by Carolyn Zane
Excited beyond any elation he’d ever felt before, Ty proceeded to tear up his face with the razor. Nicking his chin and neck so often he feared he’d need stitches, he pulled in a deep, steadying breath to calm his raging heart.
For tonight, under the star-filled Pacific sky, Tyler Newroth intended to ask Emily Whatever to become his wife. For real this time.
* * *
“Where’s Mom?” Ty now referred to Helga as his mother so naturally, Emily doubted that even he remembered that they were not related.
“I don’t know,” she whispered, glancing across the dinner table at Uncle Denny and Roxanne as they were seated. “She probably went to powder her nose. I have to use the...facility anyway, so I’ll keep an eye out for her,” she confided in a wifely undertone, and reached for her clutch purse. “I won’t be but a moment.”
Standing, Tyler assisted her with her chair, and kissed her lightly on the cheek. “Hurry back,” he murmured, a look of intense possession smoldering in his eyes.
Wishing that his look meant business, instead of a phony show for his employers, Emily felt her cheeks pinken. “I...w-will,” she stammered, aware that Roxanne was reaching for her own gargantuan purse.
“If you’re headed to the ladies’ room, I’ll just join you,” Roxanne announced with the smugness of a buzzard stalking a wounded animal.
Having little choice in the matter, Emily led the way through the crowded dining room. Once they reached the elegantly appointed ladies’ room, Emily stopped at the sink to check her makeup and wash her hands while she waited for the line to clear.
Roxanne, never having been one to adhere to the theory that Americans want and need their space, sidled up next to Emily and tossed her magnificent suitcaselike purse onto the counter. Rummaging around inside its impressive depths, she tossed enough cosmetics on the tiled surface to open a department store, and finally found what she was looking for.
“Oh, Mrs. Newroth,” she purred, and dangled a dilapidated spiral-bound binder from her brightly painted fingertips. “Have you been looking for something?”
“My journal,” Emily said flatly as the blood drained from her face. Looking up into Roxanne’s shrewd eyes, she could tell without asking that the woman had read every last incriminating word. Damn it! She clutched her hands tightly to her sides to keep from slapping the huge-haired hussy silly. Searching her mind, she tried to remember where she’d last seen it. She must have left it by the pool this afternoon.
“Yes.” Roxanne’s eyes were two evil slits as she leaned even closer and lowered her voice. “And just a little advice, if you don’t mind,” she said, her voice silky as milk chocolate. “Keep an eye on that thing. You don’t want it to fall into the wrong hands, now, do you? Why, your husband would be shocked by what you’ve written in there, wouldn’t he? Does he know you’re pretending to be homeless for a class project? How about Mama? Does she know? And the nerve, trying to pass yourselves off as his family. How revolting.”
Emily tried to swallow past the whirling dust bowl in her throat.
“Why—” Roxanne pursed her sticky lips as she applied another thick, garish coat of her neon lipstick “—something like that could get him fired.” She cocked her head and studied Emily in the mirror. “You know what? I think it just might.” Smiling at the younger woman’s horrified expression, Roxanne went in for the kill. “In fact,” she said as if just deciding, “it will get him fired.”
“No,” Emily breathed, grabbing at the countertop to keep her knees from buckling. No. Not after all the hard work he’d done for Connstarr. Not after all he’d done for them. This couldn’t be happening.
“Oh, yes.” Roxanne was cheerful as she thoroughly dusted her nose with a heavy coat of facial powder. “Unless...” She eyed Emily thoughtfully.
“Unless what?”
“Oh, nothing.” Roxanne scooped her cosmetic stockpile back into her bag.
Emily’s hand shot out and grabbed the self-satisfied witch none too gently by the upper arm. “Unless what?” she snapped, her tone deadly.
Roxanne’s eyes widened with surprise. “Why, unless you want to make a deal.”
“What deal?”
“Well...” She shook her arm free of Emily’s grasp, and looked around as the last woman left the room to make sure they were alone. “The deal where you disappear with your mother-in-law and daughter the minute this ship hits the shore, and are—alas—quite sadly never heard from by Tyler or me again.”
“And if I don’t bow to your little blackmail scheme?”
“Just tell Tyler he needn’t report for work Monday morning.” Smiling brightly, she slung her traveling cosmetic department over her shoulder and sashayed out the door.
Running cold water over her wrists, Emily leaned against the tile wall and tried to pull herself together. So, this was the ending to her relationship, she thought woodenly, too shocked and dead inside to even cry. It was probably for the best. This way she wouldn’t have to see the look on Ty’s face when he asked her to leave. Not to mention the fact that he would get to keep the job that he loved so much.
The toilet in the far stall flushed, pulling Emily out of her macabre train of thought and into the depressing present. Tearing a towel out of the dispenser, she dried her hands, and with one last look at the miserable woman in the mirror, headed out to the dining room to join her husband and his boss for dinner.
* * *
“Come on.” Ty tugged impatiently on Emily’s hand as the dance band began the first number of the evening. This was their last night together on board the “love boat” and he wanted to make the most of it. Oblivious to the drained pallor of her cheeks, he propelled his wife out to the dance floor and wrapped her in his arms.
“Um.” He sighed, breathing in the feminine floral scent that was uniquely Emily. She smelled like a little bit of heaven. He tightened his grip. She felt like a little bit of heaven. Running his lips lightly over her jaw and down the side of her neck, he decided she even tasted like a little bit of heaven.
“Mmm,” he growled deep in his throat and, bringing her mouth to his, pushed her lips apart with his tongue. Swaying back and forth to the campy beat of the music, Ty buried himself in the celestial pleasure of her embrace. What a woman, he thought hazily as he explored the unending mystery of her mouth, of her soul. Whoever she was, she had cast a spell over him, just like in the fairy tales. And he knew, more certainly now than ever before, that life as he once knew it was over. Forever. Never again could he survive another day without his Emily.
She was perfect. Even the fit of their bodies, he mused as he deepened their kiss and ran his hands up her back, was perfection.
Gasping, Emily tore her mouth from his. “Don’t,” she said raggedly, and buried her face in the crook of his arm.
“Why not?” he asked, mistaking her sorrowful plea for modesty.
“Because we can’t,” she moaned into his arm.
She was right. A little too public for the feelings that were coursing through his body at the moment. Now was as good a time as any to move this show to the deck. Get it over with. Claim his woman. His blood ran hot and he had to fight the insane urge to beat his chest and yodel like Tarzan. She brought out the protective male animal in him like no other woman he’d ever known. And to think, he thought smugly, breathing in the scent that caused his pulse to sing, in a matter of moments she would be his. Suddenly he was glad to be a man. Glad to be alive. Glad to be in love. Glad to be...tied down.
He wanted to laugh at the sheer joy he felt over the prospect of getting married. How ridiculous that something he’d spent most of his adult life running from now lured him like a buck during mating season. Well, if this was insanity, bring it on, he thought, feeling like a prince as he swept the mystery princess in his arms around the enchanted ballroom.
Happily-ever-after was only moments away.
Or not.
“May I cut in?”
It was Roxanne, here to bust his chops agai
n. Oh, how he wanted to give her a burial at sea. He was in such a good mood, he might even say a few nice words in eulogy.
Before he could object, Emily nodded and disappeared through the crowd to their table.
“It’s our last night on board,” Roxanne breathed, slipping into his arms and tilting her head back to look up at him with hooded eyes.
“Um.”
“Kind of sad, don’t you think?”
“Um.”
“We hardly got to be alone together at all.” She pouted. “And I wanted to spend some time getting to know you better.”
“Um.”
“Maybe we could meet later for a drink?”
“Um.” If he was lucky, he and Emily would be locked in their cabin, celebrating their engagement over a bottle of champagne. Sharing a drink with Roxanne would definitely be the last thing on his mind.
Seemingly happy with his response, Roxanne pressed her voluptuous body close and, grinding her hips into his, purred like a cat in the summer sunshine.
Ignoring her feeble attempt at seduction, out the corner of his eye Tyler caught Emily and Uncle Denny fox-trotting by. He smiled and watched the pink-cheeked, chubby man steer the woman he loved around the room, jabbering her ear off and laughing like a kid. Emily brought that out in people.
Having had enough of Roxanne’s vertical lovemaking, Tyler danced his boss over to Uncle Denny and—much to her chagrin—tapped him on the shoulder.
“May I cut in?”
“Why, certainly, as long as you’re trading me one beautiful woman for another,” he agreed genially. Roxanne rolled her eyes in disgust as her uncle Denny, shiny with exertion, trotted her off into the sea of rug-cutters.
Impatient to get on with the proposal, Ty grasped Emily firmly by the hand and pulled her out of the room and outside to the deck, where he walked until he found the perfect corner. Shrouded in darkness, near the rail, and overlooking the shimmering moonlight as it danced on the Pacific, it was perfect for what he had in mind.
It was now or never, he decided, trying to still his runaway pulse. He took a deep breath and, exhaling slowly, pulled her into his arms. It felt so right. It had to be right, he thought as his lips sought and found hers in the gloaming. She was his. He was hers. Nothing else mattered.
Plunging his hands into her hair, he kissed her hungrily. Not for an audience this time, but for himself. His tongue explored the soft fullness of her lips, savoring her taste, drinking from her as though from a fine, mellow wine. Her desperate response was his undoing. Like a man tumbling overboard into the sea of her desire, he clung to her as though she were his salvation. His lifeline. His destiny.
The tempo of their breathing picked up speed, and Ty began to wonder if he should move them down to his cabin before things got too out of hand. Too late, he thought and, pressing her up against the wall that supported the railing, leaned heavily into the soft ecstasy of her breasts. Too damn late.
“Ty,” Emily gasped, taking advantage of his need for oxygen. “Stop... we...” She panted, as though trying to organize her thoughts under siege. “Can’t. We have to...stop.”
“Okay, okay.” He groaned raggedly against her ear, cradling her head tenderly in his hands. “You’re right. We’ll go inside in a second.” He tipped her head back and grinned down at her. “As soon as I, uh, regain some...control. But first there is something I want to ask you. I...have to ask you.”
“Hmm?” she whimpered, anxious to move out of his hypnotizing embrace.
“Emily,” he rasped, clutching her hands and drawing them up against his heart. “Emily, will you marry me?”
She froze. Solid. “What?”
“For real, this time.” He chuckled and searched her face, the light of hope and longing burning in his eyes.
Her head fell back and her eyes squeezed tightly shut in misery as she backed out of the circle of his arms.
“No.” She whispered the one pain-filled word and, spinning on her heel, fled into the darkness, leaving Ty standing there with his heart in his hand.
Chapter Eleven
Roxanne caught Tyler by the arm as he stumbled like a zombie across the deck toward the Falling Star Dining Room. Pushing him back outside, she led him to the rail.
“Tyler, honey,” she crooned, compassion oozing from her every pore. “You look like you could use some fresh air. Stay out here for a second,” she advised, running her hand up and down his back. “I just saw Emily tear out of here as if the prince of darkness were after her. What happened? Did you two have words?”
Too numb with shock to respond, Tyler looked dully at her. The world had surely stopped rotating. She’d said no. No. What did she mean...no? She was his whole life. His future. Couldn’t she see that? Didn’t she feel the same way? He had been so sure...
Unfazed by his lack of response, Roxanne slipped her arm around his waist and led him slowly down the deck and toward the Fiesta Olé! Lounge.
“I know exactly what you need,” she confided intimately. “You need that drink we talked about earlier, and a sympathetic shoulder to lean on.”
Staring at her with unseeing eyes, he figured, Why not? What the hell? Might as well get tanked. He followed Roxanne through the dimly lit lounge to a little table for two in the back. What a fool he’d been, asking a perfect stranger to be his wife. Why hadn’t it dawned on him that she might say no? No. The word throbbed depressingly in his head. That’ll teach ya, Mr. Cocky SOB, the little voice inside his head taunted, torturing him with his arrogant stupidity. Well, he guessed he got what he’d deserved, as he looked across the table at the Venus’s-flytrap that was his boss.
Smiling coyly, Roxanne signaled for two drafts, and when they were delivered, dismissed the waiter with the flick of a wrist. She reached out and gripped Tyler by the hand.
With great dramatic flair, she tossed her big, blond hair over her shoulder and gazed meaningfully into his eyes. “Tyler, honey, it’s obvious that your relationship isn’t working. Don’t you think it would be a good idea to get on with your life? Start seeing other people?” Rimming her fire-engine-red lips with the tip of her tongue, she winked coyly at him. “I have space on my dance card,” she informed him, none too subtly.
Sick to death of her constant innuendo, Tyler jerked his arm out of her grasp. Let her fire him, for all he cared. Hell, at this point she could shoot him dead and he’d be glad for the escape. “Leave me alone, Roxanne,” he said pointedly. “I’m taken.”
A streak of anger flashed through her eyes, but was controlled as soon as it appeared. Only the white of her knuckles as she gripped her beer glass belied the deep offense she’d taken to his words. Tilting her chin defiantly, she leveled her cool gaze toward his.
Hell hath no fury like a Roxanne scorned, Tyler mused as he watched her struggle to bring her blood pressure under control.
“Tyler,” she snapped scathingly. “I know.”
Know what? he wondered. How it felt to be dumped? That, he could well imagine. “What is it you know, Roxanne?” He sighed, in too much agony to give a flying fig.
“I know...” She took a long sip of her beer, considering her revelation carefully. “I know that she’s not your wife.”
Stiffening, Tyler’s head snapped up and he became instantly alert. “How do you know?”
“A little birdie told me,” she said breezily. “And that’s not all I know about your precious little wife. In fact, I’d be willing to wager that I know a whole lot more about her than you do.”
“What are you talking about?” Ty was losing his patience. Fast.
“You don’t want to know.”
Ty’s hand snaked out and squeezed her fingers till she yelped for him to quit. “Stop playing games with me, Roxanne,” he flung at her, his jaw grim with contempt. “I don’t have time for your little head trips. Tell me what you’re talking about, or so help me, you little witch, you’re shark bait.” His fingers bit into the soft flesh of her palm convulsively.
“She’
s not homeless,” she gasped, trying to pry his painful grip away from her hand. When he eased up some, she continued, gaining confidence. “She never was, you big jerk.” She practically spit the words out and, yanking her hand from his slackened hold, rubbed at the marks in her palm with her thumb.
“What are you talking about?”
“Read her damned journal, if you’re so curious. Very informative. Did you know that you are the subject of one of her little college projects?”
Ty stared blankly at her. What the hell was this nutcase talking about?
“You’ve been lied to, my friend.” Roxanne’s painted face was smug. “You’re nothing but a big experiment to her.” She cackled dryly. “And you thought she was helping you.”
He shook his head, unable to believe his ears.
“If you don’t believe me, ask her. Tell her you want to see her little diary. It tells all about you in there.”
“Go to hell, Roxanne.”
“Play nice now.” She smiled, her tone icy. “I could fire you for insubordination, you know.”
Quirking an attitudinal eyebrow, he shrugged and tossed some bills onto the table. Then, standing abruptly, he looked down at her with pity in his eyes. Emily was right. There was something pathetic about Uncle Denny’s niece. Deciding he’d had a bellyful of Roxanne’s lies, he turned and, without a backward glance, stalked away, intent on getting to the bottom of this mess.
“Wait!”
Ignoring Roxanne’s demanding plea, he threw his hand up and disappeared into the hallway.
* * *
“Emily!” Ty thundered, pounding on her cabin door so loudly she was afraid he’d wake the entire ship.
She considered not answering, but when her lack of response served only to aggravate him into a louder, more vicious attack on her door, she relented.
Brushing past her into the cabin—amid the interested stares of almost everyone who occupied their section—Ty slammed the door, much to the consternation of these curious neighbors.