Hot Number

by Sheridon Smythe

  Deckland would probably give her another list, he mused snatching up a towel from the stack on the bench. He had his suspicions about Mr. Jennings. Maybe it was time he paid the helpful writer a visit.

  In the meantime, he had a dose of frustration to work off before he returned to the cabin and Ashley. Just being near her at dinner made him hungry for the touch of her skin, for the taste of her mouth, for the incredible satisfaction he found in her arms.

  Michael dived cleanly into the water, coming up on the other side. He grabbed the edge of the pool and placed his forehead on the fiberglass surface. There were other people in the pool, but they might as well have been manikins for all that he noticed.

  His heart pounded, but it wasn't from the physical activity. No, he feared it would take more than a mere swim to exercise the ghost of Ashley...

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  Chapter Eighteen

  The lamp was on beside the bed.

  Michael crept to the night stand and slowly pulled the passenger list out from beneath Ashley's cabin key.

  Ashley moaned in her sleep, a fitful sound that made Michael freeze.

  After a long, tense moment when she seemed to slip under again, he tip-toed to the bathroom and quietly closed the door.

  He held the list up to the low glow of the light over the sink, scanning the contents as he flipped the pages. Ashley had made it easy for him; with a pink marker, she had highlighted the passengers from their home state.

  Seventeen in all, including himself and Ashley.

  Five other passengers—other than himself and Ashley—boasted stars beside their names. V.I.P's, Rick had explained, to alert the staff of passengers with money to burn. Michael thought it highly unlikely Ashley would know the reason for the stars, but he couldn't take chances.

  If she asked the right people, she might find out.

  Michael folded the list and tapped it against his chin, considering the best hiding place. If he left the bathroom with it, he would risk Ashley waking up before he could hide it.

  But the bathroom was small, and his choices were limited.

  After some debate, Michael slid the folded list beneath the stack of towels on a shelf above the sink. It would have to do until Ashley left the cabin tomorrow. Then he would find a better hiding place, or take it with him and drop it into a trash receptacle on deck.

  Feeling immensely relieved, he got undressed and slipped into bed beside Ashley.

  She lay facing him, curled on her side with one arm flung above her pillow and the other tucked beneath her chin.

  Wearing a T-shirt and those damned sexy thong panties.

  Hot pink this time.

  Within seconds, he was fully, painfully aroused.

  Michael let out a long, frustrated sigh as silently as he could and tried to concentrate on something that would take his mind off the sleeping sex goddess beside him.

  Tom. But no, Tom was no longer in the picture. No longer a buffer, a reason to feel guilty for making love to Ashley.

  Not that he remembered feeling guilty, Michael admitted truthfully. He'd been married to Ashley. She'd been his before she'd been Tom's. A primitive way of thinking, perhaps, but then, he'd never claimed to be all that civilized where Ashley was concerned.

  Or gentlemanly. Or rational. Or strong on willpower.

  Take now, for instance. He was seriously considering seducing Ashley while she slept. If he played his cards right, she would be beyond resisting him before she became fully awake. It was a game they'd often played. Would she remember?

  A soft sigh slipped from her lips as she stirred on the bed. Her hand landed on his stomach, an inch above his erection.

  Michael jumped, his stomach clenching in reaction.

  Slowly, she uncurled her fingers until her hand lay flat on his taut belly. Her palm was hot against his cool skin.

  But her breathing remained slow and shallow, reminding Michael that she was still asleep.

  To hell with it, he thought, sliding out from under her hand. He moved to the end of the bed and knelt at her feet. With infinite care, he lifted her foot and brought it to his mouth. He began to suckle her toes.

  Once upon a time, it had driven her wild.

  She moaned and stirred restlessly, proving to him that nothing had changed.

  Michael swallowed his own moan as she lifted her other foot and placed it against his throbbing shaft. On purpose? Accidentally? Who cared?

  Slowly, she curled her toes around him, then drew her foot down the length of him.

  His breathing already ragged, Michael worked his way along her leg, nibbling and kissing, using his free hand to stroke her other leg. Her skin was satin; her scent intoxicating.

  Closer and closer he came to her pink covered mound. He hooked a finger in the waist band of her panties and slowly pulled them down, exposing her tasty little flower to his hot, eager mouth.

  When he touched his tongue to her, she cried out and rose up in the bed, gripping his head.

  She was wide awake now, he realized.

  "Michael? What are you doing?"

  Her voice was husky with sleep ... and desire. The knowledge inflamed Michael. He smiled in the dark, confident that she couldn't see him.

  "If you want me to stop, just say so,” he whispered. And before she could answer, he dipped his head again, thrusting his tongue hard against her.

  Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling, then kneading, pulling, then kneading. As if she couldn't decide if she wanted him to stop or continue.

  Michael was prepared to make her forget any indecision. He slipped two fingers into her wet, slick warmth, then thrust his tongue at her trembling nub until she writhed beneath him.

  Her muscles contracted around him.

  He grabbed her hips and rocked against her, using his tongue to drive her beyond the point of sanity. She was so sweet, so willing ... so his. Right now she was his and no other's. When they were together, like this, nothing else seemed to matter.

  Ashley went rigid, pulling at his hair, attempting to dislodge his mouth. “I want you inside me,” she demanded, breathing hard. “Now."

  It was an order Michael couldn't refuse. “Yes, baby. I'm coming."

  She gripped his forearms, halting his forward move. “Don't you dare! Not yet."

  He chuckled at her crude joke ... only it didn't seem crude to Michael. Nothing Ashley could say, when they were together like this, could sound crude.

  Sexy and funny, maybe.

  Exciting, yes.

  Enormously arousing, you bet.

  "Baby, I won't be doing that until I've heard you scream,” he promised, his voice thick with suppressed need. He just hoped he could keep that promise.

  "The Scotts—"

  "Are probably sound asleep,” he concluded, settling his mouth over hers with a sigh of pure pleasure. He kissed her until her nipples rasped hard and urgently against his chest, and his bones felt soft and buttery. It was amazing, he thought, what kissing Ashley could do to him. He could never kiss her without becoming aroused, which had proved to be frustrating and awkward at times.

  This not being one of those times, of course.

  Catching her by surprise, Michael grabbed her hands and thrust them above her head. There was just enough moonlight shining through the portal to pick up the sheen of desire in her eyes. “Tell me that you missed this,” he urged, bringing the tip of his shaft a hair's breadth from her opening. He could feel her quivering ... there, and his body shuddered in response.

  "No,” she hissed, but she was smiling a slow, sexy smile that knocked another inch into his arousal.

  Michael continued to tease her, inching closer, then drawing back. He was near the explosion point himself, but he couldn't resist making her squirm. “Say it,” he warned huskily. He lowered his mouth and captured a hard, thrusting nipple. His teeth scraped lightly against it, before his lips suckled until she was moaning and twisting beneath him.

  She thrust her hips for
ward in an attempt to capture him.

  He chuckled and dodged her sneaky attack. “Oh, no you don't, baby. Not until I say so."

  "Say so,” she ordered.

  "Not until you admit you're my slave."

  "I'm your slave. Now do it!"

  He was still chuckling as he slid into her, but his chuckle quickly turned into a strangled gasp of pleasure.

  And that was when the knock came at the door.

  "What the—"

  They froze, staring at each other in the dark, not daring to breath.

  The knock came again, this time more urgently.

  With a muffled oath, Michael rose from the bed and moved silently to the door. He used the door to cover his naked state as he cracked it an inch and peered between the gap.

  Bart was standing in the hall, grinning like a fool.

  "What is it, Bart?” Michael demanded. He didn't care how ungracious he sounded. The man had no idea what he had interrupted—

  "I thought you might like to borrow this,” Bart said, thrusting the cold object between the gap. “Poor Birdie went to sleep before I could figure out how to operate the damned thing.” He rolled his eyes. “Give me an old fashioned tub of Cool Whip any day!"

  Michael automatically took the can of whipped cream and shut the door.

  He was stunned for all of two seconds.

  Then the absolute bizarreness of the mostly one-sided conversation struck him.

  He began to laugh.

  * * * *

  Michael's sudden burst of laughter brought Ashley to her senses.

  She snatched the covers over her body, mentally lashing herself for her weakness. How could she forget that just last night he had made a pass at Tanya? Had she no pride at all where Michael was concerned?

  How easy he must think her!

  Shame spread over her naked skin, heating it with a different kind of warmth. She fell back onto the pillow and closed her eyes, totally disgusted with herself and with Michael. She had been so determined to resist him ... and he had tricked her, sneaking up on her while sleep fogged her brain.

  He was insufferable. A womanizer. A breaker of hearts.

  And she was a fool.

  Again.

  "Can you believe that guy?” Michael said, still chuckling as he approached the bed.

  Ashley braced herself against the husky, sexy sound of his voice.

  "He gave me a can of whipped topping. Apparently, he heard us making love—"

  "Having sex,” she inserted in a brittle voice. “We were about to have sex, not making love, Michael.” Although her eyes were closed and the room was dark anyway, she knew he had frozen in his tracks.

  "You cooled off in a hurry,” he observed.

  The bed dipped beneath his weight. Cotton sheets rustled as he moved closer.

  But he didn't touch her.

  Ashley was intensely grateful. Despite her horror, despite her shame, her body was still taut as a bowstring, aching for him in a big way.

  She hadn't exactly cooled off, but she had come to her senses.

  "This is about last night, isn't it?” he asked softly, but with an edge to his voice that matched hers. “The deal with Tanya?"

  "Deal?” She gave a short bark of laughter. “I think it was more like an attack, wasn't it? That is how you got the black eye, right?"

  "I was drunk."

  "It's none of my business, but if it were my business, then I'd say that was a sorry excuse.” She heard him sigh. For a long moment, he didn't speak.

  "I was desperate."

  "Has anyone ever told you that you're over-sexed, Michael?"

  "Not that kind of desperate."

  He shifted, and she stiffened. But he didn't touch her. She half wished he would, so she could give his other eye a shiner.

  "I'm probably a fool for asking you this,” Michael said. “But doesn't this ... this intense attraction scare you just a little bit?"

  Ashley couldn't believe her ears. Of all the excuses he could invent, he had to give one she could almost believe.

  Because it did scare her ... just a little bit.

  She chewed her bottom lip, carefully selecting her words. With Michael, she had to always be on guard. “So you're trying to say you hit on Tanya because you're scared of the way we—” God, had she really almost said the way we feel? She hastily amended her words. “Because of this physical attraction between us?"

  Michael's voice was dry. “At the risk of over-feeding your ego, yes, that's what I meant. When you're around, I seem to have a one-track mind."

  He reached out, unerringly finding her hand in the dark. Before she was aware of his actions, he placed her hand on his rock-hard arousal. Fire and satin.

  She jerked it back, sucking in a sharp breath.

  "That doesn't happen around Tanya,” Michael concluded. He didn't sound too happy about it, either.

  Ashley let herself consider for a moment that maybe they shared the same feelings about this body chemistry between them. The fact that he was a man made it a little harder to believe, but she supposed that it was possible. And maybe, just maybe, he was telling the truth about Tanya.

  As if he could read her mind, he said, “I wouldn't have slept with her, Ash.” There was a pregnant pause before he added reluctantly, “I didn't want to."

  Absurdly, considering the circumstances, his reluctance stung. “It's none of my business who you sleep with."

  "I got that the first time you mentioned it. Do you believe me?"

  "Does it matter?"

  "If I hurt you, then yes it matters!"

  Of all the words in the English language that Michael could have used, he'd picked the very one that held the power to send Ashley into a furious spate of denial.

  "Oh, no. Let's get something straight here, Michael. You didn't hurt me. You can't hurt me. Not again. Ever.” She had to struggle to keep her voice level. “So if you have some sadistic plan stewing in your little brain to see how badly you can hurt me, let me save you the time and the energy. It isn't going to happen!"

  She didn't know how she could have been any clearer. Now, if he would just believe her. She needed for him to believe her.

  Anything less was unacceptable.

  He sounded convincingly weary as he said, “I don't have a plan."

  "Good."

  "Fine."

  "Goodnight, then.” Ashley ignored her yearnings and turned her back to him.

  "Goodnight."

  She felt the bed move and realized that he had done the same. A single tear slipped from the corner of her eye. She brushed it away, still furious that he'd had the gall to think he had hurt her.

  Because she thought she'd done a great job hiding it.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Nineteen

  Just as dawn crept into the cabin room, Michael came awake. He eased out of bed, forgoing his morning shower in the hopes of escaping before Ashley awakened and found the passenger list missing.

  He didn't think she would suspect him, but he wasn't taking any chances.

  Top-side, a few sleepy-eyed waiters served coffee and doughnuts to a dozen or so early bird passengers gathered to catch the spectacular sunrise over the ocean. They conversed in low tones, as if the sunrise were a living thing that was easily startled.

  As Michael took a cup of black coffee to the railing, he had to admit that the sunrise was definitely worth watching. Like a slow-moving fog, the fiery sun spread a blanket of golden light over the ocean, creeping along until it had painted the ship with the same golden hue. Michael sipped his coffee, enjoying the warm, balmy breeze and the hushed beauty of the morning.

  For all of thirty seconds.

  "Morning, Michael,” Deckland said, joining him at the railing with coffee mug in hand. He, too, talked in low tones, as if there were some unspoken rule.

  Michael allowed a smile to kick up the corners of his mouth. Deckland was just the guy he needed to see. Now that he was fairly certain he knew Dec
kland's business on the ship and, with Ashley, he no longer felt hostile toward the man.

  But his exasperation toward Kim ... well, that was another matter entirely. He could cheerfully wring her neck.

  "Morning, Deckland,” Michael said politely. He sighed as if life couldn't get any better, dropping his bombshell as casually as he might comment on the beautiful sunrise. “So, how long have you known my sister?"

  His question startled Deckland into spilling his coffee. He recovered quickly, but not quickly enough to fool Michael.

  "Your sister? I don't believe I do know her."

  Michael shot him a cheerful grin. “Sure you do. Petite, blond-haired. Mid-twenties. Lives to drive her brother crazy by meddling in his love life.” He paused, staring at Deckland, whose gaze remained stubbornly on the sunrise. “Does that description ring a bell?"

  Deckland, apparently, knew when to fold. “How did you know?"

  "I didn't really suspect anything until you handed Ashley that passenger list. I would think something like that would be hard to come by."

  The writer's mouth twisted in a rueful smile. “Kim definitely owes me one. I had to blackmail the ship's first mate to get that list.” As if he suddenly realized he'd said too much, he clamped his mouth closed.

  But he was too late. Michael gleefully pounced. “Hm. Something like that could cost a man his job, wouldn't you say? If word got out, that is.” When Deckland paled, he knew that he'd hit the jackpot. He gently pressed his point. “Did you make a copy of that list?"

  Deckland nodded.

  "Then I suggest you get rid of it,” Michael said. “No sense costing the man his job.” He wasn't making an idle threat, and Deckland seemed to sense this.

  "I'll get rid of it, but—"

  "I don't need a session, doc."

  "I wasn't going to offer you one. I was just going to ask you a simple question."

  With an inward groan, Michael said, “What?"

  "If Ashley finds out you're the other lottery winner, what's the worst that could happen?"

  Michael didn't hesitate. “She'll think I care."

  "And that's so terrible?"

  "You have no idea,” Michael said softly, with feeling.