I nod. “I think I have everything I might need, but thank you.”
“Yes, ma’am. Also,” Karesh begins, clearing his throat. “Mr. Spencer wanted these delivered to you.”
Karesh hands me a white envelope. I take it, curious as to what Reese might want me to have that comes in such a form. “Thank you.”
Karesh nods again. “Also, he’s requested you at dinner tonight.”
Warm blood fills my face and gushes through my veins. It’s pleasure, plain and simple. As much as I hate that it does, Reese’s desire to have me around makes me happy.
“What time?” I ask, hoping Karesh can’t see my pleased flush.
“Seven sharp.”
I nod again.
“If you need anything, just remember I’m at 300 on the phone. Otherwise, I’ll leave you to your preparations.”
“Thank you.”
It’s Karesh’s turn to nod again as he turns and leaves my room. He’s so formal it makes me feel like white trash. Luckily, I grew up around the wealthy, so it’s nothing new. And at least I know how to comport myself like I’m accustomed to it.
As soon as he has shut the door and I hear his light tread falling further and further from my room, I tear open the envelope and remove a single folded sheet of paper. Printed on it at the top is Reese’s full name followed by a doctor’s name and a lab service’s name and address. Below that is a long patient number and then a list of tests on the left and results on the right.
My mouth falls open. They’re all tests to check for STDs. They’re all negative, which is great, but at the moment, I could care less. Fury heats my skin and floods my blood with adrenaline.
How dare he? How dare that presumptuous as**ole have his lackey give me STD results as though me ending up in his bed is a foregone conclusion.
“Like hell I’ll be at dinner tonight,” I mutter as I stomp over to the phone beside my bed and angrily punch in a three followed by two zeroes.
A voice answers immediately. “Karesh.”
“Hi, it’s Kennedy. On second thought, I don’t think I’ll be able to make dinner tonight.”
“Are you ill?” he asks.
I bite back a bitter laugh and refrain from giving him a very detailed explanation on just how “ill” I am. But Karesh doesn’t mean ill as in angry; he means ill as in sick.
“No, but I had quite a bit to drink and I need to get it out of my system before the show.”
While I’d love to give Karesh one heck of a message to deliver to Reese, I know that’s not something that would ever get conveyed appropriately. No, that’s something I’ll have to tell him face to face. And, by the time I stew in this for the rest of the day, I’ll be more than happy to do so tonight if he so much as looks at me the wrong way.
“Very well. I’ll let Mr. Spencer know.”
“Thank you.”
If Reese wants a show tonight, I’ll give him a show. A show for his guests. Just like I was hired to do. He’ll see that I’m not his and that I never will be.
CHAPTER NINETEEN - Reese
It took every bit of willpower that I have not to go to Kennedy’s room earlier. It’s not often that I have to wait very long for something that I want. But Kennedy is different. We have history. A lot of history. And she’s determined to let that be an issue. But as much as I don’t like it and as hard as it is to go slow, I’m equally determined to do whatever is necessary to get her in my bed again. What began as a simple desire has blossomed into an obsession. She’s under my skin, in my blood, and I won’t be satisfied until I can feel her wanting me from the inside, tight and wet.
When nine o’clock finally rolls around and we are gathered in the show room, surrounded by crushed velvet covered walls and the deep thump of music, I’m so anxious I’m ready to snap.
With a casualness that belies my coiled insides, I stretch out my legs in front of me and sip my seventy-year-old scotch, my eyes glued to the curtain through which Kennedy should soon be emerging. When the lights dim further and the music fades, I feel like both holding my breath in anticipation and exhaling it in relief.
Michael Bublé’s voice drifts from the speakers. We all fall quiet and watch, waiting for Kennedy to appear. Only she doesn’t. He sings the first few lines and there’s no sign of her. The curtain parts the slightest bit and a straight-backed chair glides smoothly across the polished floor of the stage, but still no Kennedy.
The singer’s voice carries softly on, my anticipation rising with it. Then, just as the music starts up with a blare of horns, the curtain parts with a flourish and out struts Kennedy. She’s wearing a hat again. A tall, black top hat set at a cocky angle that hides her face in shadow. It perfectly complements the tuxedo shirt and jacket that she’s wearing.
Moving in time with the music, Kennedy walks past the chair, reaching behind her to drag it along with her as she moves closer to center stage. When the horns stop, Kennedy whips the chair around, raises one long leg and plants a high, high heel in the seat. She’s wearing nothing from the waist down but shiny black panties that I get a glimpse of every now and again. I’ve never wanted to rip a tuxedo off someone before. But I do now. More than I would ever comfortably admit to.
Kennedy folds her upper body over her bent leg, trailing her fingertips from her ankle to the top of her thigh, pushing the tails of the tux back just enough to give me a gut-clenching glimpse of her deliciously-formed ass. She whirls again, turning to sit primly on the edge of the chair before leaning back and easing into the floor, her legs spreading into a perfect split before she reaches behind her and flips the chair over, setting it down in front of her.
For just over three minutes, I watch her work that chair. She reminds me of a cat rubbing its long, slender body in and around the legs, stretching over the back and winding around the seat. It isn’t until her dance is nearly over that she rips her hat off, like I saw her do that night at Exotique, and throw it into the crowd.
Only this time she throws it to Sig.
Her hair floats around her face, but it doesn’t conceal it, so I can plainly see the smile that she gives him. I can also plainly see the look that she gives him as she straddles the chair and arches her back. My blood goes from boiling to icy in those few seconds. I have to grit my teeth when I hear Sig say, “Come here and I’ll help you with the rest of that outfit.”
Kennedy grins at him, the tip of her tongue sneaking out at one corner of her mouth. For a few seconds, I think of standing up, taking my own chair in hand and swinging it right into Sig’s face until I hear bone crunch. But I don’t. God knows how, but I don’t.
I’m fuming as Kennedy ends her dance and walks in that loose-limbed way she has off the stage and back through the curtain. I sit silently in my chair, listening to Hemi and Sloane as I seethe, thinking to myself that Sig will keep his mouth shut if he knows what’s good for him.
“I wish I was sexy like that,” Sloane says to Hemi, still talking about Kennedy’s performance.
“You’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever met, baby. If that had been you up there, dancing in half of a tuxedo, you’d be lying na**d on that stage right now. Covered only by me.”
“Good God! Will you two shut the hell up? I was having a damn fine time until my ears started to bleed,” Sig complains.
When I can’t stand it any longer, I jump up out of my seat and onto the stage before the next word is said. I stride across the shiny black surface and duck between the two halves of the heavy curtain in search of Kennedy. Only she isn’t back stage. I stomp around for a minute, looking for her in all the logical places before I take off down the hall to the front of the boat where the crew quarters are located. When I reach her room, I’m still irate as I raise my fist to bang on her door.
CHAPTER TWENTY - Kennedy
I consider not answering the first harsh thumping that I hear, but when the second round of knocks is enough to make the panel rattle on its hinges, I figure I’d better open it before he damages something. The last thing I need is to be blamed for Reese breaking down my flimsy cabin door.
I walk to the door and fling it open, ready to shoot fire at Reese. Right up until I see how irate he looks. That gives me pause.
Grabbing me by my upper arms, Reese hauls me up against his chest and walks me backward into my room, kicking the door shut behind him.
“What the hell was that all about?”
I refuse to shrink from his anger. Instead, I meet it with a calm, matter-of-fact attitude that I don’t really feel, but am glad I could dredge up anyway.
“I danced. I entertained. Just like I was hired to do.”
“I didn’t hire you to flirt with every man on this ship,” Reese spits furiously.
“I thought that was just part of my performance. Like cozying up to you today on deck.”
I know my words strike a chord when I see his eyes flash with a dark light. “Well then I guess I’ll just have to take full advantage of your employment then.”
His quiet yet somehow even angrier voice triggers my own temper again. “Is that why you sent me those lab results? You think working for you should include sleeping with you? If that’s the case, then you can just drop me off at the next port and I’ll find my own way home.”
“I had Karesh give those to you so that you’d feel comfortable about everything when the time comes. As for when you end up in my bed,” he says with emphasis, “you can rest assured that it won’t be because you’re doing your job. You’ll be there because you can’t stand not to feel my hands on you. Because you can’t stand not to have my mouth on you.”
“You’ll be waiting a long time then, because I’m just fine without either of those.”
“Is that right?” Reese asks, a strange look on his face. It only takes me a few seconds to realize what it is. It’s resolve. Reese thinks I’m challenging him. And I can tell by the set of his jaw that he’s more than willing to accept.
His grip tightens around my arms and he swings me around and plasters me up against the door as his body crashes into mine. The action startles me, making me gasp. Reese takes full advantage of my open mouth, covering it with his own.
The instant his tongue touches mine, I lose all ability to think straight. All I can do is feel and taste and remember. The onslaught is so unexpected, so familiar that it takes my senses by storm.
The taste of him hasn’t changed. The scent of him, that clean, manly smell, is still there under the hint of his expensive cologne. And the feel of him…God help me, I’ve never been able to forget the way his body feels against mine. Every hard plane, every rigid muscle is pressed into my soft flesh, warming it. Exciting it.
Reese turns his head to the side, deepening the kiss as he slides his fingers down my arms to intertwine them with mine and raise our clasped hands above my head on the door. He leans further into me, his erection digging into my belly. My head is spinning dizzily as he lowers our hands then releases mine so that he can push my tux jacket from my shoulders.
His lips and tongue dazzle me as his fingers work the tiny buttons of my shirt. I don’t know when I drove my hands into his hair, but I’m suddenly aware of the silky, spiky feel of it, reminding me of passionate kisses just like this so long ago.
The first touch of Reese’s hands against the bare skin of my abdomen nearly shakes me from my thrall, but then they’re sliding around my waist, down to cup my butt and lift me off my feet. Automatically, my legs wind around him, giving us the perfect intimate contact. Reese moans into my mouth, sending a burst of electricity straight to my core.
Pleasure has taken over, pleasure at his kiss, at the little sounds he’s making, at the way he feels against every surface of my body. My head falls back on my shoulders of its own volition, giving Reese full access to my throat. His lips sear a path from my ear to my collarbone and then I’m falling, falling, falling.
I feel the mattress at my back just as Reese parts my shirt and closes his mouth over my nipple. I feel the heat and the moisture of his tongue through the thin material of my bra and I cry out, clasping his head to me as he grinds his h*ps between my spread legs.
But then, as quickly as it began, it’s over. Reese is lifting his head, staring down into my face. His breathing is as uneven as mine and his eyes are glistening pools in the gorgeous landscape of his face.
“I’ve never forgotten you, Kennedy. I’ve never stopped thinking about you, about us. I want you. And you know that. I promise you,” he says, dipping his head to kiss my chin, “that I’ll make you want to come to me.” He flexes his h*ps as though thrusting into me even though there are clothes between us. “Just don’t fight it too long.”
Straightening his arms to lift his weight off me, Reese brushes his lips once over mine and once over my still-aching nipple. Then, easing off the bed, he walks across the floor and right out the door, closing it gently behind him.
********
Three days later, we have finally reached our first port—Hawaii. The whole ship is abuzz with excitement and activity.
For myself, I don’t really know what to do. I haven’t seen or heard from Reese this morning, so I’m not sure what my role is. Every other day, he’s come to get me practically as soon as I wake up. He works out while I work out then he takes me up on deck with him for the day. Then, each evening, he comes to get me for dinner.
Until today.
I’ve seen no sign of him yet.
It annoys me that I’m disappointed, that I miss his early-morning visit. I tell myself that I’ve just come to expect it, but I know it’s more than that. As promised, Reese is weaving a spell over me that’s making me want to go to him more and more with every night that passes. He hasn’t had me dance again since that one night when he came to my room afterward. When it’s bedtime, I’ve lain awake every night, wondering if he’ll come to me again, thinking of what I’ll do if he does. Then, when he doesn’t, I toss and turn until light dawns over the sea and he comes for me again in the morning.