “Save it,” she said. “I’ve got this business with Kingsley first, remember?”

  Lola stepped out of the main aisle with him, to avoid the crush of moving nude bodies. A lot of guests were heading to Deck Six—and the Voyeurs lounge, no doubt—while several others were acting jazzed, daring their friends to enter the limbo contest. Calling out lewd reminders about where to slather their sunscreen.

  It was a relief when a little Asian Guest Rep invited them behind the purser’s desk, into some semblance of civility again. With all the skin on display around her, Lola felt overdressed in the jeans and camp shirt she’d hurried into after her phone chat with Clive Kingsley.

  When the debonair concierge waved Aric off and escorted her into his back sanctum, however, she felt downright dowdy: there on his credenza sat a sewing machine. A dressmaker’s mannequin beside it sported a gorgeous candy pink evening gown that shimmered with sequins and beads.

  The Brit’s blue eyes sparkled as he removed the cloth tape measure from around his neck.

  “Just a little hobby,” he murmured. “Something to occupy my inner child between guests’ inquiries. A way to stay sane, after years of living at sea.”

  There it was again: that mystery about how a concierge could run a boutique—and indulge his inner child’s hobby—while seeing to his official duties with the passengers.

  But it was hardly her place to quiz him. Captain Scandalous was surely aware of Kingsley’s personal pursuits—and, once she took a closer look at the gown on the mannequin, Lola had to admire his work. She knew a few tailoring tricks and basic sewing techniques, but this level of expertise made her feel like she was still struggling through her middle school sewing class.

  “You made this dress,” she whispered. She circled the flashy yet elegant gown, gaping at the minute detail of a beaded lace bodice designed for a much bustier woman than she would ever be.

  “Why, yes, dear,” he replied with a pleas
ed grin. “And I also—”

  “Made the gowns I chose in the boutique,” she finished in awe. “Which explains the Kingsley Court labels I never connected to you, until just this minute. I really must be losing it.”

  She dropped into the chair in front of his desk. How many years had she chosen men’s clothing, living by the labels? Yet this very obvious detail had escaped her.

  Lola sighed sadly and set her purse on his desk. If she hadn’t noticed something so obvious as this man’s name in her new formal wear, she’d probably overlooked a few other details about him—among other things.

  Maybe she’d gotten it all wrong, believing Fletch took her purse.

  And maybe she was way off base, assuming Dennis had called on her phone awhile ago.

  She gazed again at the dress, a confection that sparkled like wet watermelon candies. While she would never wear such a gaudy garment, it made her smile to imagine it on someone more flamboyant—like Dolly Parton, perhaps. And yet…the Brit’s remark about choosing clothes she wouldn’t have considered for herself came back to her. For all she knew, Clive Kingsley had steered her toward gowns Skorpio Skandalis would love to see on her—and then remove.

  And for all she knew, this debonair Englishman was in just as deep as Captain Scandalous and Cabana Boy and—

  Rio DeSilva?

  Were all these men misleading her? Playing games to keep her off-balance and beholden to the captain?

  Nah. That was her paranoia talking. She’d watched Fletch access her accounts and then con that busty blonde in the casino—and then kiss on her in that cocktail lounge. These men couldn’t have faked those security tapes, or made up that itemized list of his hits against her credit card accounts.

  Could they?

  “May I check out your cell phone, dear heart? It’ll require some delving into your call history, and I don’t wish to intrude.”

  She blinked. Kingsley had seated himself across from her and was smiling pointedly. One more thing she’d missed.

  “Sure, do whatever you need to.”