Going Overboard

by Christina Skye

  “I think so. I found someone who photographs amazingly well.”

  “Then go get him. I'll double the figure I quoted you this morning, just so we can get something on film. You've got until tomorrow, Carly.” She sighed. “Otherwise we're going to lose the account.”

  Carly stared at the line of drying prints and mentally substituted a different body. One with washboard abs and sculptured shoulders.

  The Adonis from the pool was her only answer.

  “Carly, are you still there? This marine connection is terrible.”

  “Right here, Mel. Don't worry, you'll have digital film by three tomorrow, which will give you time to download and color correct before your late-afternoon meeting.”

  “I sincerely hope so, Carly. You were my first choice for this project, and I'm counting on you to make it work. Meanwhile, I'll be sure we strike Griff Kelly off our list.”

  Carly scowled as she thought of the out-of-shape model and his current girlfriend, who billed herself as his voice coach. “I'm on it, Mel. We'll finish the lighting layouts and test shots this morning. At least we can count on the weather down here.” Carly saw a saltshaker on a tray

  and dumped a healthy amount over her shoulder. So who was superstitious? “Turquoise water and clear skies ever since we left port in Miami.”

  “I'm glad you're on top of things. Just give me something exciting to buy us another day or two. Whatever you do, don't skimp on the body shots. The client's wife has him convinced that fitness will be a big draw in the commercial for both male and female viewers.”

  Don't skimp on the body shots.

  Carly felt the first stab of a headache. “No problem. We'll give you body shots from here to Sunday. Talk to you tomorrow, as soon as I've finished the digitals.”

  Carly put down the telephone, caught between paralysis and hysteria. “Sometimes I wish I'd gone into something sensible like shark photography or quark research.”

  “No, you don't.” Daphne gripped her arm. “You're the best and you know it. If anyone can pull this off, you can.” She tossed Carly a map of the ship, with one cabin circled in red. “I've done some checking. Your Adonis's name is McKay.”

  Carly worked her lip between her teeth. “I don't think the money matters to him. There has to be some other way.”

  “Think nice thoughts. Flutter your eyelashes and apologize for the misunderstanding at the pool this morning. Tell him how thankful you are that he was there to save you from a broken nose.”

  Carly rolled her shoulders, feeling the headache build. “I think I'm going to be sick.”

  Daphne pushed her toward the door. “You can be sick later. Right now you've got serious groveling to do. His cabin is portside, Crystal Deck.”

  “Traitor.” Carly rubbed her forehead. “I might even be coming down with pneumonia.”

  “Get going.”

  Carly tilted her head and fluttered her eyelashes. “What big biceps you have, Mr. McKay. What amazing

  thighs.” Her voice was low and throaty. “It's all my fault that I didn't explain sooner. Silly me. Honestly, I can't imagine why you thought I wanted you for sex.” More fluttering of eyelashes.

  “Atta girl. He'll be eating out of your hands.”

  Carly felt the headache stab deeper. She reminded herself that she was a professional with seven years of experience. She could plot, charm, and micro-manage with the best of them. When a job hung in the balance, she could leap tall buildings in a single bound, and right now the clock was ticking. After rehearsing her wide-eyedingenue role until her eyelids hurt, she left to confront her target.

  She was halfway down the corridor when her former model's angry shout stopped her cold. “Stop avoiding me, Sullivan.”

  Carly tried to hide her impatience. “I've been very busy, Griff. As you must know.”

  He yanked his designer polo shirt up over his tanned but unimpressive chest. “See this?”

  Carly stared at dozens of red welts. “You're allergic to something?”

  “Clams. That's why I kept checking to be sure last night's stew was strictly vegetarian.” He jerked his shirt back down. “Someone in the kitchen lied to me.”

  “I'm sorry to hear it.” Carly resisted an urge to scream. “But I'm really busy right now and—”

  The actor smiled coldly as he slid an arm around his girlfriend. “Not that it matters to me, after you hatcheted me for the body shots.”

  “Griff, it's nothing personal,” Carly began.

  “Everything's personal, and you'd better remember that. But the problem's yours now, Sullivan.” He scratched absently at his chest. “Good luck finding a replacement out here at sea.”

  “I think I already have,” Carly murmured.

  “No one who's half as good as Griff.” Aimee Joy, the newest girlfriend and supposed voice coach, ran a hand

  protectively along his cheek. She was dressed in black today, Carly noted. The color matched her lipstick. Nice look, if you were into vampires. “I've made him an appointment with the ship's doctor,” she snapped at Carly “I'm taking Griff there right now. Whatever he needs, he'll get. And I'll put it all on your account.”

  “I'm sure you will.” Carly smiled sweetly and turned to find Daphne beside her.

  “I see Medusa is wearing all black today. It suits her.” Daphne watched Griff and his girlfriend disappear around the corridor. “Good riddance to both of them. Meanwhile, I figured you could use some good news. The computers are all set and the system is purring. Lucky for you I used the same system back in Santa Marina. Now all you need is digital feed, and you'll be in business.”

  Carly blew out a breath. “Wish me luck. I'm off to charm Adonis.”

  Daphne straightened Carly's blouse, then nodded. “You look good. Go bag him.”

  “You bet I will,” Carly said weakly as she straightened her shoulders and headed to the Crystal Deck.

  By the time she reached McKay's room, she felt marginally better. She gave her hair a quick swipe and smoothed her skirt, about to knock when the door opened. The biggest man she'd ever seen came out carrying a stack of folded towels.

  He gave her a measuring look, his rugged dark features sliding into a grin. “Room steward ma'am. You looking for Mr. McKay?”

  Carly nodded, feeling dwarfed. Where had all these big men come from? Room steward or not, the man reminded her of McKay—watchful, quiet, and very controlled. “Yes, I am. Is he busy?”

  “I'm sure he'll make time for you.” He slid the towels to his other arm and moved past, holding open the door for her to enter. “He's just shaving, but maybe you want to wait.”

  No, she didn't want to wait, but she had no choice. Every minute counted, and every minute she wasn't on deck shooting made her sick with dread. Carly nodded coolly. “I'll wait.”

  “I'll tell him you're here.” Smiling faintly, the steward knocked at the closed door to the bathroom, then opened it. After a few words, he turned. “He'll be right out. Make yourself at home.”

  After he'd left, Carly surveyed the floor-to-ceiling windows and the calm, azure sea dotted by trade-wind clouds. Apparently Mr. McKay could afford the luxury of a suite with a private veranda, which meant he wouldn't need the small change she could offer him. That meant she had to think of some overwhelming inducement.

  The water was still running behind her, and she fought an inclination to bolt. Failure was not an option.

  She prowled the sunny stateroom, toying with a pair of mirrored sunglasses and high-tech binoculars. The bed was made, the pillows neat. No dirty clothes in sight. The man was organized as well as spectacularly photogenic.

  Determined to make the best impression, Carly shrugged her shoulders to release a knot of tension. “Okay, here goes.” She forced a bright smile. “I want to apologize for this morning, Mr. McKay. My outburst was unfortunate.” She practiced batting her lashes. “Actually, it was unforgivable, considering that you protected me from a possible broken nose. It's hardly your fault that I've be
en under a little stress lately.

  “Who am I kidding?” Carly sighed, tunneling her fingers through her hair. “If I don't get someone for this shoot, I'll be sunk. We're talking raw desperation here.” She closed her eyes. “Oh, why am I even bothering? The jerk probably won't listen to me.”

  Hearing a sound, she lurched away from the window. Her right arm was snagged seconds before it collided with a freshly shaved male jaw.

  Steam billowed from the bathroom as McKay stared at

  her. “It's me. The jerk,” he added dryly. “The room steward said you wanted to talk to me.”

  Carly flushed. “That's right, I did. I do.” She cleared her throat, unable to pull her eyes from the damp chest above a pair of low and very well broken-in jeans. Where had the man gotten that lean, amazing body? She visited a health club when she had time, but none of the men looked like this.

  It had been months since she'd enjoyed an evening of laughter and lazy intimacy with a man. Maybe deprivation was doing weird things to her perception. “Look, about this morning—”

  “No problem. Just forget it.”

  Carly raised a hand, pleased to see it wasn't trembling. “I need to apologize. No, I want to apologize.”

  “So I heard.” One brow spiked. “Especially the part about unfortunate and unforgivable. By the way, I liked the jerk part best, because it sounded honest. Now tell me about the raw panic.” Water slid down his chest, settling in the soft hair above the opened button at the waist of his jeans.

  Heaven have mercy.

  His chest was even more remarkable up close. So was the rest of him.

  Calm, Carly thought. Bat your eyes and play to his ego. She managed a sickly smile. “You heard all that?”

  “Every word.”

  “I'm sorry we got off on the wrong foot. I completely misread the situation at the pool this morning, and I want to apologize for that.”

  “Apology accepted.”

  Carly held out a hand. “Carolina Sullivan. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. McKay.”

  “Make that Ford.”

  Carly wanted badly to wipe her damp palms, but resisted as he took her fingers in a firm handshake that had her nerves jolting. She managed a cool smile, then pulled free. “I'm here shooting a series of TV spots for

  the cruise line. That's what I wanted to discuss this morning.”

  He rocked back, shoving his hands into his pockets and making the jeans strain even tighter. “Are you any good?”

  “I'm extremely good at my job.”

  He nodded. “So you're some kind of wunderkind,” he said with a dry smile. “Why the raw panic?”

  “Going right for the jugular, aren't you?”

  Something crossed his face. “It's the best way.”

  When Carly looked him square in the eyes, she was struck by the intelligence there. The man was more than a mass of well-toned muscle. There was power and cool reason behind his gray eyes. Odd that she hadn't noticed before.

  She realized her fingers were still hot where he had touched her. Frowning, she slid her hands up and down her arms.

  His focus never wavered. “You haven't explained the panic yet.”

  Carly sighed. “The panic is professional. I've got a killer deadline and no model.”

  He shrugged one powerful shoulder in a way that had her yearning for her camera. “What's the problem? The ship's full of men.”

  “Not one that looks like you. And there's that quiet, controlled way you move, as if you owned the place.” She realized it was time for the naked truth and no more fluttering eyelashes. “You'll burn up the camera.”

  Something between pain and irritation crossed his face. “Being photographed is right at the bottom of my wish list.” He held up a hand as she started to speak. “And you're dead wrong about my acting skills.”

  “It's my job not to be wrong,” Carly said firmly. “I flunked geometry in high school, and I occasionally botch my checkbook balance, but not reading people. That's my job. You'd be good, Mr. McKay. Very good.”

  He made an exasperated sound and Carly found it fascinating to see such a powerful man look befuddled. “You don't have to worry about privacy,” she assured him. “We'll be shooting in a stateroom, and I guarantee it won't be a zoo scene.”

  “Why me? I thought you people hired professionals for work like that.”

  “Sometimes their shoulders are wrong or their proportion to the other actors is off, and then we fill in with a body double. It happens far more often than you might think.”

  “And you're asking me to do that? Be some kind of body double?”

  Carly fidgeted under the force of his cool gaze. “I'm desperate. Our current actor just won't do, the clock is ticking, and I'm sunk without a replacement.” She reconsidered her rehearsed flattery, but the words wouldn't come. Even if they had she was certain this man would see right through them. “I'm prepared to grovel here, if that's what it takes.”

  Humor touched his eyes. “Groveling can be interesting, but in this case it won't be necessary.”

  Despite the finality in his voice, Carly made one last stab. “Please give it some thought. I'd be completely in your debt.”

  “I'm afraid not.”

  “Your choice.” She turned away to hide her disappointment, one hand pressed to her burning stomach as failure flashed ugly before her. She didn't want to consider the results of losing an account this important.

  “You're pale.” His eyes narrowed. “When was the last time you ate?”

  “I don't know.” Even as Carly considered hunger sent a stabbing reminder. Two cups of black coffee at dawn, hunched over a pile of disappointing photographs. A small carton of yogurt before she'd gone in search of Daphne. “What does it matter?” Her hand worked up and down over her stomach.

  “If you don't eat, you can't think. Take this.” He held out a plate of cream puffs stuffed with fresh strawberries.

  “You're good at giving orders, aren't you?”

  “When it's necessary. These were delivered less than an hour ago. You look like you could use one.”

  The sun was behind him now, haloing his impossibly chiseled shoulders. Carly imagined him in a tuxedo, reclining against the deck railing. Or in a swimsuit, his taut body gleaming with oil that she would smooth on herself.

  When she didn't move, he shoved a rich pastry into her hand. “Eat, blast it.”

  Surprised by his concern, she balanced the pastry and licked off a strawberry as it started to totter, then sighed in pleasure as her tongue closed delicately around a scoop of whipped cream. It took her a moment to realize he was staring at her. “I'd prefer if you didn't watch me right now. This cream puff and I are having a spiritual encounter here.” She licked a piece of strawberry off her palm, frowning at his continued scrutiny. “What?”

  “Hell if I know.” Sunlight poured through the windows as McKay watched her finish the pastry, then lap a final bit of white froth from her lips. She wasn't beautiful in any conventional sense. She wasn't even close to being his type. Her mouth was too wide, her hair too short. She was too edgy and too stubborn.

  But there was something ruthlessly interesting about watching her dive into that cream puff, ignoring everything else around her. She probably made obsession an art form. McKay wondered what she'd look like without that frown knifing down her forehead.

  Not that she was on his agenda for any personal involvement. He was a man who could stand his ground, even if a woman's perfume distracted him and her restless body goaded him to find out what it would take to make her relax.

  He took a sharp step back. Damn, this was official. There couldn't be even a second of anything personal between them.

  Especially when she wanted to capture him on camera like a champion steer.

  He was all set to tell her that her idea was impossible when something in her eyes cut him off.

  Regret.

  Entreaty.

  Stubborn pride.

  He saw exactly how muc
h it had cost her to ask.

  “I'll think about it,” he said gruffly feeling like a fool. Hating the fact that he would use her to accomplish his mission, even if he would instruct any man under his command to do exactly the same in a similar situation.

  “You will?” She looked stunned.

  “It's not a yes,” he warned.

  “But it's not a no. Thanks again for the food.”

  As she turned he flanked her with silent steps and cut around her to the door. “You might still find someone else.”

  “No. When you see the best, you want it. And that's not because I'm desperate, but because it's true.” Her voice was level.

  Damn, she almost had him convinced. “You're pushing.”

  “I never said I wouldn't.” She smiled and closed the door softly behind her, leaving McKay to rub his neck in irritation.

  Modeling, he thought in disgust. No way. It was absolutely out.

  The phone chimed from the nearby table. “What?” he barked, certain who was at the other end.

  He heard Izzy's dry chuckle. “You told her no, didn't you?”

  “Damn right I did.”

  “Get ready to tell her yes. I just heard from Washington, and you are good to go, McKay. Whatever she wants, whenever she wants, however she wants. Consider it an order.”

  Call Armando downstairs. Tell him we won't be needing the forty-six-long tuxedo for Mr. McKay after all. I've given him two hours, and he hasn't returned my call.” Carly shoved files into a mound with unsteady hands, fighting her disappointment. “As soon as I finish here, I'm going to call Mel. She needs to know this deadline is impossible.”

  Daphne looked unconvinced. “Maybe you should wait. Your Adonis might give in eventually.”

  “Not in time to matter.” Carly couldn't hold back a sigh. “And he's the one, Daphne. His biceps made the photographer in me weep.”

  “What did they do to the woman in you?”

  “The woman in me was smart enough to shut up and let the professional get on with her job.”

  “If you ask me, that's a huge waste. Work isn't the only thing in life.”

  But Carly didn't hear, darting into the kitchen for a roll of film from the refrigerator. She ignored the knock at the door and Daphne's quick footsteps. She was too busy tossing out old photos and having a nervous breakdown.