All Night Long

by Melissa MacNeal

  With a nod, he surveyed the panel and pushed a button—immediately filling his sanctum with the striptease beat of “Hey, Big Spender!”

  Lola grimaced. “Considering this Fletcher situation, maybe I should change my ring tone, eh?”

  “Not a bad idea. No sense in recalling his dastardly deeds every time you receive a call.”

  Trying not to seem obvious, Lola studied the man on the other side of the lustrous mahogany desk. His deep blue uniform accented a fit physique as he meticulously punched his way through the systems on her cell phone. His chestnut hair was clipped into a tidy cap of curls, and his expression bespoke utmost integrity. Those blue eyes could pierce like swords when he concentrated—and as he handed back her phone, he was clearly as flummoxed as she by this latest turn of events.

  “Far as I can tell, Miss Wright, your phone never left the ship. Or if it did,” Clive added in a thoughtful tone, “Mr. Fletcher made no calls. I see no evidence of Caribbean area codes or connections.”

  Now she was really confused. “Which means?”

  He shrugged, puzzling aloud. “Perhaps the perpetrator—perhaps not Fletcher, since he already knew your account numbers—merely took your purse long enough to rifle through it for your cards or cash, and then tossed it aside. Was anything missing?”

  All you cared about was those Camels, remember?

  Lola’s cheeks prickled. “I—things happened so fast, I haven’t even looked yet. Just a second.”

  Why did rummaging through a purse while a man was watching feel so awkward? Bad enough that Mr. British Efficiency had pointed up several loopholes in her logic; he now believed she was too stupid to keep track of her personal possessions, as well.

  “Here’s my wallet…maybe a little shorter on cash—but then, I bought a few odds and ends in Aruba, too,” she sighed. “My driver’s license and plastic’s all here, though. And here’s my passport—”

  “Which should go immediately into your room safe, with the rest of your cruise documents.”

  “Yes, sir,” she murmured sheepishly. Lola dug deeper, and down where Kingsley couldn’t see, she caressed the suede cigarette case. She bit back that queasy need for nicotine again, when her fingers found the slickness of the fresh pack Aric just gave her.

  Then she shifted her shades, a small address book, and her travel-size bottles of aspirin and hand sanitizer. “Everything seems in order. But I still don’t understand how this stuff just showed up while I was…with the captain. They would’ve needed a key to get into my room.”

  Clive smiled cryptically. “If someone turned it in—say, at the gangway security station, or in one of the shops—a staff member could’ve identified you and returned it to your suite.”

  “Without calling me to the information desk—or here, to you?—to confirm that it’s really mine?”

  Kingsley looked directly at her with those cornflower blue eyes. Was she naive to believe his expressive face would register too much emotion to deceive her?

  “I assure you, my dear, that had someone returned it to me, I’d have notified you immediately,” he said in that low, sonorous voice. “I’m so sorry this has happened to you, Lola. While I’m glad you’re rid of that bad apple Dennis Fletcher, I’d hoped you could enjoy the rest of your cruise without such nasty repercussions.”

  Nahsty repp-ercussions. What was it about a Brit? More than just that rich, flowing accent, it was Clive Kingsley’s gentility that made Lola feel so—so at home with him. So secure.

  Not to mention very aware of the way he was looking at her right now, pondering something he wasn’t sure he should ask about.

  Fascinated by the play of his facial expressions, Lola leaned forward. “Yes? What are you thinking?”

  Kingsley’s eyes darted over to the dress on the mannequin. “I’m wondering if perhaps—because you do appreciate my design work, and you so deserve to have some fun—would you like to attend our gala staff ball? As my guest?”

  Lola blinked. Now that he’d made the invitation, he was leaning forward with his hands clasped on his desktop, looking decidedly…predatory? Interested?

  “I assure you that I’ll in no way compromise your…status with the captain,” he went on, as though he knew Rio DeSilva might be doing just that. “But I suspect once you enter that ballroom, and see so many colors and elegantly dressed dancers enjoying themselves, you’ll have a grand time! It’s our chance to get out of uniform and really dress to the nines—”

  “Will Skandalis be there?”

  Kingsley let out a short laugh. “Skorpio rarely appears at these functions, I assure you. Mostly because he and Odette—”

  “So tell me about her. She’s staff, right? So she would attend?”

  Like a lightning strike, the concierge’s attitude changed. “Attendance is never mandatory, of course. We can’t mandate fun, now can we?”

  Lola sat back, crossing her arms to wait him out. There was a better answer lurking behind his carefully composed expression; something about Odette that pushed Mr. Congeniality’s buttons the wrong way.

  But Clive rose. Their conversation was over.

  “Please understand, Miss Wright, that while I’m doing everything in my power to solve this mystery involving Mr. Fletcher and his whereabouts,” he assured her, “there are things I’m simply not at liberty to say. Please trust that you’ll be the first to know when I learn more about him, or when I get word that your credit record has been cleared. Until then—”

  He brought her up out of her chair with an extended hand and a suggestive smile.

  “—may I count upon the pleasure of your company on Friday evening? Wear that aubergine-and-cabernet striped creation with the flounced cap sleeve. You’ll be the belle of the ball, Lola darling.”

  Aubergine-and-cabernet striped. Right! Most guys would call it purple and maroon!

  But then, Clive Kingsley wasn’t like most guys, was he?

  She watched, speechless, as this dapper man raised her knuckles to his lips. His eyes never left hers, awaiting her answer as his kiss tickled her skin.

  What is it with me, swallowing every hook these guys dangle? Do I really want more trouble with Skandalis when—

  Screw Skandalis!

  Which is what I wanted before I knew about any of this other stuff, right? But all I’ve gotten is trouble for allowing my inclinations to—

  “I’d be delighted,” she breathed. Lola hoped he didn’t misconstrue her hesitation—or see the wet spot in her jeans. Clive Kingsley might have unusual talents, but that didn’t change the way those blue-fire eyes and that resonant accent affected her, did it?

  “Wonderful!” He looked like a kid who’d just finessed his first date—with his best friend’s girl. Sly around the edges, but oh, so proper about it! “Take a nap and pamper yourself on Friday, so you’ll be nicely rested. I’ll ring for you around nine-ish.”

  What had just happened here? She’d come into this office scared and confused about the reappearance of her purse, and was leaving with another man on the string. A man whose “hobby” held all sorts of implications yet inspired her respect. He hadn’t become a designer by dabbling at it in his spare time. Kingsley was good.

  And then there was Aric, awaiting her in one of the hibiscus-print chairs facing the floor-to-ceiling picture windows that flanked the atrium. The few nude people left in this lobby looked too looped to move, and the canned music told her the Happy Hour activities were history. The ship had pulled away from yet another port city she hadn’t seen—except for the lights of Caracas, now twinkling in the distance. Like a promise made between lovers in the dusk.

  Like the assessing look on Cabana Boy’s smooth, golden face as he came toward her.

  “So you got the problem solved? You look a damn sight happier than when you went in there.”

  Shit. He could read her like the menu of the martini bar they were passing. Her warden was also walking a tad closer than before—and not just so he could grab her if she bolted.


  “It’s so quiet in here now,” Lola remarked. She wasn’t sure how much to reveal to him, or what might come next. Lord knows she’d had her share of excitement for one afternoon.

  “The Kalypso Kingz are playing for the final round of the limbo contest—”

  “Still?”

  “Hey, there’s more than one pole out there to play with, ya know?” he quipped. “But me, I’m savin’ mine for you, my prim and proper Priestess.”

  Lola raised an eyebrow at him, yet the grin on those parted, pouty lips got her giggling. Although he was chuckling at her, Aric seemed sincerely interested in making her feel better. And he was pretty good at that.

  “How about dinner? We can dress up and do it fancy at Chez Phillipe,” he suggested, “or we could snag a really awesome pizza in the sports bar and watch the—”

  “Room service,” Lola breathed. A ding announced an elevator, and she was grateful that it was empty.

  Suddenly, all this nonstop coming and going at somebody else’s whim—plus the stress of this Dennis thing—was telling on her. She’d hardly had a moment to herself since Fletch ditched her.

  “Room servisssssssss.”

  The word reverberated in the circular elevator, sounding like a lover’s sigh as the door closed. As they rose, Lola caught three reflections of Aric’s feline smile in the lighted glass walls.

  “I’m likin’ the sound of that room service thing,” Cabana Boy murmured. Those low-lidded eyes focused on the vee of her blouse, as though he saw the two red spots beneath it. “It’s one of those phrases that has…shades of meaning. Not all of them about food.”

  The elevator lurched to a halt, but Aric punched the STOP button before the doors opened. Then the lithe young man with those come-on curls slipped behind her, standing so close Lola could feel his erection through those low-rise shorts.

  Damned if he didn’t nibble the nape of her neck!

  What am I, a magnet for it now? she wondered. Must be wearing a neon OPEN sign that everyone but me can see.

  Lola held her breath as his lips fluttered lower, sending goose bumps all over her body.

  Aric was a temptation. Young enough to keep her up—keep himself up—all night, probably. A damn fine specimen, with those sultry smiles and that standoffish act he’d been playing—until now.

  So why was he coming on to her more insistently?

  He’s Skorpio’s snitch, remember? And gee, we haven’t heard from our illustrious captain for at least four hours now.

  Putting on her foxiest grin, Lola reached behind her.

  “Maybe you ought to teach this thing some manners,” she quipped, giving his cock a little squeeze through his pants.

  Then she punched the OPEN DOOR button.

  “C’mon, you know you want some. And I know you didn’t get any from Skandalis,” he razzed her. “I’m just trying to make it the vacation of your lifetime, ya know?”

  Lola stifled a laugh. How many older women had he used that line on? What little game was he initiating here?

  “Frankly, my dear, I’d rather have one of those awesome pizzas—not sausage,” she teased. “And I really need some time alone to enjoy it.”

  “Not gonna happen.”

  “Look, I’d just like to—don’t you have a girlfriend?” she demanded as he opened her door. “Can’t you trust me when I say I’m going nowhere tonight?”

  His chuckle followed her into the suite, where the room steward had again lit the mood lamps and turned down that king-size bed. God, it would feel so good to flop down on those cool, crisp sheets and forget about everything else!

  “No, I don’t. And no, I don’t,” he replied.

  Aric flipped on his walkie-talkie and ordered them two loaded pizzas and a cold six pack of tall boys, like he thought it might be a long, boring night.

  When he hung up, he gave her one of those sullen looks he was born for.

  “I’m crushed at your rejection, Priestess,” he breathed. “I was all ready to worship at the altar of your—”

  “Save it.”

  Lola gave him a determined smile—and a motherly pat on the head. “I’m going to consult my Tarot cards after I eat, and that’s not an audience participation thing,” she stated, starting toward the bedroom. “So figure out a way to watch me without watching me, all right? Knock when our food arrives.”

  With that Lola left him behind, locking the bedroom door even though he surely had a key to it. She leaned against it to keep him at bay—and to keep tabs on what he was doing out there. She figured she’d let about a minute go by before—

  Shit! It’s only 7:00.

  The red numerals on the bedside clock mocked her. The way she felt—with so many things that had happened to her again today—it had to be nine-thirty or ten! This entire damn day—her whole frickin’ trip so far—made a mockery of her perceptions, didn’t it?

  It also did a fine job of pointing out how, after making such lovely, elaborate plans for her future with Dennis Fletcher, she really had very little control over anything at all.

  Control? You thought you had control, little Lola? What a joke!

  And what an unfortunate epiphany, too. Just when she thought she was getting into the game again.

  Sighing, Lola dropped her purse tiredly…resisted the call of those Camels in it by lunging toward the turned-down bed and grabbing the two truffles as she landed on its pillow-top softness. Tomorrow’s edition of the Aphrodite Ahoy! fluttered across the comforter, but reading it was the furthest thing from her mind.

  The first candy split between her back teeth as she smoothed its green wrapper to read it.

  Truth or Dare? What would your lover love?

  She let out a sorry little laugh, and then opened the other truffle as she swallowed the thick, minty middle of the first one. The way things were going, the wisdom inside these candy wrappers might give more divine guidance than anything her Tarot deck offered up right now. And it sure tasted better.

  This one was rum buttercream, so rich the filling clung to her tongue.

  She closed her eyes, trying to get a handle on the feelings of disappointment and confusion that had her on the verge of a crying jag—or a cigarette binge. Here she was, holed up in her room on a warm, gorgeous Caribbean night, poking down chocolates and pouting. How stupid was that?

  Defy authority—or logic—or even gravity! Break away with that Special Someone.

  “Oh, Jesus,” she muttered, ready to wad the foil in her fist.

  But those words called to her again.

  Defy Authority. Break away.

  Didn’t that sound like a helluva lot more fun than shuffling her cards while her warden pulled guard duty in the other room? They might as well be an old married couple—or she was acting like a very cheap date, settling for pizza and beer when there was a whole damn cruise ship to be had!

  Lola sat upright, a new sense of purpose surging through her.

  How much did Aric want her? How far would he go, really?

  No, the real question is, how long and hard would he look for you, if you escaped?

  She blinked, feeling all tingly. Now there was an idea!

  Lola looked toward the door, ideas racing through her mind. In her line of work, she dodged propositions all the time—from men who were much savvier than Cabana Boy, with the money to buy whatever they wanted.

  She was the queen of making clients feel wonderful about themselves, because she could make herself…invisible. They paid her the big bucks for the masculine, moneyed images of success they saw in the mirror after she dressed them—not for the fact that she was a green-eyed redhead whose panties they wanted to get into.

  But that part still made the world go ‘round, didn’t it?

  Lola slithered off the bed, a lynx in heat. She wiped the giveaway grin off her face and quietly opened the bedroom door.

  Stud Muffin was on the phone. His low voice and the way his arms wrapped around his slender waist told her he was not talking
to his mama.

  So he does have a girlfriend! Someone to distract him—from me!

  “Aric, I—I’ve changed my mind,” she announced in her most come-hither voice.

  Cabana Boy pivoted to face her, burying the receiver in his tee-shirt. “Oh, yeah? How’s that?”

  “I’ve decided to shower and put on a strappy little sun dress, and take you up on your offer for a nice dinner,” she continued, watching his facial expressions fluctuate. “I want you to show me all your favorite places aboard this ship! I want to shop! I want to be your Priestess and let you worship whatever you damn please, all right? But there’s one condition.”

  His eyes grew warier behind those loose curls. “And that would be—?”

  “Turn off your walkie-talkie and ignore the captain’s commands,” Lola challenged. “I want it to be just you and me, babe—for as long and as hard and as high as we can fly! I want to soar under the radar and into next week, got it?”

  Thank God he didn’t laugh in her face.

  Instead, his lush lips parted in a tomcat grin. With a purposeful flourish, he hung up the phone and then flipped the switch on his two-way.

  “That’s more like it, Party Girl. I’ll be ready and waiting,” he crooned. “Accent on the ready.”

  14

  “Goodness, Aric. You look stunning!”

  Cabana Boy’s pleated, pale green slacks skimmed the contours of his slender body to flow down endless legs. He wore an island-print shirt in pinks, beiges, and greens that brought out the sparkle in his silvery eyes. A different medallion twinkled at his neck—a gold serpentine chain with a large diamond-shaped crystal that lodged in the hollow of his collar bone.

  He let out his breath, making the chain slither. Those eyes were lingering on all of her…attributes.

  “Holy mother of God but you’re hot, Lola.”

  Her jaw dropped. No one had ever said that to her! Not even Fletch in his more impassioned moments, or when he wanted a really huge favor from her.

  “Th-thank you,” she whispered. “It’s just a sun dress I got on sale at—”

  “Not the dress, Priestess. I’m talking about you,” he murmured, circling her so he could appreciate her from all sides. “It’s the way your auburn hair falls over your shoulders in those natural, loose waves. The way your eyes look all smoky and ready to play.”