She wriggled uncomfortably, breaking Sara’s first rule about not tugging at the costume. “It’s a summer job,” she said with a trying-for-careless shrug.
“There are all kinds of summer jobs, like running the library reading program, that don’t require you to dress like that or to work in a casino.”
“Been there, done that,” she said flippantly. “Do you know how much the Queen pays its waitresses? Do you have any idea how that compares to what the library pays its summer reading coordinator? Besides—” she tugged again, then gave up, accepting Sara’s decree that the costume covered what it would cover and nothing more “—what’s wrong with the costume? The customers don’t seem to mind.”
They certainly didn’t. There’d been a time or two down there in the lounge when he’d been tempted to remove his coat and wrap it around her to shield her from a few of the more lascivious looks. Not that he had any right to be shielding her, other than the fact that he’d seen her first.
And how much did that count for? Other men had seen her first eight years ago. One in particular had had quite a prior claim to her, but it hadn’t made him keep his distance. Other than a brief twinge of conscience, it hadn’t slowed him down at all in his pursuit of her.
He blew out a stream of smoke and watched it hang in the heavy, humid air. “I’d ask how you’ve been, but your application and background check tell it all—mostly. You still live in Jubilee. You teach school just like Mama and Daddy wanted. And everyone damn near worships the ground you walk on.” Eight years ago he’d done a bit of worshiping of his own. For one long, sweet night, he’d worshiped at her body like an altar. He’d fulfilled her every fantasy, satisfied his own every desire, and then…
And then he’d never seen her again.
“And you’ve graduated from garage mechanic to security guard in a casino.”
“Assistant head of security.” He was much more than a lowly security guard. More than Mary Katherine had ever suspected, more than he’d ever had the chance to tell her. “What happened to Mr. Right?”
“Don’t call him—” She broke off abruptly and turned to face the river, her fingers curling tightly around the railing. Eight years, and the automatic defense of her fiancé—former fiancé?—still came.
Eight years, and he still remembered his automatic response. “If you don’t want jokes about Mr. Right, darlin’, then don’t get yourself engaged to a man named Wright.” Jonathan Winslow Wright, as smug and obnoxious as any well-bred young Southern man Chance had known. He’d never understood what she’d seen in Jonathan, but had understood entirely too well what Jonathan had seen in her.
“Jonathan is married and living in Jackson,” she said stiffly. “He’s a lawyer and doing quite well for himself.”
Chance leaned back against the railing, close enough to see her face, distant enough to avoid any unexpected punches. The heat from the day’s sun seeped through his coat and warmed him—or was that just the natural heat he’d always felt around her? “Naturally. Arrogant, condescending Southern lawyers tend to do quite well. But why isn’t he married to you?”
She opened her mouth as if to answer—such a polite young woman—then closed it again resolutely. After a moment she turned to face him. “Any chance that it’s time for you to pull another of your disappearing acts?”
He shook his head slowly from side to side.
“Of course not,” she murmured. “You only do that when someone’s counting on you.”
Guilt prickled the hairs on the back of his neck and made him swallow hard. Often in those eight years he’d fantasized about looking her up in Jubilee and telling her the truth about why he’d disappeared without so much as a goodbye. In his fantasies, she’d understood, forgave him completely and professed her undying love for him, and they’d ridden off into the future together. In reality, he’d thought he would find her happily married to Jonathan, raising children and living the perfect life, and more likely to call the cops on him than to listen to him.
Shaking off the thoughts, he asked the obvious question. “Any chance that you’ll change your mind about this job and go back to Jubilee where you belong?”
Just as slowly, just as definitely, she shook her head.
For a moment they simply looked at each other. Even with the heavy makeup and the showgirl costume, she looked amazing. Elegant. Classy. And he felt lucky to be breathing the same air. Some things never changed.
“Okay.” She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and exhaled loudly. “Okay. We’re adults. Whatever happened in the past is in the past. Over and done with. Forgotten. We’re capable of working in the same place for a few months. We’re certainly capable of running into each other from time to time and behaving appropriately, right?”
“You mean, now that you’ve got the urge to smack me out of your system?” he teased, rubbing his jaw again.
“It’s not out of my system,” she replied seriously. “Just under control. For the moment. So…you’ll do your job, and I’ll do mine, and we’ll never really have to see each other again except in passing, right?”
Chance just looked at her. Oh, lady, he wanted to say, you are so far from right that it’s not funny. Spend nine hours a day in the confines of the Queen and not see each other? Already, the old radar was working again. Already, his stomach was tied in knots from remembering, feeling, wanting again. But he didn’t tell her any of that. He let her convince herself and even played his part. “Right. Sure.”
“And when school starts again, I’ll be out of here, and everything will be okay, and—” Looking up, she smiled brightly, the same sort of sunny, barely-hiding-the-panic smile she’d given the evening’s first customer who’d gotten overly friendly. “And until then we can make this work, right?”
“Right.”
If his right sounded halfhearted and as phony as her smile, she gave no sign of it. “It’s time for me to get back to the lounge. My shoes—”
Pulling them from his pockets, he dangled them by thin straps and watched the sequins catch and reflect the light before she pulled them away. She sat in the nearest deck chair to put them on, then stood and swayed just a second. Then she smiled that smile again. “So…thanks for letting me know in private that you’re here. I’ll head back down to the lounge, and…I won’t be seeing you around.”
Chance watched her move, so graceful in spite of the pain the green-sequined torture devices were inflicting. He watched until she was out of sight, and even then he spoke in a voice too soft to carry more than a few feet. “Oh, you’ll be seeing me, angel. I’m not that strong.”
Turning to the rail once more, he flipped the cigar into the river, followed its glowing tip until the water extinguished it, then took a breath of warm, reasonably fresh air. The river scents of mud, decaying vegetation and lush growth filled his lungs but couldn’t overwhelm the delicate, subtle fragrance Mary Katherine had left behind. It had only taken him…oh, a year or two to get rid of the scent before. How long would it take this time?
“Was that the new girl?”
Chance had become aware of Ianucci’s presence just seconds before he spoke—soon enough that he wasn’t startled but instead turned slowly to look at his boss in the shadows. “One of them. Mary Katherine Monroe.” In the all-too-luscious flesh.
“How is she doing?”
“The usual complaints. The costume’s too skimpy. The shoes hurt her feet. You were right. The customers like her. Hell, I think some of them plan on taking up permanent residence in the lounge as long as she’s there.”
“She’s lovely,” Ianucci said dispassionately, in the same way he might remark that a cool spring day was lovely, or a newly acquired antique from Japan, or a sleek, fresh-off-the-assembly-line Ferrari. Nothing excited him much besides money and danger.
Chance didn’t give a damn about either of the above, but Mary Katherine… She’d excited him in a way no other woman ever had. Eight years ago he’d tried to kid himself that it was pure
ly sexual, that he’d been celibate too long, that any beautiful woman would have affected him the same. Back then he’d been too smart to believe his own lies, and he was even smarter now. It was her. There was something different about her, something special. Something…dangerous. And for that reason, along with all the others, he really was going to keep his distance from her.
Honest to God.
“Did her background check out?” Ianucci asked.
“So far. She’s never been arrested, never even had a parking ticket. She owns an old house in Jubilee, pays her bills on time, gives money to charity and invests twenty percent of her income in low-risk, low-yield mutual funds. She teaches seventh-grade English, does volunteer work and is a top contender for the title of Little Miss Perfect.”
“So what is she doing on the Queen?”
Chance shrugged. “She’s twenty-nine, beautiful and should be having the time of her life. Instead she’s living in Podunk, Mississippi, where high school football is the most exciting thing that ever happens. She spends her days trying to teach kids who don’t want to learn and her evenings sitting home correcting their lousy papers. For a change of pace, she spends her summers at the library trying to motivate kids who don’t want to read to read. If that were your life, wouldn’t you rather be on the Queen?”
“If that were my life,” Ianucci said dryly, “I’d shoot myself. So…do we give Sara the okay on her?”
“I see no reason not to.” Except for the fact that he wanted nothing more than to strip her naked and make love to her until neither of them could remember the reasons they shouldn’t.
Ianucci nodded, then walked to the railing. Chance joined him, watching the water curl away from the hull. Before long, the Queen would be putting into her berth in Natchez. Some customers would leave, and others would come aboard. Over the next four hours an obscene amount of money would change hands, and a few bold guests would strike deals with a few enterprising waitresses. They, at least, wouldn’t go home alone tonight.
He wondered how long it would be before someone tried to make such a deal with Mary Katherine.
He wondered what he would do if she tried to accept such a deal.
Ianucci broke his silence with the point of his visit. “Our friends from San Francisco are arriving in the morning. They’ll be dining aboard the Queen after our meeting. Can you be here by ten?”
“No problem.”
“Good.” His boss walked away as quietly as he’d come.
Chance leaned on the railing. Ianucci’s San Francisco friends were, of course, nothing of the sort. They were coming on business that involved great sums of money and, as a result, great risks. In addition to the Sig Sauer 9 mm tucked at the small of his back, he would need something more compact, easier to keep handy and out of sight at the same time. Ianucci didn’t go in for overt displays of firepower. A .22 in his coat pocket should be fine.
He stared into the water once more with one curious question on his mind. What would Mary Katherine think if she knew his job required carrying a gun?
And using it?
Chapter 2
Mary Katherine drowned out the beeping of the alarm clock by smothering it under the extra pillow, then slowly forced her eyes open. Lord, it hadn’t all been a bad dream. She really was living in a cheap Natchez motel and working on a gambling boat as a waitress with exhibitionist tendencies, and her body really was killing her.
And Chance Reynard really was back in her life. After eight years of hearing not one word from him, eight years of feeling like a fool, of loving him, hating him, wanting him, cursing him, he was back. With his dark blond hair and wicked green eyes, he was as handsome as ever, quite possibly sexier than ever, undoubtedly more lethal to her ego than ever.
A young woman was entitled to make a few mistakes in her life, Mary Katherine’s mother had always counseled her. Chance Reynard had been her first mistake. Telling Jonathan and the world about him had been the second. Not screaming and running the other way last night just might be her third. How many mistakes? she wanted to ask her mother. How many chances could she take—she groaned at the bad pun—and still survive?
She should follow his advice and go back to Jubilee where she belonged. But how could she tell Granddad his one opportunity to prove his innocence was blown because she’d run into an old flame? How could she tell anyone that her summer adventure—fabulous pay, decadent work hours and freedom from kids—had ended before it even started? Besides, who was Chance Reynard to tell her where she belonged? Hadn’t she listened to him once before, and hadn’t it cost her a broken heart? They were mature adults. They could handle this situation. He would stay out of her way, and she would most definitely stay out of his way, and they would both be happy.
Uh-huh.
She’d left the Queen shortly after three this morning, driven to the motel and fallen into bed, clothes dropped on the floor, makeup still on her face. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so tired. The last time she’d spent eight straight hours on her feet, and in heels, no less. The last time every single part of her body had radiated pain with the slightest movement.
And here it was barely eleven o’clock, and the clock wouldn’t stop its infernal beeping. Digging it out from under the pillow, she focused long enough to find the off button and pressed it, then dropped it to the floor. She desperately needed more sleep—eight, ten hours should do it—but Sara was on her way over to take her to look at an apartment she swore would be perfect, which this dingy room certainly wasn’t.
Sitting up, she groaned out loud. Every muscle protested, some viciously, but she didn’t stop the movement until she was on her poor, aching, abused feet. Maybe a shower and some aspirin would help—better yet, a weeklong, drug-induced coma. Or maybe she could go to work early and serve herself a few stiff drinks, or just throw herself in front of the first busload of tourists.
The aspirin helped a little, the shower a little more. By the time Sara knocked at the door, Mary Katherine was dressed in a sleeveless dress with a fitted bodice and a flared skirt, and she’d eased her feet into her most comfortable pair of shoes. She limped to the door, invited the woman in, then limped back to the sink to put on makeup and braid her hair.
Sara laughed. “Feeling a little sore today, are we? I’ve got just the cure for you. Eladio.”
“Who or what is Eladio?”
“He’s the boss’s masseuse—or is that masseur? Whatever. There’s a massage room off the gym on the Queen, and whenever Eladio’s not working on Mr. Ianucci, he’s available to the rest of the crew.”
Mary Katherine met her gaze in the mirror. “The Queen has a gym? And a masseur?”
“Sure. Mostly the bodyguards use the gym, but any crew member can. Some of the girls do, trying to look better in their costumes.”
Mary Katherine felt sluggish, as if the lack of sleep had dulled her brain. “Bodyguards?”
“You know, security.”
There was a big difference between bodyguards and security guards, Mary Katherine wanted to point out. Innocuous places like schools and shopping malls had security guards, but only the wealthy, famous, powerful or dangerous required bodyguards. Exactly which did the Queen employ?
Seeing the opportunity to fish for information, she injected a casual tone into her voice as she fastened her earrings. “I met one of the security guys last night on my break. His name was Chance Reynard.” Not that she was curious about him, or cared at all about his life in the years since he’d left her. But forewarned was forearmed, her mother always said. Know your enemy, Jonathan had long preached.
“O-oh, wouldn’t you just like to take him home with you? He’s incredible. Oh, and, hon, he’s not just one of the guys. Chance is assistant head of security. He’s not quite Mr. Ianucci’s right-hand man, but he’s close.”
Mary Katherine kept her gaze to herself as she recalled the lazy, sexy, tantalizing way he’d looked her over when he’d made the comment about being alive and well.
There’d been a time when she was foolish enough, naive enough, to think that he saved those looks for her, but she was older now, and wiser. No doubt, he turned the same charm on every woman he came across—and no doubt, with often the same results.
“But,” Sara went on with a melodramatic sigh, “guys like him never look twice at girls like me.”
Her, either, Mary Katherine acknowledged, with the obvious exception. Living down the twin scandals of her infidelity and breaking off her engagement had required a lifestyle that was above reproach. By the time she’d finally gotten over that and the heartache, and decided it was safe to have a man in her life again, she’d acquired a reputation for being so proper that the only attention she’d attracted had come from the serious types like Dennis Mills, the principal at her school, not the handsome bad boys.
Not that Dennis wasn’t perfectly nice. He was smart, liked his job and was good at it. Everyone in Jubilee knew he was in line to be the next principal of Jubilee High, and would probably go on to head the school board someday. It didn’t matter one bit that he had a receding hairline, an expanding waistline, a poor sense of humor and no sense of adventure.
But it did matter that he’d never, not once, looked at her the way Chance had. It mattered a lot that she’d never, not once, considered risking anything, much less everything, to be with him.
“I take it Chance isn’t married.”
“Oh, no. He’s available, if you’re interested.”
“I’m not interested.”
Sara’s snort was most inelegant. “Oh, come on. You’re breathing, aren’t you?”
Who Do You Love? Page 12
