Читать книгу Give Me More - P.J. Mellor - Страница 10

Maggie sniffed and wiped her nose with the tissue stuck in the belt of her once-white slacks and tried to rinse the grime from the washcloth. Sweat trickled between her breasts, making her wish she had never invested in the new instant-cleavage-enhancer model. A lot of good it did her.

Hunched over the miniscule sink, she rubbed at the dust-streaked terry held under a flow of water one step above trickle status. When it became obvious that most of the dust was embedded for eternity, she twisted the little pointed knobs to turn off the water and made her way back into the living quarters to resume her cleaning, careful to avoid poking her eye out on the colorful beak of a stuffed bird next to the “grotto.”

An hour later, she stretched and rubbed the small of her back while she looked around at her progress. All one and a half plastic bushes of backbreaking progress.

“This won’t do.”

She walked to the wooden box housing the phone and called the concierge.

Ten long minutes later, a timid knock sounded. She fought her way through the vinyl, slid back the bolt and opened the door.

The small man from the deck stood all but quivering in the hall, his clipboard clutched to his scrawny chest.

“Ms. Hamilton?” he called above the jungle sounds, “I’m Otto, the purser. Front desk said you had a complaint?”

“Yes, Otto, I certainly do!” she shouted back and motioned him inside. “Come in.”

Just when she wondered if she’d have to resort to dragging him bodily into her suite, he stepped across the threshold.

She waved her hand in the direction of her personal jungle. “I’m afraid this just won’t do. I feel like I need a machete to even find my bed! Plus, I’m very allergic to dust.” She pointed at one particularly fuzzy example, in case he failed to notice. “And the noise is, well, you can hear for yourself. I need to change rooms.”

The poor man seemed to cower. “I—I’m afraid that’s just not possible, M—Ms. Hamilton. All the other books are roomed.” He stepped back, his knuckles white where he gripped his clipboard. “I mean, all the other rooms are booked.” He reached back and opened the door, his intent on escape clear.

“Wait!” She lunged toward him, eliciting a startled whimper from the man. “Please. I’ll take anything.” She sneezed and focused her teary eyes on him. “Please. The dust is killing me.”

His lips disappeared into a tight line. He stood a bit taller. “I’ll speak to the cruise director, but I doubt he can do anything.”

He hurried out and closed the door with a snap before she could think of an argument.

“Great,” she murmured, swiping at a particularly obnoxious split-leaf elephant ear that had been whacking her head in the air-conditioned breeze. “Just how I wanted to spend my first day at sea.”

She’d just dragged out her portable air cleaner and located a plug—no easy feat, given the decor—when a knock echoed in the little jungle.

She crawled out from under yet another fake palm and got to her feet, brushing the dust bunnies from her white slacks as she walked toward the door. It no longer mattered that her door did not have a peephole. Jack the Ripper could be on the other side and if he offered her a clean room, she’d gladly follow him anywhere.

Her pile of dust-gray cleaning rags caught her attention. Keeping up appearances was a necessity. In a swooping motion, she bent to scoop them up as she walked by. Her bare foot hit a wet spot on the edge of the grotto. Her mind registered the cool, slick feel of the porcelain “beach” a nanosecond before she slid with a scream and a splash into the churning water.

The woman’s scream from behind the locked door made Drew’s blood run cold. Even the ridiculous jungle sounds couldn’t drown out her distress. It was bad enough to be assigned to the honeymoon cruises for his final season. He’d be damned if one of his last cruises would lose a bride.

Hands shaking, he fumbled with his set of master keys before he found the right one and got the door unlocked.

He saw her immediately.

She sat chest deep in the grotto, little islands of what looked like dirty washcloths floating around her. One small hand covered her left eye and forehead.

“Are you okay, ma’am?” He pocketed his keys and moved to the edge of the water.

She didn’t blink. “My eye hurts,” she said, the husky quality of her voice slipping down his spine like a seductive fingernail. Great. Finally his libido kicks in, and it’s with a newlywed woman.

“What happened?” He scanned the room for her husband, ready to personally throw the bastard from the ship. Men who abused women were lower than a snake’s armpits, as far as he was concerned.

“I slipped and fell into the water.”

Sure, you did. He reached out a hand to help her stand on what he knew to be a less than skid-free tub bottom. “I’ve got you. Just take small steps, and then I’ll help you over the rim. Do you need to see a doctor?”

She shook her head, her short curls sticking to her skull. Wet, her hair looked almost translucent, so he’d bet she was a blonde.

The silk shirt sticking to her like a second skin most likely was yellow. He tried to avert his eyes from the scrap-of-nothing bra revealed by the wet fabric but couldn’t seem to drag his gaze away from the tempting sight. Lordy, it was enough to make a grown man weep.

Once-white pants clung to world-class legs, leaving little to the imagination. Why were all the good ones married?

Her hand felt tiny within his grasp. He resisted the urge to pull her close. Barely. Damn, what was wrong with him? Maybe he’d been out to sea too long. He was definitely drowning in the clear turquoise of her bloodshot eyes. Why did women stay with bastards who made them cry?

Wow. Maggie looked up—way up—into the blue eyes of easily the most handsome man she’d ever seen. Now, this is more like it. Tan, with golden-brown hair and mile-wide shoulders, dressed in a white uniform shirt and Bermuda shorts, he looked good enough to eat.

Dang. She realized she was holding his hand like some starstruck teenager. She dropped it and took a step back.

Unfortunately she was a bit too close to the edge of the grotto.

Arms flailing as she fell backward, she grabbed for the first thing her hands came in contact with…his shirt.

With a huge splash, they landed chest to chest, heads banging together. Maggie tasted blood at the same time she realized she was held underwater by the weight of the man. Shoving him aside, she broke the surface and gasped for air, trudging toward the water’s edge.

“Did you have to land on me?” Sputtering and coughing, she turned on him.

He lay facedown in the water.

“Shit!” She plowed against the force of the jets and grasped the back of his uniform collar to haul him above the surface of the water.

Her arm around his chest, she dragged him to the edge of the whirlpool, grunting with effort.

Good thing she was a lifeguard.

Beneath her palm, his heart beat a strong rhythm. He was breathing. Breathing was good.

“Let’s get you out of these nasty wet clothes,” she whispered, flicking open one gold button after another. She’d sworn to be more aggressive on her cruise, and fate had dropped the hunk in her arms. True, he was unconscious, but that wouldn’t last for long. Who was she to buck fate? Unfortunately the man’s forehead was rapidly growing a nasty goose egg. Before her eyes, it darkened to a deep cherry red right before the skin split from the immediate swelling.

Having her way with him would obviously have to wait.

With a grunt, she rolled him to his side and thumped his back.

He coughed a few times and wheezed as he struggled to sit up.

Shoot. Mouth-to-mouth would not be needed.

“Are you okay?” His voice was croaky. He cleared his throat and looked at her through sinfully thick, blond-tipped lashes. The once-over from his baby blues had her sitting back on her heels in an effort not to squirm.

He traced the tender skin next to her eye where she’d bumped her head in the first fall, leaving a trail of fire.

Forcing back a wince, she reached out to touch the now huge bump on his forehead. It was hot.

His breath hissed. He leaned back a bit. “Ow.” He probed the bump. “I really whacked my head.” He glanced up. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Fine.” More than a whisper seemed inappropriate, for some reason.

He broke whatever connection they had and stood, helping her to her feet. “Thanks for dragging me out of the water.”

He scanned the room. “Where’s your husband, Mrs. Hamilton?”

“Ah, it’s Miss. Or Ms.” Her skin burned with his scrutiny. “I mean, I’m not married.”

“Excuse me?” She couldn’t have said what he thought he’d just heard. He wasn’t that lucky.

“I said I’m not married.” She frowned and brushed at her wet, see-through pant leg before meeting his gaze. “Wouldn’t that defeat the purpose?”

“What purpose would that be?” Somehow his shirt was unbuttoned, so he began working the sharp buttons through the wet fabric. No need to get excited, despite her claim. Newlyweds often forgot they were married at first. Probably a tough acclimation.

“The purpose of the cruise, of course.”

The woman sounded annoyed and looked a little agitated. Maybe it was best to humor her. “I suppose different people take cruises for different reasons.” Although why a single person would take a honeymoon cruise was beyond him.

He gave her another once-over. She sure was a looker, he’d give her that.

She flashed a little lopsided smile that sent heat zipping through him.

Too bad she was married. And lied about it. Not to mention the fact she was more than a little wacky.

He turned toward the door. Best to cut his losses and get on with his day.

“Wait!” She grabbed his arm, the warmth of her palm doing funny things to his heart rate. “I don’t even know your name.”

He glanced at her hand and then back to her red-rimmed eyes. Their clear color seemed incongruous with the almost-painful-looking redness surrounding them.

“Drew. Drew Connor.” He extricated his arm and offered his hand. “Cruise director.”

She slipped her hand into his in what felt like an oddly intimate gesture.

Get a grip, Connor! The woman is just returning your handshake.

“Maggie Hamilton.” She shrugged and removed the temptation of her hand. “But I guess you already know that.”

“Ms. Hamilton?” He tilted her chin with his finger tip.

“Maggie,” she said on a breath. “Call me Maggie.”

“Maggie.” Despite his best intentions, he leaned closer. “Think hard. You’re not really single, are you?”

Her brow wrinkled. She stepped out of his reach and heaved a sigh. “Why are you having such an issue with my marital status?” She threw up her hands and strode to the side of the bed before turning on him. “Don’t you think I would know it if I’d married someone? What? Do you think I’d forget something like that?”

Maybe she was telling the truth.

Fists on hips—very shapely hips, he might add—she glared at him. “Why are you grinning like that?”

He took a step toward her.

“Mr. Connor—”

“Drew.” He took another step.

“Drew.” She held up her hand. “Okay, you can stop right there, Drew.” He took another step. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He closed the distance. Practically chest to chest, he felt the heat. He knew she felt it, too.

“You’re really single, aren’t you?” He raised her limp left hand and surveyed her ringless finger.

“I—” She swallowed and looked up at him with her incredible eyes. “I already told you that.”

Damn, this was stupid on so many levels.

He put his arms around her, half prepared to be kicked or slapped.

She reacted by encircling his neck with her arms.

Okay. Let’s think about all the reasons why this is a bad idea.

He pulled her closer.

One: it’s against company policy.

He leaned down, feeling the exciting warmth of her breath against his lips.

Two: even if she isn’t married, she should be off-limits, due to reason one. Plus, if she isn’t married, why is she on a honeymoon cruise? Maybe she’s an escaped criminal. Maybe she’s the female equivalent of a gigolo, who preys on married men.

The last idea fueled his excitement. He ground his already rock-hard erection against her.

She smiled and ground right back, eliciting a moan he hoped sounded more like a growl. Growls were more manly.

Three: stop reacting with your body, and listen to your mind, stupid! You don’t even know this woman. This isn’t some singles bar. You’re going to get caught.

He glanced down at her. The heat from their wet clothes practically made steam. Her incredible eyes were heavy lidded. She licked her lips, and he was a goner.

Four: time to score.

Maggie looked up at the man holding her in his arms and felt her knees go weak. If he didn’t kiss her soon, she might just climb up his hard body and have her way with him right here, right now.

“Kiss me,” she said on a breath, his mouth poised mere millimeters from her own.

“Oh, darlin’, I plan on it, I definitely plan on it.” His husky whisper vibrated her lips an instant before settling in for the duration.

Whew! The guy sure knew how to kiss. She wouldn’t be surprised if she had steam coming out of her ears.

He nibbled the edge of her lip before swooping in for another toe-curling, bone-melting kiss.

Her knees threatened to buckle. She couldn’t take a deep breath, even through her nose.

He shifted position slightly, deepening the kiss she swore couldn’t get deeper. Who needed to breathe, anyway?

“Our clothes…” she finally managed to whisper against his lips.

“What about them?” He nuzzled her neck.

“They’re wet.” Her teeth closed around his earlobe.

He shuddered. “Well, we’ll just have to get out of them,” he returned.

His hands bracketed her waist, pushing the wet silk of her top ever upward while he continued to feast on her lips and neck. He paused a moment at the front clasp of her intensifier bra before popping it open with a flick of his wrist.

She held her breath. Would he notice the disparity in size once he palmed her actual flesh?

Then his hands cupped her, and she released a sigh. Who cared? As long as he kept doing what he was doing.

Her top came up and over her head, his mouth scarcely leaving hers.

Breaking contact, he knelt at her bare feet, peeling the wet linen down her hips and then balancing her while she stepped out of the sodden fabric.

A hot trail of kisses tracked his progress up her body until they again stood chest to chest. Well, actually more like chest to abdomen, since he was a good foot taller.

His mouth once again took possession of hers while he slipped her bra straps from her shoulders and down her arms.

She rubbed her pebbled nipples against his firm chest, loving the friction.

In response, his hips bucked against her while he deepened the kiss, all but lifting her from her feet.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, swallowing a tiny gasp of excitement at the feel of his fingers hooking in the sides of her thong. The wet string dragged along the skin of her hips and then rolled beneath her buttocks to scrape down her thighs. When it fell to her knees, she was forced to break the kiss and step out.

Somewhat of a klutz under normal circumstances, she didn’t want to risk tripping on her own underwear during what might easily be the most awesome sexual encounter of her life to date.

His gaze left a trail of fire down to her toes and back up again. Beneath her palm, his heart pounded, his breath coming in harsh drags of air.

“This is nuts,” he said on a breath. “Tell me to stop.” He nibbled the edge of her lip. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

She nodded. Karyl wanted her to walk on the wild side. Maggie glanced at her personal jungle. It was about as wild as she was going to get. “I want to do something wild to celebrate my first cruise.” She hoped her smile was more assured than she felt. “Let’s make love in the water.”

His eyes widened; then a slow grin revealed a set of blinding white teeth and a lethal dimple. “Anything the lady wants….”

He made short work of stripping—dang, she didn’t get a chance to check him out—and then scooped her up in his arms and stepped into the grotto.

She gripped his shoulders to keep from drifting away from the delicious heat of his hard body.

“Wait.” He reached for a boulder at the edge of the waterfall. It opened. He pulled out what looked like a small foam Boogie Board and positioned it at her back.

“Lie back, relax,” he instructed. “Let me do all the work.”

It was difficult, but she managed to somewhat relax while Drew caressed her legs from ankle to thigh. With each pass of his hands, her muscles grew more pliant.

He stepped into the vee of her legs.

Warm water lapped at the juncture of her thighs. She resisted the urge to clamp them together and squirm.

“So pretty,” he said in a low, husky voice, his breath telling her he was oh-so-close to her most private place. “So smooth. Soft.” His lips whispered over her, causing her to arch in a silent plea.

Water sloshed in her ears, but she was beyond caring.

He licked and suckled while his fingers played with her flesh, spread before him like a sexual smorgasbord.

Good thing she’d indulged in a Brazilian wax, she thought, and swallowed a giggle when Drew lapped at her then flicked her nub with the tip of his tongue.

Her muscles twitched before taking on the consistency of wet spaghetti. She clamped her legs around his head, anchoring him in place.

Shudders rippled through her. Arching her back, she gasped in her effort not to scream.

It worked. Unfortunately the action plunged her head beneath the water, and she managed to suck in about a gallon of water.

Great. Attempts to cough were moot, with her head still below the surface of the water. Her body twitched. Whether it was from the earth-shattering release or impending death was a toss-up.

Just her luck. The most powerful orgasm of her life was obviously going to be her last.