Halloween Honeymoon

by Merline Lovelace

  A moment later, Captain Paxton signed off and tossed the hand-held radio transmitter onto the console. Muttering another curse, he wiped a hand over a beard streaked to a whiskey brown by the sun. His hand jerked when he saw Josh step into the command center of the boat.

  “Got a problem, Captain?”

  Paxton’s eyes narrowed on Josh’s face for long moments, as if he were trying to gauge how much he’d heard.

  “Not one I can’t handle,” he replied at last.

  “But one that involves me.”

  Paxton let his breath out on a gusty sigh. “I guess you heard from my conversation that one of my suppliers knows you’re aboard. ’Fraid that was my fault. He and I go way back, and I let something slip a few days ago.”

  A few days ago?

  Surprise replaced Josh’s swift, instinctive tension. In those few days, Paxton’s contact could have sold the story to the tabloids and called in a full brigade of media, but he’d chosen not to. For some reason. Josh should have felt nothing but relief over the reprieve. Instead, the suspicion that he was being set up snaked through him. He pinned the captain with a level stare.

  “I got the impression that my presence aboard the Nautilus III makes your friend nervous.”

  “It does,” Paxton admitted, a grin creasing his weathered skin. “Very nervous.”

  “Want to tell me why?”

  “This particular supplier ran into some trouble with the U.S. Navy a few years ago. A little misunderstanding about the grade of diesel fuel he was selling them. Since then, he’s maintained, shall we say, a low profile in his business dealings.”

  In other words, Josh guessed, the guy was bootlegging fuel that didn’t meet the strict environmental standards the U.S. imposed on its suppliers. And Paxton was buying it.

  Josh had heard that a good number of shipowners in the U.S. were under investigation for the same practice. The fact that this was a ship cruising international waters fuzzed the matter considerably in his mind.

  But he now understood why the captain was as anxious as Josh himself to avoid a media invasion of his ship. He was also beginning to understand how Paxton could offer a luxury cruise like this at such unbelievably low prices. If the captain was using questionable suppliers for fuel, he was probably skirting the law in other areas, as well. Josh was willing to bet the hulking Enrique didn’t carry a green card.

  “What are you doing up so late, Keegan?”

  The casual question diverted Josh’s thoughts from diesel fuel and work permits. Hooking his thumbs in the pockets of his shorts, he tried to come up with an answer that would make sense, coming from a honeymooner.

  “I’m hungry.”

  The captain’s whiskers twitched. “Worked up an appetite, huh? Now, why doesn’t that surprise me? Why don’t we go raid the galley? I could use a little late-night snack myself.”

  “Sure you don’t want to go ashore with us, dear?” Evelyn Sanders asked in a heavy whisper.

  Cari squinted up at the older woman. She declined the invitation with a smile, keeping her voice low, so that it wouldn’t disturb the man slumbering in the deck chair beside her, a panama hat pulled down over his face.

  “No, thanks.”

  “I found the most wonderful boutique in Charlotte Amalie yesterday that carries nothing but French imports.”

  “I’m not much of a shopper,” Cari replied softly, sticking a finger in her book to hold its place.

  One of the women clustered behind Evelyn smothered a laugh. “If I was honeymooning with Josh Keegan, I wouldn’t be wasting my time in French boutiques, either. Let’s go, Evelyn. Cari’t you see they want to be alone?”

  With a final round of whispered farewells, the group of well-dressed women made their way to the outboard stairs, where Enrique and the launch waited. Cari tugged the brim of her straw hat down lower on her forehead and opened her book once more.

  Despite her best efforts, she couldn’t seem to concentrate. Every few paragraphs, her gaze snuck sideways. The man at her side interested her far more than the intricacies of sixteenth-century goldsmithing.

  For an athlete, Josh certainly had odd sleep patterns. He didn’t get much rest at night, if his increasingly haggard expression in the mornings was any indication. Each day, Cari’s guilt at hogging the sublimely comfortable bed and sentencing him to the couch hitched upward another notch. As did her worry that his inability to sleep at night might have something to do with the plastic bottle of painkillers she’d glimpsed in his shaving kit. The high dosage level of the pills had shocked her. She’d had no idea he was suffering that kind of agony.

  More and more, Cari longed to ask him about his injury. To recognize when he might be hurting. To cradle him in her arms and offer what comfort she could. Knowing how carefully he guarded his privacy behind that easygoing, smiling facade, she settled for making sure he got the rest he obviously needed during the day.

  If and when he was ready to talk to her, he would. She hoped.

  The intensity of that hope surprised her. She shouldn’t harbor this longing, this fierce urge to know the real Josh Keegan. Their not-so-funny gag wedding had bound them together for this small slice of time. After the divorce, they’d probably never see each other again. It shouldn’t matter to her so much that he might be hurting. But it did. Oh, Lord, it did!

  “What are you guys doing?”

  Closing her book once more, Cari squinted up at Eric the Not-So-Terrible.

  “Soaking up some rays,” she replied. “What about you? What are your plans for the day?”

  Hunching his shoulders, he slumped down onto a vacant deck chair. “I don’t have any. Granddad was going to charter a fishing boat today, but his arthritis is really acting up. He’s resting while Gram shops.”

  Cari chewed on her lower lip, wondering why in the world she should feel sorry for a boy whose red polo shirt sported a designer logo recognizable the world over. She couldn’t afford to buy the designer’s catalogs, let alone any of his products. Still, Eric’s disgruntled expression tugged at her soft heart.

  “Want to play cards?”

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  Her eyes twinkled. “Don’t overwhelm me with your enthusiasm.”

  Eric gave her a shamefaced grin. “Sorry. I’m just not much for sit-down games.”

  “What kind of games do you like—besides kamikaze soccer?”

  “Basketball. Field hockey. Coach says I swing a pretty good baseball bat, too.”

  “Well, I can’t help you out there,” Cari admitted. “I was the only girl in my high school who had to take remedial gym three years in a row.”

  A chuckle drifted from under the panama hat. Cari glanced down as Josh lazily pushed the hat off his face.

  “Three years, huh?”

  “It would have been four, but poor Mrs. Lancaster fudged my grade my senior year, so she wouldn’t have to face me again.”

  “What about college?”

  Cari shuddered. “You don’t want to know!”

  He sat up, sharing a grin with the boy on Cari’s other side. “Guess that means we won’t choose her for our team in deck tennis.”

  Eric pretended to consider the matter. “I don’t know, Josh. We might have a problem here. It’s either Cari or Gram.”

  “Hmmm…I see what you mean.”

  Their glum faces made Cari sputter with laughter. “Hey, this particular problem suggests you two macho males go do something sweaty on your own.”

  “Like what?” Eric asked her challengingly, a trace of boredom creeping back into his voice.

  “I don’t know.” She waved a hand airily. “Go swing some bats. Or some golf clubs. Didn’t your grandfather say he’d brought his clubs along?”

  When she saw the reaction to her careless suggestion, Cari could have bitten off her tongue. A hopeful light sprang into Eric’s eyes. Josh’s gaze went dead and flat. In his eagerness, the boy didn’t seem to notice Josh’s lack of enthusiasm.

  “Hey, that
would be way cool!” He hesitated, then added shyly, “Granddad thinks I’ve got a decent swing, but it’s nothing like yours, Josh. I’ve seen you on TV. You’re the best.”

  Josh glanced away from the boy, and Cari’s heart lurched at the bleakness on his face. When he turned back a moment later, it was gone. The beginnings of the cocky grin he presented to the public lifted one corner of his mouth.

  “Well, I’ve been known to hit a decent ball on occasion, but I’ve never tested my skills as an instructor. I’m game if you are, though.”

  Eric jumped up. “Really? Wow!”

  Josh rose and clapped a hand over the boy’s shoulder. “I’ll see if the captain can rig a net on the back of the sun deck while you go get your grandfather’s clubs. Then I’ll watch you whack a few balls.” He glanced over his shoulder. “You okay here for a while, Cari?”

  She forced a smile. “I’m okay.”

  As she watched Josh and Eric head toward the bridge, Cari admitted to herself that she was anything but okay. Her brief glimpse of Josh’s grim expression had thoroughly shaken her. Without meaning to, she’d pushed him into something he obviously didn’t want to do.

  She struggled to understand what that might be. Everything she’d heard, everything she’d read, about Josh suggested that golf was his passion. Golf, and a continual string of glamorous women. She’d gotten to know him well enough these past few days to understand that his playboy image was as much media hype as fact. But his reputation as a world-class golfer certainly wasn’t a myth. To earn it, he’d racked up all kinds of championships.

  So what had caused his lips to tighten and those deep lines to groove his cheeks a moment ago?

  Maybe giving lessons was against some kind of rule for the pros. Maybe he wasn’t a very good instructor, as he’d implied. Or maybe…Cari swallowed, remembering the painkillers. The accident might have destroyed his ability to concentrate. To play the game he loved.

  Nervous, she watched Captain Paxton and one of the crew attach a jury-rigged aluminum frame to metal cleats on the rear railing. At Josh’s suggestion, they draped two layers of fine netting over the frame and tied them in place.

  “There,” the captain said in satisfaction. “You couldn’t whiz a mosquito through that net, much less a golf ball.”

  “Looks good, Captain, but we need a target. Something that will make a sound when the ball hits it.”

  “Hang on a second. I’ll get you a nice crackly navigational map.”

  A few moments later, Josh tied the folded map squarely in the center of the net, then moved back to stand beside the boy. Dropping a large square of carpet down to protect the teakwood deck, he crossed his arms and grinned at the now anxious teen.

  “Okay, kid, show me how you hold a club.”

  Eric pawed through a bag the size of a large steamer trunk. “Which club? The driver?”

  “Start with a wedge and we’ll work our way backward.”

  After examining the boy’s grip and making some minor adjustments, Josh stepped away.

  “Let’s see you hit a few.”

  Her shoulders knotted with tension, Cari wrapped her arms around her updrawn knees. For the first few minutes, she jumped every time a metal club face connected with a ball. After each swing, she listened as nervously as Eric for Josh’s feedback.

  Gradually both she and the teenager relaxed. The teacher in her admired the way Josh minimized his criticism and maximized his praise every time a ball flew into the target.

  “Good, good. You’ve got a nice even rhythm, but you need to follow through a little more. Forget about hitting the ball. You can’t miss it.”

  “Wanna bet?” Eric muttered, scowling ferociously at the ball.

  “Just think about hitting through it. Go right through it. That’s it. Bring the club all the way over your shoulder. Good.”

  By the end of a half hour, ball after ball was flying at the target. Cari was grinning as broadly as Eric when Josh ended the lesson.

  “This was awesome,” the boy exclaimed. “I can’t believe a little thing like hitting through the ball can make such a difference. Thanks, Josh.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Eric held out the club. “Here, I’ll shag balls for you while you hit some.”

  “No thanks. I don’t like using someone else’s clubs.”

  “Granddad won’t mind. Go ahead.”

  “Maybe later.”

  “Okay.” Eric dropped the club into the bag with a thump and covered it with a protective cover. “I’ll leave them here, under the awning, in case you decide to give them a try.”

  He turned away, then spun back. “Hey, can we do this again tomorrow?”

  “Sure.”

  “Great! I’m going to go tell Granddad what you taught me.”

  Cari smiled as Josh strolled over to her deck chair. “That’s the most excited I’ve seen Eric on this trip.”

  Josh snagged a white towel from the back of his deck chair. “He’s a good kid. And a good athlete.”

  “He’s a better athlete now.”

  Swiping his face with a corner of the towel, Josh didn’t reply for a moment. Perspiration trickled down the strong column of his neck and plastered his white knit shirt to his shoulders. His very broad and superbly muscled shoulders. Funny, Cari had never really noticed any symmetry or awesome physical beauty in the jocks who’d stumbled through her Western Civ classes. She couldn’t seem to notice anything else around Josh.

  “I didn’t really teach him anything new,” he replied at last. “Only reinforced a few basics.”

  “You reinforced a few basics for me, too.”

  He draped the towel around his neck and sent her one of those lazy, lopsided grins. “Is that so, Professor? Like what?”

  “Like the fact that some instructors are born, not made. You’re good, Josh. Very good.”

  His grin turned positively piratical. “When a beautiful woman tells me I’ve been good, I’ve usually been bad. Very bad. Want to go below and get bad together, Cari?”

  He was doing it again. Deflecting discussion away from himself with a grin and a joke. Cari longed to beg him to stop, to share his real feelings with her. In the face of his refusal to let down his guard, she had no choice but to go along with his diversionary tactics. Pursing her lips, she sent him a minatory look from under the brim of her straw hat.

  “I assume that’s another version of getting naked and playing bride and groom.”

  “You assume correctly, Miss Prim.”

  She sniffed and reached for her tote bag. “Didn’t you agree not to turn on the playboy charm? Why are you teasing me like this?”

  When he didn’t reply immediately, she glanced up. Awareness jolted through her like a high-voltage electrical current.

  He wasn’t teasing! He wanted to consummate their ridiculous marriage as much as she did. She could only assume that their imminent divorce held him back. As it did her.

  Cari had done some crazy, impulsive things in her life. Walking out on her job had been one. Agreeing to participate in that silly marriage ceremony had been another. Those two minor catastrophes paled beside the idiocy she now gave in to.

  Releasing her tote, she leaned across the short space between their chairs and framed Josh’s face in her palms. His skin was hot and damp with sweat. And infinitely wonderful to her touch. She leaned closer, her hungry gaze on his mouth and her intentions written clearly across her face.

  His hands came up to cup hers. “Cari. Sweetheart. This isn’t smart.”

  “I know, but…”

  “But what?”

  “I think I need to kiss you, Josh.”

  “Need to?” His voice sounded harsh, ragged. “Or want to?”

  “Both,” she whispered as she brought her mouth to his.

  He didn’t move, didn’t make any attempt to deepen the kiss. Cari didn’t care. Within an instant, she was lost in her exploration of his taste and his scent and his feel. His lips were firm under hers. An
d warm. And wet on the slick inner skin of his mouth.

  She might never taste him again, she reasoned while she could still think at all. After Cancún, she might never see him again.

  She wanted only this.

  Only a kiss.

  Eight

  It was only a kiss.

  Crack!

  A ball sailed toward the red blaze of the sun and slammed into the battered target. With savage satisfaction, Josh watched it bounce off the map and roll to the bottom of the net. He nudged another ball forward with his right foot.

  Just a kiss.

  Thwump!

  The leading edge of the seven iron thunked into the carpet square, several inches short of the ball. Josh glared down at the white sphere, then lined up the iron once more.

  One hell of a kiss.

  Crack!

  When the ball whipped into the target this time, Josh’s satisfaction was tempered by the realization that he’d missed as many times as he’d hit. And he was damned if he knew whether he owed his flawed aim to blurry vision or a lack of concentration.

  Since the moment Cari’s mouth had locked on his this morning, Josh hadn’t been able to think of anything else. He’d been drum-tight all day. Now, with Saint Thomas’s green peaks fading astern, and everyone else below decks resting before dinner, he’d come to the sun deck, desperate to release some of his pent-up physical frustration. There was no way he could have stayed in the cabin while Cari filled it with shower steam and the scent of lemony shampoo—not without ripping open the shower door and flattening her against the tiles.

  Here, with only the sun and the sea and the privacy of his own thoughts, he could admit what had been simmering just below the level of his consciousness for days. He didn’t want a divorce. Any more than he wanted this crazy marriage. He wanted…

  Crack!

  …to woo Cari. He wanted to tease her and flatter her and court her with silly gifts. He wanted to cage her against the boat rail and nibble at her throat. He wanted to go ashore and buy her a wedding ring, one she wouldn’t slip off in a few days. Or a few years.

  Thwump!

  The club face slammed into the carpet square with a force that jarred Josh’s wrists and arms all the way to the shoulder sockets.