by Adams, S. C.
But I don’t mind because the anonymity is nice. When I’m in my office, everyone always wants something from me because they know I’m the guy with the goods. It’s always Mr. Jones this, Mr. Jones that. I can’t get any peace, ever. Here on the dance floor, no one would guess that I’m anything other than another guest.
The beautiful girl wiggles her hips as her friends cheer her on. My pants are loose enough to hide my hardness, but I slip a little further into the darkness to ensure no one notices. It’s ridiculous. I’m a forty-five year old man with dozens of women throwing themselves at me, and yet I’m stiff as a pole for a twenty-something guest shimmying under the lights.
“Can I get you another drink?” a solicitous waitress asks, interrupting my thoughts. There are two servers making the rounds at the various tables in the club, running drinks to people who don’t want to brave the bar crowd. Most of the seated guests are closer to my age than the dancers, come to think of it.
“I’ll have two fingers of scotch,” I tell the young woman. “The best scotch you’ve got.”
I hand her my card, and she glances at the name. Eyes widening, she does a double take, taking my massive frame and obviously-expensive suit in.
“Mr. Jones, I didn’t know you were on board!” she gasps. “How has your night been? Has everything been to your standards? I’m happy to help in any way.”
“It’s been great,” I growl, not even meeting her eyes. “Do me a favor and keep that card between us, though. I’m trying to be discreet.”
“Of course, sir! I won’t tell a soul,” she promises before scurrying away, throwing another look at me over her shoulder.
I want to trust her, but I’m sure she’ll be talking. The servers and bartenders here will know that Carter Jones is in the house within fifteen minutes, tops. Good thing I wasn’t planning on staying much longer.
Meanwhile, the mystery girl is still out on the floor dancing when the waitress returns and hands me my drink. It’s more than two fingers, poured into a real glass instead of the plastic ones used by guests. Clearly, they pulled out the stops.
“Enjoy your drink, and if you need anything else, anything at all, just flag me down,” she says nervously.
“Thank you,” I rumble. “What was your name again?”
The woman bobs her head in gratitude, her dark head moving up and down.
“Vanessa,” she says hurriedly. “Vanessa Cruz. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Jones, and we’re happy to have you aboard.”
Finally, I cast her a level glance.
“You as well, Vanessa. I’ll be sure to let you know if I need anything.”
Vanessa nods and moves carefully to some other tables, practicing perfect posture and keeping an extra bright smile as she takes drink orders. I try to ignore the way she continues to glance back at me as if I might be grading her performance.
This is why I prefer to be incognito when I’m on deck. Because how can you really get a lay of the land when your staff is doing somersaults to keep you happy? It’s better to be hidden, and to observe their level of service as just an anonymous guest.
Sighing. Well, it’s too late to stay in the shadows now. Obviously, Vanessa must have told a few people who I am. Grunting, I turn away to focus on the beautiful girl again. It’s a good use of my time. She’s still dancing and swaying those luscious hips from side to side as her generous breasts bounce. How can she still be dancing? She’s been in the club for a while now, and those high heels can’t be comfortable. Still, she moves and sways to the terrible music as if the dance floor is where she’s meant to be.
Damn, this woman’s perfect.
What am I doing, staring at her from a distance like some silly stalker?
If I’m being honest, my reasons for coming to the club weren’t totally business related. Sure, I wanted to verify the cruise was starting off right. After all, my reputation rides on every trip being perfect. But I also came up from my quarters to check out the prospects and to find a hook up.
It’s pretty sad, I know. The man who can get anyone and anything, is actually cruising his guests for a one-night stand. But it’s so easy, and even the mighty sometimes go for low-hanging fruit. After all, there are so many single women on cruises, and they’re never looking for more than a night or two of bliss. It makes sense. Everyone’s here for a week or two of debauchery, and what happens on the ship stays on the ship. It’s your chance to leave your real personality at the door, and to be someone else for a change.
But even so. I’ve never locked on anyone as quickly as I have this mystery woman. She’s irresistible, and I’m drawn to her like a predator to its prey, circling and stalking while merely waiting in the bushes. And if my biological reaction to her dancing is any indication, we’re going to be in my bed before the night is over.
My phone vibrates against my hip, forcing my eyes from her hips. The caller ID says Havisham, my secretary.
Thumb hovering over the answer button, I hesitate. Miss Havisham only calls me when it’s important, especially this late at night. I should pick up. After all, Havisham’s been with me for almost twenty years now. The elderly woman wouldn’t call unless it was urgent.
But the beautiful woman sways again, shooting me a coy look over one slim shoulder, and my thumb presses “Do Not Answer.” For the first time ever, I ignore a call from my secretary and slip the phone back into my pocket. The decision surprises me. After all, work has always come first for me, and has been my constant mistress these past twenty years. I’ve cycled through dozens of beautiful women, but my company? Naw, she’s my real wife.
So why have I let a woman I’ve never even met decide that a call wasn’t important to take? My phone doesn’t buzz again, so it must not have been an emergency. The racing in my chest feels like there’s an emergency somewhere, though. I think it’s right here, in this room.
I’m going to talk to her. I have to. She’s too beautiful to resist and my cock jerks again, merely envisioning those curves pressed beneath me in bed.
When I search the floor for her again, though, she’s not in the place I left her. Neither are her friends.
Shit. Is she gone? Did they slip by me somehow?
There’s no way. I only glanced away for a second when I decided not to take the call. She couldn’t have left the club that quickly.
I frantically scan the crowd for her, my heartrate quickening with every second that passes. What the fuck is going on? My eyes dart right and left, and then up and down, like I’m some crazy person. But finally, I spot her red-haired friend at the bar, downing swill like it’s water. My mystery woman is perched on a stool at the bar, trying to rub her feet without anyone noticing. Her friend hands her a small cup of clear liquid, and they tap the cups together and throw back shots, giggling as they down the cheap alcohol. The red-headed friend’s eyes open wide as her gullet absorbs the vodka. But only I see the beautiful brunette cringe a bit as she swallows, like drinking isn’t her thing.
Great. This is the perfect time to make my move. Clearly, the friend is inebriated, while my target doesn’t even like the taste of alcohol. My feet move on their own, bringing me to her spot at the bar so quickly that I don’t have a chance to prepare what to say.
“Hi,” I growl. It’s as good of an opener as any.
She looks up, clearly surprised. “Hi,” she replies softly. “How are you?”
Before I can say anything, the friend presses another shot into her hand. This makes the brunette raise her eyebrows.
“Jess, seriously?” she asks. “Really? How many have you had tonight?”
But the friend’s on a roll.
“Don’t be such a worry wart,” she calls over the pounding music. “One-two-three GO!”
And with that, both women down the drinks. Well, more accurately, the one called Jessica pours a liter of the stuff into her stomach while my dream woman takes just a sip.
“Jess, that’s enough,” she says firmly. “That’s enough for both yo
u and me.”
“For tonight!” her friend shouts, not losing a beat. “We’re here to have fun, whooo-eee!”
I try not to laugh. Who says whoo-ee? She must be much drunker than she appears on the outside. But then someone interrupts.
“Sir, can I get you a drink?” a high-pitched voice sounds in my ear, struggling to be heard over the music. A claw-like hand grabs my elbow. “You don’t have to wait at the bar. I can bring drinks to your table.”
“I’m okay, thanks,” I grind out, not even looking at the intruder.
Unfortunately, Vanessa the waitress doesn’t take the hint. She bobs her head up and down enthusiastically before saying, “Well, let me know if you need something sir. We’re all at your disposal, all of us here on the ship. No need to be shy.”
Dammit. Talk about intruding at the wrong time. I merely nod shortly, without saying a word, and Vanessa takes the hint. She scuttles off, practically bowing backwards while disappearing into the crowd. Damnit. I was just about to make my move before that unfortunate interruption.
Now, the mystery girl’s attention is on the dance floor. She might think she’s dismissing me, but I won’t be avoided that easily. After all, it’s just a ruse. I’m a huge, powerful man at her side, and experience has taught me that women appreciate my looks. So her ignoring me is just an act, and as if confirming my suspicion, a small smile plays at her lips as she looks out onto the heaving sea of bodies.
“Sorry about that,” I apologize. “Where were we?”
But the brunette is coy. She cocks her head at me, sliding a warm caramel glance my way.
“I’m sorry. Do I know you?” she asks in a dulcet voice.
I smile, like a tiger sizing up its prey. “You don’t know me, sweetheart,” is my admission. “But I promise, you will soon.”
4
Carter
The girl looks up at me with wide eyes. It’s interesting. She’s got a ripe, curvaceous body that can obviously handle men. And yet the expression in her eyes is one of sweetness and innocence.
“Is that so?” she murmurs around a straw. The clear liquid looks like water, but it could be another mixed drink.
“Yes,” I growl, leaning an elbow against the sticky bar top. “I’m Carter Jones.”
She holds out a soft hand for me to shake. “Abigail Porter. My friends call me Abby. Nice to meet you, Mr. Jones.”
“Pleased to meet you as well, Abby.”
“Are we friends?” she asks in a soft voice.
“We will be,” is my answering growl.
This gets a smile out of her, and my heart nearly explodes. Oh shit. How is she doing this to me? I’m used to mingling with socialites and debutantes galore. Women who have invested hundreds of thousands of dollars into their physical looks, and none of it ever got to me. But one small smile from this curvy brunette, and suddenly I’m ready to take her hard right against the bar? It’s crazy.
But Abby has no idea. She steps back slightly, nodding to the two girls at her side.
“These are my friends, Jessica and Caitlyn.”
I allow my eyes to meet those of the two other girls as we shake hands but they don’t hold my interest. They’re more of the same, and could blend into the wallpaper as far as I’m concerned.
“It’s nice to meet all of you,” are my insincere words. “Is this your first cruise?”
“Do we look like virgins?” Jessica counters, smirking while flipping her hair back. Her crassness surprises me. Based on the glassiness of her eyes, I’d guess the comments are coming from the alcohol and not the girl.
“That’s a trick question,” I say in a smooth voice. “If I say yes, you’ll be offended. If I say no, you might walk away.”
She laughs. “Then no, it’s not my first cruise.”
“Well, I’m glad you decided to join us this time,” are my courteous words.
Quickly, I look over Jess and Caitlyn. They don’t seem familiar. Good. It’s probably safe to assume I haven’t slept with either of them. Just like guys, girls have a code about sleeping with people their friends have already hooked up with. If that had happened, my chances with Abby would have been over before they’d even begun.
“So what brings a guy like you into a nightclub?” Abby asks, shooting me a sweet smile. I know. My suit sticks out among this terribly-dressed crowd that smells like sweat. I should have changed into something less formal, but I came here straight from my office on-board.
“I came to check things out,” I say smoothly. A quick scan of the room shows that no one’s listening. Not that they could hear with the hip hop song blaring from the DJ’s speakers. “I’m actually the owner of this boat, believe it or not.”
Abby laughs, showing off perfect white teeth. “Wow, nice line. Do you always say that? Do people even fall for it? I thought boat owners looked like Richard Branson or Aristotle Onassis, and you definitely don’t look like them.”
People always think I’m lying the first time I tell them that I own a boat, much less multiple boats. Plus, both Richard Branson and Aristotle Onassis are old and creaky, not to mention deceased in Ari’s case, so I’m not bothered or offended.
“I can prove it,” I tell Abby, leaning closer so that she can hear me. The smell of flowers and sugar surrounds her body. I take a subtle breath, drawing in her scent. Amazing.
Slowly, I withdraw my keycard from my pocket and hand it over for the girls to scrutinize. It’s a black and gold keycard, just like any other, except the word “CEO” is engraved right below my name. At first, Abby’s eyes are skeptical, but they widen when she reads the card.
“You’re being serious,” she gasps, clearly shocked. “You own this ship?”
“And a bunch of others just like it,” I answer. “Well, not just like it. Some are bigger, some smaller. One has a ropes course. We’re going to unveil another ship at the end of the year that has a go kart racetrack on the top deck.”
Her jaw drops. “You must be a millionaire.”
Normally, I get extremely cautious when people talk about my money because usually, it means they want something. Coming from Abby, though, it’s endearing. She doesn’t seem like the kind of person to use someone for his money. Though I’ll admit, I don’t exactly know the woman well yet.
“Billionaire, actually,” I correct her. All three girls stand back, shocked. I don’t blame them. Everyone talks about billionaires, but how often do you actually meet one?
Suddenly, the bartender asks our group if we need another round, and I order another scotch on the rocks. “Put theirs on my tab,” I order him. “The executive suite.”
Jessica bounces back quick and grins. “In that case, I’ll take a vodka tonic, but make it the good stuff. You know, top shelf Gray Goose and not the anonymous liquor brought in from Romania.”
Really? This girl is pushing it within the first five minutes. The bartender raises a brow in my direction, asking if that’s okay, but I shrug and hand over my card. After all, it doesn’t really matter. When you have ten figures to your name, paying for drinks isn’t really an issue. The bartender nods, keeping his voice even.
“On it, boss,” the bartender says, running my card through his register. At least this guy doesn’t act like I’m some kind of king. He doesn’t bother amping up his smile nor his customer service skills. He’s not rude to the guests, but he’s not overly nice, either. The bartender is acting exactly how I expect a bartender to act. Though he needs to keep his eyes off of Abby’s chest area. He needs to keep his eyes off all of the girls’ chest areas, actually.
“So, Mr. Cruise Ship Owner,” the other friend, Caitlyn, says. “You never answered Abby’s question. Why are you down here?”
“Carter, please,” I tell her. “And I did answer. I’m here checking on things. Making sure the place is running smoothly.”
She raises a brow. “Really? That’s the answer you’re going with?”
The bartender slides our drinks onto the bar unobtrusively. I like this
guy already.
Caitlyn, Jessica, and Abby sip their drinks and watch me carefully. I’m not sure what they’re looking for, but I hope they find it. Unless it’s a bad thing. Then I hope they don’t find it.
“It’s the truth,” I finally answer. “I like to pop in unannounced to make sure my people are doing a good job. The guests matter, and if anyone is unhappy with the service, I look bad.”
Caitlyn laughs. “How admirable. You sure there’s not another reason why you’re lurking in a bar?”
She’s got me there. I lift my drink toward her in a toast, but I slide my eyes over to Abby. “I might also be admiring the view.”
There’s barely any light in this club, but I can still see Abby’s blush. The light pink calls my attention to the small amount of make-up on her face. I’m glad she hasn’t caked it on like her friends because she’s a natural beauty. The black lines around her eyes make the chocolate brown pop, and the blue coloring on her eyelids matches her dress, but she still looks simple. Like she didn’t put a ton of time into her appearance and doesn’t care if people notice. I love her look.
“See anything you like?” Abby asks suddenly, chewing on her straw seductively. I’m not sure if it’s the alcohol making her so brave or if she’s normally this forward, but either way, it’s making my pants very uncomfortable.
“Absolutely,” I tell her, keeping my voice low. “How about you?”
She grins. “The jury’s still out on that one.”
I can’t help but laugh. This girl is going to make me work for her. With anyone else, I’d give up and move on, but Abby is different. I ignored a work call just to look at her. I have to see this one through.
“So, Carter,” Caitlyn says. “Do you always greet your ship guests like this, or are we special?”
“A little bit of both,” I admit. “I always talk to a few guests when I’m spying on my employees, but this isn’t about work. I’m talking to you girls for pleasure.”