by J. A. Coffey
She took a deep breath and continued up the stairs. A cool breeze greeted her on deck, blowing her hair against her neck. Instead of a slightly gray sky, she saw dark, low-hanging clouds and a heavy rain pouring down into the ocean. Drops of rain beat against the canvas awning over her head, protecting her from a good soaking. Still, a few drops ricocheted off the deck and against her bare legs. She shivered. No way was this a quick shower that would evaporate in a few minutes. Okay, Plan B: fill a plate quickly and get back to the room.
She pushed the hall door open, pulling it shut again when the wind caught it. The room was crowded. Everyone woman and a few men who apparently hadn't heard about the poker tournament two floors down sat around tables, talking. Hoping to stay anonymous, she hurried to the buffet. Eddie was right. The pancakes, eggs and other hot foods looked a little worse for the wear. She grabbed a plate and filled it with melon. She picked a bottle of water from the cold case, a carton of milk that reminded her of elementary school, several napkins and flatware.
She turned to leave, and nearly dropped the whole lot. Mags and another woman she didn't recognize stood just behind her. Startled, she raised her right hand to her chest, and the bottle of water she held bounced hard off her breastbone, making her catch her breath.
"We wanted to ask you to join our table this morning," Mags said. She nodded her head toward a table to the left, where several other women sat around the big circle sipping tea or stirring coffee. "Eating alone just isn't any fun."
"I don't mind...um...I was just going to--"
The other woman talked right over her, pulling on her arm as she guided Casey to an empty chair on the other side of the table. "It would be wonderful to talk to you over breakfast. We thought you might even give us some pointers. Some of us are interested in memoir writing."
Panic filled her belly. "I don't really know anything about recreating the past. I wouldn't want to point you down the wrong road."
"Oh, pooh." Mags waved a hand in the air, dismissing Casey's words. Weaving her arm through Casey's, Mags led her to the table. "You do a better job of getting those emotional details down than any other author I know. Besides, the things we want to put on paper about will be better if we fudge on a few details."
"I have work--"
"You have to eat breakfast, dear. Didn't your mother explain it's the most important meal of the day?" Mags pulled an empty chair from the table and motioned for Casey to take it. "Work will be there when you get to it. Girls," she said, turning to the table. "This is Cassandra Cash, the writer. She'll be joining us for breakfast this morning." Casey placed her napkin in her lap as a round of "nice to meet you"s and "welcome"s came across the table. Deep breath, you can do this, Case. "Thank you for the invitation."
Such as it was. "I hate to eat alone." Casey caught a melon ball with her fork, smiled again at the table and popped it into her mouth. The sooner she was done with breakfast, the sooner she could return to hibernation in the stateroom. The conversation picked back up as she ate. Melon ball, melon ball, murmured, "Uh-huh," melon ball.
"Well, the problem I seem to be having is with the sex," an older woman across the table said. Her brown hair was tinted with a few well-placed streaks of white. Casey wondered if she had her hairdresser create the streaks or if she simply had the luck of graying symmetrically. "It's just so regimented lately. I'll tell you, it's just not the same as it was back then."
A melon ball caught in Casey's throat. She'd rather they talk about writing than about their geriatric sex lives.
"I think I sh--"
"I'm having that problem, too, Maureen," another lady said, talking over Casey. "I remember what it used to be like, but then something happens and it's completely different. Like my sexual experiences have been boring porn."
A few twitters of laughter rounded the table. Boring pornography? She had to get out of there before they started talking about lubes or sex toys. Casey wasn't sure she could handle breakfast with the over-sixty Girls Gone Wild bunch. She popped the last melon ball into her mouth, stood and then froze. "Do you have that problem, too, Cassandra?" Every head at the table swiveled to look at Casey.
Did she have what problem? The problem of her sex life feeling like a boring porn flick? Memories of Mason floated into her mind. Not hardly. Unbelievable, yes. Boring, no. The melon ball stuck in her throat and Casey began to choke.
"Um...I'm, uh, not sure--"
Mags pounded on her back, then raised Casey's arms above her head. "You know," Mags said, rescuing her in more ways than one. "When you write about sex, even though you're writing about tips, is it sometimes flat?"
"Well, not...no. I thought you were..." Casey shut off that train of thought and continued with, "Writing your memoirs."
Several of the ladies nodded. The one with white-streaked hair said, "Yes. We are writing the true-to-life adventures of the Rosie The Riveter generation. You know, we're the ones who saved this country during The War. Now, everyone thinks we have to be sweet, cookie baking grandmothers. We're more than that, but we need a little help. So, do you?"
Casey's brain seemed to be working in super-slow-mode. Making the connection between these earnest women, baking cookies, Rosie The Riveter and sexually explicit writing just wasn't happening. "Do I..." Casey left the question open-ended.
"Do you find sex hard to put on paper without it turning into a health class textbook?"
How did she answer the question? If she simply said no, would they ask that horrid, Where do you get your sex ideas from question? If she said yes, would they let her leave the table? Not likely. Casey would have to bite the bullet, so to speak, on this question.
"I think the key you're looking for is emotion." At least, that was what she thought. Writing self-help with sometimes sexually explicit chapters for the Cosmo generation didn't necessarily call for emotion. More of the health text book writing they didn't want. "You can be very explicit within the scene, but if you don't add in emotional feelings from that moment on the page, it's just sex." She balled the napkin tightly in her fist.
"How did your heart feel? That's more than just pulses-pounding stuff. Remember how you felt about the person you were with, how it felt to be touched." A flush heated Casey's cheeks as she remembered Mason caressing her body the night before.
For the life of her, she couldn't remember any feelings other than the unsettling urge to shut out everything and everyone else. Just to be with him. No interruptions.
The ladies looked thoughtfully at her for several moments, but no one said anything. Casey rose from her chair. "When you write down what you remember, just get the facts onto the page. Then go back and try to feel again how you felt back then, and add that to your pages."
A few ladies nodded, taking her words into consideration.
"I really should go." Casey gathered her plate and milk carton. She hadn't opened her water bottle yet, and placed it in her bag for the room. "Let me know if you ladies have more questions, okay?"
"Maybe you could meet us back here tomorrow morning?" The streaky-haired lady asked.
Casey smiled. "Maybe." She turned from the table and froze.
Mason stood a few tables away, thumbs hooked into his belt loops. The white of his shirt set off the tan on his arms.
"Sounds like good advice," he said.
Casey nodded, unable to speak through her suddenly dry lips. He wasn't supposed to be here. He was supposed to be avoiding her. She had mornings, he had nights. Wasn't that the deal?
No, that was the deal she had with Tyler. The only deal she had with Mason was the unspoken I'm Going To Avoid You The Rest Of The Cruise deal.
He raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms over his chest. "So, what do you remember your heart telling you last night?"
Chapter Ten
Just what had she felt last night? Twice.
Casey looked over her shoulder. The women at the table were trying to seem involved in table conversation, but she knew every ear was tuned to Maso
n's question. And her answer.
A shiver of panic slithered down her spine. Palms damp with sweat, Casey moved forward a few steps, but Mason didn't budge. She would either have to back up and go around the tables or plow forward and push him out of the way. No matter what she did, she would cause a scene.
One of the ladies cleared her throat, clearly growing bored with Casey's hesitance. The dull pounding in her head returned, and she squinted her eyes.
Mason raised an eyebrow and cocked his head to one side. Waiting. As much as she wanted to say sex with Mason was only about the heat of the moment, Casey knew it wasn't. There was something between them, at least on her part, from that first conversation to her running away from him in the sauna. His smile comforted her. His arms protected. His voice excited.
He was everything she'd ever thought she wanted in a man. And nothing she needed in Mr. Right Now. "I, um, I'm not sure this is the proper place to discuss that," Casey whispered.
Mason moved back, motioning with his left hand. "Then let's find an empty table and talk about it."
She didn't move. "I'm, um, not sure that's a good idea either."
Pointedly, he looked over his shoulder. "Then I'd suggest you choose a place, because the grandmas over there are starting to look incredibly interested in our conversation, and I want some answers."
Crap. So much for comforting. The pounding in her head increased. This was a ship. There were only so many places they could go. She couldn't take him to the meeting room because of Tyler's poker tournament. Walking on the deck was out because of the rain. No one could hold a conversation between all the pinging and shouting in the casino. Too many people would be in and out of the dining hall. They could go to her room. Before the idea could take root, she pushed it from her mind. Taking him to her room was a bad idea on too many levels. First and foremost was the fact that every time they were alone, their clothes came off. "The more you try to find the perfect hiding place, the more interested the ladies get." His words echoed her own thoughts. He took her hand, leading her to a table in a deserted corner. "The more your reputation could suffer."
"What do you mean by that?" She stopped following him and pulled her hand from his grasp.
He shrugged. "Just that you seemed to be running away from everyone and everything last night.
You're afraid people will think you're married to that guy in your room. And you're afraid they'll think you're shacking up. Or you're not." He lowered his voice. "Afraid they'd find out he was paid to be there. That screams to me that you're worried about your reputation. In the meantime, you risked all that to spend...time...with me. And that, Cassandra Cash, brings me back to the first question. Just what were you feeling last night?"
Infatuation. Lust. Obsession. Definitely nothing serious. Absolutely anything but a strong connection that might lead her back down the commitment path. She swallowed, then licked her lips. She would go with infatuation.
"Just how does a plumber get to know so much about psychology?" Emotion flickered across his face, but before she could tell what it was, it was gone.
"Let's just say plumbers know a lot about cleaning out people's pipes," he said and motioned to the table. They sat and a waitress appeared.
"Ice water, no lemon," he told her.
"Tequila, straight up," she said.
She needed fortification for this talk.
"We don't serve hard liquor in here," the waitress said, frowning. "Only the bars have the hard stuff." Casey didn't want to be told she couldn't have a drink because they didn't have it in this particular room.
This was a cruise, damn it! If she wanted a drink, she'd have a freaking drink. It wasn't like she was driving home afterward. She stared hard at the woman. The waitress pushed her order pad into a pocket and backed away. "Right. I'll just head up there and get it for you."
"Thank you."
"Nice choice," he said when she was gone.
"I thought so."
"I meant scaring the waitress. That's a great way to keep your reputation intact."
"Shut up." Really, he was almost as annoying as Tyler and his nosebleeds. The waitress brought their drinks. She slugged the shot and held the glass aloft. Throat burning, she croaked, "Another."
When the waitress left, she looked at Mason, who said, "You don't seem like a drinker."
"I'm not."
"Then why?" He left the question open-ended.
"Why have I done anything the last couple of months?" She mumbled. At his raised brow, she said, "Why does anyone have a drink? I'm over twenty-one, I've had a crappy week, month and year, and I want a drink." Her voice turned shrill on the last words. Overreact much?
She held up a hand before he could say anything. "Sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I brought you into this mess." The waitress returned with the second shot and left before she could request another. Probably for the best. She needed to keep her wits about her, not start telling him all her dirty secrets. "I'm sorry I ran away from you last night."
"So why did you?"
She shook her head. "A girl has to have a few secrets." He turned disappointed eyes to her, making Casey feel like a bully who took ice cream from little kids. "I'm sorry. Again. I don't know why I ran away last night."
Liar, liar, pants on fire.
She knew why she ran from him.
He saw too much, and she let him. Mr. Right Now wasn't supposed to know every secret. Hell, Nate hadn't known any of her secrets, and within a few hours Mason knew the one thing she needed to keep from everyone on board. There was a paid escort in her bed.
"Let's just say I needed some air."
Mason reached across the table, taking her hand in his own. "I'd say you got plenty of air." His voice turned husky and a tiny flame ignited in her belly. "What are you running from?" Why did he care? Mr. Right Now didn't care. Period. He was in it for the sex. He wasn't a forever kind of guy. Forever kind of guys didn't come on to strange women in check-in lines or track them down in their rooms or go for it in a public place. Mason was Mr. Right Now. Why wouldn't he just stay in that role?
"Honey bun! There you are, I've been looking all over for you." Casey cringed when Tyler placed his hand on her shoulder, leaned down and kissed her cheek.
"You said you wanted me to come get you up by noon, but you were gone when I got there." He tsked twice, then stretched his hand to Mason. "Tyler Cash."
"Mason Drury."
Tyler wrinkled his brow and his eyes sharpened. "I know that name."
Casey reached up, squeezed Tyler's hand as hard as she could and then dropped it from her shoulder. She smiled and said through gritted teeth, "Drop the act. He knows about us."
"Thank God," Tyler said, slumping down in the chair. "Pretending to be Mr. Cassandra Cash is getting old. All these old farts want to talk about is how we met, when we'll get married and what I know about your next book. I've made up so many stories now that they're all running together." Tyler shook his head, reached for Casey's second tequila shot and downed it in one gulp. "Ahhh. Sweet libation. How do you two know each other?"
"We're sleeping together," Mason said before Casey could say anything.
Tyler turned a critical eye to Mason. "I suppose that explains why she won't sleep with me then. Although, honey bun, I'm sure I could provide you with more bang for your buck. What's she paying you?"
"Just the pleasure of her company, and keep your damn voice down."
"Please. These old farts can't hear worth a damn. And you're getting ripped off. She's paying me four thousand for the week, plus the cruise." Casey's face flamed. She wanted to sink through the floor. Or stick a fork in Tyler's eye. Maybe stick a fork in him, then sink through the floor. Settling his left arm around Casey, Tyler pulled her close to his body. "And she's not bad to look at." He placed a quick kiss to her temple. "A little dull in bed, but by the end of the week, we'll have the kinks worked out of her."
She pushed back from the table, away from Tyler's arm. "I said drop the act. He k
nows I have better taste than to pay for sex."
Tyler turned hurt eyes to her. "I was just trying to make conversation."
"You were trying to embarrass me because you can't stand that I won't sleep with you. Well, here's another shocker." She reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled his wallet out.
She grabbed the white key card, waved it in front of his eyes, then pocketed it and hissed, "You can sleep on the deck the rest of the cruise, Mr. Top Of The Line, Couldn't Seduce A Woman If He Drugged Her, escort. I'm through feeling bad about this situation. I didn't cause it, and I don't have to put up with it."
"Well done." Mason clapped his hands together. "Now, if we could get back to--"
"No. We can't. Just because we slept together, doesn't give you the right to question me about my life. You're a plumber, not a cop. Besides which, I haven't committed a crime." Casey stormed away from the table, not looking back.
Mason caught up with her in the passageway. "I wasn't questioning you like a cop would. I want to know why you ran away."
"Maybe I just wanted to leave."
"We both know that's not true. You're running. Every time I get near, you either run the other direction or drop your clothes. Now, I'm in complete favor of you being naked with me for the rest of the cruise, but that doesn't seem like the real you. So that leaves me with running. What are you running from, Casey?"
"I'm not running."
"Yes, you are."
No, I'm not. Casey barely bit back the lie. She wasn't going to get into a childish Am Not Are Too fight with Mason, especially not when he was right. She whirled away.
"Just think of me as the perfect woman. You can love me and leave me and I won't care."
Mason gripped her arm, turning her to face him. Anger burned in his eyes, turning the green to emerald and dilating his pupils. "If you only wanted the love 'em and leave 'em type, you would've jumped on Tyler's bandwagon."
"Tyler's not my type," she said, looking everywhere in the passageway but at Mason.
