All Night Long

by Melissa MacNeal

  Aric peered at her from beneath his own sun-streaked mop. “Good thing you wanna fly under the radar. If Skorpio sees you tonight, he won’t be turning you loose any time soon.”

  “Well, that’s quite a compliment!” Lola felt like a prom princess, but refrained from batting her eyes at him. “After I decided to wear this, I wondered if it wasn’t dressy enough for that Chez Felini place—”

  “Chez Phillipe. But believe me, Phillipe will be so damn glad to see you, he’ll have a hard time keeping his hands to himself.”

  Cabana Boy placed his fingertips lightly on her bare shoulders to toy with her double spaghetti straps, as though they—or what bobbed beneath her bodice—fascinated him.

  “I hope you’ll remember who you’re with, Priestess,” he said softly. “I don’t fly under the radar into next week with just anybody.”

  Lola smiled up at him, indulging her fingers in the softness of his hair. “I agreed to attend the staff ball with Kingsley on Friday, but I’m yours tonight, Aric. All yours.”

  My, my but that’s sounding cozy, Aunt Lola! Especially since you can’t figure out why this young stud’s giving you a second glance.

  She sighed languidly. OK, so maybe their conversation sounded like the script from a sappy old movie. Except Aric seemed to believe it as easily as she’d said it.

  And once she entered the dimly lit French cafe, where their adoring host Phillipe couldn’t do enough exclaiming over their arrival, Lola understood Aric’s remark about being a one-man woman. The raven-haired Frenchman, so debonair in his white dinner jacket, was indeed a hands-on kind of man: a hand on her upper arm as he escorted them between the tables, a hand on her ass when he gestured toward the chair Aric was to take. And a hand that lingered on her cheek as he took a really good look at her from kissing distance.

  Lola held her breath: the heat of Phillipe’s gaze penetrated her cotton dress, as though he were zeroing in on her Very Cherries with x-ray specs. And he was anything but apologetic about it.

  He beckoned to another waiter. In low, rapid-fire French, gesticulating all the while, he instructed the younger fellow to take over his other tables. Phillipe was devoting all his attention to her and Aric, it seemed—and Cabana Boy didn’t appear the least bit surprised.

  “I believe we’ll leave our selections entirely up to you, my man,” he said as he handed back the menu. “You have excellent taste, and you know what women like. Please my Lola tonight, and you’ve done me a big favor, as well.”

  Was this the same kid who said “no problem” instead of “you’re welcome?” Lola rested against the slatted back of her chair to look him over more closely. Maybe there was more to this pouty-lipped smart aleck than had previously met her eye. Maybe he could rise to whatever the occasion demanded—

  Or rise to MY demands. Right here under the table, for starters.

  Lola giggled.

  “What?” his whispered. “I can see the cogs turning in that sexy head.”

  “Nothing. Just nothing,” she teased. She was about to ask him one of those open-ended questions designed to make guys talk about themselves, when he pulled something large and sparkly from his shirt pocket.

  “All right then, before we get any farther along, I need to give this back, Priestess. And I apologize for sounding so crude the other day, when I insinuated that the stone might not be…genuine.”

  Damned if Cabana Boy didn’t slip Fletch’s ring back on her finger, like a man who would be her fiancé himself. Or a man who’d made that move enough times to be downright smooth at it.

  “You probably weren’t far from the truth. Were you?” she ventured.

  Lola watched the shimmer in those secretive eyes as Stud Muffin weighed his response. While it wasn’t the most pleasant of subjects, she could rise above the humiliation it represented—for tonight, at least.

  “Be honest, Aric. If you had a jeweler here on the ship look at it—”

  “Joel’s a pretty good friend. A guy I’d buy a diamond from, for the right lady,” he replied with a rueful smile. “But yeah, it’s a big chunk of CZ. I’m really sorry, Priestess. You deserve the real thing.”

  “Yes, I do. And thanks for saying so.” Lola felt better—bolder—as she watched the colorful prisms play inside that rock when the light hit it right.

  “In the back of my mind, I always wondered if Fletch had uh, taken some liberties when he bought this,” she explained quietly. “Now that I know how badly he’s ripped me off since we’ve been on board, I assume he not only bought this ring with money from one of my accounts—he allotted himself enough to pay for a huge diamond, and then pocketed the difference, as well. And then found a creative way to bury the expenditure among my other transactions.”

  Aric was still holding her hand, looking as eager and loyal as a puppy. “I hope they catch that bastard! I hope they tie him down so you can really get a piece of him.”

  She sipped the pink champagne Phillipe had poured, smiling wryly. “You know what, sweetie? Right now I don’t give a damn about getting back at Fletch. Kingsley says my credit will be restored—”

  “And Clive will see to that,” Aric agreed with an emphatic nod.

  “—so I just want to have some fun, already!” Lola continued. “I’ve lost way more than Dennis is worth, in stress and time and finances. No more throwing good money after bad!”

  “Amen!” Aric clinked his champagne glass against hers, and as the tiiiing of the crystal vibrated between them, Lola took it as a turning point.

  It sounded like a call to worship played upon some mystical temple instrument. And she was indeed the High Priestess.

  Or maybe she was imagining things. God knows she was good at that.

  But Lola couldn’t miss the way Aric’s eyes followed her champagne flute to her lips, and the way he watched her swallow…and the way he slipped his fingers loosely between hers, like he didn’t intend to let her go.

  “This is really nice,” he murmured. “This is the way I wish it could always be for us, Lola.”

  “Why?” she blurted. “Sweetheart, I’m old enough to—”

  “To forget that rubbish about age! Shall I show you how?”

  Before she got his drift, Cabana Boy leaned closer and kissed her tenderly on the mouth. He tasted like champagne, tart and lightly sweet, with a hint of tingle even after he lifted his lips.

  Lola sat absolutely still, eyes closed and lips apart. Waiting. As breathless as she’d been at sixteen.

  So he kissed her again. He kept it very light and playful, with just their fingers and lips actively involved—

  Unless we figure in this wet spot I’m making, she teased herself.

  My God, she’d always thought he was cute in a beach boy sort of way, but now that he was kissing her—and it was his idea—Lola told herself once and for all to leave that age thing alone.

  Who needed it? Age was just another number—like the ones Dennis rearranged all the time. When she looked back on this trip in a few months, Cabana Boy would remain a pretty fling she’d enjoyed on this cruise. A sweet reward for the way she’d been treated by that guy who gave her the fake ring.

  Not to mention an attempt to trump Captain Scandalous.

  When Phillipe cleared his throat, they moved apart so their personal waiter could set the first course in front of them.

  “Our signature Parisian soupe à l’oignon for the lady,” he said as he gave her a flirty wink. “And for you, mon ami, the bouillabaisse you can’t get enough of. Bon appetit!”

  Lola stifled a grin. While she wasn’t surprised Aric was a regular here, where his friend was in charge, she wouldn’t have predicted the fish soup. It didn’t bear the slightest resemblance to pizza.

  He watched her take her first bite of bread and stringy cheese and golden broth, and then close her eyes. “This is absolutely divine,” she breathed.

  She glanced at him, then gazed at the crisp linen tablecloth and the array of heavy silver flatware around her plate, w
hich gleamed in the light from their table’s candle. Lola let out a happy sigh.

  “Thank you for this, Aric.”

  “It’s my pleasure, Priestess. Even if I really wanted that pizza and beer.”

  They chattered through the greenest salade aux épinards she’d ever eaten, and on through a main course of coq au vin that was to die for. Way better than the chicken she brought home in a box.

  And she’d been missing this cruise cuisine! Not to mention all the music and fun the others had been having all along! All because Dennis had ditched her and Captain Scandalous was making her pay for it.

  “And for dessert, a classic cherries jubilee,” Phillipe proclaimed. He got an obvious thrill from torching the brandy at their table.

  “It is against the fire code to do this nowadays,” he explained in a confidential tone. “But for you, tradition and taste must prevail over cruise company rules!”

  “And the best part is, we’re charging this to the captain’s account,” Aric replied with a wide smile. “So give yourself a generous tip, Phillipe.”

  The dark haired Frenchman went away chortling under his breath.

  Lola, too, thought this was a fine note for the end of such a wonderful meal. “Where else are you taking me?” she ventured as they spooned down their ice cream.

  While Aric had mentioned some great places—and she fully intended to enjoy them—she hadn’t given up on that escape idea. It toyed with her the way a kitty swatted a catnip mouse, and Lola hoped her companion couldn’t read any wavering devotion in her eyes.

  Aric gave his spoon a long, suggestive lick. “We have an out-of-the-way watering hole called Improvisations, up on Deck Eleven. Jazz and trendy drinks. A panoramic view. I think you’ll like it.”

  Lola nodded dreamily, leaning her chin on her hand to look at him. “And then?”

  “You said you wanted to do the shops—and we’ve got everything from high-end jewelry to ship trinkets to duty-free booze,” he enumerated. “Although I myself plan to remain, uh—upright enough to take you up on your offer.”

  “Which offer was that?” She put on an innocent smile, so she could watch him kick it up a notch when he returned it.

  “To let me worship you, my Priestess,” he breathed, lowering his eyelids. “I’ll start with your face and your hungry lips, and burn my kisses down your neck until I’m taking those breasts into my mouth to—”

  “It’s the nail polish, isn’t it? It’s that siren red—”

  “It’s you, Lola.”

  Cabana Boy gazed directly at her, an expression every bit as potent as the way he’d finally called her by name. “From the moment I saw you in the suite, I wanted to do you—and do you up right.”

  Lola fought the urge to make another self-denigrating comment. It still didn’t feel right, falling for what this kid was saying, yet she was drinking him in like the second split of pink champagne they were dawdling over. They sat like lovers who had nothing better to do than gaze into each other’s eyes.

  And how long had it been since she’d done that?

  “Why me?” she breathed. She shifted in her chair, hoping he didn’t get too honest and ruin this fine mood.

  He shrugged, almost shyly. “Maybe it’s time I raised my sights, Priestess. Maybe I should aim higher, rather than always going for the easy lay.”

  “Ah. You want a challenge.”

  “And you want a cigarette. May I light it for you?” he asked as he reached into his pocket. “I always thought that was such a seductive move in the old films. Continental, you know?”

  That alone seemed reason enough to let him woo her with a flick of the Bic he was holding. Her gut clenched at the sight of the slim cigarette, and need overrode the nice pink high she was riding. It would feel so damn good to inhale. To feel that hot menthol warming her all the way down.

  If he can talk you into a smoke, he can talk you into anything. You’re breaking away, remember?

  “Thanks, babe, but I’ll abstain,” she wheezed.

  “Not from sex, I hope! That’s what I’m after, you know.”

  He leered at her like a cheesy gigolo, making her laugh so loudly that everyone in the cafe turned to look at her.

  Lola clapped her hand over her mouth, blushing.

  But Aric was chuckling along with her. And damned if he didn’t light up.

  “I love it when you laugh,” he assured her, the Camel dangling from his lips. “They say a woman who can cut loose with a really loud laugh will cut loose in bed, too. I love when that happens.”

  Lola followed his every move: the way his lids lowered and he caressed the cigarette while he drew in that first hit of nicotine. The golden tinge the flame cast on his fingers and face. The slither of that serpentine when he sucked a couple times.

  She thought she was going to come when he blew the smoke slowly out his nose, watching her through the pale haze it made around his face.

  Images of Aric in her bed…propped on an elbow to kiss her, with that boyish mop of hair brushing her forehead while he teased her bare skin with his fingertips…down there. God, she could feel the warmth of those hands, even though he kept them to himself right now.

  Lola wondered if anyone would notice the wet spot on her dress when she stood up.

  “Well, then,” she murmured, determined to enjoy this game while it lasted, “I guess we’d better get on to that Improvisations place, and our shopping, so we can get to the good part. Right?”

  “You got it, Priestess. Let’s make ourselves scarce before Phillipe has to come out from behind that front desk with such a peak in his pants.”

  “Oh, I’m sure! It’s not like he’s been handling himself—”

  “You need to get out more, lady. You have no idea what guys do when you walk past.”

  He glanced toward the desk by the door, as though to drive his point home. “But then, Phillipe’s not the first guy who’s ever played a whole damn pocket pool tournament while he fantasized about yanking down your panties.”

  Lola rose from the table, unable to keep a straight face.

  Aric coaxed her body back against his, slipping his arm beneath her breasts. “You’re not wearing any, are you?” he breathed beside her ear. “You’re not wearing one freakin’ piece of underwear under this dress.”

  “Please don’t tell my mother.”

  “You little tease, letting on like—” He turned her and kissed her hard then, crushing her loose breasts against his body as he thrust his tongue between her teeth.

  God love her, she sucked it. Just for the taste of his cigarette.

  He let go with a gasp, grabbing her hand. “We’re outta here right now, before I take you on that table.”

  The last thing Lola saw as he trotted her past the reception desk was Phillipe, wiggling his fingers.

  And yes, he was peaking at her, too.

  15

  Improvisations was what Lola expected from a classy cruise ship bar: candles flickering on tables swallowed up in the near darkness. Vintage wallpaper, with framed pen-and-ink caricatures of greats like B. B. King and Springsteen. An inviting haze hung around the footlights at the bandstand, where a guitarist, a drummer, and a keyboard player jammed something soft and smooth.

  The bar was hopping, as were the girls running the blender and mixing drinks. They wore tight white tank tops and pink satin boxers, and if their curly wigs hadn’t been different wild colors, they could’ve passed for triplets.

  Well, no—the blue-haired one’s got bigger implants.

  Lola snickered. The champagne was starting to hit, and she had to concentrate on walking so she wouldn’t trip into her escort. He was gripping her hand, leading her between the crowded tables close to the stage.

  “Petrocelli! Getcher ass up here, man!” the drummer called out. “Come and play with us!”

  Whoever Petrocelli was, his name certainly brought everyone to attention. The bar babes chimed in with their cheers, while the guitar player and keyboard guy began
that rhythmic clap clap clap that demanded a response from—

  Aric? Her warden?

  He was grinning big, stubbing out his cigarette, like it was him they were hollering for. And then he pulled her close again for one more kiss.

  “Gimme some luck, Lola,” he whispered as good-natured catcalls echoed around them. “Now that I’ve had a taste of you, I’m not sure my mouth wants to go anywhere else.”

  And just like that, he was striding onto the stage. The applause got deafening.

  Lola dropped down into a chair, damn glad it was padded. What the hell was happening here? One minute they’d been slipping in for a drink, and the next thing she knew, the place had come alive like some big rock star was arriving.

  Was she farther gone on the bubbly than she thought? Or had she been picked up out of reality and plunked down in a scene from an MTV clip?

  Cabana Boy was reaching into an instrument case behind one of the big speakers, while the other musicians revved up a song introduction like he was going to sing or something. When he pulled out a—

  Clarinet?

  Lola choked. Her neighbor girl back home, Sissy Roark, got shanghaied into playing the clarinet for marching band because her brother had given up on it a few years earlier. She still recalled the awful squeaks and squawks coming from Sissy’s open window, when she had to practice.

  When Aric Petrocelli stepped up to the mike beside the guitarist, however, the crowd hushed. He was moving to the music, wetting his reed against his tongue—

  And wouldn’t you love to be the one he was tonguing?

  Lola grinned, and realized Cabana Boy was grinning back at her. He winked, the hot dog. Then he pointed his instrument above the crowd to play a showy run of triplets, his fingers flickering nimbly up a scale and back. As he swung his clarinet into a downbeat to start the song, the place came alive.

  Lola perched on the edge of her chair, absently shaking her head when a blue-wigged barmaid asked what she was drinking. This kid was good! She didn’t know all that much about music—took a few piano lessons because her mom made her—but there was no getting around the way Cabana Boy made that licorice stick sing.