“Yeah? Admirable isn’t how my academy’s going to put it when it blacklists me in the event planning industry.”
“That would be tragic. Stewart-Russ is often deficient in dynamic, creative, adaptable staff.” Quinn hesitated. “Enjoy the night, Ms. Tracy. Thank you for choosing The Lure.”
I’m starting to think The Lure chose me, Ona quietly returned, watching Quinn adjust a waiter’s tie and motion to someone else to fix a crooked plant leaf as she left the ballroom.
Going to the table where she’d set her tablet and phone, Ona halted as a tuxedoed Nicholas cut her off. Reaching the table first, he picked up the devices and held them out without actually relinquishing them.
“When did you become so beautiful, Ona?”
Ona scoffed. “I don’t think you were looking that day.” She reached for the tablet and phone, but he captured her hand and pressed it to his mouth, kissing and abrading her with his teeth while his green eyes held her. “Stop, Nicholas. I don’t want you to touch me like that. Regan wouldn’t want you to, either.”
“What does Regan have to do with this?”
“A man should at least consider his fiancée before he goes about trying to screw another woman.” Ona pulled her hand away then wrestled her things from him. “You’re hurting her. You’re driving her away.”
“Regan’s my responsibility.”
Yeah, and if she’s pregnant then that baby’s your responsibility, too. “Act like it, then. Commit to her and stop controlling her.”
Nicholas frowned, made another grab for her, and she slapped his wrist away. “Ona... Now you’re out of line. It’s not your fault,” he continued, because apparently he lacked the sense to shut up. “Your upbringing’s not your fault. It’s, what, a Fishtown thing? A black community thing?”
Upbringing. A Fishtown thing. A black community thing.
Ona gasped, and unable to stop the tears flocking to her eyes, she twisted around to see if anyone had overheard him.
No one met her glance, but she needed no one’s backup.
Jet out of there? She wouldn’t do it.
Cuss him out? She wouldn’t do that, either.
But she recoiled as the words sank into her flesh. She wanted to scrub her skin where he’d touched her. She hadn’t kissed him, but she wanted to rinse her mouth, anyway.
And her dreams. Those silly, stupid teenage dreams of sex and laughter? She wanted to erase them.
As he stalked out of the ballroom she felt more sad than angry. Sad for him, because how unfortunate to be utterly, incorrigibly ignorant. Sad for herself, because she’d once chosen “saint” Nicholas over Matty Grillo and Riker Ewan.
A server rushed to her before the ballroom doors shut in Nicholas’s wake. “I can call for security, ma’am.”
“No, it’s done,” Ona assured him. “It was just a disagreement with an old friend.”
“Me? If I wanted friends like that, I’d get myself some enemies,” he commented, casting a glance at the doors before he resumed arranging centerpieces on the linen-draped tables.
Laying the incident aside, Ona submerged herself in work. Over the next hour her classmates, their significant others and the shipboard staff entered the ballroom to lively interpretations of the most popular songs in their PAAC glee club cohort’s repertoire. A bartending crew wheeled an impressive champagne trolley, and only when it arrived at Ona’s table did she finally take her seat and accept the shower of compliments and appreciative remarks.
“I need to see you alone,” Riker said, straddling the chair beside hers. “When can we do that?”
Ona wanted it to be now. He was too hot not to touch in that casual suit with the open collar. She dipped her fingers into the opening, toying at his dog tags, taking an excuse to fondle him. “After drinks we can disappear. If we skip foreplay, we can be back before dinner.”
“Damn. Ona—”
“Everybody have a drink?” Turning, Ona found Cole Stanwyck behind a microphone with a champagne glass held high. “I know we’re supposed to be coming up here and talking about our best glee club memories, but I think we should start by giving our reunion coordinator some props. Stilts—sorry, Ona—stand up for me.”
She stood and gave the room a smile, but when she started to sit again, Cole interrupted.
“Up, Ona. Keep standing. We’re all going to applaud you. The majority of the club had an all right time, so we’d call that a success, wouldn’t we? Congratulations on pulling off your first event planning job.” At the surge of confused comments and questions, he said, “Oh, did you think she was a legitimate event planner? Well, she’s not. She lied to us and to PAAC.”
Ona bit the inside of her cheek. Shaking her head at Cole, she had no words.
“Ona Tracy was terminated from an advertising firm in New York and hasn’t pulled a paycheck since. She misrepresented herself to our school, got the account and experimented with our reunion cruise.” Feigning sincerity, Cole cocked his head at Ona. “But we can’t blame her for botching our reservations. Apparently that wasn’t her fault after all. That’s the company’s bad.”
“How do you know that?” she demanded, managing the words but numb nonetheless.
“Ona, you’re smart. You know nothing in this world is free. All the extras this ship’s been unrolling for us? You’ve been paying for them under the table. Well, under the sheets might be more correct.”
“Hey! I haven’t been in bed with ship staff, you ass.”
“Yeah, okay, Ona. That’s technically true. Riker Ewan doesn’t work for Stewart-Russ Cruise Line. But since he’s Kate Russ’s son, the technicalities aren’t all that important.”
Ona stumbled over her chair but didn’t fall. She whipped around to Riker. “Your family owns this ship? You said you work in your father’s bar.”
“He told you that?” Cole said into the microphone. “Good thing I checked into this for you, Stilts. Your marine and his father do operate a bar in Boston, Massachusetts. But Riker owns that property. His mother’s the Russ in Stewart-Russ. She was slumming it with a blue-collar barkeep, just like Riker was slumming it with you this entire week. In case anyone can’t connect the dots, she wasn’t really seeing the guy.”
Riker stood, cupped her head. “Ona, I wanted to talk to you—”
Cole approached them, downing the champagne. “So you’re not wondering later,” he said to Riker, “I saw the number on your phone when you got that call in the bar. I heard your side of the conversation and, gotta say, the research was a hell of a fun way to kill a few hours.” He had the nerve to touch Ona’s back, and she flinched. “Now, Stilts, don’t take it out on me. I asked you to join me at the top. The offer’s off the table.”
Ona bolted. She’d been exposed as a fake and a fool. All those lies... There were too many, and they smothered her. Finding it difficult to run, she grabbed the bottom of her dress. Why had she bought this dress? Why had she thought she could pretend her way to a career she could make her own? Why had she let herself love another liar?
“You said I could see you alone,” Riker said behind her.
Where he’d come from, she didn’t know, and it didn’t matter.
“That was before I found out you’ve been lying. This isn’t fate and we’re not meant to be. You targeted me and I let myself fall for it.”
“I didn’t target you!”
“You did!” Ona’s shrill voice rang out and she took an abrupt turn around a corner and tugged open a colossal door. A sauna. No, it was a sparse yet luxurious room containing a pool filled with bubbly. Great—a champagne pool. Running inside, she reprimanded herself for not being wiser than this. And because she heard him still tight on her trail, she shouted, “I’m done with love. I’m done with liars!”
Riker secured her shoulders, turned her. “You lied, Ona.
You lied about your job. You weren’t real with me, either.”
“It’s not the same,” she protested. “You made me think we were the same. You had me believing we were friends and this was meant to be. Damn it, you had me thinking I was insane for loving you, but going with it anyway because my heart said it was right.”
“Bullshit. No one makes you do what you don’t want to do. You wanted to think we’re friends and you wanted to love me. I didn’t demand that from you.” His hands flexed on her shoulders and his glare made it impossible for her to blink. “Know what, now that it’s out there, I’m going to demand it. I want that from you.”
“You’re not getting anything more than what you’ve already gotten. Hope it was good for you.”
“It was,” he said severely. “It is good.”
Still clasping her with one hand, he brought them to the edge of the pool and plunged in. A wave of champagne splashed the floor and Ona’s dress, but before she could reel back, he hauled her into the pool with him. Her gown billowed. Millions of bubbles surfaced. She sputtered, pinching her nose to ease the stinging tickle of the champagne.
The pool smelled of celebration and recklessness. Swimming through the liquid, she met him with a retaliatory shove. “That was for my dress.” Another push, this time with both hands, and it brought him flush against one wall of the pool. “That was for my hair.”
“What else? There’s something else, right? Has to be.” Champagne dripped down the sides of his face. How many kisses would it take to get her drunk?
But this wasn’t about kisses or love. She had to make her body remember that. “You lied to me. Nothing I do will change that.”
“I did lie. You lied, too.”
“I pretended to not be a failure. I pretended to fit in with my peers. And I shouldn’t have pretended to be a seasoned event planner when I’m just starting out professionally, but that’s a beef between PAAC and me, and between the glee club and me. It has nothing to do with you.”
“Okay, Ona. Here are my crimes. Everything I told you about me and Boston and the marines and the bar back home is the truth. But I screwed up when I omitted that Kate Russ is my mother. I did that because of a business situation that’s between Kate and me, and I’ve been feeling terrible about it since that first day.” He stretched out his arms as though to taunt, “Take your next strike.”
“All those courtesies the whole cruise? Those weren’t courtesies, were they? They were compensation, right? Because you knew you’d end up having sex with me? That’s the way Cole put it.”
Riker swore. “Cole saw that he lost something he wanted to win, and he attacked. Guest Services wanted to keep you happy so you wouldn’t hop on some mission to prove the mistake wasn’t your fault.”
“When did you find out?”
“That first day, after you left Sirens’ Song.”
For six days he’d withheld the truth. “Letting me take the fall so you could protect your mama’s company? That’s despicable.”
“I wasn’t out to protect the company, Ona. I was getting what I need to start shutting things down, starting with this ship.”
She shook her head. “That’s not any better!” Swallowing, struggling to think past the thick webs of hurt, she said, “I want a direct answer. Did you, Riker, order any of those favors?”
“The ballroom,” he said. “And it wasn’t a trade-off for sex. It was something I figured would put a smile on your face. It did. You smiled and you had this look that said, ‘I’m freakin’ proud of myself.’ And it was so damn amazing to see you like that.”
“Except it was a lie. Everything about us is a lie.”
“What you just said was a lie,” he flung back at her. “There’s some truth between us. Find it, Ona, and tell me if that’s enough to get us through this. ’Cause now we are fighting, and I don’t wanna fight with you.”
Ona threw herself into his kiss, surrendering to a tearless sob as she pulled angrily at his shirtfront. The champagne made her clumsy, but she wouldn’t stop. When she got his shirt unbuttoned she went immediately to open his pants. With the other hand she gripped the back of his head.
“My body’s never lied to you, Ona. I’ve wanted you every day since I saw you on the other side of that glass tower.” His kiss was champagne-flavored and spiced with regret. “I didn’t know you before that. I wasn’t right before that.”
She watched desire seep into his silvery-blue irises as his flesh swelled in her fist—but it wasn’t enough. She needed more.
His hands found her breasts through her soaked gown, and his voice filled her ears with promises that were no doubt dirty and apologies that were no doubt sincere. But still she needed more.
Ona released his erection, turned and gripped the edge of the pool. She felt him drag her gown up to the pool’s surface, and when his legs nudged hers apart, she was hungry to have him inside her. She met his thrusts with harsh grinding, gasped in rhythm with his flesh entering and retreating as it built to an orgasm that shook his body and hers, too.
Stroking her spine, he slowed the pace but moved deeper into her. When he brought a hand around her hip to stimulate her, she yelled out a moan. Covering his hand with one of hers, she closed her eyes and breathed until she melted in the pool.
Sloshing champagne everywhere, they climbed up over the edge of the pool and he kissed her.
“I—I can’t,” she whispered. “It’s not enough. Sex isn’t enough.”
“And love? That ain’t enough, either?”
“No.” Hugging herself, Ona listened to his heavy footsteps leave the room.
* * *
“That is one big-assed basket.”
Carrying the basket with two arms, Ona bumped her fanny against the rental car’s door and prayed that the guy who’d spoken wasn’t waiting on the other side of the basket with a paring knife. Though artistically wrapped in cellophane, the basket was stuffed beyond capacity with gourmet meats, crackers, cheese spreads and chocolates. It was also wrapped with satin ribbons that fluttered in the spring wind and made it impossible for Ona to see anything directly in front of her.
It didn’t help that it was also after midnight. But when Ona had assured PAAC’s headmaster and special activities council that she would right away personally deliver the customary venue host thank-you gift, she’d intended to keep her word.
Right away meaning about five and a half hours later, which was how long Ona had spent chauffeuring a multi-thousand-dollar food basket from Philadelphia to Boston. Pint’s had a two o’clock closing time, so she wasn’t worried about arriving at a locked door.
What she was a tad—all right, a ton—worried about was both she and her academy’s basket being turned away at the doorway. When she’d stepped off The Lure in Miami, she hadn’t gone to New York. She’d made her way to Philadelphia and had met with the school to confess her deception and general stupidity.
But the school officials had enlightened her that Kate Russ of Stewart-Russ Cruise Line had beat her to the academy—and had assumed full responsibility for the scheduling error. Compensating the academy with a profanely generous donation and a discounted group stay on any one of her company’s ships, the woman had also illustrated a list of favorable reviews curiously posted by guests bearing the same initials as twenty of the people in PAAC’s glee club group.
Mollified, the academy hadn’t taken action against Ona for misrepresenting herself as a professional event planner.
“We aren’t in the habit of hiring amateurs to coordinate our events,” the headmaster had said in that frank growl that might intimidate most who hadn’t grown up in the sketchy parts of town. “Now that you are a paid professional, PAAC hopes you’ll consider joining the committee for the full class reunion this summer and working with us on a few other social functions. Think about it. Oh, and Ms. Tracy—
try to stay out of trouble.”
Riker Ewan wasn’t expecting her. She’d thought it best to not give him time to skip out of the bar or the city—not that she could fairly blame him for preferring to avoid her. She had been stubborn, deaf to his explanations and reasoning, and blind to the burn of love that bonded them, and she wouldn’t go away just because she figured it might be easier to never love again.
He’d tried for her—for them. She hadn’t. And now she was in his town because she’d been wrong before.
Love was enough. At least it was enough to compel her to hear him out and to try to see the situation from that of a position other than victim. When it came to love, Ona had always played the victim. It was time to retire that role.
“Where you towing that?” the guy in front of her asked, and Ona imagined how ridiculous she must look buckling under the bulky thing.
“Pint’s.”
“I know the place.”
“Know Riker Ewan?”
“Yeah, I do.” A big pair of calloused hands came around the sides of the basket and lifted away from Ona’s grip. Narrow brown eyes that reminded her of warm cocoa and a cozy fire greeted her. A sharp grin had the grizzled guy’s face cracking into dozens of fine wrinkles. “I’m his dad. Emory.”
“Oh! I—I’m Ona Tracy.”
Emory Ewan nodded, shifting his jaw from side to side. “Uh-huh.”
“I met Riker on a cruise.”
“Yeah, you did.” The man jerked his chin toward the brick building in front of them. “Riker doesn’t talk if he doesn’t wanna. He wanted to talk about you.”
Ona wasn’t sure if she should squeal or cringe. What she and Riker had done on The Lure wasn’t something you wrote about on a postcard...or discussed in barkeep chats with your father.
Emory escorted her into the bar, and Ona’s gaze bounced around the space. Muted lights, easy music, clean tables, mahogany bar, pool table, wooden stools. A mechanical bull wearing a tricorn hat and a sign that read You Are Out of Order.
A decent-sized flat-screen was mounted on a wall, but Diff’rent Strokes on the small tube television behind the bar drew her attention.
Blissful Summer: Make You Mine AgainUnraveled Page 18
