What could that mean? Lola watched him step deftly between the dancers, blowing kisses and wiggling his fingers at nearly every person in this crowded room. She saw Joel the jeweler waving back, resplendent in a turquoise tux, while Phillipe the maitre d’ did his own version of the Wave, making the sequins on his red jacket shimmer like rubies.
It struck her then that the women far outnumbered the men, which was interesting since most of the staff in the dining rooms and serving the staterooms were male. And it struck her as well that she’d never seen a room full of such dazzling women—all shapes and sizes, yet beautifully coiffed and elegantly dressed and dancing to display themselves. Not a one of them was behaving like a lowly galley gopher or toilet tender: these ladies lived large! They knew how to shake it and make it!
Like they practice in front of the mirror.
She smiled, realizing that she, too, was swinging her hips to the music, even though she ordinarily refused to dance by herself or in a group of girlfriends. Lola began studying the faces then, looking for Cabana Boy. Hey, if he was going to be her warden, even in the shower, he could damn well dance with her like he’d said he would!
“We’ve gotta take our break now,” Candi, Dandi, and Randi called out as one, “but we’ll be baaaaaaaaack!”
Applause rippled through the crowd. Some of the guests went for the buffet table, while others stayed on the dance floor awaiting the next song…preening themselves like the sequined peacocks and exotic cockatiels they resembled. Maybe scoping out the crowd for partners to slip away with?
But when the Rolling Stones blasted through the speakers, belting “Lola” at full force, a loud whoop went up. The neon ballroom decor and those fiber-optic parrots flashed at full tilt and the rest of the lights went out, so the mirror balls could rule like sparkly, spangly moons.
Lola shook her head, grinning at that old song she’d been teased about all her life. Most of the guests were singing along now, about how girls would be boys and boys would be—
“How is it that everywhere you go, Lola mia, the music hails you as the queen of the evening?” a mellow voice asked beside her ear.
She turned, only to be caught up in Rio’s fast, passionate kiss. His eyes, when he released her, blazed with the flash of a mirror ball—or was it because he couldn’t stop staring at her in this dress?
“Well,” she murmured, shaking her hips to his rhythm as they began to dance, “while I’m guessing you requested this song, I am the queen, you know!”
Rio grinned enigmatically. “One among several, querida. But perhaps I shouldn’t stray into that territory right now. Even though these formal evenings for the staff are a regular event, it took me two or three visits to figure it out.”
Lola considered this, but not for long. While she’d heard several insinuations, they were of little concern to her—especially since this handsome Spaniard had shown up to dance, just when she needed a partner.
How lucky could she get?! DeSilva was decked out all in white: tails, trousers, a shirt with a Mandarin collar and button studs like diamonds. He flashed her a sensual grin as he moved in for a slow dance.
She realized then that she could gaze into this man’s hazel eyes forever, and still not see all the fascinating things he was. Just as she sensed Rio wanted to remain that focused on her. And for that long.
But no, she was letting her imagination run away with her—with her heart, which galloped like a wild mare chased by a stallion.
Except Rio was pulling her closer now. Swaying to the sultry beat as he admired her with those tawny, tender eyes. Sad eyes, yet so damned magnetic.
“Lola mia,” he whispered, “you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.”
It came out unembellished, except for the flutter of his long lashes.
And as Lola was swept along by his magic, dipping and gliding without conscious thought, she nearly forgot her manners.
“I—thank you,” she breathed. “It’s not like I hear that every—”
“But you should. Because it’s true.”
An exaggerated sigh came from the couple on their left. Her awareness of Rio was still shimmering down her spine as Lola glanced over to behold a boldly coiffed, elegantly sheathed young lady in green. As the mirror ball flashed, it seemed to her she recognized that dress—
And then Lola noticed the glimmer of those lush cinnamon lips…the eyes that shone like moonlight as they invited her in—
By God, if another woman on this ship comes on to me, I’ll—
“Aric!”
Had she said that?
Lola glanced at Rio, who didn’t miss a beat. He balanced and swayed so she could stay in position to study her assumption, that the attractive person to her left was really—
My God, she’d blurted out the truth before she knew!
Lola’s jaw dropped when she saw that yes, the green sheath was the gown she’d gotten from Kingsley and yes, it was Cabana Boy wearing it so well! His sinuous sway made the satin ripple; made the loose cap of curls he’d done up in glittering pins look extremely…feminine.
Her breath escaped with a slow hiss. Did this explain why her warden, so aloof yet suggestive, stopped before his come-on became sex? It really wasn’t because she was old enough to be—
Hell, I’ll never be old enough to understand this! I saw this kid’s cock in the shower, so how’d he tuck it out of the way to wiggle into that dress?
Aric grinned, loving her discomfort yet behaving like a perfect, well—lady. Then he—she—danced away, disappearing between the other couples in the arms of a tuxedoed partner.
Lola stared at DeSilva, totally flummoxed. “If nearly all these women are wearing gowns Kingsley designed,” she reasoned in a halting whisper, “and if Aric looks better than I ever will in that green one…are you telling me that none of these women are really female?”
“If you’re upset or offended—”
“No, no, just—”
What was the word for how she felt right now? Shocked? Flabbergasted? Astounded?
Humbled. Definitely humbled.
Lola sighed. “It’s just that all those cute waiters and room stewards I’ve seen surely can’t be here masquerading as—I’ve never looked that glamorous in my life!”
“Begging your pardon, mi vida, but—”
“No, let’s save the begging for Cabana Boy,” she wheezed. Then she managed a shrill laugh. “Who knew so many men on board could elevate cross-dressing to such an art form? This brings a whole new context to Kingsley’s definition of menswear, doesn’t it?”
DeSilva kissed her cheek, listening attentively.
Lola shook her head, still shell-shocked. “He called me the Empress of Menswear moments ago,” she murmured, “yet he wants to be the king of queenswear! Holy shit. This is too much.”
She felt Rio watching her as they swayed to the song’s hypnotic beat, but she couldn’t stop gawking at the other couples…speculating about which women really were, and which ones camouflaged themselves in this mirror-balled darkness to live out a fantasy she’d never dreamed existed.
After all, the guys wearing these colorful tuxes were part of this gay masquerade, too. And now that she studied them more closely, some looked a lot like girls.
Talk about a turn-around. Or at least for Lola it was.
And there beside the buffet table, Clive Kingsley stood watching her. His expression, so genteel and British—so damned handsome—told her he knew she knew now. Those blue eyes followed the way she danced in Rio DeSilva’s embrace, but Lola sensed he was more interested in the way his creation draped and flowed with her movements.
So much for that fantasy.
“Do you suppose Miss Christy and I are the only natural women in this room?” she ventured. She gazed up at Rio, aware of how male he was as he effortlessly steered her between the other couples.
He chuckled. “You’re sure those aren’t implants?”
Lola let out an exasperated laugh, thinki
ng back to her escapade in the spa. “I had the distinct impression Miss Christy was all woman, after the way she handled me during my massage—”
She caught sight of the masseuse then, a chesty confection who glistened like a cotton candy princess. Miss Christy danced with partner wearing a slim-cut tux of traditional black, whose dark hair hung loosely at collar length. Much like Rio’s.
“Is he? Or isn’t she?” DeSilva whispered.
Lola shook her head as the song came to an end. The tattooed triplets resumed their places on the stage.
“I have no idea,” she murmured. “But after the way Kingsley asked about selling his designs in my stores, he’s got balls, inviting me to here to make his point!”
“I’ve got balls,” Rio whispered. He ran his tongue along the shell of her ear, pulling her closer. “I’ve got a point, too—and I’d definitely like to make it, Lola mia. Somewhere the security cams won’t catch us.”
28
Lola’s heart pounded hard as he whisked her out of the ballroom and into the elevator. Oblivious to the guy making a room service delivery, Rio thumped a numbered button and then pressed her against the wall. His kiss felt absolutely ravenous—as desperate for attention as she was.
Had dancing among all those gender-bending couples whetted his appetite for a real woman? For her?
Or did it matter? For Lola, it was enough to be alone with him again—at least she was after that blue-uniformed Filipino got off. It was enough to know DeSilva had the same sort of surges and urges she did, from the moment they’d laid eyes on each other.
“I guess that guy delivering the food didn’t want to dance?” she asked.
The elevator doors slid open and they started down a plain, narrow hallway.
“Kingsley doesn’t invite everyone to his galas. You have to be special.”
Rio slipped his key into the door, and then held her gaze before allowing her into his room. “I like Clive a lot, but I’m glad I’m not on his guest list. I’d have to keep sending regrets, and he doesn’t take rejection well.”
“Are we talking hissy fits and crying jags?” Something she needed to know, if she were to consider stocking his Kingsley Court clothing.
“Not in public. But a few times when his friends have departed for bluer waters—or told him to go jump overboard,” DeSilva added with a grin, “our Kingsley’s given a whole new meaning to the phrase ‘drama queen.’ Not a pretty sight.”
He slipped his hand beneath her chin then, lowering his face until his lips were a mere inch above hers—until she rose on tiptoe to kiss him. Then he backed away.
“Understand, Lola mia,” he whispered, “that all talk of other men stays outside this door. The only queen I want to think about right now is you.”
Again he kissed her, until she saw stars and felt fireworks sizzling up her bare back. With his mouth still holding her hostage, Rio eased her into the room and fell against the door to close it. His hands roamed all over her, caressing and coaxing, lighting little fires with his fingertips. When he’d cupped her bare breasts beneath her dress, he reached back to unzip her.
Lola held her breath. Oh so slowly he was easing that zipper down, tugging with one hand and placing the other on her exposed skin. He switched positions with the quick pivot of a man on the dance floor, nailing her to the door with his mouth.
Deftly he slipped the angel-wing sleeve over her arm. Her dress slithered down, leaving Lola bare except for her whisper of an excuse for panties.
She slid her hands beneath his white jacket. It landed on the floor.
Rio moaned against her mouth, kissing her more passionately as she unbuckled him. Behind her, the secretive ripping of foil spurred her on, and Lola shoved his trousers past the shaft that had been making his point ever since they’d left the ballroom.
She blinked. What kind of man didn’t wear underwear with a tux?
A very randy Spaniard!
And just how did he propose to—
Very quickly—and up against the door! Omigod—
Lola gasped when Rio’s mouth pulled away from hers. He was hiking her up in his arms, to let her shoulders fall back against the wood—to wrap her legs around his waist, while he gazed into her eyes like he was going to set her on fire.
“Lola,” he rasped.
The sound of her name spoken in that accent—so lazy and laid-back, yet so damned hot and bothered—made her insides quiver. Somehow he’d already sheathed himself. He’d lowered her just enough to feel that warm, insistent tip at her opening. Even through his latex and her silk, he felt hot and damp.
Or was that her own wetness?
“Yessss,” she replied, yanking the crotch of her panties aside. “Really hard this time. I want to scream with—”
Rio thrust inside her, cradling her ass in his hands. She cried out with the force of his need, with the way his fingers indented her flesh. She would feel branded forever, long after he let go—if he ever truly did. She would crave this kind of rough-and-tumble ride every time he took her now.
God, he wanted her! So badly he couldn’t even take off her panties—used them to stimulate her clit, and to accentuate the clandestine feel of this tryst. Anyone walking down the hall could hear what they were doing.
“Tell me when,” he commanded, his shirttail flapping around their grinding hips. “Tell me how badly you want it.”
“Not yet! Not—” Lola raised her knees, so she could maneuver her legs over his shoulders.
He held her suspended, at his mercy as he relentlessly drove his cock into her. This angle intensified their heat, and Lola thought she might pass out from sheer ecstasy.
Yet when he saw her strappy sandals beside his face, he grinned. Nipped her ankle.
“You love it this way!” he remarked in a smoky voice. “You got all excited, thinking about those odd couples and their—”
“I creamed the moment I heard your voice,” Lola corrected him. “You could’ve spread me on the buffet table and snarfed me down like—”
“Shrimp cocktail. A feast in itself,” he teased.
His golden eyes were shining with need. He was still moving inside her, subtle circlings to make the band of her panties rasp against his shaft. “But I have this maddening fantasy to devour you like a hot fudge sundae instead, querida. Right after I take your edge off.”
Was that a promise or a dare?
As DeSilva pumped faster, the slapping of their skin and their mingled musk sent her soaring into a world of want. When she closed her eyes, there was only the maleness of him, claiming her, and the way she flexed and squeezed…bore down against that mindless whirling, that irrevocable ache that begged to be sated.
Her head fell back and she surrendered. Rocked and curled in on herself, and then spun away into space until her body went slack.
Panting, both of them. Reeling from an eclipse of his sun and her moon until it was safe to see again.
When she peeked at him through one slitted eye, Rio laughed.
“I wasn’t kidding about the ice cream and the chocolate sauce,” he said, holding her close. He walked very carefully, kissing her and then disengaging her hips. “I’m going to fetch it now, while you arrange yourself on my coffee table. You’re my dessert, sweet lady.”
Dessert? As she gazed up at him, Lola wasn’t believing this guy. He’d just popped his cork and poured her out, as well, but he was going for more!
She rested on the cool glass top of his table, listening while he rummaged in his fridge. Yanked off her soaked panties to cool herself beneath the lazy ceiling fan. The hum of a microwave ended in a beeeeep.
Were they in Rio’s quarters? Except for the light coming in from the other room, the place was dark. She couldn’t tell much about her surroundings, except they were much smaller than her suite and not as nice.
Not surprising, yet she was curious about the way this man had personalized his rooms: colors and wall decor, and what he had sitting around on his shelves, would reveal a
lot about the Spaniard who remained a mystery even after she’d made love to him. Twice now.
Well, going on thrice: Rio was looking down at her with a devilish grin, ice cream carton and chocolate sauce in hand. A can of Reddi-wip rested in the crook of his elbow. His hair brushed loosely against the tabs of his collar.
“Let’s not smear chocolate all over that nice shirt,” she hinted.
When he set down the ice cream to finish undressing, Lola reached toward the open carton. She hooked a finger into the softer stuff around the edge, and then—looking him right in those tiger eyes—sucked on it.
Mmm, butter brickle. Not that she’d figured him for a plain vanilla type.
“Do that again,” he whispered. “I like watching my food play with herself.”
She laughed, gesturing lewdly before she licked her middle finger clean.
“Eat me,” she challenged. Those nerves were beginning to curl again.
“Oh, I intend to. Every sweet, fucking inch of you, Lola mia.”
He’d said the F word—in that same cultivated tone that bespoke lazy Mediterranean afternoons in open courtyards. So far removed from the way most men used it, she squirmed at the images it brought to mind: his lips roaming all over her, while his tongue would drive her wild in all her favorite places, too.
It was so good to be with a real man, wasn’t it? Cabana Boy in the shower had been a nice work-up, and an admiring Clive to dress her to the nines was fine, too. But when it came right down to it, who could pass up a guy just wild for making love to her, in every way he could think of? In ways no other man had imagined.
When the first dollop of ice cream plopped between her breasts, Lola sucked air.
“Don’t you dare move,” DeSilva instructed, letting another scoopful fall to her middle. “I’m creating a masterpiece much more delicious than Kingsley’s.”
“And more satisfying than Aric’s,” she wheezed. It was a real effort to lie still when that third melting ball of butter brickle landed on her navel.
All Night Long Page 25