She's none of your business, Michael. She is history. Old history.
Oh, the sweet voice of reason. Michael hated it, but he knew it spoke the truth. It would be wise of him to pay attention, too, and if he couldn't bring himself to listen to reason, he had only to recall the dark days, weeks, and months following Ashley's unjust desertion. Her complete lack of faith in him—them—had nearly ruined his life.
She was poison. Pure poison.
He knew better. Which was why he'd written that note, before she'd had the chance to hurt him again. He couldn't stop his body from igniting when he was around her, but he could damn well keep his mind and his heart out of it. Let her have her little fling with the shrink if that's what she wanted. Perhaps having a ‘fling’ before settling down with Tom was what she had intended when she accepted the free cruise and left her fiancé behind.
Michael's college buddies had encouraged him to do the same when he and Ashley had become engaged, unable or unwilling to believe that he was capable of settling down with one woman for the rest of his life. Michael, the playboy, who had often dated several women successfully at the same time, Settling down? Impossible. Highly unlikely.
But he'd fooled them all by proving to be a loving and devoted husband, and they had retaliated by planting a woman in his hotel bed when he was too drunk to realize he was alive. It should have ended the same way it had begun—as a harmless prank played by well-intentioned friends.
Instead, the woman had gotten curious about the same time Ashley, who was supposed to be in Kansas City, not Aspen, decided to surprise him. Michael had awakened with the devil's own hangover to find a strange woman in his bed and examining his manhood at close range. He hadn't seen Ashley, but he'd heard her gasp just seconds before the door slammed shut again. At the time, he'd thought it was the maid.
Later, when he'd come home to find her gone and a cryptic note informing him of their impending divorce, he realized that it hadn't been the maid after all.
In the blink of an eye, his wonderful marriage had crumbled.
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Chapter Eight
"Wow. You have a great cabin,” Ashley said, nervous now that she was alone with Deckland. What was she doing? If Michael had gambling problems—and the cards were pointing in that direction—then it was certainly none of her business.
He wouldn't appreciate her butting in, and he definitely wouldn't appreciate her sharing the information with a total stranger. Not a stranger, she reminded herself, but a professional.
Deckland slid a glass door aside and gestured to a small table and two chairs out on the balcony. “I've got friends in high places,” he explained with a lop-sided grin that made him look years younger. When she followed him and sat down, he took the chair opposite her. “So, tell me. What's going on with you and Michael? I know it's just our second day, but I already feel as if I know everyone at our table."
Ashley hesitated, thinking again that Michael wouldn't appreciate her talking about his private life with a stranger. She took a deep breath. “Well, I have this friend—"
"No you don't.” At her dumbfounded expression, Deckland laughed. “Sorry. I've always wanted to say that, and I just couldn't help myself."
"Oh.” Ashley tried to look offended, failed, and ended up laughing with him. “Are you always this informal with your patients?"
"I try to be. I find it helps for them to know right off the bat that I'm human, too."
"With a sense of humor,” she added.
He shrugged, still smiling. “In my line of work, it pays to have a sense of humor. If it helps, think of me as a friend, not a doctor. I am officially off-duty."
When he fell silent again, Ashley knew it was time to talk. Seriously. About Michael. “I think Michael has a gambling problem. I want to know how I can help."
"What makes you think he has a gambling problem?"
"Right before lunch I saw him lose two thousand dollars on a single hand of blackjack."
Deckland whistled. “That's a pretty good sign. How long has he been gambling like this?"
Ashley glanced out at the sea, so beautiful and vast. If it hadn't been for the spectacular view and the smell of salt spray, she would find it hard to believe they were on a ship. In fact, it was hard to believe a lot of things that had happened to her lately, beginning with winning the lottery. “I honestly don't know."
"Hmm.” Deckland drilled his fingers on the tabletop, his expression thoughtful. “I find myself wondering why you agreed to go on this cruise, if you were aware of his problem. Most ships have casinos."
"I didn't—” Ashley bit her lip. Did she really want to go into a long explanation about her relationship—or lack of—with Michael? No, she decided, she didn't. She'd rather use the time to figure out how to help him. It was the least she could do for him, considering they had once been married and he was her best friend's brother. “It was either come with him or let him go alone. I decided to come with him, hoping I could keep him distracted enough so that he wouldn't have the opportunity to gamble.” She was amazed at how easily she told the lie. Only it wasn't all a lie. She really did want to distract him, now that she knew.
Deckland's brow rose. “From what Birdie and Bart told me, you started off on the right foot."
Despite the heat that rushed to her face, Ashley said, “Obviously I haven't distracted him enough."
"Well, there you have it. Try harder. Don't let him out of your sight. Keep him busy in whatever way you can. I can tell by the way Michael looks at you that you could have him wrapped around your little finger in no time."
Ashley had to swallow a disbelieving laugh at Deckland's sadly mistaken observation. The doctor had no idea how very wrong he was, and she didn't have the heart to tell him. “You've been very helpful. Can I pay you? I have plenty of money—"
"Yes, I heard you'd won the lottery,” Deckland surprised her by saying. “That must have been exciting."
"You did?"
"When Michael told us you two were on your second honeymoon, he said you'd been given the cruise by your hometown travel agency after winning the lottery. Something about posing for a brochure."
Michael, it seemed, had been doing a little sharing of his own, Ashley mused. It went a long way in easing her guilt over talking to Deckland. Besides, talking to him about Michael wasn't like talking to Tanya or the Scotts. Deckland was a professional. Anything she told him would be kept confidential.
But just in case ... “You won't tell him that we talked, will you?"
"Okay. Now you can think of me as a psychologist,” Deckland said with a rueful shake of his head. Then, more seriously he added, “Michael's a lucky man to have you."
Ashley suffered a pang of guilt over lying to this man. She wasn't entirely certain why she hadn't told him the truth, that meeting Michael and sharing a cabin aboard ship was either a wild coincidence, or if Michael could be believed, a devious, stubborn plot hatched and carried out by Kim, Michael's sister and her best friend.
Possibly ex best friend, by the time the cruise ended. Instead of a nice, relaxing vacation, she had not only slept with her ex-husband, she was now thinking about sticking to him like glue for the remainder of the trip to keep him away from the casino.
Why? Why was she so concerned over a man who had trampled her heart in the dust, and now threatened her well-ordered, hard-won, stress-free life?
It was a question, a very reasonable question; that she couldn't answer.
"Ashley?"
Ashley gave a start, realizing that she'd been so deep in thought that she hadn't heard Deckland's question. “I'm sorry. Could you repeat that?"
"I asked if you would mind helping me with my book. Maybe answer a few simple questions? I won't use your name, of course."
With a straight face, Ashley asked, “Could I get that in writing?” Now it was her turn to laugh at Deckland's dumbfounded expression. “Gotcha."
His smile was rueful and boyish. “I
guess I had that coming."
"Yes, you did. And yes, I'll answer your questions to the best of my ability."
"They're personal,” he warned.
Ashley went wide-eyed on him. “I've already discovered that nothing is personal or sacred when you share a cruise with Birdie and Bart."
"They are a pair, aren't they?” He chuckled and shook his head. “You definitely have a point."
"So shoot. I'm anxious to go find Michael before he loses his shirt.” She was not joking, and Deckland didn't laugh.
"This body chemistry between you two ... is it only with Michael?"
Ashley's first instinct was to lie. But she couldn't. Deckland had helped her, or tried to help her. She at least owed him honesty, no matter how reluctant she was to admit the truth even to herself. With a sigh, she said, “Yes. It's only with Michael."
"Since...?"
"College. No, even before that. I developed a crush on him when I was in high school, and he was a freshman in college. We started going steady when he was a senior, and I was sophomore at the same college.” Just talking about those days brought a nostalgic lump to her throat. She and Michael had been so in love. The perfect couple. She swallowed hard and reminded herself that those days were long gone. “His sister and I are best friends."
"Kim approved of the relationship?"
"Oh, yes.” Ashley laughed at the memory. “She's a matchmaker, and good at it, too. In fact, she's still—” She bit her lip before she gave herself away. “Kim is a very determined person."
"Sounds like someone I would like to meet,” Deckland said.
"You'd love her.” In fact, Ashley thought, Kim and Deckland would get along well together. It would serve Kim right if she turned the matchmaking tables on her for a change. Warming to the idea, Ashley tried to sound casual as she said, “So, where are you from?"
"Missouri."
Ashley felt a jolt of shock, followed by a surge of excitement. “So am I. You wouldn't happen to know another person on board from our home state that won the lottery, would you?” To her disappointment, he shook his head.
"Sorry, no. I wasn't aware that you had until Michael mentioned it. Would you mind if I asked one more question?"
With a shrug, Ashley said, “Go ahead."
"Is Michael the only lover you've had?” She must have flushed, for he added quickly, “It's personal, I know. But vital to my research on the book. You don't have to answer if you don't want to."
Very reluctantly, Ashley answered. “Yes, he is.” But not for long. The moment she got home, she and Tom were going to get down and dirty if it killed her. She would get Michael out of her mind and out of her system if it was the last thing she did.
Right after the cruise. Six more days. With Michael. Sharing a cabin. And a bed. And sticking to him like glue for the next ... six ... days.
And nights.
Oh, Lord. What was she thinking? What if he got the wrong idea? What if he started thinking that she was gullible enough to fall for him again? Then she remembered his note. How could she have forgotten it? He'd wanted to forget about last night and just have a jolly old time the rest of the cruise.
But he'd said nothing about not being friends. Close friends. The kind of friends that did everything together. She could be his friend. Once upon a brief time, they had been friends as well as lovers and husband and wife.
She had to give it her best shot. For Kim. Yes, for Kim. Kim was her best friend now, and she must be worried sick about Michael and his problem. He'd worked very hard to get to where he was today, as owner and operator of two successful health clubs. How could he risk everything this way?
But then, she had to remind herself that gambling was an addiction like any other addiction.
Sort of like her addiction to Michael. Sexually, of course. She had a handle on her addiction, so maybe she could help him get a handle on his.
Later, back in her cabin, she was dressing for dinner and thinking about her interesting conversation with Deckland when she realized something peculiar. She hadn't mentioned Kim's name to Deckland, yet Deckland had known about her. With a shrug, Ashley slipped into her high-heel sandals, deciding that Michael must have mentioned Kim to Deckland earlier.
What other explanation could there be?
* * * *
The first time, he'd done it Kim's way.
This time he would do it his way. Slowly. Cautiously.
"Hit me.” Grim-faced, Michael watched the dealer flip the card next to his king. Another king. He grunted with satisfaction. Unless the dealer had an ace to go with his queen, Michael would be up another ten dollars.
So far, he'd won back fifty dollars of Kim's money. If it took the rest of the cruise, he would get that two-thousand dollars back. He shouldn't have let Kim badger him into betting a chunk of her savings in the first place, all on one hand of blackjack, but she'd kept on and on until he had to agree or go stark raving mad.
Kim was like that. Deadly persistent and totally unwilling to accept defeat. She could also be eccentric, something he believed she had inherited from their grandfather, who had over two hundred bird baths in his front yard to attest to the fact.
How much time, energy, and money had gone into Kim's most recent plot? Michael wondered as he counted out ten more dollars to bet on the next hand. She'd obviously gotten to someone at the travel agency, for starters. He suspected the cruise package hadn't been entirely free at all, now that he knew Kim was involved.
And he hadn't been exaggerating when he'd reminded Ashley that Kim had friends everywhere. She was like the mafia; they all owed her favors, and she called them in when she needed them.
"Sorry, sir. Dealer takes all."
Michael swallowed a growl and kept his peace as the dealer took his chips. He really did hate to gamble. It was all luck, pure luck, and he didn't like those odds. He preferred to play games that required skill and brains to win.
Like chess. Now there was a game that a man could sink his teeth—
"Hey, gorgeous. I'm looking for a date. You interested?"
"Sorry, I'm not—” Michael froze as the familiar, husky voice sank into his card-soaked brain. And not just the voice, but the endearment. And the perfume. Familiar stuff.
He slowly turned around, his eyes nearly popping out of his head. It was Ashley, wearing a short, skimpy, strapless, backless, red dress. She wore her hair swept to one side and fastened with a silver comb, leaving the rest hanging over her bare shoulder in a dreamy, sexy flow of soft curls and golden highlights.
His gaze moved slowly down. He swallowed hard. Red strapless sandals. Three inch heals. Red painted toes. She'd never been what someone might call a conservative dresser, but then she'd never dressed like a high-class, expensive hooker, either.
Tonight she was. Definitely. It was like a fantasy come true.
Only he couldn't. After his jealous reaction when he saw her enter Deckland's cabin, he'd come to terms with the scary fact that maybe, just maybe, he still had some feelings for her, other than the obvious lust, of course.
Which gave her power.
She'd nearly destroyed him once; he couldn't go there again. He might not survive the second time around. So there couldn't be a second time.
She leaned forward abruptly, giving him a close-up view of her succulent cleavage, reminding him of something else he could sink his teeth into.
"Hey, I'm just asking for an escort to the show,” she whispered, her voice slightly amused. “I'm not asking you to strip and dance on the table."
When she moved back to look at him, Michael saw that her eyes had darkened to violet, which he knew from experience happened when she was scared, pissed, or aroused. He didn't think she was scared or pissed, although the latter was a possibility after the note he'd left her. Hopefully, Ashley would never know that fear and ego had prompted that note.
He'd wanted to say it first, before she had the opportunity, as she had the first time when the Scotts had interrupted them.
He hadn't thought at the time that he'd regret it. But he was thinking it now, as he imagined cradling her luscious breasts in his hands and kissing her full, painted lips.
Without taking his eyes from hers, Michael reached behind him and pulled his jacket free of the chair where he'd draped it. Very casually, he folded it over his arm and held it in front of him as he rose.
He was becoming very adept at hiding his instant reaction to Ashley, he realized, taking her arm with his free hand and leading her away from the blackjack table.
"It's warm tonight. Would you like to drop your jacket off at the cabin?” Ashley asked.
Michael shot her a sharp look, but she merely smiled innocently back at him, her provocative perfume teasing his nostrils. “Um, no. I think I'll keep it handy. It might get chilly later."
What a laugh. If anything, he would need a cold shower.
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Chapter Nine
The comedian was a hoot.
At least, Michael assumed he was a hoot, since the audience was laughing at his jokes. But Michael wasn't listening.
He was thinking about Ashley, who was sitting beside him at a small table near the back of the room. Sitting with her long gorgeous legs crossed so that her short red dress rode high on her thighs.
Why was she being so friendly? Was she that relieved over his note? He'd thought—no, that wasn't right—he'd been hoping she would be furious.
He could handle Ashley mad, or sad, or cold. He couldn't handle Ashley sexy, flirty, and friendly.
Because it made him want to do something very naughty with her. Like strip her naked and pull her onto his lap. Everyone was watching the comedian. Maybe they wouldn't notice.
Michael downed half his cold beer and cut her another secret, sharp glance. She was watching the comedian, laughing with the others. Apparently having a high old time. Oblivious to the fact that he was painfully aroused.
Why was she dressed to kill? And why had she picked him as her date tonight? It wasn't a secret that she despised him and had since their divorce. They lived in the same town, yet she avoided him like the plague.
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