All Night Long

by Melissa MacNeal

  Fedora was chuckling, lighting up that model-perfect makeup with her natural glow. “He’s an original, one-of-a-kind, to be sure. And I hope my son Aric did his best to make you feel—”

  Lola gaped. Cabana Boy was this woman’s son?

  “But you’re not old enough to be—”

  Fedora squeezed her arm. It was the gesture of a woman who wanted to befriend her, without making her feel embarrassed or beholden. A nice thing to consider, now that she wasn’t pressing the heel of a stiletto into Lola’s chest.

  “I had Aric when I was too young to understand the consequences of sex, or the responsibilities of motherhood,” she said quietly. “My brother saw that I finished my education. Then he hired me for his security force.”

  “And the night club is yours, too?”

  “Nice cover, no?” She grinned, showing even white teeth that looked so perfect against her honey-colored skin. “Much more fun than having to play cop all the time, since we have so few problems with passengers. Dennis gave us some practice with our procedures and security skills.”

  Lola shook her head in amazement. You just couldn’t look at this fox when she was wearing boy shorts and a fedora—not to mention stilettos that made her legs look a mile long—and think you were being monitored.

  “So who returned my purse?” she asked.

  Fedora rolled her big brown eyes, which sparkled with mischief. “The captain did. Because it was yours, of course—but partly to see how you’d react. As you’ve probably realized, he enjoys a good game of cat-and-mouse.

  “Well! Here we are at Mr. Kingsley’s office. If you have further questions, just give me a call.” Fedora flashed her a dazzling smile. “I’ve returned those gifts and supplies Dennis bought in our boutiques, by the way. You’ll be seeing a credit on your final account statement.”

  Lola took the card she offered, nodding. “So what’ll happen to Fletch?”

  “The Feds have plans for him. They’ve been following his activities for awhile, waiting for him to pull some stupid stunt they could haul him in for. I’m sorry it had to happen this way, Lola.”

  “Yeah, but what if he’d gone through the ceremony and I found out—too late—what a real bad-ass he was?”

  There was a scary thought! But it was getting easier to smile about, now that Fletcher was locked up.

  Lola shook the hand Fedora offered, and watched her walk away. Pretty amazing, that story about the gorgeous Greek woman who could’ve gone the way of other pregnant teenagers, had it not been for a big brother who loved her. This cast a whole different light on Captain Scandalous—not that Lola was ready to forgive him! He still had some explaining to do.

  “Ah, Miss Lola! So good to see you looking relaxed—and free!”

  She turned toward Clive Kingsley, who came from behind the purser’s desk with a dapper British grin and several pieces of paper.

  Did she really look relaxed? Free? She was itching for a cigarette, now that she had so much new information to process.

  But that would wait for later. Kingsley was handing her a print-out on letterhead that bore the S. S. Aphrodite insignia, with a little bow.

  “Your final statement, my dear,” he intoned, “along with the faxes from the credit card companies, which confirm the reconciliation of your accounts and excellent credit status. And here’s a check to cover items returned from Mr. Fletcher’s spending spree.”

  She glanced at the itemized statement—so very Kingsley, the way it had PAID IN FULL across the bottom, in his calligraphic script. And the check—good Lord, he’d just handed her more than seven thousand dollars!

  Lola gaped, feeling extreme relief yet jealousy, too: Fletch had never spent this much on trinkets for her! What on earth had he bought that first day—from her accounts—?

  But what would she gain from asking this dapper concierge? No sense in getting upset to the point she’d need those last couple of Camels upstairs.

  “I—this is all very—”

  Lola gazed at this bastion of British sanity, and then threw her arms around him. “Thank you so much for your help, Clive. I don’t know what I’d have—”

  “Clever puss that you are, you’d have landed on your feet eventually, Miss Wright,” he crooned. He tightened his hug before releasing her. “I hope you’ll accept those gowns as a token of my admiration and esteem.”

  “Oh, but I’ll pay you for them when I get—”

  He placed a gentle finger on her lips. “Believe me, the captain’s paying me well for my part in this Caribbean caper. He’s rather enjoyed it, you know.

  “But of course,” he went on with a twinkle in those blue, blue eyes, “if you’d carry my Kingsley Court formal wear in your stores, I would be forever grateful.”

  Lola sighed. “You design the most gorgeous—but you realize I only carry clothes for—”

  Men. And why was that?

  She nipped her lip, thinking quickly. His line would give Well Suited a whole new definition of menswear, wouldn’t it? And Lord knows the clients—of whichever persuasion—who bought Clive’s tuxes and ball gowns would gladly pay her the big bucks for accommodating their exquisite, impeccable taste.

  Or they’d bring their women along to buy them. Kingsley had class and panache—as a man, and as a designer—and Lola had no doubt his clothes would sell from the get-go. This could be the biggest opportunity for expansion, with the least amount of effort, she’d ever been offered.

  She plucked the card from between his fingers, noting the logo that matched the labels in her three gowns.

  “I’ll contact you as soon as I get home,” she said, shaking his hand firmly. “It’s been a real pleasure meeting you, Clive. You’ve just handed me a whole new way of doing business.”

  He smiled again, still keeping a few secrets. But she was used to that.

  “Please enjoy your suite and all the privileges of being our guest on your last evening with us, dear Lola,” he went on in that voice that still reminded her of hot fudge…but not quite as exciting as what Rio had smeared all over her. “You’ll understand, I hope, that as we approach San Juan and prepare for disembarkation, Captain Skandalis and Mr. DeSilva will be occupied with ensuring everyone’s security. Damn shame so many rules and regulations came about after the September Eleventh disaster—”

  “It touched every one of us, didn’t it?” Lola smiled, letting go of his hand. “Thanks again for all your help. I need to pack, so I can set my luggage out in the hallway before I go to bed.”

  It felt funny, using the regular elevator to go up to the Aphrodisia Suite. And damned if she didn’t make a wrong turn when she stepped off it, and ended up in the corridor on the ship’s other side.

  She laughed at herself. What she needed was a Cabana Boy to escort her from place to place, in the manner to which she’d become accustomed!

  Matter of fact, she was hoping Aric would accept her invitation for a nice late-night dinner—or at least a good pizza and a beer—when she got her clothes packed. She felt like celebrating, now that her life was falling into place again!

  But when she entered the suite, its stillness echoed. The rooms felt empty, even though the lamps were lit and a little bag of those chocolates awaited her on the turned-down bed.

  No sign of Aric.

  And when she opened the closet, she discovered only the third dress Clive had provided her—the one so filmy, it showed every freckle and hair.

  “Holy shit,” she muttered, yanking open the drawers—which made a hollow rattle because they were all empty!

  Then she saw the note on her table:

  Priestess, I knew you’d be busy squaring things away, so I packed your things. Have delivered your luggage downstairs, so it will receive preferential treatment when you disembark tomorrow.

  It’s been my pleasure—so, okay, I gave you some crap, but I really did enjoy tricking you out and spending time with you! Have a good trip home and a wonderful life.

  That little shit! He’d pa
cked her things, all right, except for that one peekaboo dress—which no decent woman would wear in broad daylight, much less to fly home in! And then, before she could say goodbye and thank him, he’d given her the kiss-off!

  Lola dropped onto the bed with a sigh. Even though she knew better, she looked out the balcony door. He’d left the sheers open so she could enjoy the view of the night as they sailed toward San Juan.

  But nobody was out there smoking one of those sexy, dark cigars.

  Lola opened the bag of candy. She popped a truffle into her mouth, carefully flattening the foil wrapper.

  You’re about to get lucky. Really, really lucky.

  “Yeah, right,” she sighed. A Lucky would taste pretty good right now, considering how Cabana Boy had also taken the last of her Camels.

  34

  Early the next morning, Lola sat downstairs in the huge lobby among hundreds of other passengers, waiting for the blue group to be called. Feeling right at home in that color, because what had she really gotten out of this cruise? She was going home without a ring or a husband—

  Oh, quit bitching! Fletch would’ve ruined your life!

  —and she’d eaten only one meal in the ship’s dining room—

  —But look at the parties you went to! Who else got to witness so many guys playing dress-up?

  Now she sat among all these tired looking strangers, who were waiting to be herded to the pier to reclaim their luggage, and then herded through Customs and into buses for the airport. She’d planned to wear her cami and capris from yesterday, but apparently Aric had returned to take them for himself while she was dead asleep, the little shit.

  She felt out of place and overdressed—if you called being exposed in all this see-through fabric dressed. The only thing that saved her tits and ass from being extremely visible was the pink silk scarf she’d bought before she’d tried going ashore. At least Cabana Boy had left her that.

  Hey—you don’t have panty lines!

  Yes, how considerate of Cabana Boy, not to leave her even yesterday’s panties. She didn’t want to think about what he was doing with them. Now she’d have to scrounge through her suitcases before going through Customs—in a huge room surrounded by all these people—to pull out real clothes to put on in the restroom. Was she a class act, or what? And what if she missed her bus to the airport then?

  “Mr. Roger Delahanty!” a nasal female voice came over the loud speaker. “Mr. Roger Delahanty, please report to the purser’s office immediately to settle your bill.”

  Holy shit, that could’ve been me! They really DON’T let you go till they’ve got your dough.

  A man lumbered down the crowded aisle then—and it was Marshmallow Man! The guy she’d sold her ring to! Was he the one they’d just called, to settle up for things that naked speed-dater had charged to his account?

  Lola slumped back in her upholstered chair, grinning a little. Thanks to Clive Kingsley’s persuasive efforts, all her accounts were restored. She even had money in her pocket! And yeah, she was heading home with three designer gowns she never would’ve bought for herself—not to mention plans to include his designer lines in her stores very soon.

  And you did have a few little adventures, like in the spa, and the captain’s quarters, and the pool, and on that coffee table.

  But she shut out those compelling images of Rio DeSilva. She’d finally fallen asleep in the wee hours, realizing he wouldn’t be coming to her room. And now that they were docked, he was checking in with the local port authorities. The staff was also preparing to take on another load of passengers within a matter of hours, for another cruise like this one.

  Chances of seeing Rio ever again ran between slim and none.

  “All those passengers in the blue group may now exit through the main doors,” that nasal voice came over the speaker.

  Lola stood, with dozens of others, ignoring their stares. Kingsley’s sheer, elegant gown sparkled in the sunlight that poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Her bare legs were blatantly displayed below the scarf, and yet…under different circumstances, she’d be feeling as ethereal as a fairy queen.

  Could she help it these gawkers were dressed in slacks and natty shirts? Could she help it this exquisite gown was absolutely all she had to wear?

  Lola slipped on her shades and quickly joined the queue heading toward the gangway to get out of here.

  That’s what she wanted right now—out of here. Her fantasies had gone as flat as day-old champagne. Never again would there be bubbly like the stuff Rio DeSilva had licked from between her legs—

  Oh, just start chain-smoking and stop your whining!

  But of course, smoking wasn’t allowed in the baggage claim area, or during the Customs inspection, or on the bus. She’d have to wait it out—head for one of those glass rooms in the airport, where the other slaves huddled, puffing as though their lives depended on those white coffin nails. Stoking up on nicotine, praying they’d survive their flight without a meltdown.

  Things really were simpler when she didn’t smoke. She really would quit again. Soon as she got back home. Back to reality.

  Customs went amazingly fast because, bless his heart, Cabana Boy had given her luggage preferential placement.

  The bus ride to the San Juan airport was uneventful, even with a prissy old lady in the seat beside her, who couldn’t stop staring at her see-through evening gown. Lola felt like a Cinderella who’d been yanked from her fairy tale world to be plunked down in the steam-heat reality of San Juan as only tired, returning travelers knew it.

  She got off the bus. Waited at the curb among the thirty some others for her bags—which of course had been shoved to the very back of the cargo hold, because they were loaded first.

  Lola panicked, watching dozens of people streaming to the ticket windows. Her return flight had been scheduled so tightly she barely had time to pee, let alone change clothes, before boarding her plane. If she missed this one, it meant an entire day’s delay.

  Finally the bus driver hauled out her deep green suitcase. She yanked up its plastic handle and then rolled the large bag behind her, cussing the way her gown wound itself around her legs. Kingsley had designed this elegant dress for strutting down fashion runways, rather than racing frantically toward the airport to—

  Squealing tires scattered everyone around her, and Lola looked up. A white stretch limo skidded to a stop at the curb, and pedestrians scurried to stay out of its way—gawking as a huge, dark chauffeur in a pinstriped suit hopped out of the driver’s side.

  He was wearing oversized shades, as shiny as his clean-shaven head, yet something looked familiar about him. He grinned like he knew her, which made his lip sparkle when he opened the limo’s doors. His riders must either be running wayyyy behind, or he was fetching some very impressive guests.

  But wait! That was—

  “Miss Wright! Lola! I’m so glad we got here in time!”

  She froze in front of the automatic doors, forcing irritated travelers to wheel their luggage around her. What the hell were Captain Scandalous and that damned Odette doing here?

  “And don’t you look stunning?” the French pussy purred, looking her up and down.

  Before Lola could smart back at her, Skorpio grabbed the handle of her suitcase and wheeled it out of the doorway!

  Lola’s heart thudded. “Look, I—I’m running late for my flight—”

  “Ah, but we haven’t all been properly introduced, my dear,” the captain crooned, in the same voice that had first led her astray. He was smiling at her, deepening those laugh lines in his tanned, handsome face. Even in navy slacks and a striped sport shirt, Skandalis was turning ladies’ heads. Any one of them would’ve gladly missed her plane to hear him out.

  Lola gave the attractive pair an exasperated look. “I—I know who you are, and—”

  “Ah, but this lovely woman, Odette,” he said, slipping his arm around her slender waist, “isn’t really my chamber maid, you see. She is the Chief Financia
l Officer of Skandalis Shipping. And my wife of thirty years!”

  Lola’s eyes widened to the size of half-dollars as she returned Odette’s enthusiastic handshake.

  “And after being married to Skorpio for so long,” his raven-haired goddess said with a laugh, “I’m sure you can understand why we play our little games to keep each other amused.”

  Amused? Hell, she’d never seen a couple so hot for each other!

  “I put up a good front,” Skorpio continued in a confidential tone, “but my Odette is always in control. She lets me look, and pretend to play into other women’s fantasies, but she keeps me on a very short leash.”

  Captain Scandalous leaned closer then, his onyx eyes shining as though he could see through her hot pink scarf. “I truly wanted to fulfill your every request, Lola, but—”

  “We’ve come to wish you a safe journey home!” Odette chimed in, stepping possessively closer to her man. “And we’ve got to run, dear! We’re shopping for some new toys before the Aphrodite sails again this afternoon!”

  The S. S. Aphrodite.

  Lola gaped when it came to her: the S. S. stood for Skandalis Ship.

  So Captain Scandalous wasn’t just another pretty Greek face, he was a damn shipping magnate! He played by his own rules on board, because he could! What a life, to live on a luxury liner belonging to a fleet he owned!

  Lola could only shake her head in amazement, watching the two of them scamper toward a taxi. She was still seeing Odette in that skimpy French maid get-up with the black garter belt, clutching a toilet brush—

  “On behalf of Fantasy Cruise Lines, I’m inviting you back on board, Miss Wright. To compensate for the…unfortunate complications during your Caribbean getaway.”

  The air rushed from her lungs. That satiny Spanish accent came from the limo behind her—and she now felt the tall, warm body that went with it. He was standing so close, she could’ve reached back to grab his—

  “Rio!”

  Lola whirled around to gaze at him. God, but he was gorgeous in his whites, with his sandy hair blowing in the breeze. Those golden-brown eyes latched onto hers like they never wanted to let her go, and she caught the scent of his little cigars. It was like one of those moments in a romantic movie, where the guy and the girl, fated never to see each other again, suddenly came face to face.