Going Overboard

by Christina Skye

  He hid a grimace. “Then today you're going to have fun. That's an order.” He moved to the teak bar and poured her a glass of sherry. “Relax.”

  “I've heard that word somewhere.”

  “Not the way I define it. Tonight I'll show you in detail. Unless you want to start now,” he said huskily.

  Carly turned her glass in her hands and surrendered to a hot, explicit image of the two of them ripping off each other's clothes in a frantic race to the bed. She cleared her throat. “No way. You promised me a shopping trip, remember? I want to impress you tonight.”

  “I was impressed from the first moment I saw you and Daphne by the swimming pool, checking out my thighs.”

  “We were not. It was your chest we were checking out, and for professional reasons only. We needed the best man for the job.”

  He tilted her head up to his and traced her flushed cheek. “Then you're lucky, sunshine. You definitely found him.”

  McKay was starting to understand the primal frustration that drove fur-clad Neanderthals out of the cave into sweaty, hand-to-hand combat with saber-toothed tigers.

  In the last hour and a half, he had watched Carly acquire swimsuits, sandals, a hammered silver choker, a quarter ounce of jasmine perfume with matching bath salts, and a slinky black evening gown with a beaded bodice.

  Grappling with a saber-toothed tiger would have been more pleasant.

  “Well, that was fun,” Carly said shifting a bag from her right hand to her left as she surveyed another row of shops.

  McKay worked hard not to groan.

  The cruise ship's promenade was not as large as Rhode Island but it looked like it was. Mirrored elevators reflected a bustling four-story village of shops, bars, and restaurants surrounded by stained glass and false skylights.

  Carly took his arm, smiling serenely as she headed for a boutique advertising crystal perfume bottles. “Anytime you want to go into a corner and whimper, just let me know.”

  “Aren't you about ready to take a break?” He managed to keep his voice calm, though whimpering was a real possibility.

  “Maybe in a few more minutes.” Carly gnawed at her lip, studying a shop that displayed a replica of a red British phone box.

  McKay managed not to remind her that she had said the same thing three times in the last hour.

  “Aphrodite's Secret. I can't wait.”

  He could about a century or so. But a promise was a promise, and his patience was rewarded when he saw the frothy lace negligees draped over a pink satin chair in the window. “Now you're showing good judgment.”

  “You think you get to watch?”

  “You'd better believe it. I have serious consumer input to give. If you're nice, I won't even charge you.” As he spoke, McKay glanced around the boutique.

  No thugs were crouched behind the Louis XIV armchairs. No assassins were taking aim beside the plush velvet banquettes.

  He decided he could finally relax just a little. He liked watching Carly enjoy herself, and he was certain it wasn't something she got around to often in her fast-track life.

  The mirrored boutique was full of brisk saleswomen and their polished high-maintenance customers. A smiling floor attendant sailed past with iced champagne in a silver bucket.

  “Stay close,” Carly said. “I may suffer credit card burn unless I'm restrained.”

  “I'll be right beside ya, little lady,” he said in his best John Wayne voice. “A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do.”

  “I'm so glad to hear it.” Carly headed straight for a lace corselet and matching gown.

  “If this is a dream, don't wake me,” McKay said hoarsely. Just imagining the lace ensemble draped on her elegant body left him decidedly aroused. He was looking for a chair nearby when he heard Carly's delighted laughter. Between the displays he picked out Daphne, her arms full of lingerie, obviously intent on serious shopping of her own.

  He peered at Daphne over the display. “Nice to see you again.”

  Daphne's eyes twinkled. “Same here. I'd like you both to meet my fiancé.”

  “David's here?” Carly looked flabbergasted.

  “In the flesh. No more faxes or transatlantic phone calls. He flew in yesterday.” She looked over Carly's shoulder. “He was here a minute ago, but he had to arrange for a fax to Switzerland.” She waved to a tall man with a heavy jaw who was crossing the crowded boutique. His navy double-breasted blazer was Armani, his tie Hermès, and his teeth were perfectly white as he smiled at Daphne, a sheaf of papers beneath one arm.

  “Out of champagne already, or did you want my opinion on a purchase?”

  “You've been back and forth to send faxes three times—I could be buying baggy sweats and you wouldn't notice,” Daphne huffed.

  “Not true. I follow every detail.” He touched her cheek with one knuckle. “As a matter of fact, I can tell you exactly what you've purchased and how much it cost to the penny,” he added. “It just so happens that I can work at the same time.”

  Daphne's eyes clouded. “No business. Not today, David. You promised.”

  “Forgive me. The rest of the day is yours.” He slid his papers into an ostrich-skin briefcase and snapped it shut with a flourish. “Where do we begin?”

  “With an introduction. I know you remember Carly. And this is Ford McKay, who's been helping out with Carly's project for the cruise line.”

  David turned, rubbing his hands in delight. “Carly, it's been too long.” He enveloped her in a hug, kissing each cheek with European flair. Then he turned to McKay. “You must be the man who handled that problem in Barbados.”

  The man was the perfect fiancé for the daughter of a

  head of state. He oozed charm and affability, and his clothes were immaculate.

  But to McKay his eyes seemed restless, maybe even calculating. The combination of the pricy suit, the perfect haircut, and the orthodontically enhanced teeth seemed too deliberate, suggesting that David Halloran had not been “born to the purple” but worked hard to convince people otherwise.

  When Halloran looked at Daphne, his eyes softened and he smiled with real warmth. There was also a hint of possessiveness, as if Daphne were a prized and fragile piece of art.

  “Glad I was around to help,” McKay murmured.

  “I'd like to show my gratitude. In fact I insist.” The banker gestured to an attendant across the aisle. “Another bottle of Cristal and two more glasses. Carly, feel free to choose something extravagant. We'll make it my gift.”

  Carly shifted uncomfortably. “I don't think…”

  Daphne linked arms with her fiancé, shaking her head. “There's no arguing with him, I warn you. You'll just have to accept that you're about to be showered with gifts. David's generosity is one of his failings.”

  David glanced at Daphne in surprise. “That disturbs you, my dear?”

  “You can be a little overwhelming at times.” Daphne patted his arm. “You spend too much time with cold numbers and stock certificates. A gift means so much more if you choose and present it yourself. Perhaps a bottle of perfume.”

  “Only fair, since you overwhelmed me the instant I set eyes on you. In a room with a thousand women, there was only you,” Halloran said gravely. “And you claimed my heart.”

  McKay was glad to be saved from further lyricism by the arrival of the champagne. Halloran nodded to the attendant, who eased the cork free and filled two more glasses.

  “A drink to new friendships.” It was a polite order.

  Glasses clinked, but McKay remained silent as the others echoed the sentiment.

  As soon as possible he moved aside, his voice falling as he spoke to Carly. “Why don't you take a look at that lace outfit? Let me know if you need any help with the buttons.”

  A saleswoman appeared, attuned to the prospect of more sales, and Carly cleared her throat. “I'd like to see the pink lace set.”

  Daphne's fiancé studied the frothy items appreciatively. “Admirable taste.”

  Carly s
taste is none of your damned business, McKay thought. The man's manners could use some work.

  Daphne pulled Carly toward the dressing room. “While you try it on, you can fill me in on the shoot.”

  Halloran watched the two women vanish into the dressing area. “So, McKay, have you known Carly long?”

  “We met on the cruise.”

  “Very romantic.” He swirled his champagne carefully. “It's important for Daphne to have a friend with her now.”

  “I don't follow.”

  “She's worried about her foundation and about the plans for our wedding. Unfortunately, my business keeps me in Europe a great deal, and this bothers her, too.” Halloran watched bubbles burst in his glass. “She also broods about her father.”

  “He seemed fine when I met him in Bridgetown.”

  “Daphne thinks otherwise.” The banker shot one immaculate cuff. “Some problem with the local government in Santa Marina. The political alliances can be unpredictable there.” He smiled as Daphne's laughter spilled from the dressing room, and then he turned, refilling McKay's glass. “You're from Wyoming, Daphne tells me. A big spread?”

  “We run about five hundred head of cattle along with some quarter horses. The land's been in the family for five generations.”

  “Impressive. Of course in Europe, five generations is a

  mere instant. But dreaming of the past can be a curse.” He shook his head, then stood up as Daphne emerged, her dress crowned by a purple feather boa and matching mules.

  “How do I look?”

  “Lovely, as always. Why don't you add them to the other things?” He put down his glass and consulted his watch. “I'm afraid we have a spa appointment at four o'clock, followed by a waltz class at six-fifteen,” he reminded her.

  Carly emerged the dressing room, lace in hand. “Did someone mention waltz lessons?”

  “Bankers can't be bothered to learn how to dance unless a woman threatens them with bodily harm.” Daphne draped the boa over her arm and slid out of the mules. “You, meanwhile, are under direct orders to go forth and shop,” she said to Carly. “Buy one in every color or I'll never forgive you. And we'll see you for drinks in the Crystal Club. Why don't we say seven o'clock?”

  With the time set, David beckoned to a saleswoman carrying at least a dozen boxes, and the three set off for the front counter.

  “I'm exhausted just watching them.” Carly studied McKay. “You don't like him, do you?”

  “I don't have to. I'm not marrying him.” He lifted the lace from her fingers. “How did it fit?”

  “Let's just say we might need to keep fire extinguishers handy,” she purred.

  “In that case, this one is my gift.”

  “But—”

  “Don't even think about arguing,” he said gruffly. “I'm going to enjoy seeing you wear this almost as much as I'm going to enjoy taking it off you.”

  “Is that a promise, McKay?”

  “Count on it.”

  Carly was nearing a sensory overload when she reached the door to her cabin. She dropped her shopping bags and dug out her room key. “Same procedure as before, I take it?”

  Ford held his finger to his mouth, waited for two passengers to move past, then nodded. He inserted the door key and scanned the room from beside the door, then circled to check the rest of the cabin, moving like the cops she'd seen on TV

  To her shock, Carly was getting used to the procedure.

  She frowned as McKay glanced at his watch. “Going somewhere already?”

  “Speaking for myself, the two major food groups sound appealing.”

  Carly raised one eyebrow.

  “Steak rare and whiskey neat,” he explained.

  “Oh, those food groups.”

  “Only ones that count. Why don't I come back in ten minutes?”

  Carly laughed. “Getting ready for tonight is going to take me at least an hour.” She waved her bags with a flourish. “I have to do my hair, try on a few purchases, then linger in a hedonistic bath.”

  “I could help you with the hedonistic part.”

  “Get lost, McKay Getting gorgeous is serious work.” She pulled a lace camisole out of one bag and let it slide

  through her fingers, capturing his complete attention. “Especially since Daphne will be sleek, polished, and loaded down with diamonds.”

  “You'll look better.”

  “Have you had your eyes tested lately? She was a cover model, in case you hadn't noticed.”

  “I noticed. Daphne's nice, but her smile isn't in the same league with yours.” His gaze roamed over Carly's body. “And I can personally testify that you have the most amazingly beautiful pair of—” He broke off, exploring one of her bags.

  She yanked it away. “Go on.”

  “Eyes. And a few other things.”

  “Very smooth, McKay.”

  “Trust me, all my smooth moves will come later.”

  Carly knew that if she didn't show some control, they'd never get to dinner. She wasn't about to be rushed with a night of glamour and seduction before her. She meant to stretch out the pleasure and make McKay sweat just a little.

  Maybe more than a little.

  Meanwhile, one thing continued to bother her. “What did you really think of Daphne's fiancé?”

  “That he knows what he wants and exactly how to get it.”

  “You really don't like him.”

  “He's not my type. Whether he's Daphne type is the question.”

  “Before this she was always involved with creative types. Painters, musicians, and poets. David is so …”

  “Rich?”

  “Not just that. He's so competent. In a few minutes he seems to take over a room, and yet… sometimes he seems to try too hard. Of course, he probably wants to make a good impression on Daphne's friends.”

  A good impression and then some, McKay thought. Why would an international banker and jet-setter try so hard? Either the man had a deep need to prove himself or he was trying to cover something up. McKay still hadn't figured out which.

  “I don't care if he's rich or not. I simply want Daphne to be happy.” Carly glanced at the clock and gasped. “Go. I'll never be ready on time.”

  “Just tap on the connecting door. No need to worry if you're not completely dressed. I'll be delighted to help out with stockings, straps, or lingerie problems.” He gazed appreciatively at the tangle of lace and silk on Carly's bed. “Scout's honor.”

  With a low laugh, Carly nudged him outside. “There are no merit badges for what you're thinking about, McKay.”

  Izzy was waiting when McKay unlocked his cabin, and he looked glad to be working indoors again.

  “I take it you checked everything here? No bugs or unwanted electronics?”

  “I was just finishing up when you arrived. No sweat, the place is squeaky clean. Carly's quarters, too.” Izzy scratched at his shoulder. “At least there aren't any flying nasties to deal with here. I'd forgotten how much I hated field work.” Izzy paced the room slowly. “It appears that Vronski is putting extra men on that new yacht of his. He could be planning to make his move.”

  “Or he might simply be enjoying the glorious Caribbean sun,” McKay countered.

  “He left Brandon hanging on the investment project, and now Brandon's enemies are sniping that he doesn't have the clout to close a major deal like this.”

  “I knew there was a reason I hated politics,” McKay said. “Any intel on Vronski's hidden agenda?”

  “Nothing certain. I'll pass through any information as soon as it's available. I've got full electronics set up in my cabin, so I'm I touch with D.C. twenty-four/seven. Just remember, you may not have the luxury of choosing when it's time to pull out.”

  “Tell me something I don't already know.” McKay looked down at the shopping bag he'd tossed on the bed a gift from Carly. “It wasn't supposed to happen this way dammit. None of this was supposed to get personal.”

  Izzy whistled as a pair of men's paisley
satin pajamas spilled out of the bag's colorful tissue paper.

  “Don't say a word.” McKay scowled. “Not a single word.”

  Izzy gave a mock salute. “Aye, aye, sir. Maintaining radio silence.”

  At six-twenty, the black marble bar in the Crystal Club was packed. The only danger appeared to be the deafening music from the dance floor, along with the glares of Carly's former model and his girlfriend who were drinking steadily at a nearby table.

  Since their cruise was already paid for, they appeared to be determined to enjoy its full benefits, despite their failed campaign against Carly. McKay planned to keep an eye on the pair. His resolution was reinforced when he saw the girlfriend aim a furious glance at Carly's back.

  And what a back it was.

  Her gown was simplicity itself, smooth silver fabric that clung to every curve. The back dipped several inches below her waist and swayed with every step she took.

  McKay wasn't sure he'd make it through the evening.

  As Carly sipped an exotic concoction with lime wedges and a paper umbrella, he worked on a Dos Equis, which was his quota for the night.

  Leaning back against the bar, he allowed himself a long, thorough look at her. “That's quite a dress. You can't be wearing too much underneath, given that back and neckline.”

  Carly's smile was glittering.

  “What are you wearing underneath?”

  “Chanel No. 5, here and there.”

  McKay was sorry he had asked.

  “No sign of Daphne.” Carly surveyed the crowded dance floor. “She's usually so punctual.”

  “Maybe the waltz lessons ran over,” he said dryly. He wasn't particularly worried since he'd excused himself, called Izzy, and verified that the lovebirds were still in their cabin, safe and sound. Meanwhile, Izzy was staying close to them and had observed the two security people Daphne's father had placed in the rooms adjoining Daphne's.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “Not a thing. Dance with me and I'll prove it.”

  Halfway to the dance floor, they found their way blocked by Griffin Kelly. Red-faced and furious, his girlfriend confronted Carly. “You think you know everything, but you wouldn't recognize a good photo angle if you tripped on it.” She swayed as she spoke, sloshing liquor from her glass over the nearby table. “But it's not over yet, understand?”