“Swimming.” She indicated her swimsuit, a hot pink tank with cut-outs on the sides, then the pool. “Swimsuit, pool—hello!” She wished he’d stop touching her. Damn it, evidently even her wrist was an erogenous zone. She just hoped he didn’t feel how her pulse was galloping.
“It’s too crowded to swim.”
That was true, but swimming wasn’t her goal; cooling off was. She said as much, though she didn’t expect him to relent. To her surprise, he sighed and got to his feet, kicking off his own deck shoes. Taking her hand, he walked with her to the pool’s edge. “Are you going to get your hair wet?” he asked.
“Do I look like a woman who won’t get her hair wet?” she countered, flipping the choppy ends of her hair, which was barely long enough to cover her ears. “I go snorkeling and parasailing whenever I can.”
“Then hold your breath,” he said, and stepped off the side of the pool still holding her hand. The pool wasn’t a diving pool so it wasn’t deep, maybe six feet at the deepest part, but it was still over her head where they were. He tugged on her hand and brought her back to the surface, then wrapped one arm around her to keep her there.
The cool water felt wonderful; his hard, muscled body felt even more so. Jenner took her time wiping the water out of her face, to hide her reaction to the sensation of his wet skin against hers. Muscles and water had to be one of the most potent combinations known to womankind. Had she lost her mind? What in hell had she been thinking? Actually, she hadn’t been thinking about being in the pool with him, she’d been thinking about getting in the cool water away from him. That plan hadn’t worked.
“Put your arms on my shoulders,” he said, his face so close to hers she could see the individual black eyelashes, clumped together in wet spikes that made the blue of his eyes even more vivid. Automatically, her mind having turned sluggish by his damn pheromones, she did as told, which brought her against him from breast to thigh. Getting in the pool had to be one of the worst ideas she’d ever had, and definitely the one she’d enjoyed the most. She was a fool and a nitwit, to fall in lust with her captor—though, in her view, any woman worthy of the name would be fanning herself at just the sight of him, more rough than pretty, and tough in ways most men would never even consider.
The buoyancy of the water sent her legs sliding against his. Bracing her hands on his tanned shoulders, she tried to find purchase by pressing her feet against the side of the pool, but so many people were jumping in and out that the water was in constant turbulence and kept pushing her against him. The back and forth reminded her almost unbearably of another back and forth, one that had nothing to do with water and everything to do with getting naked.
“This was a bad idea,” she said, caving in before things got any worse and she found herself with her legs locked around his waist.
His expression said I told you so, though he hadn’t, not in so many words. “Ready to get out?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
He hoisted himself out of the pool, water sluicing off his body, then he bent down and bodily lifted her out of the water to stand her on the edge of the pool. That careless strength made her stupid stomach tie itself in knots again. She was skinny, yeah, but she wasn’t bony skinny, and she actually weighed more than it looked like she did because all of her activities gave her muscle. For him to so easily lift her like that … She couldn’t look at him; she couldn’t bear to. If she did, she might never look away.
They returned to the table and toweled dry, and Jenner used her fingers to arrange her hair. It would dry quickly in the breeze, and the cut deliberately made it look choppy and messy, unless she went to some pains to smooth it down. She gulped down some of the tea, then turned her chair slightly so she was looking more at the ocean than she was at Cael. Sun didn’t normally bother her eyes, even living in south Florida, so she often had to remind herself to wear sunglasses. Now was one of those times, and she gratefully seized hers from where she’d tossed them on top of the table. Hiding her eyes was a damn good idea.
They sat there a little while longer, not speaking much. Her swimsuit stopped dripping, and her hair dried enough that it began to lift in the breeze. The gentle motion of the ship began to make her sleepy, and she thought how nice it would be to stretch out on one of those padded deck chairs and take a nap.
“Let’s go,” Cael said, pushing back his chair and standing.
“Hello, neighbors!” came a cheerful voice, and they looked around to find the two women in the suite across from theirs, Linda and Nyna, smiling at them as they approached. Jenner had spotted them at a distance at the various functions, but they hadn’t spoken since the lifeboat drill.
“Hello,” she said, smiling back because both of them seemed genuinely nice. They made no pings at all on her Jerry-radar. “Are you enjoying the cruise?”
“Yes, we are,” said Linda. “Join us for lunch, and we’ll tell you all about it.”
“I’d love to,” Jenner said quickly, before Cael had a chance to come up with an excuse. The last thing she wanted was to be alone in the suite with him right now. She wanted to give her hormones a stern talking to, as well as a chance to settle down.
He could’ve begged off and had lunch with his buddy Ryan, but of course he didn’t. Cael wasn’t going to leave her on her own even with two perfectly harmless older women; Jenner thought she had trust issues, but Cael was in a league of his own.
She pulled on the almost-knee-length coverup that made her bathing suit perfectly acceptable for lunch, and stepped into her sequined beach thongs. Cael put on his shirt and buttoned it up. Thank God. She could breathe easier now, even though a part of her wished he never put on a shirt. The important thing was to not let him see how he affected her.
Linda and Nyna were having lunch in The Club, one of the casual indoor restaurants. They were shown to a table for four near the center of the room. The two older women seemed to have made acquaintance with almost everyone in the restaurant, because their passage was slowed by people greeting them.
When they were seated, Nyna unfolded her napkin and said, “It’s so nice to see you two again. Of course, there’s so much to do, and the ship is so large, you might have been roaming the ship from stem to stern and we wouldn’t know it.” Her smile made it clear that she thought exactly what Cael wanted everyone to think—that they were spending the cruise in her suite, and mostly in bed. That explained away all the hours he spent spying on their other neighbor.
“Have you been to the spa?” Linda asked, her question directed at Jenner.
“No, I’m afraid not. I’d planned to, but …” She shrugged, letting the sentence trail off. Let them draw their own conclusions. “Have you?”
“Twice.” Linda grinned. “The masseur is very good. You should make an appointment.”
“I don’t think so,” Cael drawled, and both women laughed.
Nyna said, “I prefer the yoga classes. You should join me in the morning. It’s a wonderful way to start the day.”
“I’d love that,” said Jenner, who sincerely could use something, anything, to help ward off cabin fever. Before Cael could come up with a plausible reason why she couldn’t, she turned to him and put on her most innocent face. “You should come with me,” she invited. “Yoga would be so good for your bad back.”
He started to shake his head. “I don’t think—”
“You have a bad back?” asked Nyna. “Jenner’s right, you know. Yoga does wonders for that. What sort of problems do you have?”
“It’s a pain in my lower back,” he said, looking at Jenner instead of her. “Very low. And dead center.”
Jenner’s chin wobbled with the effort it took her not to laugh. She reached out and laid her hand on his arm. “C’mon, give it a try. If it hurts too much, you can always stop. No one will hold a gun on you and force you to do anything you don’t want to do.” Take that, sport, she thought. He could scarcely forbid her to attend the yoga class, not without making it appear that they were in a wei
rd, sick kind of relationship, which wasn’t what he wanted. She was giving him what he wanted: the illusion of a relationship. It was fake, but he needed to realize that any relationship, fake or not, came with concessions.
“We’ll see,” he finally growled.
“Tomorrow, then,” Jenner said, turning to smile at Nyna. “What time are the classes?”
“I prefer the six a.m. class, with the sun just coming up. It’s wonderful.”
When Jenner attended her yoga classes she always took the early ones, too, for just that reason. Cael, however, looked horrified, and all three women laughed at him.
A uniformed waiter took their orders. The two older women ordered the ubiquitous grilled chicken salad with dressing on the side. Jenner chose a BLT and fries. Cael ordered a cheeseburger and fries, but Jenner uttered a quick, horrified, “What?” and once again placed a caring hand on his arm, which she gently patted. “No, he won’t have that,” she said to the waiter. “He’ll have the salad, as well. No dressing, cheese, or croutons. Please bring lemon wedges.” The waiter didn’t question her order, and Cael was evidently too stunned to countermand her. She smiled. “Lemon juice makes a wonderful substitute for fatty dressing. Really, Cael, with your cholesterol, you shouldn’t eat red meat or fries at all. I don’t know what you were thinking.”
“Neither do I,” he said, his meaning clear to her, if not to the others.
They passed the rest of the meal in relative peace, even if Cael did glance longingly at her BLT and fries—but only once. Linda and Nyna both thought it was hilarious, that love influenced a bruiser like Cael to let himself be bossed around. He ate his salad, and Jenner figured it wasn’t the worst sacrifice he’d ever made in the name of getting what he wanted. If she could be a prisoner, he could eat a salad. That didn’t even come close to evening the scale. But for the first time since stepping aboard the Silver Mist, she truly enjoyed a meal. She ate well, and didn’t once feel as if she was going to choke. She actually tasted the food on her plate, especially the fries, which she made a subtle production of enjoying.
The meal came to a close and conversation began to morph into comments about what they were about to do, which were meant as a gentle way of parting company. Cael’s beautiful manners were still holding up but Jenner could almost feel the tension rolling off him—he was so ready to escape before she did something else to him. Served him right.
As she was placing her napkin on the table, Frank Larkin walked in. She didn’t spot him immediately, but she was so attuned to Cael that she felt the abrupt focus of his attention shift and she automatically looked around to see what had gotten his attention.
Most people in the restaurant looked at Larkin, so she wasn’t doing anything unusual. If was the same as if they’d been in Hollywood and Spielberg had walked in. Larkin wasn’t a celebrity, but he was a mover and shaker, with access to incredible power over and above what his own monumental fortune gave him. He didn’t take a table, but strolled through the restaurant speaking to particular passengers. From what Jenner could tell, he gave his attention to the richest, most powerful men in the place. No women seemed to be worthy. Her radar pinged again as she picked up an almost indiscernible air of contempt about him.
“There’s our host,” she said, unnecessarily. She turned to Linda and Nyna. “Have you found out anything about him? What does he do? Other than host charity cruises, that is.”
Cael got to his feet and reached for Jenner’s hand, under the guise of assisting her from her chair. He squeezed her fingers in warning.
“What doesn’t he do?” Linda answered. “Politics, finance, all sorts of business. I’ve been asking questions, and evidently he’s one of those behind-the-scenes people in Washington, the ones who can make the president jump.”
Well, wasn’t that interesting, Jenner mused.
“I forgot to bring my pills with me,” Cael said, all but hauling her away from the table. “We have to go back to the stateroom.”
“We’ll see you in the morning,” Jenner called over her shoulder. “Five forty-five!”
When they were well away from the restaurant, Cael grabbed her arm, turned, and backed her against the railing. There was no one close by, no one listening in, which was why he’d chosen this spot to stop. The stiff breeze blew Jenner’s hair away from her face, and she lifted her head to catch more of the sensation.
He caged her with his arms, gripping the railing as he leaned down until his blue eyes were on a level with hers. She met his gaze with a look of total innocence.
“You’re a demon, you know that?” he said with feeling. “When your feet hit the floor every morning, I’ll bet the devil shudders and says ‘Oh shit, she’s awake!’”
She smiled. She didn’t doubt that Cael would do whatever needed to be done to meet his objectives, but she no longer believed that he’d hurt her or Syd out of spite, or for revenge. He was still in control, but for a little while, a few precious minutes, she’d taken that control away from him. She’d led the way. Maybe she’d pay for it later, but she’d gotten what she wanted: She had him flustered.
She also knew more about Frank Larkin than she had. Politics and finance, huh? That left the field of possibilities for spying wide open, so she wasn’t exactly in the loop yet, but she was catching up.
“Let’s go get those pills, honey,” she said as she patted Cael’s chest and pushed him slightly away from her.
“There aren’t enough pills in the world—” he began, but then he stopped and closed his eyes as he shook his head.
She’d done it. She’d shut him up. This was turning out to be a good day, all things considered.
Chapter Twenty-two
LARKIN OPENED THE DOOR TO HIS SUITE, HOPING FOR A respite, some peace and quiet, but instead of blessed silence he was assaulted by an unbearable noise.
Isaac, his private steward, was hard at work and hadn’t heard the door open. How could he hear anything with the roar of the damned vacuum cleaner drowning out everything else? Larkin slammed the door; Isaac heard that.
He lifted his head and turned off the vacuum. “Mr. Larkin. I didn’t expect you back so soon.”
“Obviously,” Larkin said as he stepped into the room.
Isaac was about Larkin’s age, but he looked a good ten years older. He was too thin, his hair white instead of a distinguished gray, and he had deep wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. He wore years of hard menial labor on his face; his shoulders were stooped, his hands gnarled with arthritis. And yet Larkin was the one in pain, the one who was dying. Where was the fairness in that?
But if he had to die, he’d make sure he wasn’t alone. Like everyone else on this fucking ship, Isaac was about to die, too; he just didn’t know it yet. The satisfaction of that thought made Larkin feel a little better. Even his headache seemed to ease.
“Get me some aspirin and a glass of water,” he said, crossing the room to the sofa and gingerly sitting down. Every movement, every sound hurt, but he couldn’t let his pain show beyond this room. “I have a headache,” he said softly as Isaac disappeared into the bedroom to fetch aspirin from Larkin’s Dopp kit in the closet. Through the open door, Larkin noted the made bed and realized that Isaac’s chores were almost done. Thank God.
Isaac did as he’d been instructed, as always, quickly delivering two aspirin and a bottle of water.
“Would you like a glass and some ice for the water, Mr. Larkin?”
“No, this will do.” Two aspirin wouldn’t make a dent in his pain, but he didn’t want to rouse even Isaac’s suspicions about his physical condition—though it was unlikely Isaac would be alarmed, even if Larkin had demanded the entire bottle. Isaac was not particularly intelligent.
After he’d swallowed the aspirin, Larkin snapped, “Come back later to finish your chores.” He didn’t need to offer a reason or make an excuse; Isaac simply followed orders, as always. He silently left, taking the damned vacuum cleaner with him.
When he was alone, Larkin went
to his Dopp kit and grabbed a small handful of aspirin. He popped them all, washed down with long swallows from the water bottle. At this point, what did it matter if he ended up with an ulcer? Enough aspirin sometimes made the pain fade, and he needed that now. He needed just a few damn minutes with no pain.
Cancer had ruined him.
The sound of a knock on his door shot through him like a knife in his temple. If Isaac had come back, if he’d returned knowing that Larkin had wanted to be alone … he wouldn’t live to see the bombs go off.
But it was Dean Mills at the door. Larkin let Dean into the suite, and gently closed the door behind him. A slam would’ve relieved some of his temper, but the sound … he couldn’t take the noise.
Dean said, “Sir, a couple of the men have some questions about the getaway after the—”
“We’re not going to discuss this,” Larkin said sharply. “I have everything organized.”
“But—”
“Do you think I’d leave anything to chance?” he snapped.
“No, sir,” Dean replied, maintaining his composure as always.
Larkin never left anying to chance.
He’d needed assistance in carrying out his plan, and since none of the people he required for help were suicidal, he’d had to concoct a reason for their presence and what they were doing. A handful of security personnel, who had helped him bring the bombs onboard and place them, thought there was going to be a robbery on the high seas, during the return trip to San Diego. They believed they were going to rob all these rich people of their jewels and cash and then escape. The jewels and cash alone wouldn’t make such a heist worthwhile, but added to the artwork that was supposed to be auctioned off, it would all add up to millions.
A million wasn’t what it had once been, but it was still enough to entice a few morons.
Larkin had assured them that he’d taken care of all the details. They’d take a lifeboat, then be met by a larger boat that would take them all to South America. Once they were well away, the bombs would be detonated, so there would be no one left alive to identify the robbers.