Michael reached her. He lifted a casual hand and stroked her shoulder by way of greeting. He never just touched her, Ashley realized, bracing herself against the white heat that flashed low in her belly. He stroked, massaged, nuzzled, kissed, and nibbled.
"You tried to wake me this morning,” he said, his smile rueful. “I remember now. Did something happen?"
The heat in her belly made a rapid ascent to her face. “They—she fell in the shower, and Bart needed help getting her to bed. She strained her back."
Michael's brows collided. “She was taking a shower in the middle of the night?"
Apparently, he didn't think it strange that she had been doing the same thing. It just hadn't crossed his mind that she and Birdie might have been taking showers for the same reason, Ashley thought, growing hotter. “She wasn't alone, and they weren't just taking a shower."
This time Michael's brows disappeared into his hairline. His lips twitched. “You mean they were...?"
Ashley nodded, hoping he would leave it at that. To her immense relief, the cabin door opened.
"I thought I heard voices,” Bart said. He smiled at Ashley, but when his gaze landed on Michael, his expression turned uncharacteristically stern. “Do you have to be so damned creative? You're going to get me killed before this cruise is over."
If Ashley hadn't witnessed Michael's blush herself, she never would have believed it. She chuckled inwardly. Michael slid his arm around her waist and slanted her a look that warned her there would be retribution later.
"Can't help myself, Bart,” he drawled, pulling her tightly against his side. “Ashley inspires me."
"Well,” Bart grumbled, “You two inspire Birdie, who then seduces me into her schemes—"
"Ahem,” Michael interrupted hastily. “You don't have to explain, I think we get the picture. Is Birdie okay?"
"Frustrated, but okay."
Ashley choked on a gasp. Michael's grip tightened almost painfully, as if he were trying to contain his laughter.
"The ship's doctor gave her a muscle relaxer, so she's out at the moment. He told her that if she stayed in bed all day, she might get to attend the pool party tonight on the upper deck."
"Tell her we stopped in to check on her,” Ashley said, shamefully relieved she wouldn't have to face Birdie with Michael at her side. The woman would invariably embarrass her.
"I'll tell her when she awakens,” Bart assured her, his smile returning. “She's fond of you, you know."
"I'm fond of her, too.” Ashley swallowed an unexpected lump, realizing she spoke the truth. There was something about the eccentric couple that tugged at her heartstrings. Perhaps if she and Michael had remained married they might have had the lasting, solid relationship the Scotts seemed to have.
The ugly reminder of why they had divorced made her stiffen and move from Michael's side. She sensed his confusion, but wasn't ready to look at him just yet.
After the door closed and they were once again alone in the hall, Ashley felt unaccountably nervous. What now? She wanted to help Michael, keep him distracted enough to forget about gambling, but on the other hand, she didn't want him to think for a moment that she was developing feelings for him other than a temporary friendship.
She licked her lips and forced herself to look at him. He was staring at the path her tongue had taken, as if mesmerized, his brown eyes darkened to almost black.
She recognized the signs. Her entire body recognized the latent desire simmering just beneath the surface. After last night, it was impossible to ignore. With one look, he could warm her from head to toe.
Set fire to her soul.
No, not her soul. Just her body. Her soul remained untouched, because it was much, much wiser than her fickle libido.
"So, what do we do now?” The moment she asked the question, she knew she'd blundered. She should have known not to ask the loaded question, not with the way Michael was staring at her—as if she were a luscious dessert and he had a fork firmly in hand.
Taking her elbow, he pulled her across the hall to their cabin door. He pressed her against it, placing his hands on either side of her, trapping her. His face was inches from her own. His dark, liquid eyes bore into hers, his thick lashes lowered to half-mast. Softly, he said, “I can think of a few things I'd like to do right now, but I think they're illegal in several states."
Curiosity—and Michael—would surely be her downfall. She licked her lips again. She had to; they had gone bone-dry. His mouth was so close, and she wanted him to kiss her as only Michael could do.
Until she was mindless. Whimpering. Begging.
"What—what things?” she asked, her voice a mere whisper.
He moved a bit closer, until his chest grazed her breasts. He moved an inch to the right, then an inch to the left, creating an irresistible friction. Her nipples sprang erect and began to throb. It was embarrassing, really, how easily he could arouse her.
Instead of saying what she wanted to hear, he gave his head an exasperated shake. “Things that would get us thrown off the ship. I can't get enough of you, Ash. Dammit! I wish—"
He didn't finish. He didn't have to. More hurt than she cared to admit, Ashley filled in the blanks. “You wish you hadn't picked this particular ship? You wish that you hadn't bumped into me? Am I cramping your style, Michael?"
His expression hardened. He dropped his arms and shoved his hands into his pockets, stepping back. “I see that you're still an expert at jumping to conclusions."
Ashley felt like slapping him. After two years, he was still blaming her for his infidelity. “I've already told you, Michael. I'm not going to discuss the past with you.” Gathering her dignity, she tried to move around him. “I'm going to find the other lottery winner. Maybe we have something in common.” She saw by the slight narrowing of his eyes that he hadn't missed her subtle barb.
As she walked away, she half-expected him to stop her, but he didn't. She told herself she wasn't disappointed.
But she was.
* * * *
She had to be the most obstinate, narrow-minded, unforgiving woman in the world, Michael decided, watching her walk away. He should stop her; remind her again just what it was they had in common.
But he didn't.
Instead, he stood there in the hall, hard and aching for her, for the chance to bury himself inside her, to show her again and again that she was his—
His fist hit their cabin door, causing it to shudder in the frame. The vibrations climbed up his arm and into his shoulder, making it throb. He welcomed the discomfort. He welcomed anything that could take his mind off his incredibly sexy, bull-headed ex-wife.
Why did he let her get beneath his skin? After two years, he should be immune to her taunts. Yet she'd just proved she still had the power to drive him insane, taunt him into saying things that reminded them of their ugly divorce.
If Ashley found out he'd bought a lottery ticket using her numbers, she would have a verbal arsenal at her disposal. And Michael couldn't let that happen. He wasn't going down again.
With a few choice curses, he went after her.
He caught up with her just as she reached the stairs leading to the upper deck. Swallowing his pride to protect his ego—and his heart—he called out to her. “Ashley, wait!"
She stopped in her tracks, her hand on the railing, her back rigid.
"They're having a golf tournament after lunch. That's why I was looking for you."
For several tense seconds, she didn't respond. Finally, she turned on the stairs to look at him. Her eyes looked suspiciously shiny, but Michael wasn't arrogant enough to think it was due to tears. Anger, yes. But not tears.
She lifted one perfectly arched brow and waited, looking so cool and ridiculously haughty Michael felt himself biting back a grin. “I thought you might be my partner,” he said.
The brow rose higher. “You hate miniature golf."
Michael shrugged and managed a rueful grin. “For five hundred dollars in prize money,
I think I could swing a game or two without barfing."
"What about Tanya—"
"Tanya and Deckland are pairing up. Besides, I remembered how good you were at the game.” She flushed at his compliment, releasing the railing and stepping closer. She was definitely more relaxed, Michael thought, inhaling her perfume and wishing he'd thought to grab his jacket. When she reached him, he held out his hand. “Truce?"
After a small hesitation, she took it. “Truce,” she agreed. She tugged her hand free and swept her hair behind her ear as she added, “Maybe I'll get the opportunity to talk to the other passengers. I'm dying to meet the other lottery winner."
Michael swallowed a groan in the nick of time.
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Chapter Twelve
This was it.
Ashley took a deep breath and studied the distance between the ball and the mouth of the porpoise. If she made the shot, then she and Michael would win.
If she missed, the prize would go to a young couple from California.
The miniature golf course, located on the upper deck, just yards from the Olympic-size swimming pool, reminded Ashley of a theme park. The gaping mouths of sharks, dolphins, eels, and various other sea creatures delighted the young and old.
A crowd had gathered around to watch the tournament, and Ashley felt the eyes of a dozen people on her as she prepared to swing. Behind her, she knew the staff moved efficiently between the passengers, serving tart lemonade and iced tea, along with the usual array of colorful drinks decorated with tiny umbrellas and slices of fresh fruit.
"You're doing fine. Just relax, Ash. Think about where you're going to put the trophy."
Ashley bit back a rueful smile at Michael's serious-as-a-heart-attack tone, considering the award trophy was a brass-plated dolphin about three inches tall. As for the money, she didn't really need it. No, she would win for the sheer joy of winning.
She took another deep breath and lifted her swinging arm into position. It was a simple shot, but she'd learned the hard way that the simple shots were sometimes the hardest.
"To hell with the trophy,” Tanya said just as Ashley brought her arm down. “I'd be thinking about the five hundred in gambling chips."
Gambling chips? Ashley couldn't stop her downward swing in time, but she managed to put more force behind it to ensure the ball would bounce. Gambling chips? Why hadn't Michael told her?
The ball ricocheted from the mouth of the porpoise, and like a boomerang, headed straight for Ashley.
She didn't have time to think.
She didn't have time to move.
The ball hit her in the forehead with a resounding thunk. Ashley began to giggle, listening with a dazed wonder as the sound faded and her vision grew dim. Good grief, she thought, I've knocked myself out!
* * * *
Michael saw her begin to fold and was close enough to thrust his hands beneath her head before she hit the deck, cushioning her fall somewhat. At the sight of her pale, still face, his heart leaped into overdrive. “Get a doctor!” he bellowed, startling the passengers, who had moved in to get a better view.
"What happened?"
"Did she get hit?"
"Is she suffering from heat stroke?"
"One minute she was swinging, the next minute she collapsed."
"Good God, Michael—” this from Deckland “—did the ball hit her?"
Tanya fell to her knees on the other side of Ashley, peering at her forehead. She glanced up, confirming Deckland's suspicion. “She's getting a lump the size of a golf ball."
Someone had the insensitivity to giggle.
Michael's head came up. Frowning, he scanned the crowd, daring the culprit to show himself. Fear fueled his anger. He almost wished someone would come forward so he could wring their necks.
The crowd fell silent beneath his burning gaze.
Moments stretched into an eternity for Michael. The sun beat hot against the back of his neck. Where was that damned doctor? If only he hadn't asked Ashley to participate, she wouldn't be lying unconscious on the deck of a luxury ship. His reasons had been totally selfish. He'd wanted to keep her occupied so that she wouldn't find out he was the other lotto winner.
"Move aside, please. Give the poor woman some air."
At the sound of the authoritative voice Michael shaded his eyes with his hand, watching the gray-haired man approach. This was the ship's doctor? He looked eighty if he was a day!
Michael felt his knees pop as he stood. The words were out before he could stop them. “You're kidding, right?"
The doctor's light blue gaze narrowed on Michael. “The husband, I presume?” When Michael nodded, he pointed to something in the far distance. “Can you see that stretch of reef?"
Shading his eyes again, Michael looked in the direction the doctor pointed. “I don't see anything.” The man was not only ancient, he was senile too! Ashley needed—
"Well, I do,” the doctor said. “Can you hear a dull, pounding sound?"
Muffling an impatient curse, Michael shook his head.
"Well, I can. It's the waves pounding against that reef that you can't see. Now move aside so I can do my job. Never know when I might kick the bucket."
The latter, said with such droll sarcasm, generated a few snickers from the crowd, and a flush from Michael. He felt like an idiot—a rude idiot. Thrusting his hand through his hair, he joined the doctor on the deck. His apology was genuine. “I'm sorry. I'm not usually so rude, it's just that I was—"
"Never mind.” The doctor waved his hand and bent to study Ashley's pale face. He turned her head from side to side, and then lifted her lids to peer at her eyes. “Yep, just as I suspected."
Michael's heart lurched to a stop, then began to gallop. “What? What is it? Is she alright?"
The doctor looked at Michael. “She's out cold, but I don't think there will be any lasting damage. At the worst, she will have one hell of a headache when she awakens.” He picked out a couple of men from the crowd and waved them forward. “Let's get her to her cabin, shall we?"
"I'll carry her,” Michael said, refusing to analyze his reasons for not wanting other men to touch her.
The doctor looked skeptical. “Are you sure? You still look a little shaky to me."
"I'm fine,” Michael snapped. Ever so gently, he gathered Ashley in his arms and waded through the curious crowd. Like a couple of mother hens, Tanya and Deckland followed him.
"Watch her head on that door facing,” Tanya warned.
"And keep her head elevated,” Deckland added, racing ahead to open the door.
Carefully, Michael maneuvered the stairs, mindful of Deckland and Tanya breathing down his neck. Somewhere along the way, he thought a little jealously, Tanya and Deckland had forgotten that only days ago Ashley had been a complete stranger to them.
If he hadn't been so damned worried about her, he might have found their concern amusing, if not touching. But then, Ashley had always had a way with people. It was one of the reasons why she was so good at her job. Michael knew Ashley's clients often became lasting friends. During their short marriage, he'd lost count of the number of weekend barbecues in the backyard she had hosted, inviting all and sundry.
He reached the landing and turned carefully with his burden, navigating the second set of stairs with the same ease and care as he had with the first. His lips quirked as he recalled one particular backyard barbecue where Ashley had invited the entire staff from their local cable company—all because they had offered her prospective buyers free cable for a month.
Crazy in love with her, Michael had watched from his spot in front of the grill as she had flitted from one person to the next, leaving a smile or a laugh in her wake.
Those had been the days, he thought, surprised to find his eyes watering. Oh, how he had been looking forward to having children with her. She would be the best mother, he remembered thinking with absolute conviction. And because of her influence on him, he would be the absolute best da
ddy.
Finally they reached their cabin. Michael allowed Deckland to fish the cabin key from his pocket and waited for him to unlock the door. He stared down at Ashley's angelic face, fighting the urge to kiss her to see if she would magically awaken.
Who was he trying to fool? He wanted to kiss her. Period.
Swinging the door open, Deckland turned and placed a bracing hand on Michael's shoulder. His voice was gentle as he said, “You heard the doctor, Michael. She's going to be fine."
Michael blinked rapidly, attempting to be sneaky about the lump he had to swallow before he could speak. “I know.
Tanya smoothed the hair from Ashley's cheek, her expression genuinely concerned as she gingerly probed the injured area. “The doctor said an ice pack would lessen the swelling. I'll find a steward and rustle one up."
"Thanks.” His voice came out rougher than he intended, but what the hell. Ashley was unconscious and couldn't witness his foolish reaction.
"I'll go with you,” Deckland offered.
Michael was glad finally to be alone with Ashley. He placed her gently on the bed and sat beside her to begin his vigil.
He wasn't moving until she opened her eyes, and if it didn't happen in the next ten minutes, he would call the nearest hospital and demand they send a medic helicopter. The fact that the doctor could apparently see and hear better than he, failed to impress Michael.
What if Sawbones Sam had missed something? What if her brain was bleeding or something? He'd watched enough E.R. to know that a dozen complications could arise from a knock like Ashley had endured. Why, just recently he'd seen on the news where a boy had been hit with a hockey puck at a hockey game. Four days later, the boy slipped into a coma. The boy had lived, Michael recalled, but he had suffered irreparable brain damage.
God, it couldn't happen to Ashley! She was a light that never dimmed, spreading her warmth to others in a special way that couldn't compare, as far as he was concerned.
The thought made Michael suck in a sharp breath. He quickly assured himself that there was nothing wrong with admiring Ashley, as long as he wasn't foolish enough to love her again. Hell, they'd been married. Had been madly in love.
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