First step, deal with Tyler.
Casey opened the stateroom door to find the room empty. Tyler’s brown leather bag sat beside the couch, opened, but still packed. The door to the bathroom was open and she could see it was empty.
Huh.
He hadn’t passed her getting to the elevator, so he must have gone the opposite way and taken the stairs. Had he seen her with Mason?
Didn’t matter. Paid escorts weren’t the jealous type. Besides, after the way she had acted, she doubted Tyler would care if he ever saw her again. Much less saw her with another man. She sank down on the edge of the bed, put her head in her hands and sighed.
Tyler was probably a perfectly nice man, a great escort, but he didn’t push the same buttons that Mason did. Not that it mattered either. Knowing her luck, and with Mason’s I’m-Here-For-Work speech, he was probably the reporter. Her best bet was to stay in the room, wait for Tyler and figure out some way to get through the next week without giving that reporter the story of his life.
The small clock on the dressing table bonged. Six o’clock.
Mason.
If she couldn’t deal with Tyler, she could at least deal with Mason. Glancing out the window, Casey saw the sun sinking toward the horizon. There would still be people on deck, but most should be in the dining rooms or bars. Less chance of someone seeing them and getting the wrong idea.
Grabbing her bag, she reached inside and pulled out the cell phone. No interruptions this time. She needed to explain to Mason why she was making herself scarce the rest of the trip. Why this drink was the only drink they’d have. She put her cell phone on the table, made sure her key card was still in her wallet and walked out the door before she could change her mind.
* * * *
Mason felt like a fool. He was going about this all wrong. Beating around the bush was never his strong suit; he usually saw a path and followed it.
Telling Casey who he was, that he needed an interview, but still wanted to see her personally wasn’t going to be easy. Still, he didn’t have to stumble all over himself like he was twelve.
God.
He hurried back down the staircase and saw Casey open the suite door to go inside. He would just come out with it.
She wouldn’t like it, but then he wouldn’t tell her it was supposed to be a hatchet piece. He wouldn’t let it be. Whether the gossips wanted to know more about Casey’s break-up or it was just his boss’s stupid idea, he wasn’t going along with it. He’d been hired to write about her new book deal. What it meant to go from unknown to celebrity for nothing more than dating the wrong guy wasn’t on his agenda. Especially since that would mean more stories on rehab stints and celebrity baby drama. If the paper didn’t like it, they could fire him. He should get his BlackBerry and post a few online resumes before he lost cell service and had to pay international roaming rates.
His phone bleeped and Randall Haynes’s image, complete with Photoshopped horns and a smoking cigar, appeared. Mason rolled his eyes, gave the cell a dirty look and put it to his ear.
Haynes got right to the point. “You’re not answering your texts. What’s up with the sneaky guru, anyway?”
No time like the present to stand up for his principles. “Just because she doesn’t like to talk about her past doesn’t mean she’s sneaky. She’s one of the youngest self-help gurus ever—that is the story.”
“People only care about the millions she’ll make if she helps them improve their lives. If she’s living a lie, the public deserves to know. And she’s not going to just give up the details. You’re going to have to be wearing that reporter hat from the get-go. Cassandra Cash is sneaky.”
“With the next two books, she’s guaranteed to make more than you and I put together will make in our lifetime. What makes her books different, what makes them worth millions, is the story.”
“The lies she’s shoveling are the story. Get them or get a new job.”
He was banging his head against a wall and he knew it. Haynes wasn’t going to go for the nice blurb about Miss Romance’s book deal. He wanted the expose on Miss Romance’s sex life. Great.
Between this story and his snitch caving a few weeks back, his reputation was over. He’d be lucky to get a job in Boise.
Cut your losses. If he quit now, he could enjoy the rest of the cruise with Casey Cash and job hunt at the same time.
The phone crackled in his ear.
“You’re breaking up, Drury, must be passing the Keys. You’ll be out of range until you’re closer to Jamaica. Don’t screw this up.” Haynes barked the words into the phone. “Get the dirt, get it written and message it up here when you hit a hot spot.” The phone crackled once more and Haynes was gone.
Crap. Haynes didn’t give him the chance to quit. No, Mason hadn’t had the balls to say those two little words. What a chicken he had become since the mayoral scandal hit. He was letting Haynes walk all over him. So what if the man was the editor at the second largest daily paper in the US? Mason didn’t need this. Snapping the phone closed, he returned up the steps to the deck, stuffing the phone in his pocket.
Two older couples passed by him, talking about dinner. Glancing around, he saw the deck was mostly empty and leaned against the rail. The bartender in the grass hut looked like he was ready to close up shop, and his last few customers were gathering their things and heading inside. Probably closing up so they could re-stock before the stargazing party crowd showed up in a few hours.
Casey obviously wasn’t coming up. His watch read a quarter past six. He’d come on too strong. Or looked too desperate showing up at her door. If she really was coming out of a bad break-up, the last thing she would want was a clingy man.
“Hey, stranger.” A tap on his shoulder made him turn his head. Casey. She was wearing the same outfit as before—fitted white t-shirt, blue and white checked mini-skirt. Pink toenails flirted with the edges of high-heeled sandals laced around her tiny ankles. “Did you think I was standing you up?”
And just like that, he was back in the game.
He grinned and took up position leaning his back against the railing. “The thought crossed my mind. And you were going to be tough to replace. Next to you, she seems to be the youngest unattached woman on board.” He pointed across the deck at a middle-aged woman just leaving the bar hut.
She had a pretty face, recently colored white-blond hair, a heavily made-up face and sad expression. Wearing flashy turquoise and silver jewelry, a red cowboy hat, tight denim jeans and a white-fringed Western shirt, the woman looked like she took a wrong turn on the way to Santa Fe.
He’d talked to her for a while before landing on Casey’s doorstep, listening to her sad story while a man down the bar hung on every word. The man looked like an accountant with his Bermuda shorts and Hawaiian shirt, black socks and brown sandals. Safe. Mason had introduced them, and now the two were leaving together.
“I overheard her talking,” Mason said. There was no need to let Casey know what a soft touch he was. “Her name’s Tilly. Forty-three, recently divorced from Tire Salesman Herb, who apparently never sold the one around his waist until Healthy Heather came along.” He watched carefully as Casey’s face turned from amused to sympathetic. Yep, she’d been dumped. Haynes was right. There was probably a story here. One Mason didn’t want to tell, but would have to. “This cruise is her first outing without Herb, their five kids—age five to seventeen—or the family dog. I understand the dog also threw her over for the bitch.”
Casey’s sympathy turned to a chuckle at his analogy. “She deserves better. And the dog probably deserves the bitch.”
Mason pulled a wry face. “Probably. I’m just not sure I’ve got the stamina to keep up with Tilly. And if you hadn’t shown up when you did, I probably would have had to at least try. Luckily she’s leaving with Wally.”
“Wally had better be nice to her. You sound a little possessive.” At his astonished expression, the chuckle turned to a laugh that transformed Casey. The smile stret
ched across her face, creating a dimple in her left cheek. Deep red lips contrasted with sparkling white teeth and her eyes closed.
“I wouldn't say ‘possessive’, exactly.”
“Face it, you're a nice guy, Mason Drury.” Casey looked up through her lashes, a flirting light to her eyes. She reached out her hand, grasping Mason’s forearm, then squeezing lightly. Mason’s jeans tightened with the simple contact. “Tilly looks like she could hold her own, and you know with five kids she has to at least like sex. You could have your own private geisha girl. Even if she is blond.”
And then Mason knew. He wanted to know Casey Cash. Not get the dirt on Cassandra Cash, Miss Romance. He wanted to know what her favorite food was, her favorite place in New York. To feel her lips on his again. To know whether she liked breakfast or brunch.
“I’ve always been partial to brunettes,” he said, straightening from the railing. He reached a hand around Casey’s wrist, pulled her body hard against his. “Brunettes with blue eyes that sparkle in starlight.” His chest brushed against hers and he felt her stomach muscles tighten through the thin cotton of her shirt.
Okay, the line was corny, and the stars weren’t out yet, but with the darkening sky lit only by a few tiki lights, he could easily imagine it.
Casey expelled a short breath, the smile never leaving her face. “Blue eyes and brown hair, huh?” Her tongue sneaked out of her mouth and slid across her full lips. “I guess it’s a good thing Tilly and Wally found one another. You just keep surprising me.”
“That’s the plan,” he said, pulling her more fully into his arms.
She fitted her arms around his neck and a hint of jasmine wafted in the air. Her perfume? Shampoo? He didn’t know, but he sure as hell wanted to find out.
Oh, but it wasn’t the plan. This was so wrong. He should pull back. Go with the original plan. Have a drink, get the interview over with and get on with getting to know Casey.
* * * *
Casey needed things to slow down. And she desperately wanted whatever was happening to speed up. She didn’t know who Mason was. Didn’t know if he was the reporter or just some random guy. Her head said he was the reporter. Why else would he have hit on her so hard from the time she came on board? It had to be part of his plan.
But then, why would a reporter waste time talking to a random woman about her life? Setting her up with another harmless guy who would bolster her self-confidence and help her bounce back from rejection. That was something a nice guy would do. Casey wanted badly for Mason to be a nice guy. Just for a little bit.
Then she’d go back to the craziness of Tyler and figuring out who the reporter was. How to avoid him and save what was left of her reputation.
Surely her future could spare her a few more minutes with Mason Drury.
“What’s your plan?” he asked, his eyes intent on hers.
What was her plan? She knew she had one. It was a good one, too. What was it again?
He pressed his lips to hers and she didn’t care about plans or who was following whom.
One little kiss.
What could it hurt?
One kiss wasn’t going to be nearly enough.
At the first touch of Mason’s lips, the craziness that had taken over her life disappeared. Casey sank into the kiss like a drowning woman who didn’t want to be rescued.
She had been lying to everyone. She wasn’t okay with the break-up. Nate leaving was okay, but the way he had done it...the things he said...
For just a few minutes, she needed to feel like a woman.
Mason’s tongue sparred with hers and then there was only him and a hot, sultry night.
He tasted like Corona and lime. Casey stepped in closer, reaching around his neck to play with the hair at his nape, bringing his mouth into closer contact with her own.
Mason raised his hands to cradle her neck, running his thumbs seductively along her jaw. He pulled back for a minute, but kept his thumbs moving. Casey forced her eyes to open. In the dying light his pupils were dilated, making his eyes look more black than green.
“You’re a wicked, wicked woman,” he said huskily.
“You’re not so saintly yourself,” she said, grinning up at him. She felt like a teenager, kissing her first crush. Kissing Nate had never felt this way, like her belly was filled with molten lava. If Mason didn’t start kissing her again, quickly, she had a feeling her world would explode.
Taking her hand, Mason led Casey to the private cabanas on the Serenity Deck. Cabanas with tied-back, gauzy curtains. Mason undid the tiebacks, separating them from the rest of the deck. Not that they needed to shut out the world, even metaphorically. The bartender had closed his grass hut bar a few minutes before. Mason led her to a chaise with fluffy green and blue pillows atop it. They sat in silence for several moments, looking at the wide expanse of sky through the opening in the cabana ceiling and the first stars of the evening.
The sun finally sank below the water and it was as if the last lamp in the world had been turned off. A few more stars glimmered to life.
Casey sighed. This was heavenly. No one knocking on her door. No questions about Nate or her book or anything. Just the wide-open sky, a light breeze and Mason. Assuming he wanted her the way she wanted him. Casey turned her head, and found him watching her intently. His glorious green eyes glimmered in the shadows thrown by the ship’s twinkle lights. Her stomach clenched at the promise in his eyes. Seduction brought them into this quiet piece of paradise. Definitely seduction.
Make the move. Casey barely held the words inside. It had taken all her resolve to leave the suite and come up here. She’d never chased a man like this before. Never put her physical needs above that tiny Sunday School Teacher voice saying, “Good girls don’t.”
This time the good definitely was. She would take what she wanted for the next seven days. After that, Sunday School Cassandra could put Saturday Night Casey back into the corner.
Casey channeled Sahara once more; it was the best she could do. She couldn’t jump his bones. As deeply as she wanted to, she couldn’t strip off his board shorts and tee. She couldn't instigate. Reaching across the chair, Casey walked her fingers along his arm. “Well, you’ve got me here. We’re on a private deck behind a screen of curtains and the rest of the world seems to have deserted us. Whatever are you going to do with me, Mr. Drury?”
His green eyes deepened to an almost blue. “I think I might make you scream. In pleasure.”
Biting the corner of her lip, Casey gulped down a shot of panic. Scream from pleasure? It was the most delicious thing anyone ever said to her.
“But first, I think we need to talk.” His deep voice filled with an emotion that Casey couldn’t decipher.
Sunday School Cassandra cheered. Saturday Night Casey cried. This was not about talking. She didn’t need to talk about expectations. She didn’t want to talk about what brought her to the ship or even this damned deck. Casey wanted fifteen minutes of mind-blowing kisses. Fifteen minutes when she could be just Casey, not Cassandra Cash. They would take the rest from there.
She needed to forget about Tyler and the mess back in her room.
Forget about the reporter.
Forget about the book she couldn’t write.
Forget about whether Nate was lying or telling the truth.
So screw talking about whatever it was Mason worried about. Was a few minutes too much to ask for? Whatever the attraction between them, it didn’t have to be about more than spending the next seven nights doing ridiculously hot things to each other. Then she would go back to being Cassandra Cash. She would play the part of guru, figure out how to break this numbing case of writer’s block and make it through the next few weeks without tearing her reputation to shreds.
They were on a darkened deck, somewhat protected by the drawn curtains, somewhere in the Gulf of Mexico, for crying out loud. What was that saying? Vacation was one-third pleasure and two-thirds aggravation? Her life had been one hundred percent aggravation f
or the past few weeks, so she was taking the little bit of pleasure this moment offered.
“You don’t know anything about me," he said.
She couldn’t read his face in the dim light, but something in his voice made her try. Why would any man be sad about sex with no strings? She reached into her feisty romantic heroine’s bag of tricks and said, “I’m a big girl. Why not just take what you want? The rest can just be...the rest.”
What was there to know, anyway? His kisses made her stomach do acrobatic moves she hadn’t seen since the last Olympics. She wasn’t asking for a lifetime commitment. She would take this one night, and if she could, stretch their vacation fling until they reached port in Miami. She would go back to worrying about contracts and tabloid reporters and life once the plane landed at JFK.
“Mason Drury.” She sat up and straddled his lap; a startled chuckle rang through the night air. Placing a small kiss beside his mouth, Casey said, “You made a lonely woman feel worthwhile.” She ignored the voice in her head, asking if the lonely woman was Tilly or herself, and placed another kiss, this time to the scar above his lip. She put her hands on his jaw and looked into green eyes she could drown in.
“You found a man on board the ship who would be nice to her, so she’ll get over Herb and the bitch.” Once again, her situation and Tilly’s ran through her mind. She could be Tilly, getting over a man on a cruise. Only Mason was offering himself as the balm to her soul.
Settling her mouth over his open lips, she dipped her tongue inside. His length hardened between them and she just resisted the urge to grind her hips against him. Mason’s hand stole around her, pressing against her back, bringing her breasts in contact with his chest.
Someone moaned. Maybe, most definitely, her.
“Should we take this to my place or yours?” His voice was a rumble against her throat.
Casey looked around the darkened deck. No one in sight. Probably most of the passengers were below deck, watching the Vegas-style show in the ballroom, playing cards in the casino or throwing back plates of food at the buffets or in the dining rooms. The empty bar threw dark shadows along the deck, plus they had the advantage of the untied tiebacks.
Mr. Right Now Page 4