Hot Number

by Sheridon Smythe

  Was he hurt? Was that the reason he was turning to her for sex? She knew what it was like to hurt ... hadn't she died ten times over when she walked in on Michael and that—that woman? Michael might deserve to be dumped by Candy, to hurt the way she had hurt, but she discovered she found no satisfaction in the knowledge.

  What did that mean? Was she getting over her anger at Michael? And if she was ... well, she just couldn't. That would be too dangerous.

  Just the prospect of Michael thinking she was beginning to care for him again made Ashley groan in agony. To repeat the past, to give him that power was unacceptable. She couldn't hide the fact—obviously—that he turned her on, but she could and would hide the fact that she still loved him.

  Loved him.

  Loved him still. Had never really stopped, apparently, because it wasn't possible, was it? To love someone, stop loving them, then fall in love with them a second time? No, Ashley didn't believe that, even if she wanted to believe it. And she did. Desperately.

  She put her fingers to her lips and bit down hard on the tips until tears sprang to her eyes. She had thrust him from her mind and locked the door on her memories, but she had never truly stopped loving him. Seeing him with another woman had hurt, badly, but it hadn't killed her love for him.

  He must never know.

  She turned to her side and let the tears fall onto her pillow. If Michael found out about Tom, he might feel sorry for her—feel as if he should pretend to care.

  Or worse, he might think she was fair game.

  But Ashley had resigned from the heart-breaking business, and she wasn't about to change her mind.

  Sleep with him. Care about him. Participate in wild, unforgettable sex with him.

  But don't love him.

  With this firm decision made, Ashley closed her eyes and tried to sleep.

  * * * *

  Her T-shirt was wet, and she wasn't wearing a bra. Her black thong panties left even more of her honey-kissed skin bare to his hungry gaze. Buttocks, tanned and firm, dared him to cup and fondle.

  His intense gaze focused on the white shape of a butterfly on one smooth buttock. How had she managed to place a sticker in that same position before tanning? He wondered, swallowing a mouthful of saliva.

  Michael took his hand from Ashley's shoulder and forced himself to step back. He filled his lungs with air, inadvertently inhaling her sweet, musky odor and the faint scent of her perfume.

  God, she was beautiful.

  And sexy beyond compare.

  On unsteady legs, he moved to the complimentary bar, grabbed a miniature bottle of tequila, and downed the entire contents. Alcohol wasn't healthy and he rarely drank, but for once Michael wasn't interested in what was healthy.

  He was interested in forgetting. He grabbed another and uncapped it as he let himself out of the cabin and away from temptation.

  Rick didn't know it, but Michael had already picked the cream of the crop.

  * * * *

  By the time the top ten contestants were lined up beside the pool and the final judges were called, Michael was seeing double. And that meant a lot of breasts.

  From their pool side table, Bart, Birdie, and Deckland shouted out Tanya's name, stomping their feet and whistling wildly.

  She had made the top ten.

  Michael set his empty glass carefully on the judge's table and took his time looking over the last ten contestants. Not a flutter, not even a twinge of sexual desire did he feel. Ten sets of perfect, perky breasts revealed by wet T-shirts and absolutely nothing stirred inside of him—or elsewhere.

  All he could think about was Ashley, alone in the cabin, wearing that sexy black thong and a damp T-shirt.

  That old, familiar Ashley-fear returned ten-fold, fueling his anger and determination to wipe her from his mind. Before she destroyed him.

  Again.

  He focused his blurred gaze on Tanya, who smiled and winked at him. She was having a good time, Michael knew, and her flirting was harmless. Why wasn't he attracted to her? She was very pretty and had a body that would have made a monk cry.

  Through an alcohol-induced fog, Michael willed himself to concentrate on Tanya, to forget, if even for a moment, about Ashley and how much he wished he were back in his cabin, gathering her into his arms.

  Stoking the fires. Dammit!

  Staggering slightly, Michael returned to the judge's table and marked his choice on a piece of paper. He added it to the hat Rick held out.

  The crowd grew quiet as Rick slowly and carefully counted out the ballots.

  Tanya won the contest.

  Nursing another shot of mind-numbing tequila, Michael bade his time, waiting for the congratulatory crowd to thin. When it did, he made his unsteady way to Tanya.

  Tonight, he would prove that Ashley wasn't the only woman in the world.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Fifteen

  "Get lost."

  The man flirting with Tanya gave Michael a startled look at his growled order. “She yours?” he asked, puffing out his chest. When Michael continued to glare at him, he lifted his hands and backed away. “Hey, dude, no hard feelings, right? I thought she was free."

  When the guy had disappeared into the crowd, Tanya punched Michael in the arm. “Hey! Who are you, my big brother? I was finally making some headway and you scared him off!"

  Michael shrugged and focused on the petite blonde. He curved his mouth in what he hoped was a sexy, flirty smile, and tried to balance himself on the swaying ship. Only he wasn't certain the ship was actually swaying.

  "That's because I want you to myself,” he drawled.

  Tanya's mouth dropped. Michael reached out and closed it, aware, even in his inebriate state, that Tanya was shocked by his actions. Hell, he was shocked by his actions, too, but his fear of Ashley drove him onward. He feared he was going to go stark-raving mad if he didn't get her out of his mind.

  "Michael? Have you been drinking?” she demanded, peering into his eyes. “You have, haven't you? Where's Ashley?"

  "She's asleep.” Michael sidled closer, using body language to convey what he couldn't seem to bring himself to say. Him, the ex-playboy; the lady's man; the guy who had once attracted women like bees to honey.

  Or was it honey to bees? His mind was muddled, he couldn't think.

  Tanya placed a pointy finger against his chest and shoved him back. Her eyes sparkled with growing outrage. “Michael! Have you lost your mind? You're a married man or have you forgotten?"

  "I'm not married,” Michael stated. “Ashley and I are divorced.” There, he'd said it. He'd told someone the truth for the first time since boarding the ship. Funny, he couldn't seem to remember why he'd lied to them in the first place. To protect Ashley's reputation? Or was it because he liked the idea of people believing them to be married?

  That should have been his first warning signal.

  "You're lying.” Tanya shook her head, standing on tiptoe and looking over his shoulder as if searching for someone to rescue her. “I don't know what's gotten into you, but you'd better go to your cabin before you say something you'll later regret."

  But Michael wasn't ready to give up on proving that he could be attracted to a woman other than Ashley. His very sanity depended on it. Reaching out, he grabbed Tanya's arm, as much to steady himself as to stake his claim for anyone watching. “Let's go for a walk."

  Tanya jerked out of his grasp, her eyes flashing. “I'm not going anywhere with you, you two-timer! I might be single and looking for love, but I happen to like Ashley, Michael."

  "We've been divorced for two years,” Michael slurred. “I swear.” On impulse—and driven by desperation—Michael leaned forward, intending to kiss Tanya just to prove to himself that he could feel something for another woman.

  Before his lips could touch hers, she brought her knee up and into his groin with enough force to knock the breath from his lungs. He bent over, gasping for air, and collided with her upraised knee. A very sharp,
hard knee, he discovered.

  "Oh, God, Michael!” Tanya cried, sounding horrified by what she'd done. “I didn't mean to hit you so hard, and I certainly didn't mean to catch you in the eye! Let me look—how badly does it hurt?"

  Michael didn't know which body part hurt the most at the moment. He felt her tugging at the hand that covered his throbbing eye and let her inspect the damage. Bright spots danced behind his stinging eyelid, and the pain in his groin made him downright nauseous.

  He was instantly sober.

  "Does it hurt?” Tanya winced as he winced and quickly dropped her hand from his eye. “Come with me. We'd better get some ice on that.” Her gaze dropped briefly to his crotch. “And maybe on your, um, other injury, too."

  "I'm sorry, Tanya—"

  "Save it for later.” Briskly, she steered him through the crowd and below deck to her cabin. She looked carefully in both directions before she unlocked the door and pulled him inside.

  "Look, you've got every right to be mad,” Michael said.

  "You're damned right I do. Go sit on the bed while I fix an ice pack for that eye."

  She was furious, and Michael didn't blame her. What had possessed him?

  Ashley. That's what had possessed him. It was her fault. He was obsessed with his ex-wife and he was damned well going to put a stop to it.

  Tanya placed a bulky towel filled with ice to his eye and urged him to hold it in place. She stood back with her hands on her hips, glaring at him. Any moment, Michael expected her to start tapping her foot.

  He cleared his throat, feeling like a complete heel. “I apologize,” he said sincerely. “I think I might have had too much to drink.” A vast understatement, considering he usually avoided the strong stuff.

  "That's no excuse for what you did—tried to do. You hit on me, Michael, and you're married.” Her eyes brimmed with tears. “Just when I was finally starting to believe in true love again, you had to go and burst my bubble."

  Michael was lost. “What?"

  "True love. The way you and Ashley feel for each other.” She grimaced. “At least, I thought it was true love between you two—until tonight. Did you two have a fight? Is that why you're acting like a jerk?"

  So much for thinking he couldn't feel any worse, Michael thought ruefully. He lowered the ice pack to his lap, stifling a groan of relief as the cold penetrated his throbbing groin. For a petite woman, Tanya wielded a powerful knee.

  With genuine regret, Michael said, “I hate to be the one to disillusion you, but Ashley and I really are divorced. Ending up in the same cabin was an accident."

  Tanya stared at him long and hard. Finally, she sighed. “I guess you must be telling the truth. You know I could find out easily enough by asking Ashley.” She sank onto the bed beside him, unknowingly jarring him.

  He bit back a groan.

  "Why the pretense? Why didn't you just tell us the truth at the beginning?"

  Michael hesitated, debating just how much of himself he wanted to reveal to Tanya. But then, he supposed he owed her the truth after the way he'd acted toward her. Slowly, he said, “After the Scotts walked in on us ... in the act, I didn't want them to think Ashley was—that she was—"

  "Loose?” Tanya chuckled. “I guess that was before you got to know them and discovered there isn't an uptight bone in their bodies, right?"

  He smiled. “Yeah. After that I guess I just liked the idea of people thinking we were a couple again.” He bit his tongue. He hadn't meant to be that truthful!

  Damn that tequila!

  Softly, and with an underlying sadness that made Michael's heart start to ache, Tanya asked, “What happened?"

  He didn't pretend to not understand her question. “It's a long story. Sure you got time?"

  "Well, Conan, since you ruined my chance of getting lucky for the night, I've got plenty of time. Lay back and relax. I'll get you another ice pack for your eye, since the one I gave you seems to be soothing your, um, other injury."

  Michael shot her a rueful smile and obeyed, easing back on the bed. He stared at the ceiling, which seemed to be revolving. After a few moments, Tanya returned with another ice-filled towel and Michael placed it gingerly on his eye. He waited for her to settle on the bed again.

  The irony didn't escape him. He was lying on a bed with a beautiful, single woman and all he or she could think about was Ashley.

  "Okay, I'm all ears. Just don't go to sleep on me. Ashley might be your ex, but any fool can see that she still loves you."

  "Oh, you're dead wrong there,” Michael said, wishing the knowledge didn't hurt. “She might have loved me once, but not anymore."

  "Whatever. Now tell me the damned story before I go crazy."

  And Michael did, reliving the nightmare all over again.

  * * * *

  A beam of sunlight shining through the portal window awakened Ashley. She had her cheek buried in the pillow and knew before she opened her eyes that she had rolled to Michael's side of the bed.

  The pillow smelled of Michael, a mixture of aftershave, shampoo, and soap.

  She turned her head cautiously, relieved to discover nothing more than a vague ache remained to remind her of her humiliating injury. Slowly, she sat up and propped her back against the headboard of the bed, yawning and feeling remarkably refreshed.

  How long had Michael been gone? She wondered, amazed that she had slept through the sound of the shower. She was normally a light sleeper, awake at the slightest sound. Her mouth curved as she realized that Michael must have been very, very quiet.

  Considerate of him to let her sleep in. But then, Michael had always been a gentleman.

  It was his libido that was forever in question.

  The sound of a foghorn startled Ashley out of her darkening thoughts.

  Then she remembered.

  Today they would dock at their first port of call, the beautiful island of St. Thomas, an adventure she had been anticipating after reading about the island on the travel web site. According to her research, the shops and stores in Charlotte Amalie were not to be missed.

  She had missed the pool party, but she wasn't about to miss their first port of call! Today she would double her sleuthing efforts to find the other lotto winner. It would be a shame to go through the entire cruise without meeting the person who had picked the very same numbers. She had a dozen questions to ask them. Had they picked the numbers at random? By computer? Or did the numbers actually mean something to them, as they did to her?

  Once in the shower, her thoughts turned to the heated argument she'd had with Michael before he'd stormed out. Why were they always fighting?

  If they weren't having sex, that is.

  Well, today she was determined to have a pleasant day browsing the shops in Charlotte Amalie, with or without Michael. If he chose to join her, she would do her utmost to avoid any subject that might spark an argument. She would prove to herself—and him—that they could eventually become friends.

  Two years was a long time to live in the same town as enemies. They had gone from loving each other, to hating each other.

  Well, she had convinced herself she hated him, a self-defense tactic that had worked well the past two years, since that tactic had never been challenged. Now she knew differently, but it changed nothing. Michael was still Michael and with time and prayer, maybe she would eventually stop loving him.

  Then she could get on with her life.

  * * * *

  The breeze was warm and fragrant; the island exotic and beautiful, yet bustling with activity.

  Ashley was enthralled.

  A teenage boy dressed in blue-jean shorts tromped passed her as she moved with the other passengers along the pier. He was carrying a wire cage filled with live lobsters, his feet as bare as his deeply tanned torso.

  He flashed her a brilliant smile, and Ashley smiled back, envying the boy his freedom. What a wonderful life he must lead living on the island.

  "Yoo hoo! Darling! Here we are!"

 
; Ashley spotted Birdie, waving wildly at her from a few yards further up the line. She saw Deckland, Tanya, and Bart, as well, but not Michael.

  "Come on up here with us, dear!” Birdie yelled, and the passengers behind Birdie grimaced and covered their ears.

  Biting back a grin, Ashley trotted along the line until she reached them. She felt a warm rush of affection as they gathered around her. After only a few days, these people felt like family.

  "How are you? Let me see—"

  "Don't push, Birdie! Can't you see the girl's got a bump on her head?” Bart scolded his wife with a smile.

  "You're not dizzy, are you?” Deckland queried with a worried frown. “I'm not a medical doctor, but I wonder if you should be out in this sun."

  "She looks fine to me,” Tanya said, taking her arm as the people behind them began to grumble. “We'd better walk faster. The natives are getting restless."

  "Has anyone seen Michael?” Ashley asked when she was able to get a word in. To her astonishment, they immediately ground to a stop. Grumbling passengers flowed around them as the group continued to stare at her in a peculiar way.

  "She doesn't know,” Deckland said with an unhappy sigh.

  Finally Birdie folded her arms over her bright flowered blouse and said, “Tell her, Tanya. She's a sensible girl, she'll believe you."

  Ashley looked from one serious face to another, her curiosity growing. “Tell me what?” When Tanya wouldn't look her in the eye, her curiosity turned to dread. Her breath hitched. “Has something happened to Michael?"

  Tanya quickly shook her head, and there were tears in her eyes. “No. It's just that he got drunk last night at the pool party and, um, he got hit in the groin and then the eye and—"

  Birdie let out an exasperated sigh and pushed her aside. “You're not telling it right, Tanya. Let me explain it to her."

  She took Ashley by the shoulders and moved her aside. The others followed as if they were all attached to the same string.

  "It's like this, darling. Michael needed someone to talk to last night and Tanya just happened to be available. He never meant to fall asleep on Tanya's bed."