Her reply came about ten seconds later. When he read it, he stifled a chuckle. “I’m not horrified at all. I’d rather share a room with you than some of the others. Kamin and Stills are known to snore, and Ryan’s an insomniac. She’d keep me up all night.”
“You’re dodging my question.”
“Not a dodge. I’m looking forward to catching up with you. Haven’t seen you in person in a few weeks. Besides, we talk all the time.”
She did have a point. Even when they didn’t see each other, they reached out multiple times a day. Their usual text streams, phone calls, emails, and video chats were nonstop, daily occurrences that had continued despite the abrupt ending of that night in New Orleans. They’d skirted around what had happened, while sharing most other aspects of their lives with one another. Sometimes their conversations were work-related, sometimes not. Typically, their interaction was full of complete nonsense. Like their running dialogue of one-letter dietary restrictions. She’d start it with a morning text that said, ‘Only eating things that start with a T today.’ He’d answer with a random letter. They’d send photos of their food choices throughout the day.
He typed, “I mean really talk. Not like the b.s. we usually…”
Before he could complete his thought, a new message from her said, “This job looks great. Right? I’ve never been to Macau. You?”
Just like that, she’d shut down his attempt. Again. “The dodge won’t work so well when we’re face to face, sharing a room. Yep. Job looks great. Nope. I’ve never been.”
“OK. You focus on ship schematics. I’ll focus on communications. Let’s actually earn some of our paychecks.”
The dialogue box flashed with an x, indicating that she’d exited their chat. Once again, he’d let her off the hook. He didn’t know what he’d say if she ever gave him the opportunity, and that was one big reason why he wasn’t forcing the issue.
Yet there was one thing of which he was certain. Over the last few weeks, with all the lingering daytime thoughts that he couldn’t shake, and the late-night tossing and turning that had resulted from burning hot yearning, he knew he couldn’t forget their kiss. Couldn’t wipe any part of it out of his mind. Not her sighs. How’d she felt in his arms. The taste of her. How she’d locked her legs behind his hips, sighing into his mouth as she pressed into him. Another thing of which he was certain was that he wasn’t supposed to have these feelings for his best friend and co-worker. Such feelings could damn well complicate both relationships, if not destroy them. He also knew something else. He wanted more.
Chapter Four
Sunday, December 22
Aboard Imagine, in the South China Sea
6:00 p.m.
Conversations ebbed and flowed as gamblers, intent on beating casino odds and each other, crowded around Imagine’s gaming tables. The playing pit where Ace and Leo were positioned had blackjack tables, craps tables, and roulette wheels. Among the tables, dealers were arranging chips into towering stacks. Players then dismantled the stacks into bets and continuously counted their chips by re-stacking them. The gambling action resulted in an endless series of soft, but audible, clicks as bets were wagered, won, and lost.
In homage to the season, Frasier firs, dusted with fake snow and decked with lights and ornaments, stood tall in the casino’s far corners. But there was nothing Christmas-like happening at the tables, where, now that they were a few hours into the cruise and the tournament was in full force, the players were determined to win.
Leo, in the role of her legend, Chloe St. Laurent, was trying to stake a claim as a contender. Ace, standing beside her as her fiancée, Zack, knew that the role wasn’t taking too much acting on her part. In real life, Leo loved games.
To be more accurate, she loved to win, and this was one hell of a game. Around the craps table where Leo now played, more than eight million Hong Kong dollars rode on the hope that the sum of the next roll of the dice wouldn’t equal seven. A cool half million of those dollars were wagered by Leo, compliments of HUG.
Leo gave a wholehearted laugh. It was powerful, yet delicate and feminine. Excited. While the other gamblers at the table grew silent, waiting for James Ye of Taiwan, a thirty-two-year-old who’d inherited billions, to throw the dice, her laughter sent shockwaves through his bones. Like gunpowder in a shell, her laughter packed everything about her into a lethal shot that struck his chest with explosive force. Amidst the sea of confusion he’d been trying to navigate ever since the early morning hours after Halloween night, the simple sound of her laughter carried clarity, as instant as it was inexplicable.
It forced him to recognize the feelings he’d had ever since the elevator doors had shut, separating him from her as she stood there looking frustrated, bewildered, and sexy. Even on that night, at The Roosevelt Hotel, it had taken everything he had not to push the elevator doors open, take her in his arms and tell her…
Son of a bitch, but that had been the problem. He’d had no idea what to say then and still was at a loss, because he knew her well enough to know that any words on the subject of feelings and emotions could scare her away, perhaps for good. Except now, his reaction to her mere laughter told him not to deny reality any longer.
Fuck. I’m in love with my best friend.
The realization twisted his gut into knots, because he’d learned the hard way not to fall for female co-workers. He’d done it once before. As a Marine, he’d made the mistake of falling for a medic who did battlefield work.
Kat.
He’d been on his third tour of duty in Afghanistan. They’d gotten serious quickly. They were even planning on getting married. At least they had been until the worst happened. He shook off the bad memories that came every time he thought of Kat’s final moments, in his arms, as he carried her away from the bloody hell that marked his final battle as a Marine.
Now, the certainty that he was in love with Leo also made him wonder, in-the-name-of-all-things-with-a-subzero-IQ, how he could’ve been so blind to it in the two years he’d known her. As the craps table’s current shooter, James Ye, finally let the two red dice fly, he also knew that his epiphany damn well needed to be irrelevant to the job.
One dice hit the table’s far rim before plopping on the green felt. Five. The other pinged off the middle of the low wall and ricocheted across the playing pit. Chips flew as the wayward die hit one tall stack, then another, before rolling to a slow stop. Three.
The dealers started moving chips towards the players, and Leo gave another of her trademark laughs. The melodic sound of it mingled with celebratory whoops of the players as tuxedo-clad dealers assembled and pushed payouts towards them.
“Yes!”
“Great roll!”
He’d heard her laugh countless times before. It usually warmed him and often made him chuckle with her. Now, it made him damn well want to hear it for the rest of his life, which made him worry that he was on the cusp of a colossal mistake.
“Wow!” Leo glanced sideways at him. Caramel-colored eyes, with a dark rim of chocolate brown and lightened by golden-bronze flecks, met his. His heart jumped as she smoothed a lock of thick, chestnut-colored hair behind her ear. She shot him a wide grin. “Fantastic! Right?”
Yes. You, Leo. Suddenly, I realize that everything about you is fantastic. What the fuck took me so long?
The casino’s chandelier and LED lights enhanced bronze strands that glistened in her hair. Her cheeks were flushed a delicious coral-pink hue. Espresso-colored leather pants hugged her hips. A gold mesh-metal halter exposed her shoulders, draping over her breasts, hugging them in a way that rewired every circuit in Ace’s body to want her.
Not what I should feel for a fellow agent. Or my best friend.
They’d departed Macau in two-foot swells. Similar seas were forecasted to continue throughout the duration of the three-day gambling cruise to nowhere. State-of-the-art stabilizers made roll and pitch nonexistent in such relatively flat conditions.
Still, in that moment, as
though Imagine had hit turbulent seas, Ace had to adjust his stance. A quick glance around the expansive casino revealed glistening chandeliers that hung straight, without swaying. Gamblers played, without interruption. They weren’t sailing in rough seas. The problem was him, because as right as it felt to be in love with Leo, it was equally wrong.
As she collected winnings and rearranged chips, Ace stood still, trying to collect his thoughts. With his newfound, irrefutable knowledge that somewhere along the way he’d fallen in love with her, his gut roiled with a familiar, post-traumatic manifestation of turmoil remembered from the worst time in his life.
Shake it off. I’m in control. I’m not in Afghanistan, and Leo isn’t Kat. Leo isn’t dying on this job. No one is. I’m better than this.
If he let the anxiety simmer for too long, it would snake upwards and choke him from the inside-out. Soon he’d be flashbacking to four years earlier, when he’d been in a hot, dusty town in Afghanistan, where his unit had been ambushed, and everything in the world had gone wrong. He knew the perils of flashbacks, because he’d had way too many.
But I’m better now. Haven’t really flashbacked in two years, and I sure won’t revisit that bullshit now.
“I’m betting that Ye will hit his point again,” Leo whispered her strategy, punctuating it with a dazzling smile and a certain nod. “He’s a streak roller. That was only his fourteenth roll. He has a record of thirty-five consecutive rolls in tournament play, with five points scored. Odds are…”
In a breathy, hushed tone that made him want to kiss her, Leo recited statistics that she’d studied on the likelihood that James Ye would roll another eight before rolling a seven.
Pretending to listen, Ace tried to rein in his thoughts.
And damn well couldn’t.
He should have seen this coming, but ‘should have’ were two words that meant that he’d lost opportunities to see what had been damn obvious. Newfound clarity told him there’d been warning signs, well before their pedicab ride and the kiss that was now, with the benefit of hindsight, a sledgehammer hit that should have knocked some sense into him.
“Zack?” Leo’s use of his undercover name jolted him.
“Roll with it, Chloe. Bet your gut.” Although his words came out flat and unenthusiastic, Ace was overjoyed he’d managed to say anything relevant.
Enthusiasm faded from her eyes. “What’s up?”
What was up was he didn’t want to be Zack and Chloe right now. He wanted to be Ace and Leo. Alone, but together so they could have another one of those kisses, in memory of what was now the most notable trick-or-treat night of his life. “You’re ahead about a million in U.S. dollars.” He cleared the hoarseness out of his voice. “Great job.”
She tilted her head as she studied him. “You’re flushed.”
“I’m fine.”
“Are you seasick?” Her eyes gleamed with barely suppressed laughter. “You know I’d never let you live that down, right?”
“I don’t get seasick.”
She eyed him up and down, gave a quick frown of doubt, then moved a little closer to him to make room for a new gambler at the table. Ace gave the tall, barrel-chested man a nod. Wendall Manley, of Germany—head of the Manley Investment Firm, known for taking enormous monetary stakes in companies that showed promise in medical technological advances. “Are you feeling feverish?”
“No, Mom.”
With her chips rearranged, she whispered, “Please don’t get the flu while we’re sharing a room. I’d happily take care of you if you’re sick, as long as I’m not breathing your germy air, twenty-four seven.”
“All good. No flu.” His mind flipped to the reality of sharing a bedroom with her for the cruise. His gaze crawled over her shoulders, to her neck, to the firm line of her jaw. Her skin, perpetually looking as though the August sun had kissed her and left her a delicious and exotic golden color, called to him. As in kiss me. Lick me. Taste me.
As her eyes narrowed with a wordless then-what-the-fuck-is-wrong-with-you question, he realized his current mental quantum leap would require some explaining to her. The sooner, the better. “Had the shot.”
“It’s only sixty-three percent effective this year.” A glimmer of playful light entered her eyes, while the dealers pushed chips in Manley’s direction. “Oh. I know! You’re worried I won’t like my Christmas present.”
Despite his discomfort, he chuckled. Then his heart started a free fall. “Nah. You’re going to love it.”
She cocked her head to the side and studied him, as though searching for a clue. “Want to tell me what it is? You know how I feel about surprises.”
“Yeah.” His heart sank further with their banter. “You love them.”
She gave him a quick up and down glance and a gleam of a challenge lit her eyes. “Of the two, I bet my gift to you wins the prize.”
“What prize?”
“For the gift that most captures the spirit of Christmas.”
“Which is?”
“Magic. Fantasy. Inspiration. Wild wishes coming true. Hell if I know.” She turned back to the table with a shrug and reached for her stacks of chips. “I might like presents, but Christmas has never really been my season.”
He knew her better than that. As a young girl, Christmas had been her favorite time, because of the things she and her dad would do. Until September 11, 2001, when her father, once a pro football quarterback who played for the New York Giants, had been in World Trade Center’s North Tower. She’d run there as soon as she heard about the first plane crashing into the South Tower; she’d left a private class she’d been taking as part of the home-schooling curriculum her mother had designed.
She’d known her father was at the World Trade Center. She just didn’t know where, or what floor. He’d broken the news to her earlier that week that he was divorcing her mother. That morning, he was visiting his divorce lawyer there.
When she arrived at the perimeter, officials had to hold her back. Her father had been yet another name in the long list of victims that came out in the ensuing days. Someone in the media had captured photos of police holding Leo as she fought to get past the boundary that marked the safety zone. Stark grief and heart-stopping panic, apparent in her face as she struggled with firemen and NYPD officers trying to hold her back, had been captured in images that had made the rounds of news wires.
Someone in the media had put two and two together. Who she was, and who her father was. The images were haunting. She’d told Ace why her father was there on September 11, and he knew the fact that her dad had been seeing a divorce lawyer visit was yet another reason why Leo wasn’t close to her mother. If Christmas reminded her of all that she lost on September 11, 2001, he damn well didn’t want to be giving her a gift that would serve as a constant reminder of the season.
Aw. Damn. I made a big mistake with thinking the dog’s name should be left as Noelle.
Ace did a quick scan of the noisy, bustling room, where everything appeared normal. Dealers were shuffling cards. Roulette wheels were spinning. Cocktail waitresses, making their way through gaming tables, carried drinks on gleaming silver trays. Piped-in Christmas carols added to the din.
Security personnel outnumbered guests, and Ace could easily spot them. Including Black Raven, three tiers of security were on board. Tier One—personnel provided by Quan Security, a private company licensed in Hong Kong. They wore tuxedos and red bow ties. Quan had been hired by Imagine Casinos Worldwide to protect the ship and guests who’d been invited to play in the vessel’s inaugural tournament.
Tier Two—private security hired directly by the invited guests, some of whom didn’t venture out in public, even on normal days, without guards. In keeping with the ship’s rules for attire, private security carried credentials and wore tuxedos with green bow ties. As happenstance had it, two of Black Raven’s longstanding clients were guests in the tournament. Four Black Raven agents—Jacks, McMillan, Andros, and Payne—were in Tier Two security.
&
nbsp; Tier Three—Ace and Leo and the other Black Raven agents who were working undercover for HUG. They’d divided their twelve-man team into four-man units. Alpha, Beta, and Omega.
Leo glanced at him again. Her gaze became concerned, and then she turned fully towards him. Her high heels meant she didn’t have to tiptoe to whisper in his ear. “Seems like my fiancée would be happier that I’m winning.”
“I’m ecstatic.” Firmly in role as Zack, Ace planted a soft kiss on Leo’s forehead, where a furrow now indicated that she was wondering what was up with him. The kiss was a bit tame, considering that Zack and Chloe were engaged, but a whiff of Leo’s sultry, woodsy essence of rose, pushed Ace’s libido into overdrive. His body yearned to satisfy what was quickly becoming a deep-rooted, physical need for her.
Bond No.9’s signature scent.
Yeah. He knew the name of her perfume. He’d purchased it after picking her up at the San Diego airport, almost a year earlier, when she’d requested they stop at a mall so she could get gifts for his family, who she was meeting for the first time. He’d liked the fragrance, loved the name of it, and thought the gold, star-shaped bottle was cool. Evidently, she liked it enough to wear it ever since.
Last year, they’d both been off from Christmas Eve until New Year’s Day. She’d spent the holiday in La Jolla, in his spare bedroom. They’d hung out at his mom’s coffee shop. Between the football games they’d watched, he’d taken her on his favorite hikes. Gone kayaking. Taught her to surf, which she took to with amazing ease, considering she’d grown up in Manhattan and had never been on a board before. Then again, she was a rare sort of genius–not only was her brain-power off the charts, she had a natural, graceful athleticism.
Behind her back, Black Raven agents called her a unicorn. After watching the ease with which she went from surfing novice to almost keeping up with him, when he’d been on a board since he was five, he’d agreed with the unicorn assessment. They’d had a great week. As friends. Best of friends. Like no friend he’d ever had before, male or female. But only friends.
Imagine (Black Raven Book 4) Page 4