“That bad, huh?”
“He wasn’t winning any humanitarian awards,” Vanessa drawled with derision, then tacked on, “Well, I stayed with the bastard too long so that’s my fault, but I was raised that you didn’t quit. So I stayed. Wasted the best parts of my life, too. But that’s over, honey. I’m here to tear things up, starting with you, sugar pot.” She squeezed his thigh, and he jumped. Her eyes lit up as she grinned. “You are a jumpy thing. All that young energy, stamina...mmm...just what I am looking for.”
Teagan didn’t want to hurt the older lady’s feelings, but he didn’t want to lead her on, either. “Vanessa, you are a smoking-hot woman, no doubt. Some man is going to be counting his lucky stars with you on his arm but I’m not sure I’m ready to take things to that level.”
Vanessa’s smile was strained around the edges but she nodded. “Sure, no problem. You’re old-fashioned. I like that. Most times men are just eager to drop their drawers if the invitation is bold enough.”
“When did your husband die?” he asked.
She exhaled before taking another drink. “Two years ago. Heart attack. Dropped dead in the middle of a steak dinner. Ruined everyone’s appetite, that’s for sure. I haven’t been back to that restaurant since.”
Even though Vanessa implied she was glad to be widowed, Teagan sensed lingering grief. Some things were hard to quit, especially if it was something like a long-term relationship.
“So, I do these cruises for fun, to pass the time. Meet people.”
“How many cruises have you done?” he asked.
“This is my fourth.”
Four singles cruises? Basically, two a year for the past two years since her husband died. That admission told a story.
“What was your husband’s name?”
She cast him an uncertain look as if surprised he was asking, then answered, “Dale. We were high school sweethearts.”
Vanessa blinked rapidly and Teagan realized she was fighting tears. Fluttering her hands to wipe away any moisture before it left a track down her heavily made-up face, she rose and excused herself before Teagan could say anything.
Maybe Dale hadn’t been as rotten as Vanessa liked to say.
Sometimes being angry was easier than accepting the pain of true grief.
So far this meet and greet was not going well.
Maybe he could find another woman and send her off in tears.
He motioned for the bartender. “Keep ’em coming.”
* * *
HARPER KNEW THE minute Teagan entered the room. It was as if her eyes were set to track and her aim was unerring.
He looked good.
Damn good.
That self-assured swagger as he surveyed the room, the way a smile flirted with his mouth...he was a bad distraction.
She knew she ought to flirt with the cluster of men corralling her, but seeing as Stuart was a no-show, the idea of wasting time with those pitiful fools was more than she could stomach.
The smart thing would be to return to her room, rest up for tomorrow.
But she wasn’t tired.
In fact, she was practically brimming with restless energy and if she went to her room right now, she’d end up pacing a hole in her tiny stateroom.
A drink would take the edge off.
Don’t do it. Don’t you dare walk over to him.
Ignoring the voice of reason, she politely extricated herself from the cluster and made her way toward Teagan.
She slid into the chair that’d been occupied by the older woman and smiled at the bartender. “Gin and tonic,” she murmured, then turned to Teagan who looked pretty relaxed.
“What happened to your lady friend?” she asked with mild interest. “She seemed into you until she hurried off. Seems your game is a little off. Would you like some pointers?”
He chuckled—the sound tickling her vertebrae like fingers dancing down her spine—and said, “Pointers from you? Hmm...not sure.”
“And why not?”
“Because I’m not really a catch-and-release kind of guy.”
Heat crawled into Harper’s cheeks, caught off guard by how easily Teagan seemed to laser in on her strategy, but she knew it was impossible for him to know. Whatever she was keying in on was her own paranoia. Harper graced Teagan with a small smile. “Why hold on to one, when there are so many to choose from?”
Teagan nodded as if ceding her point until he countered, saying, “Why continue to draw in fish you have no intention of keeping?”
“The thrill of the chase?” she suggested coyly as the bartended pushed her drink toward her. She rewarded him with a blinding smile and a modest tip.
“I don’t see you chasing anyone,” he pointed out, watching as she lifted the glass to her lips. “I see it the other way around. But something tells me, that’s your game.”
It was true. Harper rarely chased—she snared.
“Okay, Mr. Observant...what else do you see?”
The minute she threw the question out there, she knew it was a mistake. Teagan was sharp. There was something about him that cut through the haze and pushed away her carefully constructed web. He wasn’t in a rush to fall all over her and that wasn’t something she was accustomed to, either.
Teagan grinned, amused at her rash response. “You sure you want me to answer that?”
Actually, go ahead and forget I said it.
She graced him with a patronizing smile. “Darling, I can’t wait to hear what you think you see after knowing me for a total of fifteen minutes.”
Teagan swiveled on his chair to face her directly. She sucked in a tight breath as her heart rate quickened, but she held her smile. To her surprise, he reached for her hand and turned it over to observe her palm.
Was he psychic or something? Her smile turned wary. “What are you doing?”
“Shh...”
He lightly traced the faint lines in her palm, sending shivers rioting up her forearm.
“Am I going to be famous?” she teased, if only to quell the racing of her pulse at his touch. “Is this your schtick? Hey, baby, let me tell you your future?”
He graced her with a charming smile and released her hand.
“Well?”
Good God, she could still feel the heat of his fingertips sliding across her skin. Harper absently rubbed at her palm to stop the sensation.
“You, Harper Riley, are a man-eater.”
“And what makes you say that?” she asked, trying to play off his observation as if humoring him.
“Because your hands are soft as a baby’s behind, which means you rarely lift a finger to do much work. Your manicure is perfect, not a single hangnail in sight. Your hair is gorgeous, which means you take the time to have it styled regularly, and your body... Well, you and I both know your body is toned, taut and flawless, which tells me you take care of yourself religiously. Why else would a woman put so much effort into being perfect? Unless she was on the hunt. We men may be stupid but some clichés are true.”
Harper scoffed at his assessment. “Or it could mean I have good genes and I like to work out because it feels good. Besides, who said I was perfect?”
“I’m not finished,” he said, gesturing to her heels. “Expensive designer shoes, a dress that fits like it was made for you, diamond earrings and a Louis Vuitton bag that probably cost more than a small car. Now tell me you’re not on the prowl.”
He was not only right, he was shockingly eagle-eyed for a man.
Was he gay? “How do you know anything about women’s clothing?” she asked. “Do you have a thing for expensive bags and shoes?”
He leaned in, his voice tickling her ear. “I’ve had a few girlfriends with expensive tastes...and I pay attention.”
Danger, Harper, a voice
whispered.
The last thing she needed was a man who knew how to pick up on subtle cues. What if he caught on to her plan with Stuart?
She couldn’t afford to mess around. Harper needed that payday.
But their gazes locked as if tethered. Her will to cut the contact faltered in the pull of those gorgeous eyes. The man had won the genetic lottery. Handsome without being pretty, rugged without being ill-mannered. Yes, Teagan was dangerous, indeed.
“I think I’m going to call it a night,” she announced, rising from her seat.
“You haven’t finished your drink.”
Finally breaking their gaze, Harper said, “I think I’ve had enough. Good night, Mr. Carmichael.”
And then, with the effort it took to walk calmly from the room, Harper thought her heart might explode from her chest.
Only when she was safely in her room did she release the shaky breath caught in her lungs.
Teagan was everything she didn’t want—so why had it been so hard to ignore him?
4
THAT WENT SMASHINGLY TERRIBLE, he mused with a wry twist of his lips.
Not only had he chased away two women, he was left with the crazy impulse to follow Harper to her room like a damn stalker.
Clearly she wasn’t interested, right?
No, Teagan didn’t buy that act. Harper was into him, but for some reason she didn’t want to be.
He didn’t like drama or baggage. Hell, he had enough of his own to bother with without dragging someone else’s aboard.
So if Harper wanted to run, he wasn’t about to chase her.
Sounded good in theory.
Sounded damn good.
Except, he was already formulating what he might say to her when he showed up at her door.
Maybe words were the problem. Maybe he ought to just kiss her senseless.
Harper looked as if she needed a little something in her life to muss up that perfectly styled hair.
She was gorgeous, no doubt about that, but he wanted to see her, no makeup, bed head, and in shorts and a T-shirt.
Preferably over breakfast.
That’s the liquor talking, bud. Slow your roll.
Probably true.
He had just enough alcohol in his system to lower his inhibitions, but this whole thing was outside of his comfort zone.
Remember the good old days when you just hooked up with someone at the bar and if things worked out you started the dialogue?
Now he was on a singles cruise. If that didn’t feel like geriatric dating, he didn’t know what did.
He didn’t have the same kind of luck as J.T., meeting the love of his life when she walked into the hangar to hire him.
Forget the part where she almost got them killed. Hey, no one’s perfect.
And maybe if he wasn’t in a bit of a drought, he wouldn’t be fixating on Harper.
Yeah, that was it. It was the drought’s fault.
For the past year and a half, his life had been consumed by Blue Yonder. Trying to keep the business afloat had been harder than either he or J.T. had anticipated.
You know it’s bad when you have to choose between buying toilet paper or food because if you buy both, bills weren’t going to get paid.
Hell, he’d even considered reenlisting.
Thankfully, J.T. had talked him out of that temporary insanity. He had no interest in the soldier life anymore. That was a young man’s game.
And although J.T. liked to remind him that they were neither old nor unfit for duty, both Teagan and J.T. had become accustomed to the luxuries of civilian life.
So, about that drought.
Teagan tried to think of the last time he’d dated.
It took a minute—probably longer than it should have—but his last date had been disappointing. Not because she hadn’t been hot, not because she hadn’t had a great personality, just because his mind had been elsewhere.
Owning your own business had a tendency to suck the energy from every possible outlet.
Including his mojo.
The woman, Clara, had been more than willing to take it to the next level. But his conscience stopped him when things became heated.
Although in hindsight, telling a woman you have to go, after making out for a good solid hour, clothes nearly in a pile, was probably not the best.
But Teagan had known that if he had slept with her, it would have been worse.
Score one for a conscience; zero for his blue balls.
He ought to forget about Harper completely. The whole point of this cruise was to meet up with someone. Maybe he didn’t have to find Mrs. Right, maybe she could just be Mrs. Right Now.
He wasn’t above enjoying himself if the moment was right. But even as he scanned the room, looking for someone who might interest him for the evening, all he could think about was Harper, in her room.
Alone.
It was almost as if he didn’t have a choice. His brain wasn’t going to let anyone else upstairs. Perhaps if he went to Harper, got firmly rejected, he could get the closure he needed and move on.
Just as he was about to make good on his idea, the bar stool was occupied again, only this time, it was with one of the men who’d been clustered around Harper like a drone bee around the queen.
The man didn’t waste time and got right to it. “Hello, friend, whatcha drinking?” he asked.
Curious, Teagan answered, “Beer.”
“Ahh, down-to-earth man,” he said, after ordering a glass of wine. “Look, I’m just going to get down to brass tacks because that’s the kind of man I am, which I’m sure you can appreciate.”
Teagan couldn’t wait to see where this was going.
“You see, I’m the kind of man who sees what he wants and goes after it—no matter the obstacles. That’s how I am in business and how I am in life.”
“Good for you,” Teagan replied, tipping back his beer.
“Yeah, so I think you’ll understand what I mean when I say that I got dibs on the hot brunette.”
Teagan made a point to peer around the room as if looking for said brunette. “Can you be more specific?”
“The one who was sitting right here a few minutes ago. Hot bod, long dark hair and a rack to die for. Ring a bell?”
Teagan didn’t much like Harper being reduced to such simple attributes but what could he say? He’d been pretty much snagged by those very visual cues himself. Still...he didn’t like when this douche did it.
“I’d say it’s probably a good idea to let the lady decide who she wants to spend time with,” Teagan said, finishing his beer. “Don’t you think? I mean, she is an adult, capable of making her own decisions and something tells me, that Harper is the kind of woman who would take offense to hearing someone talk about her like you just did.”
“You gonna tattle on me?” the man joked, but Teagan wasn’t laughing. He was pretty much done with this conversation and the only thing keeping him from punching this guy’s lights out was that he didn’t want to be put in the brig. Or whatever served as a holding cell for unruly passengers. “So you’re saying you’re not going to back off?”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because I called dibs.”
He called dibs. Good God, give me strength.
Teagan smirked as he rose from his seat. “Well, I’m not twelve and I don’t recognize the dibs game any longer. She’s not a piece of candy, she’s a woman. If you can’t interest her squarely on your own, then that’s not my problem. Good luck with your dibs.”
Teagan pushed past the man, leaving him to burn hot coals into his back but Teagan didn’t care. The man was an asshole.
But even so, the man had served one unexpected purpose—he’d given Teagan a much-needed splash
of cold water on his overheated brain.
The purpose of this trip was to loosen up and have fun, not beat down every Tom, Dick and Harry who hoped to snag the “hot brunette with the smoking body,” and if Mr. Swagger was any indication of what chasing after Harper Riley would be like, then Teagan was out.
As if the universe was listening, a sassy redhead cast a flirty smile his way and he responded in kind.
J.T. was a vocal proponent of redheads now.
And this one wasn’t bringing gun-toting maniacs in her wake.
This trip may be salvageable, after all.
* * *
HER GAME FELT OFF. With Stuart being a no-show and then Teagan getting in her head, Harper felt tilted, which wasn’t a good sign.
She needed to be on target to snag Stuart.
Harper changed into her pajamas, removed her makeup and then crawled into bed, phone in hand.
More research.
Stuart. Buck.
She stared at the most recent picture, taken at some toilet seminar where he’d been the lead speaker, and chewed her lip as she frowned.
The Toilet King.
Harper wrinkled her nose with distaste. That was a tall order, but Harper didn’t care what other people said about her as long as the checks cleared.
Louis Vuitton bag.
Chanel dress.
Louboutin heels.
Teagan had been spot-on.
And the religious workouts—Pilates, CrossFit, Zumba, yoga—anything and everything to keep her body fit and toned.
It was exhausting.
She had no social life.
Friends were a luxury she couldn’t afford.
And God only knew she never confided in her lovers about anything, because she wasn’t the person they thought she was.
She played a part, for which she accepted payment in the form of expensive gifts and luxury vacations.
But she wouldn’t be young forever.
Sooner or later, time would catch up to her and no amount of Pilates would keep her ass from succumbing to gravity.
Harper winced at the cruelty awaiting her and that fear renewed her purpose.
Tempted Page 3