by Beth Ciotta
The Big Ooooh!
I sagged against him, exhausted, cross-eyed, thinking this was it, the end of the erotic scene and that was okay, because the sheer electricity of the moment would power me through another year of celibacy.
Only he killed the shower spray, hauled me out of the stall and into the dimly lit bedroom.
Next thing I knew I was spread-eagle in the center of the bed, Arch sprawled on top of me—naked, wet—and…“No! Not like this,” I cried. “Too intimate.”
“You’re killing me.” Yet he hauled me out of bed and bent me over the bureau.
I scattered cosmetics and magazines, clearing the surface and holding on for dear life. “Ooooh!” He gripped my hips and filled me from behind with one deep thrust. Huge. Hard. “Condom!” I cried in a fraction of rational thought.
“Done.”
I didn’t question his lightning-speed abilities. I’d lost the capacity to form sentences. My mind shut down as every nerve ending sparked to life. So many sensations. He shagged me fierce and fast. I came and came, a series of earth-rocking orgasms. Sex, for me, had never been like this. So carnal and all-consuming.
Arch urged me to slow down, but I didn’t want slow. I wanted frenzied and mind-blowing. I might have even said it out loud, because he flipped me around and suddenly we were wrestling on the carpeted floor. He rolled beneath me so that I straddled him, JT buried deep within me.
“Have at it,” was all he said and I took control, riding him, catching wave after wave of delicious ecstasy. I explored his amazing body with my hands. Licked his tattoo. Plundered his sensuous mouth. Inhibitions blew apart and away as I indulged in a purely physical connection with a man I felt safe with.
Oh. My. “Yeeeees!”
He gripped my hips, rammed deep and held firm, reaching his own peak as I shuddered and collapsed on top of him.
I could scarcely breathe, let alone think. I couldn’t move, but I could hear…our pounding hearts, our ragged breath…
And Arch. “Bollocks.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
I WOKE UP to the smell of coffee. Fuzzy headed, I squinted against the natural light streaming in through the windows. Sunrise. I glanced at the digital alarm clock—7:00 a.m. I’d conked out after sex, fallen asleep damp and naked in Arch’s arms. I don’t remember him carrying me to bed. Don’t remember dreaming, just floating in deep, dark space.
I stretched, feeling delicious despite my achy muscles. Besides, if not for the small discomforts, I might have chalked up the white-hot sex to a wicked dream. I was still in awe. I, Evie Parish, a small-breasted, over-forty divorcée was having wild monkey sex with a slightly younger, ultrasexy spy.
Wait until I got hold of my diary. This was definitely a tale for posterity. Or at least a tale I wanted to read again and again. And I had to share the news with Nic and Jayne. Once I got home. Once…
No, I couldn’t think about home. There were still four days left on this journey. Still time to convince Arch that I could be an asset to TCC, whatever that was. I could be a superspy assistant. I could. I already was. Wasn’t I?
This new life did not have to end. That’s the fighting spirit, Jayne whispered in my thoughts. I smiled.
My eyes finally adjusted to the sun and found Arch sitting across the room watching me—his expression somber.
Uh-oh.
I pushed myself up to my elbows, heart pounding. I felt something swirl in my gut, like the bottom might drop out of my fragile, repairing confidence if he spoke that look. My mind scrambled. I had to save myself. Now. “Are you thinking about my tussle with Fred, my conversation with Gavin or my tumble with you?” I rasped, voice gravelly from too much karaoke and too little sleep.
“A bit of each.” He pointed to the cup of tea sitting on the nightstand.
I took a sip, startled by his thoughtfulness. It was still warm. The heat sliding down my throat helped to bolster me. I decided to attack his possible guilt issues straight on. “I’m releasing you from your promise.”
His brow quirked. “What promise?”
“Well, it wasn’t a promise exactly. More like a vow, I guess. That first day, you said I was safe with you, intimating I’d come to no harm. You don’t need that kind of pressure. You should be concentrating on netting that shark. You’re my employer, Arch. Not my bodyguard. I can take care of myself.”
The other brow rose.
I lifted a hand to my goose egg, compliments of the smarmy dance instructor. “It’s just a bump for goodness’ sake. Fred has a broken foot. I’d say I came out on top.”
“A position you favor,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.
I flashed on an image of me tackling Arch to the floor and having my way with his body. “Was I too rough?” I asked, cheeks flushing.
He smiled a little. “I was aboot to ask you the same thing.”
I shook my head and fought a head-to-toe raging blush. “I thought it was exciting.”
“No argument there.”
“I’m not normally so…aggressive.” I nearly choked on the honesty. My previous sex life suddenly seemed so bland. “You bring out the devil in me.”
“You bring oot something in me, as well, Sunshine. Not so wicked as the devil, yeah? But equally dangerous.”
I pursed my lips. “Are you trying to scare me off?”
“Aye.”
“It’s not working.”
He stroked his beard, gaze intense. I realized belatedly that he’d already transformed into Charles. Interesting how my brain only registered the man beneath the disguise. I tumbled on. “If you’re worried about me getting all clingy, don’t. I’m not interested in a serious relationship. I just got out of one of those and I, well, as Ann-Margret sang, I’ve gotta lot of livin’ to do.”
“Bye, Bye, Birdie. 1963.”
I shook my head. “I can’t believe you got that reference.” “Lot of Livin’To Do” was a schmaltzy song from a schmaltzy movie musical. One of my favorites. “Kind of weird, our common obsession with movies.”
He shrugged. “Not really. Just happens we both have above-average memories.”
“We also write daily—you in your laptop, me in my diary—private stuff. And we internalize, you know, mask our feelings.”
He angled his head.
“Okay. I’ve been pretty expressive lately. Unusual for me. I seem to be going though a change. A change, not the change,” I clarified.
He rolled his eyes.
“I just think it’s interesting that we have so much in common.” I tucked the sheets firmly beneath my armpits, scooted into a sitting position and hugged my knees to my chest. “I think we make a good team.”
He leaned back in his seat, sipped his coffee. “I thought you weren’t interested.”
“I’m not.” The man had heartbreaker written all over him. I’d already gone that route. “Not personally. I’m speaking professionally. Professionally we make a good team, yeah?” Oh, Lord. I was even beginning to sound like him.
“What are you driving at, Sunshine?”
“The company you work for, TCC. Do you think they’d hire me?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“You’re not qualified.”
I twisted my ring around my finger in a bid to retain my calm. At some point over the past couple of days I’d come to the realization that over forty did not equal over the hill. Call me hopeful once more. It was the feeling of outlasting my usefulness that terrified me. “Have I failed you somehow on this gig?”
“No.”
“Then—”
“You’re not qualified.”
“So you said. I could learn, take classes, attend—”
“You’re too soft.”
I blinked, swallowed hard. “I can fix that. Start working out, lifting weights.”
“Not physically. Emotionally.” He shook his head, lit a cigarette. “Stone’s right. You’re not up to this job.” He blew out a stream of smoke. “I’m sending you ho
me, yeah?”
“No.” A dull roar filled my ears—fury. Why did he have to bring up Michael? Rouse my insecurities? I twirled the ring faster. “I won’t go.”
“What?”
“To steal your words, are you mental? My leaving would compromise your mission. Blow everything we’ve worked for. Gavin is going to offer you an irresistible deal and—”
“No. He’s going to steer me toward the inside man who’s going to offer me an irresistible deal. A criminal, Evie. Investment fraud is nothing compared to his usual rackets. He’s scum.”
“Your assignment is to take him out, or whatever. For the greater good. I want to be a part of that. I want to do something worthwhile. Make a difference.”
“Coordinate a charity fund-raiser.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I. You’re going home.”
“But—”
“After the meeting with Gavin we’ll head back to Charlotte Amalie, take advantage of the duty-free shopping. Before reboarding the ship, you’re going to catch me embracing Carol Parker.”
My stomach dropped. “Why Carol Parker?”
“Because she’s convenient. Three-quarters of the ship have seen the Parkers and Duponts socializing, yeah? As you said, she’s been flirtatious. I’m sure you’re not the only one who noticed. You’re going to make the most of that, misinterpret the embrace, and we are going to have a bloody great row.”
How did he know Carol would be around? How did he know she’d play along?
I narrowed my eyes. “I suppose Sugar’s going to go ballistic, have a petty, tearful tantrum, storm off to the airport and leave Charles behind.” I snorted. “Then of course, more than ever, Charles will want to invest in that cruise ship deal. A peace offering to his beloved bride.”
He grinned. “Great minds, eh, love?”
I smirked. “Forget it.”
“Evie—”
“Shove it!” I batted my long bangs out of my eyes, wincing when I clipped my tender bump. “I have never walked out on a job. I won’t start now.”
He crushed his cigarette in the ashtray. “You’re not walking oot. I’m firing you.”
My mouth dropped open. I quickly closed it for fear it would lock. Tension vibrated in my jaw and shoulders. “If you fire me, then I have no reason to keep up the pretense of being Sugar Dupont. I’ll walk out that door as Evie Parish.”
I was bluffing, of course. I wouldn’t sabotage the greater good for my selfish pride. But he didn’t have to know that.
I shimmied off the bed, yanking a sheet with me. Draped in yards of one hundred percent cotton, I shuffled toward the bathroom. “The Skyline Drive and Magen’s Bay tour group meets in the theater in forty-five minutes. I’ll be ready in thirty. That leaves you fifteen minutes to explain whatever it is I need-to-know. Unless you want to rely on my instincts. Up to you.” I shut myself in the bathroom before he could cut me off at the knees.
Body trembling with fury, I leaned back against the door and breathed deep. I resented his lack of faith. I’m not soft. I can handle this job. I’m capable. I’m creative. If he didn’t provide me with direction, I’d proceed on instinct.
I’m a natural.
Willing calm, rational thoughts, I embraced my future with the heart of a lion. “I won’t give up my new life without a fight.”
ARCH’S DIRECTION boiled down to, “Whatever happens, stay in character.” He’d claimed there was no plan other than to listen to Gavin’s pitch and to cement a meeting with the shark. I can’t set the trap until I know the terrain, he’d said. Whatever that meant. I’m guessing he held back because he still planned on sending me home before he swam into shark-infested waters. That wasn’t going to happen but I didn’t belabor the point. I didn’t want to risk him locking me in the cabin for safekeeping. I had a job to do, islands to see. I’d already missed San Juan. No way was I skipping St. Thomas.
Even if it meant putting up with the Parkers.
The tropical isle with its mountainous terrain, white sandy beaches and turquoise waters was like nothing I’d ever seen. Yet for all of the tour guide’s charisma and expertise, the Parkers, or more to the point Carol Parker, voiced boredom during the scenic drive overlooking the north side of the island and Charlotte Amalie harbor. Apparently she was more into sunbathing than sightseeing.
I wondered if Arch had known we’d be on the same tour bus. How convenient considering he’d threatened to use Carol to hasten my exit. Not that I was going anywhere.
By the time our bus reached Mountain Top, the island’s highest peak, I wanted to stuff a sock in Carol’s mouth. Her incessant snarky comments irritated the hell out of me. Negative energy, I could hear Jayne saying. Steer clear. I tried, but then Dirk and Nan Iverson, the chatty couple from California, glommed on to me. They weren’t snarky, just boring. They talked my ear off for fifteen minutes as I tried to admire the assorted exotic birds and kick-butt scenery. I didn’t retain a thing they said. Me, with the scary-good memory.
Next stop on the tour was Estate St. Peter Great House, a former governor’s retreat. Citing his ankle, Arch lingered on a balcony, sipping complimentary rum and enjoying a spectacular view of the surrounding islands while I explored the botanical gardens with the tour group. Since his ankle was presumably healing, his limp less pronounced, I figured he’d really opted out because of his allergies. Unfortunately, Carol stayed behind with Arch, preferring alcohol to flowers. Tex, er, Vic, tagged along with me, claiming an interest in horticulture.
“Exotic orchids are beautiful,” he drawled, “but not near as interestin’as a field of wild bluebonnets.”
I wouldn’t have given that statement a second thought except he was looking at me when he said it. It wasn’t the first time I’d caught him staring. The first time was earlier this morning when he noted the purplish-yellow bump on my noggin. I’d tried to cover it with makeup and strategically combed bangs, but he’d noticed.
I’d gestured to his stitches, then my own badge of ill luck. “Thinking this is poetic justice?”
“Thinkin’ you’ve got guts, Twinkie.”
Guess he’d heard about my tangle with Fred. Mostly everyone had. I’d endured sympathetic looks from other passengers throughout the day. But no one looked at me quite like Vic. Granted, I was dressed a little on the skimpy side—short denim shorts and a sheer blouse knotted at my waist—but it was balmy and everyone else had dressed light. After this, we were going to the beach.
No, there was something other than sexual interest in Vic’s disturbing gaze, something I couldn’t pinpoint, and that’s what made me squirm. Even though Gavin was our mark, I still had a niggling feeling that the Parkers were somehow involved. That was the only thing that kept me from telling the cowboy oilman to stick his bluebonnets where the sun don’t shine.
Since Arch had revealed so little, my imagination saw fit to explore every possible scenario ingrained in my brain from umpteen years of movie watching. I came up with some doozies, most of them featuring underworld plots, maniacal villains and a surprise ending involving lots of stuff blowing up. My nerves were pretty shot by the time we reached Magens Bay. But I smiled, laughed and cavorted because I was Sugar, not me. Because I had assured Arch I could keep up the ruse of the free-spirited, fun-loving newlywed, no matter what. I wanted to prove I was qualified as a spy’s sidekick. Not that today posed a real challenge, except for enduring the Parkers. My mission, as described by Arch in his succinct need-to-know lecture, was to play the enthusiastic sightseer and enjoy St. Thomas. Oh, and to follow his lead. Once again, he’d opted to rely on my instincts. I took that as a compliment, even though I was dying for details.
Take it slow, Evie. Earn his confidence and trust.
I stroked my ring and summoned patience. There was nothing to be done, he’d said, until his meeting with Gavin. Which, according to my watch, was about thirty minutes from now. Tick. Tick. We were standing on what had to be one of the most beautiful beaches in the world, yet I w
as eager to escape to a dark, smoky bar to fight crime.
The tour guide left us to our own devices, allowing us ninety minutes for beachcombing and swimming. I knew we wouldn’t need that long because of the scheduled meeting at the Coconut Shack, so I didn’t much care.
Carol, on the other hand, cared plenty. “An hour and a half? He’s joking, right?” She swept an arm wide, indicating the picturesque surroundings. “This is why I came to the Caribbean. To soak up the sun. This is damned gorgeous.”
I couldn’t argue. Powdery white sand. Intense, clear blue waters. Palm trees. Coconut groves. The pristine beach offered a unique blend of sun and shade and was surrounded by lush green mountains. Yup. Damned gorgeous. It was also a popular spot. Leave it to Carol to point that out. “It’s too crowded here,” she said, continuing along the east side of the bay and heading down a trail marked Little Magens Bay. “Let’s see where this leads.”
It led to a secluded stretch of beach, and yeah, boy, I wished I’d followed my instincts and plopped in the sand back with the other tourists. The clothed tourists.
“Hell’s fire, darlin’,” Vic said to Carol with a muffled choke. “Looks like you stumbled onto a topless beach.”
I started to point out that quite a few bottoms were showing, as well, but I was momentarily speechless. I hadn’t seen this much male flesh since the time Nicole leafed through a Playgirl magazine while we waited at a cattle call audition.
Charles tugged at the brim of his Panama hat. “I say, not to sound priggish, but I’m not one for dropping my drawers in public.”
Carol tugged a rolled-up towel out of her tote and snapped it open. “I say, when in Rome.” She peeled her sundress over her head, whipped off her bikini top, plopped down on the towel and slathered lotion over her toned, flawless form. At least she hadn’t opted to go full monty. That was something, I guess.
The men showed no signs of shock, although they did drink their fill. What man wouldn’t? Carol Parker’s lithe body was to die for. But then they focused on the other nudes—mostly male—and I felt a shift in attitude. Not disapproval so much as discomfort. From the way the sun-worshippers were paired, I’m pretty sure the majority were gay.