“Oh, yes.” Roxanne was cheerful as she thoroughly dusted her nose with a heavy coat of facial powder. “Unless...” She eyed Emily thoughtfully.
“Unless what?”
“Oh, nothing.” Roxanne scooped her cosmetic stockpile back into her bag.
Emily’s hand shot out and grabbed the self-satisfied witch none too gently by the upper arm. “Unless what?” she snapped, her tone deadly.
Roxanne’s eyes widened with surprise. “Why, unless you want to make a deal.”
“What deal?”
“Well...” She shook her arm free of Emily’s grasp, and looked around as the last woman left the room to make sure they were alone. “The deal where you disappear with your
mother-in-law and daughter
the minute this ship hits the shore, and are—alas—quite sadly never heard from by Tyler or me again.”
“And if I don’t bow to your little blackmail scheme?”
“Just tell Tyler he needn’t report for work Monday morning.” Smiling brightly, she slung her traveling cosmetic department over her shoulder and sashayed out the door.
Running cold water over her wrists, Emily leaned against the tile wall and tried to pull herself together. So, this was the ending to her relationship, she thought woodenly, too shocked and dead inside to even cry. It was probably for the best. This way she wouldn’t have to see the look on Ty’s face when he asked her to leave. Not to mention the fact that he would get to keep the job that he loved so much.
The toilet in the far stall flushed, pulling Emily out of her macabre train of thought and into the depressing present. Tearing a towel out of the dispenser, she dried her hands, and with one last look at the miserable woman in the mirror, headed out to the dining room to join her husband and his boss for dinner.
* * *
“Come on.” Ty tugged impatiently on Emily’s hand as the dance band began the first number of the evening. This was their last night together on board the “love boat” and he wanted to make the most of it. Oblivious to the drained pallor of her cheeks, he propelled his wife out to the dance floor and wrapped her in his arms.
“Um.” He sighed, breathing in the feminine floral scent that was uniquely Emily. She smelled like a little bit of heaven. He tightened his grip. She felt like a little bit of heaven. Running his lips lightly over her jaw and down the side of her neck, he decided she even tasted like a little bit of heaven.
“Mmm,” he growled deep in his throat and, bringing her mouth to his, pushed her lips apart with his tongue. Swaying back and forth to the campy beat of the music, Ty buried himself in the celestial pleasure of her embrace. What a woman, he thought hazily as he explored the unending mystery of her mouth, of her soul. Whoever she was, she had cast a spell over him, just like in the fairy tales. And he knew, more certainly now than ever before, that life as he once knew it was over. Forever. Never again could he survive another day without his Emily.
She was perfect. Even the fit of their bodies, he mused as he deepened their kiss and ran his hands up her back, was perfection.
Gasping, Emily tore her mouth from his. “Don’t,” she said raggedly, and buried her face in the crook of his arm.
“Why not?” he asked, mistaking her sorrowful plea for modesty.
“Because we can’t,” she moaned into his arm.
She was right. A little too public for the feelings that were coursing through his body at the moment. Now was as good a time as any to move this show to the deck. Get it over with. Claim his woman. His blood ran hot and he had to fight the insane urge to beat his chest and yodel like Tarzan. She brought out the protective male animal in him like no other woman he’d ever known. And to think, he thought smugly, breathing in the scent that caused his pulse to sing, in a matter of moments she would be his. Suddenly he was glad to be a man. Glad to be alive. Glad to be in love. Glad to be...tied down.
He wanted to laugh at the sheer joy he felt over the prospect of getting married. How ridiculous that something he’d spent most of his adult life running from now lured him like a buck during mating season. Well, if this was insanity, bring it on, he thought, feeling like a prince as he swept the mystery princess in his arms around the enchanted ballroom.
Happily-ever-after was only moments away.
Or not.
“May I cut in?”
It was Roxanne, here to bust his chops again. Oh, how he wanted to give her a burial at sea. He was in such a good mood, he might even say a few nice words in eulogy.
Before he could object, Emily nodded and disappeared through the crowd to their table.
“It’s our last night on board,” Roxanne breathed, slipping into his arms and tilting her head back to look up at him with hooded eyes.
“Um.”
“Kind of sad, don’t you think?”
“Um.”
“We hardly got to be alone together at all.” She pouted. “And I wanted to spend some time getting to know you better.”
“Um.”
“Maybe we could meet later for a drink?”
“Um.” If he was lucky, he and Emily would be locked in their cabin, celebrating their engagement over a bottle of champagne. Sharing a drink with Roxanne would definitely be the last thing on his mind.
Seemingly happy with his response, Roxanne pressed her voluptuous body close and, grinding her hips into his, purred like a cat in the summer sunshine.
Ignoring her feeble attempt at seduction, out the corner of his eye Tyler caught Emily and Uncle Denny fox-trotting by. He smiled and watched the pink-cheeked, chubby man steer the woman he loved around the room, jabbering her ear off and laughing like a kid. Emily brought that out in people.
Having had enough of Roxanne’s vertical lovemaking, Tyler danced his boss over to Uncle Denny and—much to her chagrin—tapped him on the shoulder.
“May I cut in?”
“Why, certainly, as long as you’re trading me one beautiful woman for another,” he agreed genially. Roxanne rolled her eyes in disgust as her uncle Denny, shiny with exertion, trotted her off into the sea of rug-cutters.
Impatient to get on with the proposal, Ty grasped Emily firmly by the hand and pulled her out of the room and outside to the deck, where he walked until he found the perfect corner. Shrouded in darkness, near the rail, and overlooking the shimmering moonlight as it danced on the Pacific, it was perfect for what he had in mind.
It was now or never, he decided, trying to still his runaway pulse. He took a deep breath and, exhaling slowly, pulled her into his arms. It felt so right. It had to be right, he thought as his lips sought and found hers in the gloaming. She was his. He was hers. Nothing else mattered.
Plunging his hands into her hair, he kissed her hungrily. Not for an audience this time, but for himself. His tongue explored the soft fullness of her lips, savoring her taste, drinking from her as though from a fine, mellow wine. Her desperate response was his undoing. Like a man tumbling overboard into the sea of her desire, he clung to her as though she were his salvation. His lifeline. His destiny.
The tempo of their breathing picked up speed, and Ty began to wonder if he should move them down to his cabin before things got too out of hand. Too late, he thought and, pressing her up against the wall that supported the railing, leaned heavily into the soft ecstasy of her breasts. Too damn late.
“Ty,” Emily gasped, taking advantage of his need for oxygen. “Stop... we...” She panted, as though trying to organize her thoughts under siege. “Can’t. We have to...stop.”
“Okay, okay.” He groaned raggedly against her ear, cradling her head tenderly in his hands. “You’re right. We’ll go inside in a second.” He tipped her head back and grinned down at her. “As soon as I, uh, regain some...control. But first there is something I want to ask you. I...have to ask you.”
“Hmm?” she whimpered, anxious to move out of his hypnotizing embrace.
“Emily,” he rasped, clutching her hands and drawing them up against his heart. “Emily, will you marry me?”
She froze. Solid. “What?”
“For real, this time.” He chuckled and searched her face, the light of hope and longing burning in his eyes.
Her head fell back and her eyes squeezed tightly shut in misery as she backed out of the circle of his arms.
“No.” She whispered the one pain-filled word and, spinning on her heel, fled into the darkness, leaving Ty standing there with his heart in his hand.
R
oxanne caught Tyler by the arm as he stumbled like a zombie across the deck toward the Falling Star Dining Room. Pushing him back outside, she led him to the rail.
“Tyler, honey,” she crooned, compassion oozing from her every pore. “You look like you could use some fresh air. Stay out here for a second,” she advised, running her hand up and down his back. “I just saw Emily tear out of here as if the prince of darkness were after her. What happened? Did you two have words?”
Too numb with shock to respond, Tyler looked dully at her. The world had surely stopped rotating. She’d said no.
No.
What did she mean...
no?
She was his whole life. His future. Couldn’t she see that? Didn’t she feel the same way? He had been so sure...
Unfazed by his lack of response, Roxanne slipped her arm around his waist and led him slowly down the deck and toward the Fiesta Olé! Lounge.
“I know exactly what you need,” she confided intimately. “You need that drink we talked about earlier, and a sympathetic shoulder to lean on.”
Staring at her with unseeing eyes, he figured, Why not? What the hell? Might as well get tanked. He followed Roxanne through the dimly lit lounge to a little table for two in the back. What a fool he’d been, asking a perfect stranger to be his wife. Why hadn’t it dawned on him that she might say no?
No.
The word throbbed depressingly in his head.
That’ll teach ya, Mr. Cocky SOB,
the little voice inside his head taunted, torturing him with his arrogant stupidity. Well, he guessed he got what he’d deserved, as he looked across the table at the Venus’s-flytrap that was his boss.
Smiling coyly, Roxanne signaled for two drafts, and when they were delivered, dismissed the waiter with the flick of a wrist. She reached out and gripped Tyler by the hand.
With great dramatic flair, she tossed her big, blond hair over her shoulder and gazed meaningfully into his eyes. “Tyler, honey, it’s obvious that your relationship isn’t working. Don’t you think it would be a good idea to get on with your life? Start seeing other people?” Rimming her fire-engine-red lips with the tip of her tongue, she winked coyly at him. “I have space on my dance card,” she informed him, none too subtly.
Sick to death of her constant innuendo, Tyler jerked his arm out of her grasp. Let her fire him, for all he cared. Hell, at this point she could shoot him dead and he’d be glad for the escape. “Leave me alone, Roxanne,” he said pointedly. “I’m taken.”
A streak of anger flashed through her eyes, but was controlled as soon as it appeared. Only the white of her knuckles as she gripped her beer glass belied the deep offense she’d taken to his words. Tilting her chin defiantly, she leveled her cool gaze toward his.
Hell hath no fury like a Roxanne scorned, Tyler mused as he watched her struggle to bring her blood pressure under control.
“Tyler,” she snapped scathingly.
“I know.”
Know what? he wondered. How it felt to be dumped? That, he could well imagine. “What is it you know, Roxanne?” He sighed, in too much agony to give a flying fig.
“I know...” She took a long sip of her beer, considering her revelation carefully. “I know that she’s not your wife.”
Stiffening, Tyler’s head snapped up and he became instantly alert. “How do you know?”
“A little birdie told me,” she said breezily. “And that’s not all I know about your precious little
wife.
In fact, I’d be willing to wager that I know a whole lot more about her than you do.”
“What are you talking about?” Ty was losing his patience. Fast.
“You don’t want to know.”
Ty’s hand snaked out and squeezed her fingers till she yelped for him to quit. “Stop playing games with me, Roxanne,” he flung at her, his jaw grim with contempt. “I don’t have time for your little head trips. Tell me what you’re talking about, or so help me, you little witch, you’re shark bait.” His fingers bit into the soft flesh of her palm convulsively.
“She’s not homeless,”
she gasped, trying to pry his painful grip away from her hand. When he eased up some, she continued, gaining confidence. “She never was, you big jerk.” She practically spit the words out and, yanking her hand from his slackened hold, rubbed at the marks in her palm with her thumb.
“What are you talking about?”
“Read her damned journal, if you’re so curious. Very informative. Did you know that you are the subject of one of her little college projects?”
Ty stared blankly at her. What the hell was this nutcase talking about?
“You’ve been lied to, my friend.” Roxanne’s painted face was smug. “You’re nothing but a big experiment to her.” She cackled dryly. “And you thought she was helping
you.
”
He shook his head, unable to believe his ears.
“If you don’t believe me, ask her. Tell her you want to see her little diary. It tells all about you in there.”
“Go to hell, Roxanne.”
“Play nice now.” She smiled, her tone icy. “I could fire you for insubordination, you know.”
Quirking an attitudinal eyebrow, he shrugged and tossed some bills onto the table. Then, standing abruptly, he looked down at her with pity in his eyes. Emily was right. There was something pathetic about Uncle Denny’s niece. Deciding he’d had a bellyful of Roxanne’s lies, he turned and, without a backward glance, stalked away, intent on getting to the bottom of this mess.
“Wait!”
Ignoring Roxanne’s demanding plea, he threw his hand up and disappeared into the hallway.
* * *
“Emily!”
Ty thundered, pounding on her cabin door so loudly she was afraid he’d wake the entire ship.
She considered not answering, but when her lack of response served only to aggravate him into a louder, more vicious attack on her door, she relented.
Brushing past her into the cabin—amid the interested stares of almost everyone who occupied their section—Ty slammed the door, much to the consternation of these curious neighbors.
He strode into the small living quarters and paced back and forth, threading agitated fingers through his hair.
“Where’s Helga?” he asked quietly.
“Out.”
“Carmen?”
“Movietime. Kiddy Korner.” She nervously twisted the tissue she’d been using. Knowing she must look horrible—her agony swelling her eyes, blotching her cheeks—she stepped back and cast her face down toward her hands. She wished he’d leave. She’d never been more miserable in her life and, unable to explain why to him, felt trapped. Claustrophobic. Sick with grief.
Stopping in the middle of the floor, Tyler planted his hands on his narrow hips and squared his imposing shoulders at her. “I had an interesting conversation with Roxanne just now.”
Emily inhaled abruptly.
What did he know?
“She told me she knows about us.”
The blotches on her face stood out in sharp contrast as she paled.
“She told me she knows about you.”
Backing along the wall, Emily felt for the couch and when she reached it, sank gratefully down to its seat on wobbly legs.
“So it’s true.” He sighed, shaking his head as he watched her bury her face into her hands. “I think I deserve at the very least the same version you shared with that tramp.”
“I didn’t share it,” she moaned dejectedly. “Not with another living soul. It’s...supposed to be a secret. She found my diary.” Reaching up, she brushed her bangs out of her bloodshot eyes. “I was going to tell you, though. Just you.”
“Well, the cat’s out of the bag,” he said, forcing a disgusted puff of air past his tightly clenched teeth. Spying her journal on the countertop beside him, he reached over and picked it up. “You don’t mind,” he informed her, challenging her to object. “Inquiring minds want to know.”
The next thirty minutes were the most torturous moments of Emily’s life as Tyler sat next to her on the couch in stony silence and read her innermost thoughts and dreams about their relationship and her project. His expression remained unchanging, except for the occasional muscle spasm in his square jaw.
Finally, just when she thought she couldn’t stand the suspense another second, he snapped her journal shut and tossed it on the couch beside him. Without so much as a word, he stood and strode out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
Heartbroken, Emily laid her cheek down on the worn cover of her diary and soaked its smudged and dirty surface with her tears.
* * *
Tyler—after searching nearly every inch of the cruise liner—finally found Uncle Denny and Helga clinging to each other in an airtight embrace and having what appeared to be a deeply intimate conversation.
It was a night for just one damn surprise after another, he thought, stupefied by the odd couple. He wondered if the spell Emily had cast on him had somehow diminished his normal powers of observation.
He still couldn’t believe that he hadn’t figured out that Emily was not homeless. There were too many signs he’d overlooked. The finishing school polish, the obvious college education, the ease with which she fit in with the upper management at Connstarr.
And yet, as polished and comfortable as she had been with the finer things in life, she’d willingly given them up for something she believed in. He had been blown away by the commitment he’d found in her writings. And shamed. She had given up everything for her beliefs. Stood her ground for what was right. He, on the other hand, had sold out. Taken the easy way out to save his lousy career, instead of standing his ground like a man.
In his heart of hearts, he knew that if he was ever going to get anywhere with the woman he loved—especially now that he knew how much she loved him from the contents of her journal—he was going to have to be as brave and selfless as she was.
That’s why he’d hunted Uncle Denny down like a bloodhound. And, as fascinating as he found the clandestine meeting taking place before him, his own agenda was far more urgent.
Clearing his throat, he approached the older couple and waited for them to notice him.
“Tyler, my boy. We were just talking about you,” Uncle Denny said, slightly loosening his hold on Helga.
That would have brought a smile to his face if he hadn’t been so intent on delivering his message.
“Sir, I’d like to have a word with you. Now, if you don’t mind? This shouldn’t take more than a second.” He glanced at Helga, who smiled at him and nodded at Denny.
“Sure, son. I have a few things to tell you myself,” Denny said, and motioned for Tyler to join him and Helga on some chairs against the wall.
Taking a deep, fortifying breath of the breezy ocean air, Ty decided to plunge in.
“Mr. Delmonico, as much as I’ve enjoyed my career working for and growing with your company, I find my current position in the L.A. office untenable.”
Uncle Denny passed a meaty hand over his face. “I had a feeling—” he began.
Building steam, Tyler cut him off. “Your shrewish, ill-mannered, vampire of a niece has a form of nymphomania that I can not...and will not be subjected to any longer. She has harassed me from the second I walked through the door, threatening me with my future, and
I have had it.
” Ty’s voice rose angrily as he leapt out of his chair and turned to face Connstarr’s owner.
Plowing his hands through his hair, he stopped and laughed shortly in self-derision. “You know—” he shrugged, disgusted with himself “—the only thing I regret is not telling you sooner, Mr. Delmonico....” He paused and looked the older man straight in the eye. “Please take this as my respectful resignation. I liked Connstarr, I liked my job, I liked working for you. It’s your niece I can’t stand.”
Uncle Denny shook his head as he struggled to get out of his chair and to his feet. “Son,” he said, holding his hands up in an attempt to pacify Tyler. “I understand where you’re coming from here, and I just wanted to let you know—”
“Mr. Delmonico,” Ty interrupted, not caring to hear a long-winded defense of the errant Roxanne. “There’s really nothing you can say to change my mind. I have to do this. For me, it’s right. If you don’t mind telling Roxanne what she can do with her job, I’ll be on my way. Good night, sir.”
Before the speechless Uncle Denny could open his mouth to protest, Tyler was gone. For good.
* * *
“Emily!”
Emily peeled her face away from the cover of her journal and sat up to better listen to the commotion in the hall. Was someone shouting her name?
“Emily!”
Yes. She stood and, running to the door, peeked fearfully out the peephole. Mortified, she could see every door in the hallway popping open and curious heads swinging in her direction. Oh, no. It sounded like Tyler’s voice. Still in the distance, but closing in quickly.
She glanced over her shoulder at the porthole. Hermetically sealed. No escape. What was she going to do? Her poor heart couldn’t take much more.
“Emily!”
He was outside her door. Pounding for all he was worth and shouting like a lunatic. Her eyebrows knitted together in consternation. Why couldn’t he just knock, like every other civilized man on this ship? Unless he planned to punish her for lying to him. No. He might be crazy, but he wasn’t insane.
She watched through the peephole, wringing her hands, as he paced back and forth in front of her cabin, ignoring his audience and gearing up to ram the door in if she didn’t open it soon.
“Emily!”
“Would you keep it down out here?” Roxanne snapped, stepping into the gathering crowd.
“Shut up, Roxanne.”
Gasping in outrage, Roxanne took a step forward and poked a bright red nail into his broad chest. “How dare you talk to me like that? I won’t stand for it.”
Ty stopped his assault on Emily’s door long enough to deal with his ex-boss. “Roxanne, I can talk to you any way I damn well please. Haven’t you heard? I don’t work for you anymore.” At her skeptical expression, he explained. “Don’t worry,
sweetheart,
come Monday morning, Uncle Denny will tell you where I said you could file your job.”
Livid, Roxanne whirled around, stalked to her room and slammed her door behind her.
“Emily! Open this damn door before I bash it in.” Tyler pounded menacingly to emphasize his point.