by Beth Ciotta
“Between the eyes.”
I blinked.
He shook his head, sighed. “Christ, you’re easy.”
“I prefer the term trusting or naive.” Was he trying to rile me? “Don’t look so disgusted. There are worse things in this world.”
“Not if it costs you your pride or your savings, or worse, your life.”
“Are you talking about the vicious shark, the man who preys on gullible seniors?”
“He doesn’t stop there, Sunshine.”
My pulse skipped. “What do you mean? What did he do?”
“Never mind.” He powdered the underside of each appliance, to absorb or reduce moisture I assumed, and returned them to a special case. Then he scrubbed his face with soap and water. The longer his silence, the shorter my patience. I wanted him to trust me, to enlist my help in making the world a better place.
“What’s it going to take to convince you that I’m not a…a Twinkie?” I snapped my fingers. The wallet! I whirled and raced into the bedroom. Plucked the brown leather billfold from my Lucy tote, swiveled back around and knocked into the shirtless bad boy.
He grasped my shoulders and steadied me.
“This,” I said, waving the evidence of my deceptive behavior beneath his nose, “proves that I am not a crème puff.”
Grinning, he nabbed the goods. “And this would be?”
“Lucas’s wallet.”
The grin slipped. “Where’d you get it?”
“Out of his back pocket.”
“You pinched his wallet?”
“No. That would be stealing. I have every intention of returning it with its contents intact. I just…borrowed it.”
His brow furrowed. “Why?”
I rolled my eyes. “Because maybe there’s something in there to confirm or negate his little fish status. Because he probably keeps his Fiesta card in there, which means we can search his room while he’s ashore.”
“Where did you learn how to pick pockets?”
I frowned. “You make it sound criminal.”
“It is.”
“No, it’s not. It’s hoodwinking. You know. Calculated deception. The Misdirection—distraction. The Dip—dipping into the pocket, taking the wallet. A little sleight of hand to hide it, in this case, in my Lucy tote.” I shrugged. “All it takes is practice.”
“Plus steady nerves and bang-on timing.” He stared at me as if I had two heads. “Who taught you?”
“Someone in the biz,” I said, tossing his own words back at him. “A magician friend,” I added when a muscle jumped under his left eye. Jeez, had I finally managed to piss him off? “His regular assistant had to take a maternity break and I filled in for a few weeks. Lifting an item from an audience member was part of the act. Took me a while to get the technique down. Since I haven’t done it in a while I assumed I’d lost my touch. Guess not.”
I grinned for a millisecond before losing my patience and huffing a breath. “Why are you looking at me that way? It’s not like you’re Mr. Clean. You forged my passport. So I borrowed a wallet! I thought you’d be happy or impressed, not annoyed. It’s for the greater good, for goodness’ sake. Say something, dammit!”
“Bollocks.”
He tossed the wallet on the table and yanked me into his arms. Suddenly, I was crushed against a wall of half-naked bad boy. He smothered my gasp with his mouth, blew my mind with his tongue.
I didn’t protest, hell, no. That would require coherent thought and speech. He’d robbed me of both. I flung my arms around his neck, pressed closer, kissed deeper. I wanted this. I wanted more. I ground my pelvis against him to let him know I was game. Given our height difference, it was my lower stomach that endured the sweet, torturous pressure of his hard-on. Apparently criminal behavior was a turn-on for this man. I filed away the knowledge while smoothing my hands down his muscular back. I grabbed his stellar butt and bemoaned the fact he was still wearing pants.
Whatever Midwestern inhibitions I harbored vanished when his hands slipped beneath my T-shirt and splayed across my bare skin. His fingers skimmed and unhooked my bra strap and—tingle, zing, zap—I was his for the taking. Lest he miss the take me, take me now vibes I radiated, I gave him a more concrete go. I unbuckled his belt and fumbled with his fly, trembling with an exhilarating dose of anticipation.
I whimpered when he broke our hot, wet kiss. Mentally cheered when he tugged my shirt over my head, simultaneously ridding me of my bra. I stood before him topless and aroused, and loving the hungry look in his eyes as his gaze swept over my small, but perky breasts.
“I dinnae do relationships, Sunshine.”
I took that as a If you want me to stop, speak now. “How convenient,” I croaked, his heavy accent raging through me like an injected aphrodisiac. “I don’t want one.” Not with you, I thought as I boldly dipped my hands into his white briefs. You’re a heartbreaker. He was also hard and huge and I couldn’t believe I was actually caressing JT.
He groaned—Arch, not John Thomas—when I stroked his impressive length.
“Payback,” I said, reflecting on last night. Since he’d taken liberties, I figured I was entitled to a little groping myself. Only he had something different in mind. In a flash, I was flat on my back—the bed beneath me, Arch above, kicking off his pants while peeling away my capris.
“I’ve wanted you naked from the moment you tripped though the airport’s revolving doors.”
His blunt admission struck me dizzy. I felt desired, and emotional. A warning bell gonged in my head causing me to go rigid when he pressed his magnificent body against mine and kissed my neck.
“I haven’t done this in a while,” I whispered, my nipples pebbling when he nipped and sucked my earlobe. “In fact, it’s been aeons since I’ve done it with anyone but—”
“I’ll take it slow, yeah?”
“No.” The tenderness in his voice undid me. “I don’t want slow. I don’t want intimate.” That would summon affection and compromise my fragile heart. “I just want—”
“Sex.”
He flipped me onto my stomach and straddled me. I felt the weight of his erection on the small of my back as he skimmed his fingers over my shoulders and back, featherlight. I shivered and moaned. Delicious sensations rolled through me as he shifted his weight and swept his hands over the swell of my backside, his fingers probing and stroking the wetness between my thighs. Yes.
My feverish brain flashed on the image of us, of me in bed with a seriously hunky bad boy. Having sex. With a spy…or something. With a man I barely knew. I felt naughty and sensual and desperate to feel him inside of me, filling me. “Do it,” I whispered as want and need assaulted my sexually deprived body.
His arm slipped beneath my stomach and lifted me onto my knees. I knew what was coming. I think I might have begged for it. I couldn’t be sure. My mind was mush. I choked out my last coherent word. “Condom.”
“Done.”
When? I wondered, then he slid into me and my mind exploded with vibrant fireworks and a string of dirty words. A couple may have slipped out. That or Arch was a mind reader. He rode me hard, one hand on my hip, one on my shoulder, holding me captive as he made love—no—boinked me blind.
Oh. My. Gaaaawd.
Decadent shock waves pounded my writhing body, pulled me under into dark erotic waters as his granite-hard shaft filled me to the hilt. As his hands stroked and kneaded, as his fingers skimmed and pinched. He slammed into me deep and hard, and yet I cried, “More!”
I glanced back, caught a glimpse of that rugged face and tribal tattoo. Every muscle in my body quivered. My stomach coiled into a tight knot and my lungs seized.
“Easy,” he soothed in a tight voice and I realized I was moving against him, frantic. Frantic for release. The climax started from deep within and fanned its way through my body, zapping nerves I’d thought long severed.
“Coming,” I managed in a strained whisper. Overpowered by a glorious wave of ecstasy, I cried out, my body trembl
ing beneath Arch.
I felt his heated torso against my slick back, his warm breath against my neck. “I’m with you, lass.”
Together we crested, shuddered. He bit and kissed my shoulder and, after an erotic, mumbled curse, fell to his side and pulled me into a spooning position. My pliant body curved into him as I struggled for an even breath and a clear thought. I didn’t know what to say, what to do. I certainly wasn’t going to admit I was a stranger to sweaty casual sex. I tried to relax against him, to enjoy the delicious satiation. You can do worldly, I told myself. If all else fails, channel Sugar.
Arch smoothed his palm over my shoulder and down my arm. My already thumping heart thumped harder when he interlaced his fingers with mine. “Evie?”
“Hmm?” I didn’t turn. Somehow I’d managed not to make eye contact throughout the entire scene. It made the coupling less personal. Since a relationship was out of the question, I needed the emotional distance. Part of me wished he wasn’t so touchy-feely in the aftermath. That he’d roll away and go out on the balcony for a smoke.
Instead, he cuddled and held my hand.
“Was I too rough?”
“You were perfect.” Sex, just, sex. That’s all I want. Okay. That’s a lie, but it’s how it had to be.
“That was—”
“If you say a mistake, I’ll have to hurt you.”
He smiled against my neck. “I was going to say bloody amazing, yeah?”
“Oh.” Since I was facing away, I grinned like an idiot. I’d satisfied a bad boy. Woo-hoo! “Yes, it was very nice.”
“Nice?” He chuckled. “You’re full of surprises today, Sunshine.”
I wasn’t sure if he was referring to the hot sex or hot wallet, but the observation caused me to stir.
“Where are you going?” He tightened his grip, anchored me to the bed.
I shifted and made eye contact, willed my heart and mind steady. “We need to act before Lucas returns. Surely it won’t take long for him to discover that his wallet is missing.” My eyes widened with a fresh thought. “I was hoping he’d think he left it in his room, but what if he assumes it was stolen? What if he goes to the island police or ship’s security?”
He smoothed my hair from my face. “Dinnae worry. I’ll take care of it.” He kissed my forehead. “You stay here.”
“But I want to help.”
“You already did.” He flipped through the wallet. “No key card. So much for a quick and easy entrance. I’ll have to track down his room number and charm my way into his cabin.”
Via a pretty, impressionable housekeeper? I raised a brow. “Or you could just break in. I’m betting you know how.”
“But it wouldn’t be as much fun.”
“Fun, huh?”
He squeezed my hand then rolled away and out of bed.
Chilled and self-conscious, I pulled the quilted spread over my exposed body while openly admiring his naked form. The man was built. “Don’t you think it’ll look a little suspicious if Charles Dupont is seen roaming the halls of the crew’s quarters?”
“I’m not going as Charles Dupont.” He pulled a white outfit from a garment bag in the closet and disappeared into the bathroom.
I glanced at the digital clock, amazed that so little time had passed since we’d hit the sheets. Then again, I had asked for a fast and furious coupling. I didn’t regret it. It had been exhilarating. Purely physical. Exactly what I hungered for, though I knew satisfaction would be fleeting. Dallying with Arch was like dining on Chinese food. In an hour, I’d want more.
He exited the bathroom dressed in a white uniform and my stomach fluttered with a familiar craving. An hour? Try five minutes.
I realized that he was dressed as a crew member, but with a little bit of imagination—and I had a boatload—he looked like a naval officer. An Italian naval officer, if there was such a thing. The fake moustache looked like the real deal. Sexy. He’d slicked his hair back with a colored gel, darkening his natural brown hair to black. His eyes were no longer green, but a dark chocolate brown. Dreamy.
“Contact lenses?” I asked, impressed and turned-on by his new swarthy look.
He winked and pocketed the wallet. “I willnae be longer than necessary.”
I clutched the blanket to my chest and sat upright. “What should I do while you’re gone?”
“Rest up.”
My body hummed with anticipation. My lip quirked. “What for?”
“Karaoke.”
I blinked.
“Since we didnae go ashore, we can attend the karaoke party. Gavin will be there along with several other possibilities. We need to continue with our ruse, Sunshine. Lucas may or may not be the little fish. We willnae know for sure until whoever it is offers us—”
“A chance of a lifetime.”
“Aye.” He paused at the door. “Are you going to be all right with what just happened?”
Ooh, boy. Bad boy was back to business. Now was the time to dredge up my worldly facade. “Are you referring to the meaningless sex and the understanding that it won’t lead anywhere?” I shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
He angled his head and studied me with those new dark eyes. “Because, aside from Stone, I’m the only man you’ve shagged in, how many years?”
“We were married for fifteen years. Hooked up two years before that.”
He whistled low.
“Don’t get a swelled head,” I said, needing to trivialize the relevance of…shagging a man I barely knew. “You just happened to be in the right place at the wrong time.”
“You mean the right time.”
“No, I don’t.”
He smoothed his fingers over that moustache, a grin tugging at his mouth. “Your ability to recall my exact words is a bit disturbing, yeah?”
“It’s a gift. Unlike lifting wallets, no practice necessary. I was born with a scary-good memory.”
“Possess any other skills I should know aboot?”
I grinned, stretched. “Does being unbelievably flexible count?”
“And here I thought you were a nice girl.”
“That would be the old me.”
“Huh. Should I be nervous?” he asked while exiting the cabin.
Sensing I’d unbalanced the unflappable man, my grin turned evil. “Absolutely.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
SEVERAL HOURS LATER, dressed as Mr. and Mrs. Charles Dupont, Arch and I made our way toward the Don Juan Lounge. “You’re absolutely positive that there wasn’t anything in his wallet or room to suggest he might be…fishy?”
Even though I’d asked in a whisper-soft voice, Arch still hushed me. “For the fiftieth time, I’m sure. Let it go, yeah?”
I’d been trying. I just hated to think that I’d borrowed a man’s wallet and put us at risk for nothing. Arch hadn’t complained, but somehow I felt as though I’d botched my first attempt at duping the bad guys. I huffed an exasperated sigh as we passed the Fiesta Theater. “Well, even though I missed San Juan, at least I didn’t have to experience it with Carol Parker.”
“Friendly gesture, yeah?”
No. “Our last shopping endeavor proved disastrous.”
He blinked. “What shopping endeavor?”
“Yesterday. In the gift shop. I ran into her at the counter. If it wasn’t for her, I never would have bought that jasmine perfume. I mean, it had to be coincidence, bad timing, rotten luck, but…” I glanced up and caught him frowning. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“It was a coincidence, right?”
“What else?”
“You tell me.”
“Nothing to tell.”
Hard to believe we’d gotten naked and sweaty only a few hours before. We were back to square one. Me, clueless. Him, secretive. Ugh. “She’s shifty if you ask me. Not that you did. I’m just saying.”
“Do me a favor, love,” he said, affecting Charles’s accent as he escorted me into the lively lounge. “Don’t ruffle Carol’s feathers.”
I started to ask why but was distracted by the loud music and party atmosphere. My gaze swept across the room, taking it all in. A swarm of crazed butterflies attacked my stomach.
“You all right, love?”
“Peachy keen,” I answered in Sugar’s high-pitched voice.
It wasn’t a lie, precisely. I’m a professional. A veteran. I’ve performed in countless capacities on countless stages in countless venues. I know the joy of thunderous applause and the agony of chirping crickets. I’ve survived auditions, rejections, accolades, insults, catty women, grabby men, competitive artists, loud drunks, affectionate drunks, lewd drunks and drunks who puked on the dance floor. Due to booze, not my performance.
I’ve seen it all, experienced it all. Yet eyeing the room, my stomach knotted, my mouth dried, my pulse skipped. It wasn’t the posh setting that intimidated me. Don Juan’s was an upscale lounge, but no more so than any of the casino lounges I’ve played. Nor was I put off by the stage. A DJ had set up his gear stage right. A lone mike stand stood center stage cradling a wireless Shure 58. Audio monitors and a TV monitor were positioned down front. Standard equipment. Familiar ground.
Since bean counters long ago scaled back on budget and the use of live drummers—don’t ask—I’m used to singing with smaller groups, which almost always means using sequenced tracks. So, it wasn’t the thought of singing along to inflexible karaoke CDs that had me shaking in my four-inch, metallic, pointy-toed pumps.
It was the thought of performing in front of Arch.
Sure, he’d heard me noodle around with a verse of “Conga” and “Fever.” But this was different. The pressure to impress was enormous. I seriously wanted to turn tail, find a secluded corner and a bag of oatmeal raisin cookies.
Good thing I was Sugar, not me. Sugar bopped into the lounge ready to boogie.
Arch, who’d transformed back into Charles, and who’d declared his ankle now strong enough to forgo the wheelchair, limped toward a vacant table with the use of his cane. I bobbled alongside him, my spiky heels sliding over the marbled foyer then sinking into plush carpet.
“Boogie Oogie Oogie” pulsed through the speakers suspended from the ceiling. Several dancers had already taken to the floor, including Martha and her young friend. “I’m surprised at how crowded it is considering what Gavin said about slow nights in port.” It didn’t look slow to me, although maybe he’d been speaking specifically about participation in karaoke.
