She winced at her choice of words and slammed the drawer shut.
That did it. The Scotts might be a lot of unusual things, but she couldn't believe they were thieves.
Her work here was over.
* * * *
"So you're saying she never actually let you tell your side of the story?” Deckland asked incredulously. “Ashley doesn't strike me as the type to hang a man without at least giving him a fair trial."
Michael shrugged, but he clenched his jaw tight as he stared at the melting ice in his empty glass. “She was the one-woman jury and the judge, all right. I'm surprised my sister didn't fill you in on all the sordid details,” he added with dry sarcasm.
"Come on, Michael. Ease up on Kim. She cares about both of you, you know."
"She just doesn't know when to give up. Ashley and I are a lost cause."
Deckland eyed him speculatively. “Maybe she sees what I see."
"There's nothing to see ... other than a physical attraction,” Michael stated firmly. “And our recent fight proves nothing has changed, as if I didn't already know it.” He shook his empty glass, considered having another drink, and then decided he needed to keep his wits about him. Deckland was no dummy. So far, he had succeeded in convincing the doctor that he and Ashley had had a terrible fight, resulting in Ashley throwing him out of the cabin. He didn't want to pour it on too thick.
Propping his hip against the mini bar, Deckland said, “Maybe you should just admit you're guilty and beg her forgiveness."
Michael nearly choked. “You're kidding, right? Why would I admit to something I didn't do? No. That's not ever going to happen. If she can't believe in me ... well, it's moot at this point, anyway."
"You have to admit that the evidence was damning."
Softly, Michael asked, “You think I'm lying?"
Deckland shook his head, frowning. “No, I'm just trying to put myself in Ashley's shoes. She saw you in bed with another woman. Then your friends—friends you've known for years—all vow that you're innocent. Tell me, Michael. If you had been guilty, would your friends have lied for you if you asked them to?"
Although Michael suspected he knew where Deckland was heading, he answered truthfully, “Yeah. Probably."
"Then how can you blame Ashley for not believing them?"
"I don't,” Michael growled, not entirely truthful. “I blame her for not believing me.” Why in the hell had he introduced the subject? Surely he could have thought of something equally convincing, yet far less painful.
"Did you suggest a marriage counselor?"
Michael's short bark of laughter held no humor. “I never got the opportunity. She wouldn't speak to me?"
"What about the last few days—"
"No. Any time the subject comes up—” he'd lost count of the number of times it had, “—she clams up, or gets mad. She's not any closer to listening to me now than she was then. I've long since come to the conclusion that Ashley wanted out of the marriage. She was just waiting for an excuse."
"You don't really believe that."
It hadn't been easy to convince himself, but he eventually had. “Yes, I do. Otherwise she would have given me the opportunity to tell my side of the story, instead of running to her mother and filing for a divorce."
Michael's eyes burned. He blinked hard, deciding it was time to implement his plan. He'd already said more on the taboo subject of Ashley and their divorce than he'd intended. “Would you mind if I used your cabin while you're gone? I think it would be a good idea to give Ashley some space."
Deckland shrugged. “Help yourself."
To Michael's relief, Deckland glanced at his watch, looking alarmed.
"Didn't realize the time. I'm supposed to meet the others at the hotel for a drink before dinner. Sure you won't join us?"
"Maybe later.” He managed a convincing, tired sigh. “I just need to crash for a few hours."
The psychologist folded his lap top, slipped it into a carrying case, and grabbed a small overnight bag. “All right, then. Hopefully I'll see you later. Lock up on your way out."
"Will do. I'll probably join you guys for the show."
After Deckland had gone, Michael forced himself to wait a good ten minutes before he began his search of the cabin for the jewels. He felt a little like McGuiver and a lot like a snoop.
When he came across Deckland's notebook, he couldn't resist flipping through the pages. He came to the last entry and paused to read the contents. ‘Interview with Ashley Kavanagh, divorced white female/ Subject states her ex-husband is the only man she's sexually attracted to.'
The entry reenforced Michael's belief that Ashley had been lying about multiple sleeping partners. Michael allowed himself a slow, satisfied smile.
Then he reminded his inflating ego that it didn't matter if Ashley went two years or ten without sleeping with another man. She was no longer his to covet, and never would be again.
The brutal realization stabbed a hole in his ego, deflating it in three seconds flat.
* * * *
"I think we're barking up the wrong trees, Mi—” Ashley swallowed the rest of her words as she paused in the doorway to their cabin.
Michael was standing in the middle of the bed, his hands braced on the ceiling. To her further mystification, he gestured for her to shut the door, then put a finger to his lips.
Ashley obeyed, watching with a puzzled frown as Michael used a pocket knife to unscrew the vent cover. She wasn't really surprised to discover there was something wrong with the vent, but she was surprised at the secrecy.
Until Michael carefully withdrew an object from the vent shaft and held it up for her inspection.
She sucked in a slow gasp, coming closer.
It was some type of wireless video camera, she realized.
Silently, she waited as Michael turned the recorder in his hand until he found a switch. He clicked it off and jumped from the bed.
Ashley put a hand to her mouth, feeling her eyes stretch and a slow heat move into her face. Her voice was nothing but a mortified whisper as she stated the obvious, “Someone was ... was taping us in bed."
"Not necessarily in bed,” Michael corrected. He put his hand over the lens and moved it around. “Whoever did this probably has the power to move the eye to any position in the room."
"Who, Michael?” Regaining her voice, Ashley pointed a trembling finger at the camera. “Who did this?” When she had first arrived, she recalled how she had given the room a haphazard check for video recorders, thinking Michael might be attempting to sabotage her relationship with Tom.
But she hadn't really believed Michael would stoop that low. To think that someone had ... well, she felt violated.
And furious.
Judging by Michael's grim expression, she wasn't alone.
"When I was in Deckland's room, I noticed he had a very sophisticated laptop computer,” Michael said.
But Ashley had her own suspects. “The Scotts always seemed to know when we were—when we were—"
"True. Did you find anything unusual in their cabin?"
Ashley thought about the drawer filled with sex toys, blushed, and shook her head. “Why would anyone tape us?"
"You won the lottery, Ash,” Michael reminded her bluntly. “And you agreed to go public with it. That makes you a prime target for professional con artists, burglars, and thieves."
"If what you're saying is true, why didn't they get the camera when they took our jewelry?"
Michael shrugged. “Maybe they didn't have time."
She wasn't satisfied with his answer. Walking to the baggage closet, she removed a small suitcase and placed it on the bed. She unzipped a pocket in the liner and withdrew a wad of cash. “Why didn't they take this? There's about two thousand dollars here."
His brows rose, and there was a hint of censure in his eyes as he chided, “You shouldn't be carrying that much cash around, Ash."
"I'm not stupid, Michael. I haven't been waving it around."
"Which is probably why the thief didn't know about it,” Michael pointed out mildly. “And why haven't we mentioned Tanya lately? She's as much a suspect as the Scotts and Jennings."
The idea that any of their new friends would invade their privacy and steal from them made Ashley nauseous. She put the cash back in the suitcase, snapped it closed, and shoved it into the closet.
"Do you think that's a good idea?” Michael asked.
"Whoever it is will realize when they can't access the video camera that we've discovered it. I don't think they'll be back, do you?"
"You've got a point."
Ashley shivered, hugging her arms. “This cruise is turning into a nightmare,” she mumbled.
Michael closed the distance, taking her into his arms. Ashley melted against him without even a token sign of resistance. God, it felt good to be in his arms, she thought, laying her head on his shoulder.
She sighed and said, “If it's one of them, then I hope they have a good reason for doing what they did."
"There isn't a good reason for stealing."
She tipped her head back, searching the unrelenting lines of his face. Against her belly, she could feel him hardening and tried not to think about it. “You don't think there's a difference between a man stealing a loaf of bread to feed his starving children and a man robbing a convenience store to buy drugs?"
He hesitated, and then gave his head a rueful shake. “I fell right into that one, didn't I?"
Ashley smiled. “Yes, you did. Besides, I don't think it's anyone we know."
"I hope you're right, but I still think we should search Tanya's cabin. It would only be fair."
"You're right, but how? We don't have a key."
With a wolfish grin, Michael reached into his pocket and held up a key attached to a plastic dolphin.
"How did you get that?” Before he could answer, Ashley shook her head. “On second thought, never mind. I probably don't want to know."
"Actually, it's not a big mystery. I bumped into her in the corridor. She took one look at my scowling face and handed me her key."
"That was big of—"
"And told me to give it to you,” Michael finished with a laugh at Ashley's chagrined expression.
"Well, that's probably a good sign she had nothing to do with this."
"Or, maybe that's what she wants us to think.” Michael ran a teasing finger along her jaw, pausing on her parted lips. “We knew when we started searching that it was unlikely the thief would leave the jewelry on the ship for us to find. The most we can hope for is to find other clues."
Ashley could feel her nipples growing taut. She licked her lips, prudently stepping out of his tempting arms. “We'd better get going, then, before someone decides to come back for something."
Michael's eyes had darkened. His gaze swept slowly over her, making her shiver. “Yeah, we'd better go before it's too late."
But Ashley had the distinct impression he meant something else entirely.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Twenty-One
One thing was very obvious about Tanya, Michael discovered the moment they entered her cabin.
She was definitely not a neat freak.
Funny, he didn't remember the cabin being such a mess the night he'd crashed in her bed. But then, he'd been smashed.
Clothes, shoes, purses, and underwear were strewn everywhere—the bed, the chest of drawers, the floor, the night stand, and even in the bathroom floor. There wasn't an inch of carpet or floor in sight. As a result, they couldn't take a step without walking on clothing.
Ashley started to nudge a shoe from her path, but Michael stopped her.
"Don't. As crazy as it might sound, Tanya just might notice if we move anything."
Reluctantly, Ashley left the shoe where it lay. Michael suppressed a grin when she took off her own shoes instead, and proceeded into the room in her bare feet.
"I don't feel right about this,” she muttered, heading in the direction of the built-in armoire.
From the night stand, Michael said, “If you find yourself feeling guilty, remember the video camera."
"I didn't even know they made them that tiny."
"Haven't you watched Mission Impossible?"
"Not recently."
Something in her voice snagged his attention. He caught her gaze, and hot tension flared between them. Michael felt himself growing hard and suppressed a groan. He jerked his gaze back to the task at hand, knowing that she had remembered, as he had remembered—belatedly—the last time she'd watched that particular movie. She had fallen asleep in his arms.
He had carried her to bed.
They hadn't gone immediately to sleep.
"Find anything?” Ashley asked after a moment.
At the husky note in her voice, Michael's fingers tightened involuntarily around the sketchbook he held. “She's an artist."
"I'm not surprised. She strikes me as a highly intelligent person."
Her voice came closer. Michael tensed.
"Let me see."
Before she could reach around him—possibly touching him in the process—Michael turned and thrust the sketch book into her hands. Briskly, he side-stepped her as he said, “I'll check the bathroom."
"Good idea. Oh, she's a fashion designer. Why am I not surprised? I wonder why she doesn't talk about it. She's good. Very good."
Inside the bathroom, Michael turned on the water and splashed his face with it. He grabbed a hand towel, his gaze sweeping the room as he dried his face. Concentrate, he urged his brain.
On anything but Ashley. Her smile. Her scent. Her voice, with that sexy little lilt. Her touch. She was slowly driving him insane with need.
He didn't understand. They'd made love a dozen times, maybe more, since boarding the ship. Why, then, did he ache as if he'd starved himself of her for years? And it wasn't just physical. Michael might not admit this fact to Ashley, but he couldn't lie to himself. He wanted Ashley with his body and his soul.
She made him complete. Made him feel like a man. Made him feel a joy such as he had never known with any other woman. Without her he was only a shadow of his true self.
She was his soul mate, dammit, and it was unnatural for them to be apart!
Michael gripped the sink and closed his eyes, willing himself to regain control. Little by little, he felt his body start to relax. The pain lingered, but he knew there wasn't much he could do about it. He'd lived with that pain since the night she'd found him in bed with another woman.
When he opened his eyes again, it was to find Ashley next to him, staring at him in the mirror with wide, bemused eyes.
"Michael, are you—"
He used one hand to slam the door, shutting them inside the tiny bathroom.
She gasped.
With his free hand, he cupped her jaw and held her still as he devoured her mouth with a hunger he suddenly couldn't control. It was a balm to his pain, to his anguish over having lost the most precious thing in the world to him.
She kissed him back with the same mindless fervor, as if she knew his thoughts and agreed. Michael knew he was kidding himself, and the knowledge cut through him like a knife. To her he was nothing more than a vessel to ultimate satisfaction.
Her fingers tangled in his hair. She pulled away to catch her breath. “Michael,” she panted, and it was sweet music to his ears. “Have you forgotten where we are?"
His mouth traced a hot path along her jaw, down her neck, and to the tops of her heaving breasts. He could hear her heart pounding. “Yes. No. I don't care."
"What—what if Tanya comes back?"
"Then she'll think we're making up,” he muttered, taking her mouth again. Feverishly, he ran his hands along her thighs, pushing her dress to her waist. In one smooth movement, he tore her panties from her and tossed them behind him.
The flesh he grabbed was firm, yet warm and pliant.
She gasped as he lifted her onto the edge of the sink. It was just
the right height, he thought as he unfastened his pants and freed his pulsing arousal.
And she was wet and ready, he discovered, spreading her legs and testing her with his fingers. Hot, wet, and pulsing with anticipation. Ready for him, her soul mate, even if she didn't realize it.
Her husband, even if she had forgotten.
"Do it, Michael,” she whispered, catching his bottom lip and sucking until he growled with pleasure. Her hands moved across his back ... down to his buttocks.
She grabbed him and propelled him forward.
* * * *
The moment he filled her, Ashley felt that old familiar feeling of rightness. This man was where he belonged. Inside her. Loving her. Planting his seed. Shattering her sanity.
Michael was the reason she wanted no other man.
Michael was the reason she couldn't love another man.
Michael was ... everything to her, yet nothing she could have.
She bit back a cry, clutching his rock-hard buttocks with each stroke that brought them closer to an explosion that would topple them from the clouds.
And Ashley knew, as Michael loved her hard and fast, that if he had chosen that moment to ask her forgiveness she would have granted it.
But he remained silent, loving her with his mouth, his hands, and his body. Loving her as only Michael could do.
Loving the sheer hell out of her, yet holding his heart in reserve.
Vaguely, through a thick fog of lust, Ashley heard the sharp sound of something cracking. The hard surface beneath her butt shifted ... but how could that be? She was sitting on a sink, which was bolted solidly to the wall.
Then Michael's pace increased, demanding all of her attention as she felt the glorious release build inside her. He caught her mouth, kissing her deep, his hot tongue taking possession and demanding a duel. His fingers dug into the flesh of her hips; she reciprocated by kneading the firm muscles of his pumping buttocks.
She broke from his mouth and sank her teeth into his neck, lightly, erotically, biting and sucking, tasting him. His breath blasted her ear, kicking her heart into overdrive.
"Hold on to me,” he rasped against her ear. “I think I'm going to break apart."
But it wasn't Michael that broke apart. The very instant he threw back his head and roared her name, at the very instant Ashley felt her inner muscles spasm around him, there was another sound.
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