Halloween Honeymoon

by Merline Lovelace

  “I’ll take your word for that,” Josh put in laconically.

  “His recent paper on Tudor efforts to strengthen the English wool trade contributed even more depth and insight into the era.”

  Josh tried to look suitably impressed.

  “It also,” she added with a tight smile, “incorporated a great deal of my research.”

  “He plagiarized your work?”

  “Actually, he claimed I’d plagiarized his. That’s when I tossed his ring and my position at his head and walked out.”

  His ring. That explained a lot, particularly her comments about not wanting to be married to anyone, not in this century.

  “Why didn’t you challenge him?” Josh asked. “There must be some kind of faculty board you could take your complaint to.”

  “There is, but in this instance, it would come down to a case of my word against his. Since I’m a…since I was a lowly assistant professor at the time, and he’s chairman of the department, we both knew whose reputation would carry the most weight.”

  A competitor to the bone, Josh had never picked up his ball and walked off the course in his life. “So you just gave up?”

  “No, I didn’t just give up,” Cari replied, lifting her head to shoot him a haughty look. “I put five years of hard work into my doctoral program. I’ll have to modify my thesis to avoid the areas Edward covered in his paper, but I refuse to drop out of the program now, when I’m so close to completion.”

  Then she spoiled her effect by wrinkling her nose and descending from haughty to very human. “Besides, I wouldn’t give Edward the satisfaction.”

  “Good for you.”

  “That’s why I need this grant,” she confided. “It will give me enough to live on while I rework the thrust of my thesis.”

  “And if you don’t get the grant?”

  She tried for nonchalance, but Josh caught the banked determination in her brown eyes. “Then I’ll fall back and regroup. One way or another, I’ll finish my doctorate. It may take another five years, but I’ll finish.”

  “Why is it so important to you?”

  The question seemed to surprise her. She sat up, curling her stockinged feet under her. “A doctorate is a necessary requirement for advancement in my profession. Like, what—hitting a hole-in-one in yours?”

  Josh started to tell her that it took a whole lot more than a single lucky shot to qualify for the PGA tour, but her next comment pulled him up short.

  “I don’t want to be stuck as a lowly assistant professor all my life, any more than you want to be stuck where you are now.”

  “Just where do you think I am now?”

  She blinked at the sudden chill in his voice. “I don’t know. From the way everyone fawns all over you, I suppose you’re at or near the top of your career. But you’re what—thirty-seven? Thirty-eight?”

  “Thirty-four.”

  “Really? It must be the patch,” she tacked on hastily, when she saw his scowl. “But that just proves my point. At thirty-four, you must have goals you still want to achieve.”

  He had goals, all right, but Josh didn’t know whether he’d ever achieve them. He wouldn’t know, until he got back to Atlanta and started swinging a club again. He wasn’t quite ready to talk about them, however. Not even to Cari of the sexy toes.

  Rising, he stretched and gave her his best Josh Keegan grin. “Right now, my only goal is to talk you into sharing that bed. Sure you won’t reconsider? I’ve been told I don’t snore, and I promise I won’t hog the covers.”

  As he’d expected, a wash of pink collared her throat and warmed her cheeks. But instead of rising to his bait, she tilted her head and gave him a steady look.

  “You’re good at that, aren’t you?”

  “What? Not hogging the covers?”

  “No, turning aside personal questions with a grin and a joke. I watched you do it with the other passengers tonight, and now you’re doing it with me.”

  He waggled his brows. “What makes you think I’m joking, little girl?”

  “You’re doing it again.”

  The quiet observation pierced the protective armor Josh pulled on like a second skin whenever anyone got too close. This time, he made an effort to give her an honest answer.

  “It’s a survival skill I learned early in my career. I kid around a lot and tell the media only what I want them to hear. I also try to listen selectively to what they say about me.”

  “Sounds like that might be easier said than done.”

  “You got that right.”

  Josh rubbed the back of his neck, remembering some of his less-than-successful encounters with the media. One in particular remained emblazoned on his memory. To his surprise, he found himself telling Cari about it.

  “During my first U.S. Open, one of the announcers made a casual remark about my swing. If I’d been smarter, or older, or more seasoned, I might not have paid any attention to it. But I wean’t. For the rest of the tournament, I tried to correct a problem that didn’t really exist. In the process, I managed to take myself from third place after the first round to dead last.”

  “Oh, no!”

  “Golf is one percent skill and ninety-nine percent concentration,” he replied with a shrug. “It’s easy to lose that concentration. Since that incident, I’ve learned to filter what’s said or written about me and my game.”

  He’d also learned that sports announcers were pussycats compared to tabloid reporters. They ate unsuspecting prey alive.

  They’d devour Cari whole, he thought. She’d barely made it through dinner with a few inquisitive passengers. If a pack of headline-hungry reporters descended on her, she’d come apart at the seams. Guilt rippled through him at the realization of what he’d gotten her into, along with a determination to shield her as much as possible from the less pleasant aspects of association with a celebrity.

  “The pressure of living in the spotlight can be relentless, Cari. With a little luck and a fast, quiet divorce, we might get you through this mess relatively unscarred.”

  “Relatively?”

  “By the time we get back from Cancún and the story leaks, as it undoubtedly will, our marriage will be history.”

  Josh wondered why the hell the idea didn’t give him the satisfaction it should.

  “I’ll come up with something equally newsworthy to make our supposed romance old news,” he promised.

  Like announcing his return to the tour. Or his retirement. Josh shoved aside that last grim possibility.

  “Now, about the bed…”

  Battling wildly conflicting emotions, Cari hesitated. A part of her hated for these quiet moments to end. The brief glimpse Josh had given her of the man behind the cocky media idol intrigued her. He was human enough to be thrown off stride by an offhand remark. And intelligent enough to learn from that experience. She wanted to discover more about this Josh Keegan.

  Another part of her, a very female part, responded involuntarily to the teasing glint in his hazel eye. For a wild, sizzling moment, she imagined what it would be like to accede to his request. To invite him to share the huge bed. To tuck herself into the curve of that lean, muscled body. To turn their pretended, enforced intimacy into an honest-to-goodness honeymoon.

  The impossibility of that pulled her up short. In her heart of hearts, Cari believed a honeymoon meant more than just two bodies tangled up in the sheets. It meant love. And commitment. And, darn it, a sense of forever. All of which Josh Keegan, playboy of the western world, obviously didn’t believe in.

  No, her engagement to Edward had put a few serious dents in her illusions, but she wasn’t ready to give them up completely. Shaking her head, she sent Josh a cheery smile.

  “No way, Keegan. You get the couch. But I will give you first dibs on the bathroom.”

  Six

  Josh had expected that sharing a cabin with Cari might lead to an awkward moment or two. He hadn’t expected to spend the entire first night of his so-called honeymoon wide awake and
staring at the ceiling while his wife tossed and turned with maddening frequency.

  She wasn’t a quiet sleeper. Every time she flopped over, her arm hit the mattress with a whump. Whenever her legs scissored on the satiny sheets, the sound hissed in his ears. Occasionally, she huffed. There was no other word for it. She pushed out little, breathy puffs of air that carried clearly to the sofa across the cabin. Once, she sat straight up and mumbled something about pieces of cod, of all things, then toppled down onto the pillows and yanked the covers over her head. At that point, Josh considered his choices.

  His first was to tie her to the bed. Somehow he suspected she might not appreciate that solution.

  His second was to climb under the covers and anchor her restless body so tightly against his that she wouldn’t be able to thump her arms or legs or anything else. She’d probably appreciate that solution even less.

  His third also involved climbing into bed. Only this option included a few extras. Like playing footsie with her sexy little toes. And burying his face in that silkysoft banana-colored hair. And making wild, extravagant love to her, over and over, until she was so exhausted and limp from pleasure that she couldn’t move, much less flop and thump against the mattress.

  Unfortunately, the more Josh thought about the last option, the less he could sleep. He lay wide awake, listening to the sounds from the other end of the suite until he was rock-hard and aching. If this hadn’t been the first night of his blasted honeymoon, he might have gone on deck to cool down. Or to the exercise room to sweat the wire-tight tension out of his muscles and the image of Cari all sleepy and languid from lovemaking out of his mind. Since he was supposed to be wrapped in his bride’s arms, however, all he could do was give his own pillow a solid whack or two, turn over, and try to sleep.

  The sound of another whump jerked him awake some hours later. He sat up, relieved to see a hazy blue-gray light sneaking under the drawn curtains. Tossing aside the spare blanket Cari had found in a closet, he rose and stretched. In T-shirt and briefs, he padded to the closet and slid its mirrored panel sideways on its silent, well-oiled rollers.

  Not wanting to wake Cari by turning on a light, he groped around until he found his gray jersey sweats and tennis shoes. Once dressed, he folded the blanket and stowed it away. Then he settled down on the couch again to wait for the time a new groom might reasonably be expected to go topside in search of a cup of coffee.

  Cari was still sleeping when he let himself out of the cabin, some time later. She was up and dressed by the time he returned, bearing a covered tray.

  Josh stopped short just over the threshold, transfixed by the sight of his bride in the soft light of morning. She had anchored her hair in a loose twist on top of her head with a plastic thingamabob, leaving only a few tendrils to brush her cheeks. The morning light gleamed on her translucent skin. In a sleeveless, vestlike top of deep indigo, white shorts and white canvas shoes, she looked cool and comfortable. And decidedly nervous, Josh noted.

  “Good morning.”

  Her tentative, almost shy greeting would have triggered a smile in Josh, if he hadn’t suddenly felt just a bit off center himself. Which was crazy. This wasn’t one of those awkward morning-afters. They hadn’t shared anything more intimate than the same general airspace last night. Yet he had to force his voice to its usual lazy drawl as he strolled into the cabin with his laden tray.

  “Mornin’. I brought us some coffee and rolls and fruit. But there’s a full buffet upstairs, if you’re a big breakfast eater.”

  She hesitated. “Is everyone already topside?”

  “Most of them.”

  Hunching her shoulders, she tucked her hands into her pockets. As she did, the midnight-blue vest lifted and bared a strip of pale, concave midriff. Josh’s fingers tightened around the tray. He could now add an intriguing belly button to the inventory of sparkling eyes, creamy skin and sexy toes.

  “Why don’t we just eat here?” she suggested. “Or on our deck?”

  Josh hefted the tray on one palm, waiter-style. “Lead the way, madame.”

  With a wider, more relaxed smile, she crossed the suite and pulled open the drapes on the sliding glass doors. Dazzling sunlight spilled into the cabin, turning the pale carpet to a sea of liquid gold. Outside, a royal-blue awning shaded half of a private deck just large enough for a round table and four swivel chairs, all of which were bolted down. Beyond the deck rail, an aquamarine bay dotted with bobbing white sailboats stretched across the horizon.

  Josh felt a leap of pleasure that he didn’t stop to define at the thought of sharing a quiet breakfast and this spectacular view with Cari. He waved her to a chair, then proceeded to serve her with all the pomp and dignity of a world-class maître d’.

  “So, madame.” He whipped off the napkins covering the baskets on the tray. “We have here ze muffins. We have ze croissants with strawberry jam. And ze papaya and ze mango and…” He broke off, frowning at several brown, hairy balls. “What are these, anyway? Baby coconuts?”

  “They’re kiwi,” she replied, smiling.

  He poked an exploratory finger at the fruit. “I thought kiwi was green.”

  “It is,” she told him, her smile slipping into a grin. “Inside. You have to peel it.”

  “Tell you what—you peel and I’ll pour.”

  “Fair enough.”

  Cari was amazed at how quickly Josh’s lighthearted banter helped diminish the unease that had dogged her from the moment she woke up this morning.

  The inquisition from the other passengers at dinner last night had been bad enough. Toasting her groom and cutting into the surprise wedding cake with their good wishes ringing in her ears had made her feel even worse. But the thought of facing Evelyn Sanders and the others in the bright light of morning, after a night of supposedly rapturous passion in Josh’s arms, totally daunted her. Cari knew she couldn’t pull that one off.

  Not that she was inexperienced at rapture, exactly. She and Edward had explored the full scope of their relationship. But somehow Cari suspected that Josh Keegan’s brand of lovemaking would leave a different physical and emotional mark on her than anything she’d ever experienced before. Very different.

  As Josh wrestled with the top of one of those so-called easy-pour carafes, Cari studied him through the screen of her lashes. In thin gray sweats that hugged his muscular frame, he somehow managed to look even more handsome than he had in elegant evening attire. Maybe the sunlight playing on his tanned skin had something to do with it. Or the offshore breeze ruffling his dark brown hair. Or the stubble of a night’s growth that shadowed his cheeks and his strong square chin.

  “Got it,” he exclaimed, triumph lacing his deep voice as he reached for a coffee cup.

  While he poured and added creamer at her request, Cari’s gaze snagged on the crease on one side of his temple caused by the strap to his eye patch. Once again she wondered about the extent of his eye injury. After the way he’d avoided answering her questions about himself last night, though, she hesitated to ask about it. For a man who lived his life in the limelight, he was a surprisingly private person.

  Cari respected that privacy too much to probe. Besides, she didn’t want to introduce what was undoubtedly a painful subject into this quiet, relaxing moment in the sun. Which was just as well, because the quiet came to a shattering end not two seconds later.

  She’d just put a peeled and sliced kiwi on a plate when a cannonball dropped out of the sky. Or so it seemed to Cari. The huge missile came whizzing past the edge of the awning, hit the table surface with a resounding thwack, scattered fruit, rolls, and coffee cups, then bounced up again.

  Screeching in surprise, Cari jerked backward.

  Josh reached up and caught the careening object in midair. “What the hell—?”

  Distracted by the white-and-black soccer ball in Josh’s hands, Cari didn’t notice the spilled coffee snaking across the tabletop. Searing-hot liquid splashed on her bare thigh an instant later. She gasped and swivel
ed her chair to one side at the same moment Eric’s voice rang out.

  “Hey, man, good catch!”

  Unaware of Cari’s efforts to dab the coffee from her stinging flesh with a napkin, Josh squinted up at the teenager hanging over the rail of the sun deck.

  “Not good enough, it seems,” he replied, laughing. “You just scored a goal on our breakfast.”

  Cari glanced up to see a huge grin splitting the boy’s face.

  “Eric!” Paul Sanders joined his grandson at the upper rail. “I told you not to kick that thing around the deck.”

  The liveliness on the boy’s face drained away, and a familiar sulkiness settled over his features. “There’s nothing else to do on this floating mausoleum,” he protested.

  “Apologize to Mr. and Mrs. Keegan,” Sanders, Sr., insisted sternly.

  Cari started at the form of address, then flushed a bright red. Luckily, everyone was too engaged in the small drama to notice.

  “Now, Eric…”

  “Sorry,” the boy muttered.

  “It’s okay,” Josh replied, sending Cari a quick look. “No real harm done, is there?”

  Wadding the damp napkin in one hand, she ignored her stinging thigh. There was no point in putting the boy further in his grandfather’s bad graces. He hadn’t intended to bombard their breakfast table, Cari was sure. Almost sure.

  “No real harm done,” she agreed.

  “Here you go.”

  Josh tossed the soccer ball up to the boy. With a smooth, fluid grace, he leaned forward to catch it, then tucked it under one arm.

  “Good reflexes,” Josh observed, leaning his hips against the rail to converse with the two males above him.

  “Eric’s on the A soccer team at school,” Paul boasted, ruffling the boy’s brown hair affectionately. His grandson grimaced and ducked away.

  “Ever tried your hand at golf?” Josh asked the boy.

  “Once or twice. With Granddad.”

  “Did you like it?”

  Eric shrugged. “It’s okay.”

  “Don’t let him fool you, Josh. The kid’s a natural. You should see his swing. It’s as smooth and sweet as a baby’s behind.” Paul broke off, his ruddy face brightening. “Say, I brought my clubs along. Not that I’ve been able to use them, because of this damned arthritis. But maybe you could give Eric a few pointers sometime.”