by Carolyn Zane
Chapter Eight
Tyler closed his eyes against the tide of frustration that urged him to throw his boss over the ship’s railing without a life preserver. As ever, her timing was incredible.
“Hello, Roxanne,” Ty practically growled as he struggled to keep a civil tongue in his head. He had much more pressing matters to attend to than spending useless time with the barracuda he called “boss.” Tightening his grip on Emily’s waist, he did his best to swallow his impatience. Maybe they would be lucky and she would leave. Or jump ship. Or drop dead. He didn’t care as long as he could return to the ecstasy of Emily’s embrace.
“What on earth are you two doing out here?” Her suspicious eyes flicked across Emily’s pink cheeks and swollen lips with disdain. “The party is inside.” Scolding, she tucked her hand into the crook of Ty’s arm. “I think it would be a good idea if the two of us had a dance,” Roxanne told Tyler, turning him away from Emily. “Political correctness and all that. You don’t mind,” she tossed over her shoulder at Emily.
“No?” Still dazed at having been so rudely jerked out of her dreamworld, Emily looked up at Ty for the answer.
Ty snorted in disgust as Roxanne tugged him toward the interior dance floor. It wasn’t like she was giving either of them a choice. How could he possibly refuse without seeming like a complete heel? Shaking his head, he knew that part of his disgust was with himself for letting this big-haired bimbo run his life. Career future or no, it was time to damn the torpedoes and have a man-to-snake talk with his boss. Monday morning, bright and early, back at the office. Till then—for Uncle Denny’s sake—he’d play nice.
Setting his jaw firmly, he turned and nodded at Emily. “I’ll be back. Just...remember where we left off,” he instructed, and with one last, clock-stopping grin, was yanked inside by Roxanne.
* * *
Just how many dances did it take to achieve political correctness? Emily wondered, listening to the strains of the Enchanted Cruise Tones as they pounded out yet another rousing ditty for their dancing pleasure. From where she sat next to the railing, the sounds of a party in the throes of a critical mass meltdown reached her ears.
As she sat shrouded in dusky twilight, a sense of melancholy settled over her, causing her to feel all alone in the world, even as she listened to the shrieks of laughter from the rowdy Connstarr crowd.
In a way, it was almost lucky that Roxanne had found them when she had, Emily reflected, trying to make some sense out of her relationship with Ty. What was happening to her? Why couldn’t she stay emotionally detached? Other researchers could go undercover without getting all tied up in emotional knots. So what was wrong with her?
Sighing heavily, she watched the last vestiges of the sun disappear into the clear, blue Mexican Pacific, and felt a bit of herself drowning right alongside. Obviously she was not cut out for social work. Her poor heart would bleed to death over every case that came her way.
Except, of course, for Ty. Tyler Newroth had taken over her heart in a completely different way. A way that she had never experienced before in her life. A way that she could only classify as true love. She laughed to herself at the irony.
How many times had she sworn to her sister Erica that this was it? True love. And how many times had she been wrong? Wincing, she thought of her identical twin sister pointlessly coaxing along a love affair with Will Spencer for her up in Northern California. While she researched the homeless, Erica was wasting her time, unwillingly pretending to be Emily, so that Will would still be there for her when she got back.
Shoot, Emily thought, nibbling guiltily on the inside of her cheek. How would she ever be able to tell her sister that she didn’t love Will, and that after meeting Tyler Newroth, now knew that she never would? Erica would probably kill her.
How ironic that the one man she’d found true love with should be the one man who could probably never fall in love with a grungy little street person he’d rescued from the side of the road. The one true hero left in this uncaring world. A man who had so generously given to three people in desperate need. Feeling a sudden and acute sense of loss over something she had never actually had, she swallowed, and tried to stem the flood of tears that pricked the backs of her eyes.
This was ridiculous, she chided herself. Here she was, mooning over something that had never really even existed outside of her own mind. Shaking off the mental anguish, and focusing on her true reason for being on this ship in the first place, she gripped the railing and pulled herself up and out of her chair. Gazing at the horizon, she spied a falling star and quickly made a wish. If she were lucky, and it came true, Helga and Carmen would never go hungry again.
* * *
Helga, having the time of her life, was leading a conga line across the floor as Emily slipped into the dining room and rejoined the party at their table. Face glowing a crimson shade of heart-attack red, Uncle Denny gripped Tyler’s mother tightly around her waist and tossed his dignity to the trade winds.
The picture was so touching, Emily couldn’t squelch the mirth that bubbled, unbidden, into her throat. Trust Helga to help her forget her troubles.
The tempo of the music changed and the conga line broke up, leaving only couples on the floor to slow dance. Noting the look of distress on Ty’s face as Roxanne thrust her voluptuous body into his arms, Emily decided it was time to reclaim her husband. Roxanne had had him long enough.
Tapping Roxanne on the shoulder, Emily smiled politely and attempted to wedge her way between the two. “My turn,” she announced airily as Ty stepped back from Roxanne and allowed her into the circle of his arms.
“All right,” Roxanne snapped, pursing her lips in annoyance. “But the next slow dance is mine.”
“I’ve got some money,” Ty murmured gratefully into Emily’s ear as he swept her to a far corner of the floor. “Maybe I can persuade the band to play ‘Flight of the Bumblebee’ for the rest of the evening.”
Emily’s buoyant laughter rang out, causing more than one head to turn and stare at the couple with envy. “That’s definitely not slow-dance material,” she teased. “I take it you don’t enjoy dancing with Roxanne.”
“Dancing? Is that what we were doing? I thought I was wrestling a bear in a gunnysack.”
“That bad?” she squeaked, clutching his lapels as she laughed with delight.
“No-oo...” he said, feigning heavy thought. “Not that easy, actually. It was more like trying to steer a hefty bag of pudding around the floor. A hefty bag with lips.”
“Lips?” Emily cried in mock anger. “Did she kiss you?”
“Tried.”
“Really?”
Ty nodded and grinned. “But don’t worry, honey. My virtue is still intact.”
“Thank heavens.” Emily sighed and leaned into his chest. “I didn’t want to have to tear her hair out.” She smothered a yawn into the back of her hand. “That would take all night.”
Chuckling comfortably, he rubbed a gentle hand across her back, massaging her flesh through the thin material of her dress. “Sleepy?”
“Not anymore,” she answered, arching against his heavenly hands and smiling up into his face.
“You can’t fool me. I saw that yawn.” Moving up her back, he eased the tension out of the muscles in her neck with a practiced hand. “I’m sorry I had to leave you out on the deck like that.”
“Shh...” Emily shook her head and leaned back in his arms to better see him. “Hey, I know it wasn’t your idea. You were smart to go with her. It was...politically correct.” Her eyes twinkled with fun.
“Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to follow her in here and dance with her?”
Emily nodded shyly. “I think so.” Her heart thudded erratically beneath her breast.
“Mmm,” Ty murmured, and pulled her more firmly into his embrace.
Moving slowly around the room, mesmerized by each other’s touch, both were unconscious of the change in musical tempo.
“Uh-oh.”
“Roxanne at twelve o’clock high, headed this way. No!” he commanded, whipping her around in his arms. “Don’t look.”
“Why not?” She giggled.
Ty blew an incredulous puff of air between his lips. “Obviously, you’ve never danced with that human water bed, or you’d know the answer to that.”
“Sorry, dumb question.”
“Why don’t we just pretend we don’t see her, and then you yawn really big, and I’ll look all concerned and tell you we should call it a night?” Ty recommended, watching Roxanne thread her way toward them out of the corner of his eye.
“Okay, honey,” she murmured and, lifting her chin, yawned broadly up at him.
“Very good,” he praised under his breath. “Oh, honey,” he said too loudly. “You look tired. I’m going to take you to bed right now.” He darted a quick look down at Emily. “How’d that sound?”
“Nasty.”
He grinned rakishly at her. “Good.”
* * *
“Ty!” Emily was pacing fitfully around the minuscule living area of Ty’s cabin.
“Would you please sit down?” he asked as he loosened his tie and shrugged out of his dinner jacket. “You’re giving me motion sickness.”
“Ty, I can’t stay here all night.” She paced over to the front door for the hundredth time and peeked through the peephole, across the hall to Roxanne’s room. “I don’t believe this. Her door is still open.”
“I believe it,” Ty put in dryly, tossing his tie onto the counter. “Walk-ins are probably welcome.”
“You’re terrible,” she flung over her shoulder, but laughed in spite of herself. “I wonder what she’s up to?” Her nose was beginning to ache from being pressed up against the door. Having followed Ty back to his room for propriety’s sake, and spending the ten minutes it took to change into her newlywed negligee and brush her teeth, she was ready to relieve the sitter and join Carmen in their bed.
Unfortunately, Roxanne, who was either bored, suspicious, or both, had left the party and followed Tyler and his bride as they’d returned to their room, and slipped into her cabin across the hall. And, for some bizarre reason that Emily couldn’t fathom, had left her door wide-open. For more than an hour now, Emily had been trying to get back to the room she shared with Helga and Carmen without being spotted, which was virtually impossible the way Roxanne kept hovering around her doorway.
“Probably exactly what we think she’s up to. Spying on us.” Ty kicked off his shoes and swung his feet up onto the couch. “Em, honey, a watched pot never boils. Sit down and forget her, and she’ll eventually close her door.”
“Ah! Ahh... Ah-ha!” Emily smiled jubilantly at Tyler. “The pot boiled. I can go now.” Tying her sash tightly around her waist, she smiled shyly. “Good night. I...had a great time.”
“Me, too.” Swinging to his feet, Ty crossed the room and took her loosely into his embrace. “A really great time. Good night,” he murmured, kissing her lightly on the forehead. Opening the door, he led her out into the hallway. “See you in the mor—couple of minutes or so,” he said blithely as Roxanne came bursting out of her cabin.
“Hello.” Tyler’s boss arched an inquisitive eyebrow at Emily, who stood self-consciously clutching at her negligee. “Going somewhere?” Her satisfied smile implied that she thought she had finally caught them at their little game.
“Yes, to check on my daughter. And you?” Emily asked smoothly, feeling Ty’s gentle pat of admiration on her hip.
“Me?” Roxanne’s laugh was phony. “Oh, just heard all the commotion in the hall and decided to check it out. You can’t be too careful these days.”
“Well, we’ll try to keep it down.” She smiled. Commotion? She must have been listening at her door with a stethoscope, Emily thought as Roxanne’s beady eyes flitted back and forth between her and Ty.
Roxanne bared her teeth, Cheshire-style. “That would be nice. I’m just going to leave my door open for a few more minutes. It’s so stuffy in these little cabins, don’t you think?”
“We were just saying that ourselves, weren’t we, darling?” Ty looped an affectionate arm around Emily’s shoulders. “We were just in there steaming up the windows a few minutes ago, had a regular sauna cooking in there, huh, honey?”
Emily nodded dumbly and averted her gaze from the hostility that fairly radiated from Roxanne’s narrowed eyes.
“Well, good night then, Roxanne,” Ty called as his boss retreated into her room. In the same loud voice, he called after Emily, “Hurry back, sweetheart. I get so lonely without you.”
“I’ll just be a minute,” she answered, and slipped into her own room. Once inside, she found Helga sitting on the edge of Carmen’s bed, stroking the young girl’s soft, dark curls. “When did you get back? I thought you were still out kicking up your heels with Uncle Denny.”
Helga smiled up at Emily. “Just now. I let the sitter go.” Glancing at Emily’s negligee, she snorted. “Looks like you’re the one who’s been kicking up her heels.”
“Nah, this is just my disguise.”
“Yeah, yeah. It’s a tough job, but somebody’s got to do it, right?”
Emily blushed. “Actually, I can’t stay. I have to go back to Ty’s room until Roxanne shuts her door.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
Choosing to ignore Helga’s skeptical grin, Emily picked up her journal and headed to the door. “Hopefully, I’ll be back soon.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
* * *
“What are you doing?” Ty asked, watching Emily, who was curled up on the corner of the couch, scribble furiously in her notebook.
“I... Uh...” Pausing, she chewed the end of her pen. “I keep a diary. It...relaxes me.”
“Roxanne’s got you pretty uptight, huh?”
“I’m beginning to think she’s going to leave her door open all night.” There was no way she could spend the night in this room. Not after the kiss she’d shared with Ty out on the deck that evening. Suddenly even innocent time spent alone with him took on a whole new meaning in her mind.
“Nah. She’ll get tired of snooping and close it.” For lack of something better to do, he wandered to the door and peeped through the peephole.
“I hope so.” Emily hugged her diary to her chest, glad that Ty had no idea what she’d just written there. She wouldn’t solve anything by revealing her blossoming feelings toward him to anyone but her journal. Only disaster could spring from such a revelation. Complete and total disaster...for her thesis, for Carmen and Helga, for her fragile heart. No. Best to vent these thoughts to the private pages of her trusty journal. Then, someday, when she had recovered from the broken heart that was sure to come from loving and eventually losing Ty, she could destroy these pages without anyone ever being the wiser.
“Hey,” he whispered. “The coast is clear. Roxanne shut her door and the hall is empty. Hurry.” He beckoned to her with his hand.
Snapping her diary shut, Emily hopped up and sprang to the door. “Thanks,” she whispered, feeling incredibly awkward again.
“No problem.” Slowly opening the door, Ty poked his head out into the hallway and looked both ways. “Go!” he urged, nudging her quietly out the door.
With one last, backward glance, Emily shot out the door, down the hallway and straight into Uncle Denny, who, having just rounded the corner, stood poised to knock on Helga’s door.
Darn. What was he doing here?
“Hello, Mr. Delmonico.” Emily tugged at the hem of her revealing negligee.
Crimson-cheeked, Uncle Denny dropped his hand mid-knock. “Hello, my dear. I was...uh, just...looking for...”
The door opened and a beaming Helga reached out and grabbed Uncle Denny by the arm. “Denny, old boy! You’re late.” Tugging him into the room behind her, she looked expectantly at Emily. “We’re gonna play a little five-card stud. Wanna play?”
“Uh, no, thanks. I just came to check on
Carmen,” she explained for Uncle Denny’s benefit.
“The kid is fine. She’s in the connecting bedroom, dead to the world,” Helga assured her, impatient to get on with her date.
“Okay, then.” She smiled limply at Uncle Denny. Under her breath, she muttered to Helga, “Don’t take all night. Call me as soon as the coast is clear.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“I mean it,” she stressed as the door closed in her face. Looking down at her skimpy attire, she knew she had no choice but to go back to Ty’s cabin. Grimly she marched to Ty’s door and tried the knob. Locked.
“Ty,” she whispered through the crack in the door.
Still no answer.
“Ty!” Forcing his name between her teeth, she glanced uneasily up and down the hallway and tugged on her sash. “Tyyyyyyy!” Damn it. She could feel Roxanne’s suspicious eyeball practically laser-beaming a hole through her back from the peephole across the hall.
“Hello.” She smiled cheerily at a couple from some Connstarr division or another that Ty had introduced her to earlier that day by the pool.
“Good evening,” they answered as they passed, too polite to question why Tyler Newroth’s young bride would be loitering in the hallway in her skimpy night wear.
This was ridiculous. “Ty, honey, it’s me. Em. The little woman. Wake up and open the damn door,” she sang under her breath, and kicked the door viciously with her toe.
Still no answer.
Maybe she could find a house phone somewhere and call him and wake him up, she thought, frantically trying to figure a way out of this latest turn of insanity. Perhaps Roxanne would loan hers. Fighting the wave of hysteria that threatened to send her screaming down the hallway and over the railing, she balled up her fists and pounded on the door.
“Ty!”
Roxanne’s door opened yet again. “Anything wrong?” she asked, a little too smugly for Emily’s taste.
“No, no,” Emily hastened to assure her. “Just...”
Ty’s door finally opened and he swept Emily into his arms. “Oh, sweetheart, let’s never fight again,” he said dramatically, bending her over backward and thoroughly kissing her.