All Night Long

by Melissa MacNeal

  DeSilva gazed into her green eyes, so large and lovely he wanted them to be his looking glass from here on out. Did he dare state his case more specifically? Would he scare her more than he already had?

  “High time you found a man who appreciates how loving and competent you are,” he said, stroking the damp strands of hair from her face. “A man who treats you like his queen by day and loves you like a mistress by night.”

  What she wouldn’t give to believe his lines, spoken in that Mediterranean eloquence that caressed her all the way down to where she needed him most. Rio DeSilva instinctively knew how to excite her mind as well as her body. And he was making himself so available, so open to her, with gentle kisses that accentuated what he was saying.

  But this was sounding a lot like that fantasy he and the captain cooked up in Kingsley’s office, after Fletch left her.

  “I need some time—and some sleep! Good grief, it’s nearly three,” she murmured, looking at his bedside clock.

  It sounded lame, probably, but now that she was worn out from their lovemaking and relaxed from that shower, going to bed sounded heavenly. Alone.

  Right after she took a Camel ride.

  She looked into Rio’s face, haunting in the lamp light. “Thank you for what you’ve given me tonight—and for something to think about,” she said. “Especially for believing I could be what you’re wanting in a woman…in a mother for your Chloe.”

  Okay, maybe that sounded presumptuous. But if DeSilva took offense or shut her down, well—she knew better than go any farther with this cozy little scene, didn’t she?

  He pulled her against his bare body for one last, fabulous kiss.

  “I promise you things will get better, Lola mia. We don’t have to live lonely any more.”

  God, how she wanted to believe that.

  30

  I want a man who can keep me coming all night long.

  Had she really said that?

  God, did we really DO that?

  Lola lit her next cigarette from the red ember of the one still in her mouth. The ash tray on her table was overflowing, and she hadn’t eaten or dressed yet. Every time Cabana Boy came to her bedroom door, she curled her lip at him.

  “Hey! I can get you more smokes. I can order up lunch,” he said in a wounded voice. “What the hell happened last night?”

  “I saw you in my dress, for one thing.” She glared at him, disillusioned with herself, mostly. “You keep your secrets and I’ll keep mine, okay?”

  He rolled those pale green eyes—the drama queen unmasked—and went for the phone in the living room. “I’m calling room service. Last chance to say what you want.”

  “Stay outta my face. And outta my closet!” she called after him. “Go out and play with the guy who delivers your food, why don’t you?”

  “Soooooo, the Priestess must’ve struck out last—yeah, hi, Julio. Aric here, up in the Aphrodisia Suite.”

  His voice had gone softer and he turned his back, which suited Lola just fine. She shut the door and locked it. Didn’t really care what or who he wanted to eat. Just wanted some time to think, for chrissakes.

  Ten straight hours of sleep hadn’t fixed what was wrong, and as Lola riffled her Tarot deck, the cards weren’t sliding together right, either. Telling her she was too impatient—trying to force things when a lighter touch, a better head, would set things right again.

  Like that was going to happen.

  She’d fallen for Rio DeSilva that first moment she met him at the gangplank, and he’d been nibbling away at her ever since. She’d told herself he was just for sex—the flavor of the day—because at the end of the cruise he’d be history.

  But he had to take her to his room. Had to let her see all those pictures of the little girl who was so him. And so cute. And so alone.

  Stop it! Look what you’re doing to yourself!

  Lola stared at the cigarette wedged between her quivering fingers, and at the turquoise pack with only two Turkish Jades left in it. It was the pack she’d carried in her purse, wrapped in tape, for nearly a year. The Camels Aric gave her were long gone.

  Disgusted, she stubbed it out, which made the ash tray overflow. Pissed with herself, she swept the whole crumpled mess off the table with one swift flick of her wrist. Watching the flecks of ash catch the sunlight as they drifted toward the floor gave her a feeling of great satisfaction.

  But not for long. After all these months of going without, she was on one helluva nicotine trip and couldn’t hold a thought or a feeling for more than a moment at a time. Too damn jittery.

  She closed her eyes and tried to mix her cards again. They felt cool and detached, and their edges butted into each other instead of dancing gracefully between her hands.

  Like you and DeSilva, doing the tango in perfect sync—

  Forget him! He’ll never happen for you.

  Lola let out her breath. Went limp in the chair. Let her mind wander into that state where associations and images appeared on their own, rather than consciously bringing them up.

  “What’s going on here? Why am I such a mess?” she muttered. It was her question for the cards, and when she laid them out in a Celtic Cross, the pictures made the answer perfectly clear.

  They were all men.

  Several of them were upside down—guys hated that!—and these reversals explained why she felt so conflicted.

  “Pretty well tells the tale, doesn’t it?” she muttered, considering the positions and what the cards meant there. “I’m that Knight of Swords, searching for the truth—crossed by that sneaky Seven of Swords guy, who is really Dennis. And I’m asking this question because that man in the reversed Four of Pentacles so reflects my loss of control. Like I ever had any.”

  Lola sighed, shaking her head over how the cards portrayed her predicament so accurately. There was that Five of Swords in the Past Energy position again—Fletch, who’d started this whole mess. And there was the Knight of Wands in the Present…the bold fellow in red, whom Rio had identified as himself in her last spread. Uh huh.

  The Future and Final Outcomes positions showed her losing it—losing her hold on all she tried to juggle in that Two of Pentacles reversed, and caught up in the conflicts of that Five of Wands. Come to think of it, the five guys batting at each other could well be Captain Scandalous, Aric, Kingsley, Fletch and Rio. And as if that weren’t enough negative news, the overturned treasure chest in position seven said she saw herself getting dumped, losing everything. That King of Cups—the guy Rio had identified with, as the winner—was now pouty and moody in the ninth position. Stuff she had to work through.

  At least she could laugh at the Ace of Wands in the eighth place: even reversed, that rod with the fiery tip looked too damn phallic between those masculine hands: others saw her as their tool, and they were using her to get their jollies.

  And what can we learn from this?

  Lola drummed the table with her fingers. She hated it when her head played teacher.

  It’s a game to them! Next week, with a new slate of guests, they’ll be pulling the same sexy stunts to relieve the monotony of life on the Love Boat.

  Yeah, but how often did a passenger disappear to Aruba and leave his fiancée to pay off his debts?

  Her fingers turned into a spider creeping toward those last two Camels, and she had to sit on her hands.

  The real question is, how many women has Rio DeSilva made love to all night long in his room, and spilled his guts to afterward? How many potential mommies has he romanced?

  And why did she want to be the one he kept?

  Lola stood up. Went to her balcony and gazed out over the port of St. Thomas, with its brilliant blue water, and honking horns, and streets crowded with cars and shops and shoppers. The sunlight was so brilliant she had to squint to look at the other cruise ships docked along the harbor’s edge—

  Yet all she could see was Rio’s face, in the glow of that little cigar he was lighting. She felt the shimmy of goose flesh where
he’d kissed her and lapped champagne, that first night she’d been out here with him. Lola had hoped to take home some unique accessories for her clients, yet the only souvenirs she’d accumulated were sensations. Pretty pictures in her head. A knot in her heart for a six-year-old.

  Intangibles, yet they tore at her.

  Was there no place she could go where she wouldn’t see Rio? He’d been in her dreams, wild and relentlessly male, and now he was intruding on her thoughts every time she didn’t focus on something worthwhile.

  Like that could happen.

  She imagined a sprawling Spanish villa among the trees, in a wash of soft watercolors, where DeSilva would lavish his affection on her, and always talk in those romantic, accented undertones. She saw Chloe laughing and playing—grabbing her daddy’s hand, but then taking hers, too! The sensation had felt so strong at times, Lola swore little fingers gripped hers in her sleep.

  Which explained why she’d grabbed her Camels in the wee hours: something to do with her hands.

  But why should she believe these dreams would come true? Her romantic visions of Dennis Fletcher certainly hadn’t panned out. And for all she knew, Rio’s pretty hints were part of the script to indulge the fantasies she’d spelled out to the concierge and the captain. All a part of his charm.

  And who was to say Captain Scandalous hadn’t had his spies out, so he could punish her for spending last night with DeSilva? Aric might’ve ratted on her as soon as she’d left the ballroom—even though this gave Cabana Boy the night off to enjoy his own fun and games. In her dress.

  It occurred to her then that Skorpio hadn’t summoned her in nearly twenty-four hours.

  Lola smiled. Lifted her face to the sun and soaked up its warmth while the breeze played in her hair. High time she got to enjoy this luxurious suite, since she’d paid for this trip, after all!

  Or does this mean Skorpio’s up to something? Probably scheming up another scenario where he used his body for bait and then let Odette have her.

  Shaking her head at her worst-case imagination, Lola leaned on the railing. She’d made that stupid love-slave deal, so now the only diamonds she got to look at, in this port renowned for its jewelry bargains, were the sparkles on the water.

  Damn shame she’d locked herself into her room, when there was a whole ship to explore…other people to meet, who weren’t determined to humiliate her. This was the last day of her trip, so she might not have many more chances to act like an everyday cruise tourist.

  Which meant living a little!

  Which means taking control of your time—your life—again! Not being available for men who make you to dance to their beat.

  Half an hour later, with her auburn hair hanging in its naturally wavy state and an attitude as fresh as her makeup, Lola opened her door.

  Cabana Boy looked up from his crossword puzzle. “Oooh, Priestess! Can I borrow that cami?”

  “Get your own—in a different color,” she teased him. “Now—I’m due for a nice lunch and one of those big, chichi drinks of the day. So if you’ll tell me the best place to have a little fun—without running into your boss—I’ll be on my way.”

  He quirked an eyebrow. Ran his finger along the Across clues, like she hadn’t asked him anything.

  “Six-letter word beginning with H. Means a highly attractive young—”

  “Hottie.”

  Lola planted her fists on the sparkly sash of her low-rider capris, aware of how it called attention to her hourglass curve. Aware she had to fight fire with fire while dealing with this hottie. She tapped the toe of her kitten-heel sandal.

  “Look, Big Boy—I’m sick of hanging around, wondering what Skandalis has in mind for making my day miserable,” she informed him. “Since you seem so enamored of me, the least I can do is spring for a drink. Are you coming?”

  One silvery-green eye rolled her direction. “No funny stuff? No disappearing acts?”

  “Hey—if DeSilva’s bribes aren’t high enough for you—if the captain doesn’t pay you enough—bitch to them. It’s not like I asked for a baby-sitter.”

  Aric’s gaze wandered back to his crossword. “Ten-letter phrase—starting with that H from ‘hottie’—meaning ‘tinkling musical instruments from the underworld—’”

  “Hell’s bells!” she cried. “I’m outta here! If you can’t keep track of me—”

  “Damn, you’re good! How’d you know, without even seeing—”

  Lola was out the door and picking up speed when Cabana Boy, barefoot and wearing only his low-slung boxers, caught up to her. He pushed back his curly mop, grinning.

  “Now isn’t this better?” he razzed her. “Inviting me for a drink instead of acting like you don’t wanna be seen with me?”

  The elevator opened and Lola took the back wall. Even knowing what she did about this kid, it was hardly a sacrifice to have him squiring her around. That dog tag on his suntanned chest rose and fell with his breathing as he gazed at her from between his rumpled, curling bangs.

  “So if I asked you to come home with me, how much would it cost?”

  Cabana Boy’s low laughter made her insides tingle. “More than you can afford, Lola. Nice try, though.”

  “Fine! Since you probably have a higher net worth than I do, you can buy the first round.”

  She crossed her arms, looking up at the digital floor numbers to keep from snickering. It felt damn good to be throwing her weight around again, taking charge. “And it better be someplace classy. Not the cigar club, and not the sports bar.”

  “You don’t like jocks?”

  “I’m with you, aren’t I?”

  31

  Aric ushered her off the elevator, his thumb slipping through her back belt loop. The loose span of his hand on her ass established his control over her, while giving everyone else in the atrium the impression they were an item.

  Lola played along, though. How often did she get escorted by a hottie who couldn’t keep his hands off her?

  And as they entered a dim, intimate alcove where the sign outside flashed FEDORAS in neon red and purple, she had to admit he had taste in watering holes. The barmaid and the two waitresses wore nothing but black lace boy shorts, sky-high stilettos, and black felt fedoras with red bands, which angled jauntily over their flowing blonde hair.

  “Guess I don’t have the qualifications to work here,” she murmured.

  Aric nodded as the nearest lovely waved them toward a table. “Why not? Your boobs are every bit as cute as theirs.”

  “But I have red hair. Clashes with the hat bands.”

  Cabana Boy’s arm slipped over her shoulders as he scooted against her in the booth. He was laughing with her, maintaining that fantasy that they were a couple of good-timers whiling away an afternoon after a wild night in the sack together.

  It felt pretty damn fine to bob her head to the happy island music playing in the background, while they awaited a menu. Lola gazed at the sleek ebony tables, and wing-back chairs upholstered in rich cranberry leather. A hideaway like this could help her forget about a hard-ass like Captain Scandalous, and her emotional tug-of-war with Rio DeSilva. Here—with enough drinks—maybe she could find a solution to the bruised feelings Fletch had left her with, and get on with her perfectly fine life in the business lane.

  “Bring us a pitcher of your rum punch. Orange slices and cherries in our glasses,” Aric instructed the waitress, “and a plate with extra fruit. It’s a health thing, ya know?”

  The blonde smiled like she knew better. “Nah, it’s a fruit thing. A real fresh fruit thing.”

  Lola wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cough. She settled for relaxing against the high leather back of the booth…just a nice mental float, anticipating rum punch like you could only get in the Caribbean—

  Until she saw the blonde bringing their pitcher to the table.

  She wasn’t the one who took their order, because this fox in the fedora had much bigger, bouncier boobs and walked with a wiggle that said she knew it, too.
But it wasn’t this blonde’s attributes that made the little hairs tingle on the back of Lola’s neck.

  She gripped the edge of the table, staring to be sure.

  But yeah, that was the bimbo she’d seen on Rio’s security tapes! The busty blonde who’d lured Fletch off the ship with her big bucks and her big—

  The bitch he’d called his soul mate! With the villa in Aruba!

  “You have your nerve,” Lola rasped, “sashaying to my table as though—”

  “Lola, what the hell—?” Aric was staring at her like she was a snarling, two-headed dog.

  “What’d you do with him?” she demanded.

  The waitress set their pitcher on the table, frowning prettily. “Sorry, ma’am, but I don’t understand—”

  “What part of barracuda don’t you understand?”

  Her rising voice had the other customers turning to peer at them, but she didn’t give a damn.

  “Where’d you leave him?” she demanded. “We were all set to—and he drained my accounts because of—you scheming, filthy—luring him to your seaside villa to—”

  The waitress stood tall, her slender hand poised at the edge of her boy shorts while the nipples on her D-cups pointed at Lola like exclamation points.

  “Begging your pardon again, but—”

  “Don’t give me that! I saw you!”

  Lola shoved Aric out of the booth ahead of her before he could hold her down.

  “You used your credit card as bait! In the casino, and at the ATM!” she exclaimed, pointing her finger like a pistol. “You laid it right out there so Fletch could slip it into his pocket—and then you could catch him with it, and use it to lure him off the ship and—”

  Cabana Boy was standing beside her, trying to settle her down. He actually looked embarrassed about all the people watching them. “That’s pretty tall talk, Lola, since you weren’t actually there to—”

  “I saw her!” Lola shrieked. “She was playing fast and loose at the Caribbean Stud table, and then she—”

  Instinct—something—took hold of her arm and Lola let the bimbo have it! Slapped her soundly across one cheek, and then—when Blondie was off-guard—brought her other fist up to finish telling her what a no-good conniving whore she was.