Читать книгу All Night Long - Melissa MacNeal - Страница 7

“Welcome aboard the S.S. Aphrodite for Fantasy Cruise Line’s adults–only adventure in the Caribbean! I am your captain, Skorpio Skandalis, and—”

“Yeah, you say ‘skahn-DAH-lees’ and I say scandalous,” Lola teased the TV in her stateroom. “Captain Scandalous. That would be you, Big Boy.”

“—I am committed to satisfying your wildest desires and making your fondest fantasies come true!” the Greek seaman crooned.

His accent flowed like olive oil, slick and smooth and musky. And when he flashed his white smile at her, Lola could only stare, her brushful of Very Cherry nail polish poised above her hand.

God, but he was a fox! Bronze complexion. Raven hair gone silver at the temples. A five-o’clock shadow that suggested rough–cut masculinity—and sometimes she liked to play rough! And with those smile lines radiating from his snapping black eyes, he became Mr. Greek God of Sensuality. Mr. Caribbean Heat. Mr. Peel-Down-My-Panties-and—

Lola snickered. She wasn’t wearing any.

How many times had she watched this closed-circuit cruise orientation these past two days, letting Captain Scandalous seduce her with his accent and come-on smile? His was the first voice she’d heard as she entered this room Sunday afternoon, and she’d watched him a few times yesterday while they were sailing to Aruba, too.

When she was alone, of course. Fletch wouldn’t get it.

Could a girl ever get too much of a man in uniform? Bravado and balls, all decked out in those crisply pressed whites. The reruns of The Love Boat—and Fantasy Island!—had become her reality on this little getaway, and she was, by God, going to soak up every bit of ambiance and sizzling sexuality the captain was promising her in his welcome address! At least until Dennis came back to dress for dinner.

Or not, if he caught her here, naked this way.

Fresh from her afternoon shower, sitting cross-legged on the queen-size bed, Lola Wright was in a fine, feisty mood: tonight was the Captain’s Gala Reception, where dressed-up guests would meet the crew, standing so virile and fit in their white uniforms. She’d get to shake this Greek tycoon’s hand—

“Or whatever else I might grab,” she whispered with a grin.

The idea of sneaking a feel—right there in the reception line, while others watched—dared her to do it! Hadn’t he just promised to make her fondest fantasies come true? She’d slip down the zipper of those trim white trousers…let her fingers find the band of his bikinis, and the warm, coarse hair bristling just above his—

Lola gasped. A cold blob of nail polish had plopped on her nipple, and if she breathed—or if that nipple jutted out any farther—there’d be a crimson stain on the ivory comforter. She’d have to explain to Enriqué, the room steward, and tip him big-time to make up for such a mess!

So, with a quick swish of the brush, Lola coated her nipple with the nail polish. The contrast of that brazen red shine against her baby-pink skin kicked something wayward into gear, and she painted the whole puckery circle around it. Didn’t want to look off-balance, so she colored the other nipple, too.

“Whadaya think, Skorpio?” she murmured, shimmying at the Greek on her TV screen. “About the time you feel my fingers in your skivvies and get a load of these babies, we may have to leave the reception!”

But Fletch would be here any minute now, and he’d be gawking at these hooters. He liked it hot and raunchy—Mr. Lewd and Crude, that was Dennis Fletcher! So, knowing these brazen red tips awaited him beneath her low-cut cocktail dress, he’d be looking for a place to lift her skirt while everyone else swilled their champagne at the gala. Tonight, Ms. Wright would be the girl most likely to! In a public place, no less!

She looked toward the picture window, where walkers and joggers made their rounds just inches from the end of her couch. Captain Scandalous was now saying the windows on the Promenade Deck were one-way mirrors, so passengers could look out but walkers couldn’t see in. One of the many fine features of the S. S. Aphrodite he was so proud of.

With a wicked grin, she got up to test this theory: standing in front of the window naked, she cupped herself from the sides, offering up her luscious handfuls to passersby.

Two little old ladies ambled past, chatting, but the one looking right at her didn’t blink.

“Must be true,” she murmured.

Lola glanced at the clock. Time for some serious primping before her fiancé got back from his winning streak in the casino. If he smiled just right and ground against her on the dance floor, Dennis Fletcher might get lucky yet again after dinner—and she’d keep him coming back for it all night long. That fantasy alone made the price of this trip worth it.

She’d gone through a long, sometimes rocky romance with her financial advisor, a man who played hardball with the markets while she’d played hard to get. But only enough to keep him panting like a puppy, since she was every bit as hot for it as Fletch was.

Lola had finally convinced him they should elope to the Caribbean for one of those romantic cruise ship weddings. She and Mr. No-Strings-Attached were finally tying the knot! So he deserved nothing but the finest—in other words, her, totally tricked out—as a reward for making such a sound decision. Not only would she be the wife of a savvy, handsome man, but her business would benefit, too: she could spend her time expanding Well Suited instead of working so hard for Fletch’s attention.

Lola flicked her auburn hair back to keep it from smearing her wet nipples. God, but they looked tacky, like they belonged on trailer trash—or some chick in a cheap porn flick. Which meant Dennis would go nuts. They might not even make it to the Captain’s reception, or get dressed enough to go downstairs for dinner.

Yet she did want to wiggle into that little black cocktail dress and then announce her arrival with a click-click-click of her stilettos. A girl didn’t get many opportunities to fox herself up and split zippers. And even though she was crazy for Fletch—because he was a fine catch; the money man who’d sent her business soaring—Lola hoped she’d never outgrow her power to make other guys look. And then put their hands in their pockets.

Rap-rap-rap.

Fletch! Lola quickly capped her nail polish, so she could sprawl suggestively on the bed for his entrance.

“Yehhhhhhs?” she crooned toward the door. “Who is it?”

“Message for Meese Wright. I leave eet here, een your box.”

With an impatient sigh, she opened the door and stuck her head out. Must not’ve been much of a message, if Enriqué didn’t wait for a tip! She glanced up the long, narrow corridor to see if Fletch was on his way, hoping he wasn’t so engrossed in his poker game that he’d lost track of the time. It was her night to shine, dammit! To romance the night away with a man in a tux who couldn’t take his eyes off her.

But then, if he was really raking it in at the tables, maybe she could forgive him for being a little late. Dennis Fletcher was the luckiest man she knew, when it came to playing Caribbean Stud. And that diamond on her left hand hadn’t come cheap.

She snatched the message from the clip on her door, which she shut with a swing of her bare butt. No envelope, just a folded slip of paper. Fletch must really be cleaning out the house—but then, cell phones didn’t work here on the ship, so maybe he’d scribbled a note instead of coming upstairs.

Lola, said his familiar scrawl. I’ve found my true soul mate! A woman who knows how I need my freedom—who won’t boss me around, or insist on having the last word. And she doesn’t call me Fletch—much less bark it like she’s giving her dog a command. I’ve left the ship to get better acquainted at her seaside villa, so don’t come looking for me.

I didn’t want to break it off this way, but it’s for the best. Have a nice life, babe, You can bet I will! Dennis.