Читать книгу Tempted - Kimberly Meter Van - Страница 9

1

FORMER AIR FORCE pilot Teagan Carmichael didn’t do cruises.

And yet, here he was, handing his boarding pass to the attendant, about to board the Nautica cruise liner, still a little unsure as to how his brother, J.T., had convinced him this was a good idea.

Mexico of all places. Two months ago, he and his buddies were flying into South America to rescue his brother J.T. after he’d accepted a charter flight gig to Mexico that had started out simple enough, but had ended up with J.T. and his female passenger crash-landing near the Guatemalan border.

They’d ended up in Sao Paulo, and somehow, by the grace of God, they’d made it out alive with all fingers and toes still intact, but Teagan was fairly certain luck had been a factor.

Maybe their guardian angels had cashed in some chips, because there were times Teagan had been fairly certain their goose was cooked.

Against all odds, they’d managed to not only escape, but to come out on top, which was the biggest surprise of all.

J.T. had made a lot of boneheaded decisions, but hiring on with Dr. Hope Larsen had been an unexpected blessing in several different ways.

“Welcome aboard, Mr. Carmichael,” the sharply dressed male attendant said as he scanned the ticket electronically. “Enjoy your stay aboard the Nautica.”

Gulls squawked a racket, screeching at one another as dirty waves lapped at the dock, the smell of brine salting the air. Los Angeles harbors weren’t known for their beauty, but then no one was flocking to LA for the beaches, either.

Teagan nodded and walked up the gangplank to board the massive liner. Like most cruise ships, it was a city on water with every amenity, every luxury.

Bright pennant flags flapped in the wind, snapping like colorful towels, signaling something festive was about to happen on this boat, but Teagan was still questioning his decision to go through with the cruise.

He probably could’ve talked his buddies Kirk Addler or Harris McGoy into taking the cruise instead, but J.T. had felt strongly about Teagan going, so he’d caved.

And thanks to the fat payment from Tessara Pharmaceuticals from J.T.’s last charter—the one that’d subsequently trashed their only plane and nearly gotten them all killed—Teagan was staying in an upgraded stateroom.

“Well, aren’t you a tall drink of water.” An older, curvy, auburn-haired goddess wearing a fancy outfit and dripping with rings, was eyeing him with open appreciation. “If you’re representing what we have to look forward to on this singles cruise, then I’m all in, sugar.”

Oh, that’s another thing. J.T. had booked him on a cruise meant for hooking up.

Like Teagan needed a relationship right now. With rebuilding Blue Yonder Charter, revamping their business plan and generally trying to start over, he didn’t have time for slap and tickle on a regular basis.

Teagan chuckled, blushing only slightly because attention from a beautiful woman, even one considered a cougar, was still flattering as hell. But he wasn’t looking for a hook-up. No matter what J.T.’s advice had been before dropping him off at the dock.

“You need to loosen up, big brother,” J.T. had said, admonishingly. “You’re wound tighter than a drum. You’d think that almost dying would’ve reminded you that life is for the living.”

“You’re giving me advice?” Teagan had joked. “Is this a sign of the coming apocalypse?”

Because, yeah, Teagan was the cool head and J.T. was the screwup.

At least, J.T. was until he’d met that saucy redhead scientist, Hope. Now his little brother was becoming responsible and thinking with his head and not his...well, you know.

And maybe Teagan had been a little bit envious of how happy J.T. was with Hope, but seeing as he wasn’t about to do anything to change his relationship status, there wasn’t much he could do about that.

The woman gave Teagan a final, bold up-down appraisal and then clucked her tongue with approval as she sashayed down the hallway to find her own room.

That was definitely a cougar sighting.

And a pretty fine one at that.

But as he found his room, his neighbor found hers and he forgot all about the cougar.

Teagan wasn’t much of a believer of insta-love but he was a big fan of insta-lust, and he’d just been hit square between the eyes with a double dose.

Long dark hair curled in lazy loops and waves to the small of her back, shapely, tan legs that went on for days and the most pert, rounded breasts that he craved to touch—all he could do was stare like an idiot.

Deep blue eyes framed by incredibly lush black lashes met his stunned gaze and she graced him with a sly smile, as if she knew good and well just how primal her effect was on men.

This was a level ten hottie and she knew it.

A tremor of excitement rocked his spine as his insides did a weird tumble and roll. To be truthful, he’d never been so knocked on his ass by a single look.

He’d been around the world and seen plenty of gorgeous, exotic women but every single one of them paled in his memory the minute he saw her.

And then she was gone.

One coy look and she disappeared behind her door.

He didn’t know her name.

Didn’t know anything about her.

But he would.

Suddenly, this cruise was the best idea ever.

He’d have to thank J.T. for forcing him to take the trip, because he’d just stared into the eyes of his destiny.

Or at the very least, his next adventure.

He was down for either.

* * *

HARPER RILEY CLOSED the door behind her, her heart dancing a flurried tippety-tap at the enigmatic stranger with the arresting eyes and magnificent build.

With all that solid muscle and those rugged good looks, he probably knew how to make a woman forget her own name.

Probably a player.

Most beautiful people were.

Not that she held that against him.

Hell, Harper played with the best of them.

But, whoa, she’d have to steer clear of that man for the duration of her trip.

This wasn’t a pleasure cruise for her.

It was work.

Her target was Stuart Buck, recently widowed, incredibly wealthy.

And very vulnerable.

Harper had plans to become the next Mrs. Stuart Buck.

She’d been tracking the older man’s activities for months. Harper knew everything that needed to be known about him.

A self-starter, Stuart was responsible for the rubber flush valve inside toilets. Not very glamorous, but mega lucrative, because everyone used toilets, right?

And while Harper didn’t love the idea of becoming Mrs. Toilet Queen, she’d probably just have to console herself by spending all that lovely toilet money.

So why was a multimillionaire hitching a ride on a commercial liner when he probably had a handful of yachts at his disposal?

Well, Stuart liked to think of himself as an everyman’s man. As in, he liked to surround himself with people who were still hungry, made him think he was still one of them.

Even though he wasn’t.

But Harper didn’t begrudge the old man his illusions. Everyone had something they liked to hold on to.

The plan was a relatively straightforward, if not classic, old-school seduction.

Stuart was still mourning his wife, but her death wasn’t so fresh that Stuart would find Harper’s interest offensive.

In Harper’s experience, men were simple creatures. At their core, they needed to be wanted, they needed someone to coo and aww over their accomplishments and laugh at their jokes.

A man was putty in a woman’s hands if she knew how to work those basic triggers.

And Harper had honed her skills to a knife point.

Tonight was the mixer dinner where she would set the plan in motion.

Everything was planned down to the smile. Seduction was about more than just dressing the part—it was making a calculated decision to steer conversations, reacting to body language and adjusting accordingly.

She mentally went over her game plan, ticking off items on her to-do list as she usually did before going after her target.

But this time, her neighbor kept interrupting her thoughts.

Harper frowned when she couldn’t quite stay on task.

The warning tingle in the pit of her belly should’ve been enough to shut down any meandering thoughts about the alluring stranger, but there was something about that man—jeez, she’d only caught a glimpse—that wouldn’t let loose.

And it was seriously messing with her game day ritual.

He was obviously single and ready to mingle.

Even though he was hot as hell and probably a fun time in the sack, Harper wouldn’t indulge.

A pretty face was a lie she couldn’t afford.

Her mother might not have absorbed the lesson in time but Harper sure as hell had—pretty mouths spewed convenient lies.

And now her mother was in a care facility without a cent to her name, because someone had fleeced her out of her savings with promises he’d never intended to keep.

Harper shook off the distasteful memories and hardened herself to the budding attraction that’d had the gall to spring up uninvited within her.

In another life, Harper could definitely see herself pressed up against all that lovely man-meat, but not today.

One glance and she could already tell he wasn’t worth her time.

He had that blue-collar ruggedness about him. Wind-chapped cheeks meant he worked outside in some capacity, or spent a lot of time skiing or sailing, but his hands were big and strong as if he was accustomed to hard work.

The man could probably bend her into a pretzel, but he couldn’t keep her in riches.

So, sorry, Mr. Cutie-pie, not going to happen.

Harper sighed. Oh, well. Time to focus on Mr. Buck.

Thin, bearded and balding Mr. Buck.

Just think of all that wonderful money.