by Sarah Ready
“No,” I say. I cross my arms and stare at the huuuge yacht.
“Yeah. That moment.” She grins at me and bats her eyelashes.
“Please, stop. Don’t be the BBC made-for-television version of yourself,” I say.
Her eyes widen and then she starts to laugh. “You watched it. You watched it! Nick O’Shea, Mr. ‘I don’t watch romance movies’, saw Pride and Prejudice. This is amazing.”
I glower as she does a little dance and fake boxes me.
“The more cynical they are, the harder they fall,” she says.
I lift an eyebrow, a skill she always envied. “Not at all. I’m only trying to warn you.”
“Oh, really?”
“Sure. This guy clearly has a major inferiority complex. He’s making up for something.”
She laughs. “Yeah right. You’re just jealous of my soul mate’s big yacht.”
“Poor, deluded Chloe,” I say.
“Poor, cynical Nick,” she purrs.
I hold back a smile and nod toward the tender boat. “Come on,” I say.
We take a quick ride out to the yacht. As we pull up, Chloe turns to me and I lean forward at the concern on her face.
“What is it?” I ask. I’ll fix it if I can.
She pauses, then, “Please don’t ruin this.”
I step back, stunned. Is that what she thinks of me? I realize I’m clenching my jaw, so I relax and put on a smooth mask.
I don’t say anything more because we’re at Matt Smith’s yacht—The Hairless Jewel.
I’ve never been on a yacht before, and if this one is typical, then I’ve been missing out. We step onto an expansive wood-floored deck, the bottom of three levels. There’s two curving staircases with brass railings leading to the upper levels, plush white lounge chairs, umbrellas, a large circular hot tub, and…a sunburned man in a yellow speedo with thin legs and round knobby knees.
“Ahoy,” he says. He waves at us and jumps up from his chair. He laughs and his banana hammock jiggles.
I knew it. There was no way a guy could own a yacht like this and be good looking.
“Inferiority complex,” I say to Chloe.
She shushes me and smooths down her dress.
“Matt?” she asks.
“Ha. That’s funny. No, I’m Carl. Cap’n Matt’s just there.”
He points behind him and we look to where he gestures. Chloe draws in a sharp breath.
You’ve gotta be kidding me.
A tanned man in a pink polo shirt, khakis and boat shoes walks toward us. I’m pretty sure music on the sound system starts up at his entrance. He’s lady killer good looking. As he steps on the deck, the wind ruffles his hair and Chloe sighs.
Matt Smith smiles and Chloe tilts her head and sends a hundred watt smile back.
Matt Smith stutter-steps and then walks toward her with even more purpose. I fold my hands over my chest and glower.
“Matt Smith?” she asks in a hopeful voice.
He grins, and I note that he has the whitest teeth I’ve ever seen. “Why yes. Yes I am. And who may I have the pleasure of meeting? On my yacht’s maiden voyage no less.”
Chloe gives a small sweet giggle. I scowl harder and try to loom. I don’t like this guy. And the more Chloe seems to like him, the less I do.
Number One takes her hand in his and presses a kiss to the back. I clench my jaw as he lingers and lingers. Chloe’s cheeks flame red.
“He’s not the one,” I say. “Let’s go.”
She pulls her hand from Matt’s and turns to glare.
“Stop it,” she hisses.
She turns back to Number One, “I’m Chloe Daniels. I’m looking for my soul mate.”
I want to slap my hand to my head. We really need to work on her delivery. But Matt Smith eats it up. He takes her arm and starts walking with her deeper into the yacht.
“Tell me more,” he says. “I’m in favor of mates. Is there a test I can perform? To display my suitability?”
Whoa. “Not a chance,” I say. I come up next to Chloe. She subtly kicks me with her heel. I sidestep her.
“Who’s that?” asks Number One. He looks me up and down and then stands taller and wider.
“Oh, he’s my—”
“Bodyguard,” I say. I widen my stance too. I’ve got a good five inches on the guy.
Matt Smith takes this in. I send him a warning look. Apparently, I’m not frightening in jeans and an old The Strokes T-shirt from my garage band days.
Matt turns away and leads Chloe toward the interior of the yacht. We step onto lush white carpet and it sinks under my feet. The room has a high ceiling and wood paneled walls. There’s plush white couches and chairs with fancy pillows, low wood tables, ottomans, pillows and tropical plants. At the far end is a white grand piano and a wood paneled bar with leather bar stools. Matt steers Chloe towards the bar.
“I’m hosting the Northeast Sphynx enthusiast annual gathering. The Sphynx are my life. I love them,” says Matt Smith.
Chloe smiles up at him. “Lucky Sphynx.”
Number One studies her and smiles approvingly.
“Do you know much about the breed?” he asks. Then he turns my way. “Your security can relax in the seating area.” He waves at the couches. There are about a dozen high-society types dressed in resort wear and diamonds sipping martinis and talking in low voices.
Matt Number One gestures to a low couch that’s unoccupied except for some animal that looks like a scrawny plucked chicken with a huge sparkling diamond collar.
“There’s Cauliflower, my pride and joy,” he says.
“Oh no. She’s lost all her fur. The poor creature,” says Chloe.
“Au contraire,” says Matt. He leans closer and says in a low voice, “The breed goes au naturel. All the better to see them in their naked glory.”
“Oh,” says Chloe, although it comes out more like a squeak.
I don’t hear Matt’s response. He leads Chloe toward the bar. I sigh and sit on the couch, sinking into the plush fabric. I give this excursion about five minutes before Chloe realizes Number One isn’t her soul mate. He’s not right for her. She doesn’t care about money, she needs a man to love her wholeheartedly. This guy’s too wrapped up in his cats to give her the love she deserves.
The cat, Cauliflower, stands and performs a long stretch while it kneads its claws into the couch fabric. Its large ears are perked toward me and it stares at me with disconcerting blue eyes. It slowly picks its way across the couch toward me.
“What do you want?” I ask. I narrow my eyes at the cat.
It looks me up and down and then strolls the rest of the way across the couch. I look around the room. No one’s paying me any attention. They’re all engrossed in martinis and conversation. Chloe’s at the bar with Matt. Cauliflower the cat puts its paws on my pants and looks up.
“What?” I ask. I’m not quite sure what it wants.
It keeps staring.
I shake my head. Okaaay. I reach out and scratch it under the chin.
“Meeeow rawr,” it says. It sounds like an engine revving before a race. Then Cauliflower starts to purr and I swear she smiles at me.
Well, I’ll be darned.
She kneads her paws into my pants and looks up. I’m no dummy, I get the cue. I scratch her under her chin a second time.
“Meeeow rawr,” she says.
I think she likes me.
After she’s done purring and kneading, she settles back and looks at me again. I get the pattern. I smile and scratch her under her chin. I guess cats aren’t as bad as I always thought.
I pause for the meeeow rawr. Instead, Cauliflower vomits.
She pukes a golf ball-sized hairball all over my crotch.
“Gaaa,” I say. I look at the hairball and then at Cauliflower.
“Meeeow rawr.”
I jump up and swat at the wet slimy clump. “Are you kidding me?” I ask the cat. It looks like I peed my pants. I glance around the room. Nobody’s looking m
y way. I cover the front of my pants with my hands and quickly walk out of the bar area back to the pool deck.
Carl is still lounging in his chair.
“Do you know where the bathroom is?” I ask.
“Door on the left,” he says. “Looks like you got a little excited in there. Happens to the best of us.”
I slink into the bathroom and splash water on my pants then scrub them down with the luxurious white hand towel. It still looks like I wet myself, but at least it doesn’t smell anymore. It’ll have to do.
I walk back into the posh bar room and sit on my couch. I check and see that Chloe’s still at the bar chatting with Matt. Cauliflower meows and starts to prance toward me.
“No. Shoo,” I say.
She jumps at the wet spot on my crotch and nuzzles her head into my pants.
“Off.”
She holds on and claws at my pants.
“Off,” I say.
Finally I manage to extract myself. It looks like Cauliflower reallllly wants in my lap, so I decide to head over and see how Chloe’s getting on.
Matt’s behind the counter of the bar looking through the refrigerated wine cabinets.
I come up behind Chloe and lean in close. I can smell her, that unique fresh-baked cookies mixed with watercolor paint that used to drive me wild. I move closer. “How’s it going?” I say quietly.
“Eek.” She jumps back into me. Her back hits hard against my front and I grab her waist and steady her.
“You startled me,” she says.
Then she notices that she’s plastered against me. Her backside to my front. We’ve not been this close in years. I can feel her curves pressing into me and the warm heat where we’re connected. I clear my throat and try to move back.
“Sorry,” I say.
The fabric of her dress tugs, but we don’t come apart. There’s something there, holding us together.
“Back up,” she whispers.
I try again. I pull, her fabric tugs, and then we bounce back together.
“I can’t.”
She groans and wiggles her butt against me. I breathe heavily and clench my jaw. She rubs her backside back and forth. “Stop,” I say. I grit my teeth. “Stop moving.”
Matt pops back up with a triumphant grin and a bottle of champagne in his hands. His smile fades when he sees me. “Ah, hello,” he says. “I was just retrieving a little bubbly. We were going to toast mates.”
He looks at me as if this is my cue to leave.
“Ahh,” I say slowly. “Aha.”
“Wonderful, isn’t it,” says Chloe. She tries to pull away again, but just manages to wedge me closer against her.
Matt eyes me, looming over Chloe. She looks at her fingernails and hums. I yawn and look around the room.
“Do you need something?” asks Matt.
“Oh, he’s joining us,” says Chloe. She nods her head quickly.
Matt casts me a skeptical glance then pulls another glass down. “Very well.” He sighs. “I was just describing to Chloe the act of feline mating.”
“Aha,” I say.
Matt holds the champagne bottle in his hands and runs his fingers down the neck of the bottle in a slow gesture. I take the opportunity to yank back. No go. Chloe rebounds into me. I grab her hips and stabilize her.
She squeaks and Matt looks up. Chloe fans herself. “Do go on. Please.”
There’s something holding us together. I just need to reach down between us and feel it. But how to squeeze my hand between my front and Chloe’s backside?
“As I was saying, the male cat,” says Matt, “seeks his female.” He sends Chloe a meaningful look. “She’s in heat and searching for her mate. Her scent drives him insane.” Matt eyes Chloe’s chest and runs his hands down over rim of the bottle.
I try to move my hand over her back, but Chloe kicks at me.
“The males will fight over the right to mount her,” says Matt. He levels a look my way.
“Oh. Hmmm,” says Chloe. “So, did you go to summer camp in Upstate New York?” Her voice is high and she wiggles her backside again. Too. Much. Rubbing.
“Stop,” I hiss.
I finally feel the tiny space between us. There’s a sharp pokey object with metal teeth stuck in the fabric of my pants and her dress. I try to tug at it, but it’s not coming free.
“When the male mounts his female, he takes her from behind,” says Matt. He pulls the metal wire from the cork.
“It was called Pine Hill,” says Chloe in a desperate voice.
I try rotating my hips and shifting the fabric of my pants. The thing’s not coming loose, but unfortunately, all this friction has caused something else to come up.
Not.
My.
Fault.
Chloe stiffens. “Are you kidding me?” she whispers.
“Not at all,” says Matt. “The male cat has barbs on his penis. Upon copulation, the barbs sink into the female’s vagina and keep the male stuck inside her until—”
I tug again.
“It was twenty years ago,” says Chloe. “At Pine Hill Summer Camp.”
I yank at the fabric, trying to break free of Chloe’s backside.
“Can’t get loose,” I whisper.
“Exactly,” says Matt. “The penis can’t detach. Not until…”
Matt comes out from behind the bar to stand next to us. He forces the champagne cork from the bottle. It pops and I yank as hard as I can.
The champagne fizz rushes from the bottle head and spills over the rim. There’s a loud rending of fabric as the back of Chloe’s dress tears wide open. My arms pinwheel as I fall backwards. Chloe crashes into Matt. The bottle of champagne flies into the air and sprays bubbly liquid everywhere.
The entire back of Chloe’s dress is open and she flashes her pink lace panties. She’s on the ground and Matt is under her. Holy. Crap.
The room is silent.
No one dares to move.
Then Cauliflower hops onto the bar. “Meeeow rawr,” she says. She begins to lick up the champagne.
From beneath Chloe, Matt Number One points at my wet pants. “Jewel thief,” he sputters. “You’re a jewel thief.”
I gesture down at my wet crotch. “My jewels?”
Chloe rolls off Matt and clasps the back of her dress closed.
Matt jumps up. “You sicko. You’re wearing my Cauliflower’s jewels on your…your…”
I look down. Sure enough. Cauliflower’s diamond collar is stuck to my zipper. So that’s what was holding Chloe and I together.
Matt Number One yells louder and I notice the crowd of martini-drinking cat enthusiasts closing in. Not good.
Chloe is red faced and trying desperately to keep the back of her dress closed. I need to help her. But first I need to get this collar off.
“I’ll have you arrested,” says Matt.
I yank at it. The darned thing won’t come off.
“Wait,” says Chloe. I look up when I hear the panic in her voice. “Why are we moving?” I look back toward the pool deck. The shore is a good hundred yards away.
“You’ll rot in prison,” says Matt.
I tug again. I can’t get the flipping thing off.
“It’s a misunderstanding,” I say. One thing I can guarantee, I’m not going to prison, not today and not tomorrow.
“Were you or weren’t you at Pine Hill Summer Camp?” asks Chloe.
“I’ll see you in court,” Matt yells.
“Did you go to Pine Hill Summer Camp or not?” says Chloe.
“Not,” says Matt.
Chloe looks stunned.
“Where are we going?” I ask. The shore is getting farther and farther away.
“Out to sea,” says Matt Number One, “And then to prison.”
Chloe and I look at each other.
“We’ve got to get off this boat,” she says. “We’ve really got to get off this boat.”
Uh. Yeah. We’re not going to prison. Not for Matt Smith, we’re not.
<
br /> There’s a wild spark in her eyes. The one that means she’s determined to get what she’s after and nothing’s going to stop her. I used to love that spark.
“You coming?” she asks.
“First, let me detach,” I say.
I drop my pants, leaving them and the jewels to Matt Number One. Then Chloe and I sprint to the brass railing on the deck. She climbs the railing and executes a perfect swan dive. Her head pops up as she treads water. The lunatic is grinning at me.
“Come on,” she says.
I take one last look at Matt Smith chasing me down and leap into the water.
8
Chloe
* * *
Five days left…
* * *
It’s two in the morning and Nick and I are just past Cleveland at a roadside motel. After swimming back to shore in the choppiest, fishiest water I’ve ever been in, we raced to the car. Then we grabbed our suitcases and took turns changing into dry clothes in the backseat. After that we hit up a gas station for wet wipes and new cell phones. Because, yes, swimming three hundred meters in salt water will ruin a cell phone. Luckily, credit cards are waterproof. We grabbed the cheap pay-by-the-minute phones and I thanked god that I had my parents’, Aunt Erma’s and Veronica’s phone numbers memorized. I spent the blur of the next five hundred miles becoming even more determined to find my Matt Smith. Sure, the first try was a disaster. But there are five more to go and I have six days, well, five, left to find my soul mate.
There’s nothing like watching the miles fly in a rumbly old Dodge Charger to get a person motivated. I have to admit, the way Nick sets his jaw and says we have five hundred miles to cover before we can rest makes me excited to take this trip with him. I never appreciated his discipline and his drive before today. Was it the military or was it always there? He laid out our stops and our timetable like he was planning a campaign. So, I watched the road, enjoyed the powerful car beneath me, and tried to ignore Nick as he sent glances my way and stroked his hands over the steering wheel. His fingers would run over the leather and I’d clench my legs together. He’d look at me while pretending not to look at me, then he’d move his hand to the shifter and gently circle his middle finger around the nub at the top. Gah.
