Mr. Right Now (12 page)

“Hey,” she said, the word barely registering in his mind. The tap on his forearm registered more. She twisted around to look at him, her hair falling away over his arm.

He smiled. “Hey, yourself.”

“I, um,” she said, licking her lips. “I guess I owe you that explanation now, huh?” She shifted her hips.

Three times in one day? What was he, a college kid again? He was going to kill himself. Or Casey.

“Explain?” He pushed the word from his mouth. Explain what, again? Every time she moved, more blood rushed from his brain to his penis. Much more and he was going to blow.

“I don’t normally do things like this,” she said, sitting up and giving him some much-needed breathing room. He looked at the opposite wall, concentrating on calming the blood pulsing through his body. His muscles relaxed minutely.

Stepping into her skirt, she began to dress with her back to him. She talked as she put on first one piece of clothing then another. He followed suit. Maybe if they were both fully dressed, they could finally talk like grown-ups instead of hormonal teenagers.

“You see, I have this case of writer’s block," she was saying.

With the world focused on her next book, reporters hounding her about a bad break-up, it was no wonder she couldn’t write. Sometimes he couldn’t write his stories simply because of a looming five o’clock deadline. Imagine that deadline compounded by ugly headlines. He’d have a hell of a case of writer’s block.

She smiled over her shoulder at him. “Yeah. I don’t think we ever got around to formal introductions, but I write self-help books. Anyway, I have this deadline in a few months and I haven’t been able to write a word.”

Now they were getting into familiar territory. The break-up. That was probably causing her writer’s block more than the deadline.

* * * *

“So my agent convinced me to come on this cruise.” Straightening the hem of the t-shirt, Casey turned. She felt better fully dressed. Like she was back in control. “Only I met you, and then there’s this random guy in my room and coincidentally we share the last name. The ship’s employees got the wrong idea, and everyone on board threw us a honeymoon party.” She held up a hand before he could say anything. From the anger in his posture to the clenching of his hands, she could see he didn’t believe her. How could she make him understand that she was telling him the truth, just not all of it?

“I’m not married. I’m telling you all this because the ship apparently sent invitations to all the guests and I don’t want you to think I...well, that I would—” She gestured between them, but didn’t finish the sentence. “I didn’t even know the other guy until earlier today, but I can’t throw him out of the room because there is no place else for him to sleep.” She shrugged her right shoulder and sat down heavily. None of this made her seem discriminating. What must Mason think of her? And why did she care? He was just another random guy, after all. “He gets nosebleeds when he’s under stress.”

“So you’re torturing him.” The words sounded flat to her ears.

She squinted her eyes in anger. “I am not torturing him. There’s no place else for him to stay, so I have no choice but to share the room with him. I’m trying to stay away from him as much as possible, but then when he’s alone everyone on board comes up to congratulate him about us—”

“And more stress,” Mason finished the sentence for her.

“Exactly.” She shouldn’t have had sex with Mason again; that was making this so much worse. She had to drop him.
Thanks for the orgasms, please don’t call me.
Wasn’t that every man’s dream? “And that’s why it would be better if we just avoided each other the rest of the cruise.” Rising, she moved to the door.

Staying away from him was the last thing she wanted. Her life was out of control, but he had a way of making it seem alright. Like she could take control back.

That was the nuttiest part of it all. She couldn’t take control. The reporter on board the ship had all the control, the people who bought her books, her editor. Agent.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” Mason’s words stopped her cold at the door. He stood behind her, hands resting loosely on her shoulders. “There’s a strange man in your room, and everyone on board the ship thinks you’re a newlywed.” He turned her around to face him. “But that doesn’t explain why we ran from the casino, through two different floors, before coming to the sauna to make love again. What else are you running from?”

Crap
. He wasn’t going to take her half-truths for the gospel. She might as well tell him the whole thing. At least then he would see why they needed to keep their distance. He would probably go running in the opposite direction. She took a deep breath.

“There’s a reporter following me around.”

The color in his face drained away, leaving a pallor beneath his tanned skin. The pulse at his temple beat faster and his hands tightened on her upper arms. “A reporter?”

She nodded, and then another lie flew from her lips. “People like what I have to say. You know the American press—build someone up just so you can bring them down.”
Shut up, shut up, shut up and tell the truth.

“And finding out you’re sharing a room with a perfect stranger and sleeping with another one wouldn’t be good P.R.?” He dropped his hands, shoving them deep in his pockets.

He probably thought she was ashamed to be seen with a plumber. If only he knew.

She didn’t care about his business. It was enough that she saw kindness and friendship in his eyes when he looked at her. As if he could see inside her. He would hate her if she kept dragging him through the muck of her life, and that was something she didn’t think she could handle.

Casey barely stopped herself from reaching out to him. “You don’t want to deal with this. They’re maniacs. They pry into your background, pull out a black-and-white incident and make it look gray. You’d be better off to just stay away from me.”

She turned her back on him and reached for the door just as it rattled from the other side.

“Somebody in there?”

She froze. Who was out there? It was a man’s voice, but she didn’t recognize it. Damn it, why did she choose a room without a window? At least then she could look out and see if it was a ship employee or a passenger. Or see if there really was a hidden camera show taping this cruise of humiliation.

Whoever was on the other side banged two more times. “Hey! Open up. Locking the door isn’t allowed.” The door rattled as the man twisted the knob.

Panicked, she looked from Mason to the door and back again. Mason stepped forward, opening the door just a crack and peeking his head around the corner. He kept his body between whoever was on the other side of the door and her. Protecting her. She didn’t deserve this, and he deserved so much better.

“Maintenance. The temperature gauge is off. We’re just checking it out.”

“Oh. You should put up a sign,” the man said.

“Come back tomorrow morning.” Mason kept his body between the partially open door and the hall. She flattened her back against the wall. What a wimp she was. Finally Mason closed and locked the door. Turning, he positioned his body in front of the door.

Eyeing her warily, he said, “Now, I think we were discussing what was best for me.”

She dug the heels of her palms into her eyes. Not what was best for him. She didn’t think of him like a child. She was only thinking of cutting things off before either of them got hurt.

Liar.

He ran his index finger down the side of her face. “There are other alternatives, you know.” His voice was barely above a whisper but still seemed loud in the quiet room. She shook her head. There were no alternatives. Not once the tabloids got involved. Stand, fight or run. Those were the options. All of them would be twisted into something ugly.

“You could find a reporter who isn’t interested in the rumors. Someone who would write about your book, the deal and ignore the rest.”

Yeah. Then pink elephants and orange pigs would start pulling Santa’s sleigh on Easter.

“Not likely. It’s all about headlines and ratings, and gossip feeds both. Just forget about me. Keep your life sane.”

Anger flashed in his eyes. Mason took Casey’s arms in his hands and squeezed. “Then let them print what they want and ignore it. Your fans don’t care about the headlines. Everyone I saw at the party tonight cared about you. Your books. That’s it.” He stopped talking abruptly when Casey turned her face to his. He knew? He knew, and had pretended he didn’t.

“You were there? You keep asking me what’s wrong, like you don’t know, but you were there?”

He pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and handed it over. Casey read the invitation and felt another piece of her world crumble. He knew? He read the invitation, thought she was married and still tracked her down? What kind of man did that?

“How long have you had this? Was it part of your plan? Sleep with the married woman. Put another notch on your belt?”

Mason shook his head and squeezed her arms. “It wasn’t like that. I found the invitation when I went back to my room this evening. I went to the party to find out why a married woman slept with me, and saw you hustling from the room. Then you dragged me out of the casino and here we are.”

“Nice little package you put it into. ‘And here we are,’” Casey mocked him. It was easier than focusing on the fact that he thought she was married and still tracked her down. Had he also known she was a writer? Was part of his plan to tell the papers he’d slept with her on her honeymoon? Mind racing, she pushed against his chest.

Moving quickly, she hurried around him to the door. “Just stay away from me. It’s the best option I can think of,” she said and closed the door behind her.

Instead of leaving down the hallway, Casey ducked inside the weight room. She was right—there were a lot of places to hide. The sauna door opened a few minutes after she left and Mason’s footsteps echoed down the passage. She had hidden out like a child, but it was for the best.

Casey watched the hand on the wall clock move from one to two to three. Fifteen minutes. Surely fifteen minutes was long enough to wait. The only problem with hiding in the weight room was, if she moved even a little bit, anyone on the other side of that big glass door would see her. If she didn’t move, she wouldn’t know if it was safe to come out.

She had to move. Her legs cramped. Sooner or later, someone would come in and wonder why she was crouched down behind the inner- and outer-thigh machine.

She had to deal with Tyler. At the thought of the escort, her muscles bunched, tightening into knots throughout her back. She tried to visualize the knots loosening. It didn’t work. She would have to get the problem out of her life if she wanted the knots to go away, too.

The most likely place to find Tyler was their room. Casey started down the passageway to her floor. The dining room was empty except for a few stragglers eating a very late dinner. Casey skirted the area and, feeling like a jerk for avoiding everyone in the room, she hurried past. Despite the fact that the fans at the party only seemed interested in her happiness, Casey needed to avoid as many people as possible. Her judgment sucked; just look at the fiasco with Nate.

The hall was mostly empty. Now and again, someone left one of the rooms, but most continued past without giving her a second glance. She walked past the disco, the casino and the hall where she’d learned she was married. Pushing against the door, she looked inside. Empty.

The decorations were gone, the banner folded in a corner. Not even a stray piece of confetti remained. She should feel grateful, but sadness was the emotion closest to the surface.