by J. A. Coffey
Son of a bitch. She'd really duped him. Turned him from a hard-ass reporter to the nerd scurrying after the cheerleader. What an idiot.
Had he slept with a married woman?
Mason had done his share of randy things. Hell, once at a Halloween party, he'd slid into the pantry with a woman. They'd done things in front of the corn and green beans that would make Howard Stern blush.
He had never slept with a married woman.
At least not knowingly.
Mason took a deep breath. He could paint a picture of her body. Pink toenails, nice legs. Her breasts were amazing. Her hands on his skin felt like heaven. Deep brown hair brushed against the creamy skin at her neck before plummeting down her back. Amazing blue eyes.
But for the life of him, he couldn't see her hands in his mind. Was she wearing a ring?
And if she wasn't married, just what was she celebrating with Tyler Cash?
Stuffing the invitation back in his pocket, Mason crushed his right hand hard against his forehead and tried to concentrate. He thought she wore pink fingernail polish, but he couldn't remember. How could he remember her toes, but not her fingers?
He whirled at a tap on his shoulder. Tilly entered the room behind him, her new beau at her side. For the first time, Mason noticed she was slightly taller than the guy from the bar. Neither seemed to mind, though.
"Is she here?" Tilly looked wildly around the room.
Mason could barely make out the words as the band struck up at that moment. He leaned forward so Tilly's mouth was close to his ear.
"I didn't miss her, did I?"
Mason pointed to the door on the other side of the room. "She just left. She and some guy and another woman hurried out just a few minutes ago."
A frown marred Tilly's face.
"Dang it. She's my favorite author. Now that Herb's not running my life, I really need her advice. She could tell my story--I bet a lot of women start over at least once in their life."
"Mmm," was all Mason could think to say. Up until two minutes ago, he thought Casey was starting over. Maybe even with him. Apparently not.
"I guess I should thank you while you're still here, though." Tilly motioned to the man from the bar, stepped a little closer to Mason and lowered her voice. "Wally's a real sweet man. He pulled my chair out for me at dinner. He's an accountant, you know, and he makes numbers seem so interesting."
Oh, no. Tilly wasn't putting all her rebound eggs in Wally's basket was she? This was bad. Really bad. Mason tried to interrupt, but Tilly talked right over him.
"I know, this is probably just a vacation rebound thing, but if you hadn't introduced us at the bar, I would probably still be moping up on the deck. Thinking about Herb and the bimbo and my kids." Tears sprang into her eyes. "And now I've got him to think about. He asked me what I wanted out of life. Nobody's ever asked me that before." Mason smiled at Tilly. Maybe the introduction hadn't been a mistake. Unlike sleeping with Casey. One out of two wasn't bad. "And what is it you want?"
Tilly giggled, stepped back to John and slid her hand into the crook of his elbow. "You know, I don't know. And it's completely alright." She turned her head, smiling at John. He smiled up at her and clasped the hand holding tightly to his elbow.
"Not knowing isn't such a catastrophe," John said. "You just start from scratch and figure it out as you go." The two rested their foreheads against one another for a few seconds, smiling.
An older couple passed the group on the way to the dance floor. They slid into a waltz and John pulled Tilly toward the floor, leaving Mason alone. Couples paired off across the room as the band continued to play.
Other than the wait staff, Mason couldn't pick out any ship employees. He wanted to ask why the guests of honor just left, but without anyone to ask, he left the room.
Mason wandered from the room, barely suppressing the urge to head straight to her room, bang on the door and demand answers. She had slept with him, left him nearly exposed on the deck and now she might be married to another man. What kind of woman did that?
She hadn't asked any questions before hopping on the lounge chair with him. Of course, he hadn't asked Casey any questions, either.
Turning a corner, Mason saw the casino ahead and stepped inside. Bells rang but no tokens clinked against the metal slot machine trays. Plastic cards and colorful elastic bungee cords connected the players to the machines. The casino gave all the players a free twenty-dollar session, and from the smiles on their faces, many of the gamblers were winning on the casino's money.
A blue-checked mini-skirt walked between several banks of one-armed bandits a few rows away. Mason lost sight of her when she turned between the quarter and dollar machines, but caught sight of her at the five-dollar slot. She was trying to get a bill into the feeder. No plastic card or bungee cord in sight.
Interesting.
The feeder finally sucked in the bill, and Casey sat in the chair. She didn't use the arm, but instead punched the Bet Credits button. He watched while she lost four credits, then won six. Par for the course.
"Looks like you've got the machine's number," he teased. Most slot machines he had played allowed him to win back just enough to keep playing, but he never hit the jackpot. "Too bad you didn't get mine."
Casey whirled in the chair, turning shocked eyes to Mason. She looked from him, her eyes drifting over his body, and then turned her concentration to the slot machine in front of her. She only said, "Hi." Taking the chair next to her, Mason put his plastic card into the slot and then placed a bill into the feeder. He pulled the arm, watched as two cherries popped up and the third stopped between another cherry and a double bar. Chalk one up for the one-armed bandit.
"You should put your card in the slot," he said, motioning to the empty area. "Makes it easier to cash out." Casey shrugged her shoulder.
"Too much like a video game." Mason begged to differ. Slot machines were video games; it didn't matter whether you used a plastic card to track your winnings or dumped tokens into a bucket, but he didn't tell Casey that.
He pulled the arm again and watched one cherry, one diamond and one bar roll onto the screen. Nothing. He pulled the arm. Sooner or later, he'd hit something. Casey continued hitting the Bet Credits button.
"I thought you liked things old fashioned."
Yeah, like screwing a guy she just met was old-fashioned. She was called Miss Romance, not Miss Goody- Two-Shoes. "Pulling the arm is half the fun."
She didn't look at him, just kept pressing the Bet Credits button. "Using the arm will turn your palms black," she said, wrinkling her nose. "Using the button is more sanitary." She punched the button one more time and three cherries rolled onto the screen. The credit counter started rolling and Mason looked at the read-out. "Oh, my God," she said, sounding more annoyed than excited.
"Aw, crap."
The credits rolled. They passed the four hundred mark and kept going up. Three cherries was the second-highest roll. She'd betted one credit with the roll, and would pull in a nice chunk of change. He pulled the arm and busted. The credits on her machine finally stopped at nine-hundred-fifty. Not bad.
"This is just what I need," she mumbled.
Mason expected her to hit the Cash Out button. Instead, Casey increased her betting credits to three per spin. He shook his head.
What a waste. He covered her hand with his, stopping her from throwing away her winnings. "What are you doing? You just won. You should cash out and change machines."
"I didn't want to win," she said, pulling her hand from his. When Mason lifted his hand from the button, Casey punched it and threw away three more credits. "I didn't come down here to win money."
Now they were getting somewhere. She was running away still. From whatever made her run to him, and away from the party downstairs. Nate and whoever this new guy was.
"So why did you come in here? Gambling is a pretty tough way to win, but if you wanted to throw money away you could've just tossed it overboard." She returned her attention to the slot m
achine, pushing the button to throw more money back into the bandit. He didn't think she would answer, but finally she said, "I just wanted to get away. Think."
"The only thing most people think about in a casino is winning money."
A slight smile crossed her face. "The noise and the repeated motion of betting help me clear my head. I felt like I was drowning, so I came here."
"To think."
She nodded and shrugged one shoulder. "It works for me." Inhaling slowly, he wondered how noise and repetitive motion helped her think. Which brought him to the reason he followed her over here. "Why did you leave me exposed up on the deck?"
"I didn't." She shook her head. "I covered you with your t-shirt. And I left the curtains closed."
"And I was still at half-mast."
Leaning toward her, Mason lowered his voice. "Little old ladies could have circled me and gone in for the kill." Casey's face went white before a blush heated her cheeks. "Whatever. Everyone was busy with the Vegas show and dinner. You weren't sexually attacked by a roving band of little old ladies."
"But I could have been."
A chuckle escaped her. "Are you really afraid the Grandma Brigade would have made you their boy-toy?" He placed a hand on her thigh and, reaching around, turned her so she had to look at him. "I was more worried about why you left like that."
A white flash lit the casino, blinding Mason for a second. When he could see again, Casey was looking at him with terrified eyes. Her breathing was ragged and she gripped his left hand with hers.
She jumped from the chair, as if she needed to escape the gambling hall.
"We have to get out of here."
When Mason remained in his seat, she tugged on his hand, urging him up.
"We have to go," she said as he rose to his feet. "Now."
Mason had no choice but to follow her zigzagging route through the casino and out the back entrance.
Chapter Six
"What the hell are we running from?" Anger edged Mason's voice. Casey supposed she couldn't blame him. She'd yanked him from his slot machine when he still had money to lose. He probably hadn't had time to grab that stupid card the casino handed out to everyone either. Great. The reporter would know who he was.
Another white flash glared in the corner of her eye as the door closed. Damn it. They were getting closer. "That," she said, inclining her head toward the area that kept flashing behind her. She pulled on his hand and kept moving. She couldn't leave Mason to the wolves. He was a plumber. He'd probably never dealt with well-meaning reporters, much less the vultures hired by tabloids. "Trust me, you don't want to deal with that." She didn't stop long enough to look at him, just grabbed his hand and ran.
She turned left down a short passageway, climbed a set of five stairs and turned right. Glancing behind them, she couldn't see anyone following. But that could mean anything. The paparazzi made kamikazes look like trained pigeons. When she'd dumped Tyler in the stateroom, she'd decided to hide out in the crowd at the casino.
Face it, Casey, you're not safe anywhere.
"I think we're okay," she said, leading Mason down the hall. Just how had the reporter found her? Probably dumb luck. That, and there really weren't any hiding places on the ship, not even her room. So far Tyler was alternating between belligerent and whiny and was giving her a headache. Weren't escorts supposed to be calm, cool and able to roll with anything?
Of course, she wasn't the perfect client. So far she had ditched him three times--twice when he was bleeding--and left him to deal with overzealous fans and honeymoon wishes. In his shoes, Casey wouldn't deal with it well either. The clear glass door of the weight room loomed in front of them. Probably a hundred things to hide behind in there, but the glass door would also make them vulnerable. A smaller door on the right led to the indoor whirlpool, the door on the left to the sauna. She checked the door. It locked from the inside. No glass. That was the one. Making up her mind, Casey stepped inside. Mason followed.
A wave of heat escaped the room.
"Explain to me again why we just ran from the casino, leaving behind several thousand dollars in the process?"
"Huh?" She tried the door, making sure it was locked. What was he talking about? Several thousand dollars?
"The jackpot?" He raised his eyebrows and held his hands, palm up, between them. "Three cherries popped up on your slot. Nine hundred and some credits, each worth five dollars, and you bet three credits on that roll so it triples."
"I hit a jackpot?" A jackpot worth at least thirteen thousand dollars. Had she been that distracted? She couldn't breathe. If she'd missed hitting a jackpot, what else did she miss while aimlessly playing the slots? He only nodded.
Casey gasped and sat down on the wooden bench. Hard. She hit a jackpot? "Did I cash out?"
"Do either of us have a slip worth thirteen thousand tokens?"
Of course not. Lungs feeling like they were about to burst, she tried to take in a deep breath. A tiny wisp of air passed her lips, barely enough to cool her tongue.
"You let me...leave the casino...with...thousands of dollars still in my slot?" Fanning her face, she slumped against the wall.
Breathe. Just breathe.
Only, no matter how deeply she tried to get the air into her lungs, it barely registered. The room started to spin and go black around the edges. She had to get to the door.
"I didn't have much choice."
Was that Mason's voice? He sounded so far away.
She turned her head.
Pacing by the door. Didn't he realize she was dying here? Two steps and she was at the door. Leaning against the handle, she slid forward as the door opened, cool air bathing her face. She gulped in a deep breath, then another.
"You grabbed my hand and took off. I'm fond of my arm, and I'd like to keep it attached to my body a few more years." He turned around, alarm registering on his face when he focused his gaze on her. She must look bad for him to look that scared.
In a second he was beside her, pushing her down on the floor with her head between her knees. "Breathe," he said. "Just breathe."
When Casey felt her lungs reinflate, she sat up and breathed deeply.
He pushed her head back between her knees. "Take a few more breaths," he said.
"I left thirteen thousand dollars in a slot machine?" she said to no one in particular. The words sounded breathless to her own ears. A bead of sweat rolled along her jaw, stopping where her face met her leg. From the sauna, the mad dash from the casino or the realization that she left thousands of dollars behind, she wasn't sure.
"I keep telling you, yes." The pressure on her neck eased, and she sat up. Mason looked into her eyes for several seconds. "Come on, there's still too much heat coming out of the sauna. You need to cool down," he said, standing and moving toward the door. She caught his hand with her own and when he looked back at her, she shook her head.
"I'm fine. It's knowing I left behind the money more than the heat in the room." At least, she thought that was why the room still had a slight curve. She raised her left hand to her lips. "I can't believe I did that."
Mason grunted. "Me either. You could have left me behind with the cash, you know. It's not every day someone leaves me thirteen thousand dollars." Then, he posed a question of his own. "Are you going to tell me why we just ran through this ship like people fleeing the Titanic?"
How much did he really want to know? She looked into his sea green eyes, seeing a lot of curiosity, and a hint of...was that compassion? Couldn't be. Curiosity was the length of his involvement. It must seem ridiculous that she would leave all that money in a slot machine. Whoever sat at the machine next would get one hell of a surprise. She shook her head and began to laugh. This whole situation was absurd. If she didn't know any better, she would think the ship was outfitted with hidden cameras and she was the focus of some television show.
"Casey?" He smoothed his hand down her arm, and the heat inside her body ratcheted up a notch. He probably thought she was cra
zy. Really, had she done one sane thing since meeting him in the boarding line? "What are you running from?"
The words were quiet. Gentle sounding. Concerned. He spoke as if afraid she would break if he let a harsh word enter the room.
That only made her laugh louder.
The real question was what wasn't she running from? A big fat nothing.
How much did she want to tell him?
Her heart told her to trust the man. Tell him everything. Maybe if she let the story out, it would make more sense.
The laughter slowed to a few hiccups.
Her head told her she didn't know him. He would never understand. She needed to get his plumberpsychology off her life. Moving back inside the room, Casey shut and locked the door again. "How long have you worked with your family?"
For a long moment, he didn't answer. Her skin cooled when he removed his hand from her arm. Sitting beside her on the wooden bench, he folded his hands together. She watched as one thumb worked against the other. She remembered how his hands felt against her body. For a man who worked with his hands, they were so smooth. Some woman somewhere must have taught him the benefits of lotion. The bitch.
With one touch of those hands he could stop her mind from thinking about anything but him. Only, she didn't want him for that reason this time. She wanted him because he was Mason, and he made her feel alive.
"Worked with my family?" No hint of emotion. Just flat words. She nodded, finally daring to look him in the eye. Curiosity was the only expression she saw this time. Pulling the card from her bag, she handed it over.
"This got mixed up with my clothes...earlier." She shrugged her shoulder. "It must be interesting, working in the family business."
Her own father hunted termites for a living. Her brothers, too. She had run as far and fast as she could from their life. Only lately she wondered if she made the right choice.
Her life was out of control. She couldn't write. Would it have made a difference if she'd stayed in their small town instead of moving to New York City?
She wouldn't have met Nate. Wouldn't be avoiding reporters on a cruise ship. Wouldn't be making the one man in the world who seemed to be interested in Casey instead of Cassandra, think she was certifiable. She stepped toward him, wanting to be in his space more than anything else at that moment. "My family is in the bug business. As the only girl I was not expected to de-termite a house once I was out of school. Do you like working with your family?"
