Authors: Kristina Knight
Yeah. That would happen.
“Just relax. And, don’t be mad.” Jane was silent for several moments, sending Casey’s nerves into alert. What had Jane done? “I knew you’d try to work instead of relax so I, um, hired someone for you.” The last four words rushed breathlessly from Jane’s mouth, and Casey wasn’t sure she understood at first. “He comes highly recommended, a real hunk and a manwich, from what I understand. I can’t find his name, but he’ll introduce himself this afternoon. Just go with it. Have a little fun for the next week and when you get back, get to work on the next book.” Jane clicked off, leaving Casey listening to the buzz of the disconnected line.
Hired someone? A hunk to fill my days? A paid hunk.
Casey tried to feel mad, but couldn’t. Jane meant well. With Casey’s track record, maybe paying someone was the best she could do. Besides, at least Jane’s Mr. Right Now wouldn’t turn into Mr. Already-Married-Engaged-Committed-Gay Guy.
Still, it felt sleazy. Casey never had a problem attracting men. Of course, her plans to keep the man around never worked out. Forget it. Jane’s hired hunk could just find some other desperate woman to romance.
Casey stepped up to the check-in counter as another happy cruiser be-bopped down the hallway. The old man pulled his equally aged wife along beside him. He’d be playing shuffleboard, and she would be getting her hair done by the time Casey got checked in.
She wanted to be that carefree. Wanted to be-bop down the hall and find a cute, non-retirement-age guy. One who wasn’t being paid to romance her, who wouldn’t print their break-up to promote his career.
“Cassandra Cash,” she said, handing her ticket to the purser behind the counter. His overly-tanned skin pulled tight around his eyes and mouth. Bottle-black hair was expertly cut just above his ears. Crisp uniform, white knee socks and tennis shoes. The man had watched one too many episodes of
The Love Boat.
Couldn’t work wait, just this once? Couldn’t she leave the laptop in her luggage under the bed? Just because Jane hired a man didn’t mean Casey couldn’t develop her own plan. When the guy introduced himself, she would let him know she wasn’t interested. She could find her own hunk. There had to be at least one or two guys under the age of sixty and not attached to a wife or girlfriend on a ship with five thousand passengers.
If that failed, she’d work on the book.
Her cell phone buzzed. Reading Jane’s name on the incoming line, Casey shook her head and sighed. Before she could respond, her agent said, “And don’t you dare pull that laptop out of its case.” As quickly as she was on the line, Jane rang off.
Casey smiled. Jane knew her too well.
“I’d like to make you look like that some early morning out at sea.” The sultry words slipped into Casey’s consciousness. She spun around. A man straight from the pages of one of her favorite romance novels stood a few feet to her right.
“I beg your pardon?” She sounded prissy. Prissy and breathless. What a combination.
Yes, I’m a stuck-up asthmatic looking for love. Would you like to be my escort?
The stranger smiled as he pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. Her skin sizzled at his touch. Had to be the Florida heat. Never in her twenty-six years had Casey felt that wonderful burn from a stranger’s simple touch. All her anger at Jane, at the crazy situation, fled.
“I said I’d like to make you look like that. Wide-eyed. Breathless. Satisfied.” He smiled around the words, as if he could taste that satisfaction. A flock of seagulls took flight in her belly.
He leaned forward and whispered in her ear. “On second thought, I like this look much better. Like release is just around the corner.”
Okay, if she was going to pick up this guy she had to start somewhere. She took a shallow breath, swallowed hard and tried to channel Sahara, the heroine from the novel in her carry-on. Tough, flirtatious Sahara knew exactly what she wanted and how to get it.
“If you want to see what it takes to satisfy me in the mornings,” Casey said, walking her fingers up his broad chest to push him back a hair, “first, you’ll have to figure out how to indulge me at night.” Yes! That sounded exactly like Sahara. She wasn’t sure how long she could keep this up, but who cared? So what if Cassandra Cash, self-help author, flirted like a novice at her promises ceremony? She was on a cruise. Time to live a little.
The stranger stepped closer and trapped her hand in his own against his chest. His heart tap-tapped through the thin black cotton of his t-shirt, the touch burning her skin.
Cocking his head to one side, he stepped closer and leaned against the check-in counter. He pointed at the phone clutched in Casey’s free hand. “I bet it takes more than a phone call to make you look this contented in the morning.”
Casey fought the urge to giggle. Really, the man had lines that would sound hokey coming from a 1970’s porn movie. But his body... For six feet of tanned and toned muscle, Casey could overlook cheesy come-on lines.
His brown hair was a little long and curved along his neck to brush the collar of his shirt. Emerald green eyes. She’d always been a sucker for green eyes. His nose had been broken at least once, giving his face just enough character to keep him from being movie-star perfect. A tiny scar ran diagonally from his nose to the corner of his wide mouth. Full lips.
Hoo-boy. He was cute. And cut. Casey bet there was at least a six-pack hiding under his tee, and the way his lower body filled out his worn blue jeans, another prize waited below his waist.
Please let this be Jane’s Mr. Right.
The thought of being romanced by a paid escort suddenly wasn’t as sleazy. Who cared if Jane had set up this encounter? Casey could suddenly see the beauty of the plan. Seven days’ worth of encounters.
“See anything you like?”
Casey fought hard to control the blush climbing her cheeks and lost. Stiffening her spine, she said, “Just wondering if you’re up to my, uh, specifications.”
“I’m not sure you can judge that in a crowded lobby, but I’d be happy to meet up with you later to discuss those specifications.”
She pulled her hand from his and then, unsure what to do with the appendage, held it between their bodies.
“I’m Casey Cash,” she said.
“I know.”
He knew, and without her using her full name. He had to be Jane’s escort. Her escort. Casey did a happy dance in her mind but kept her eyes focused on the handsome stranger.
He straightened and then waited a few beats before taking her small hand in his once more. He cupped his other hand around their enclosed fists. Was he going to kiss her hand? Casey’s breath shortened in anticipation. What would those full lips feel like against the sensitive skin above her thumb?
But he didn’t kiss her hand. Instead, he squeezed gently and rubbed his thumb against the soft skin on back of her hand.
“Mason Drury,” he said, letting her hand fall back to her side. He studied her as if memorizing her face. Fire ignited in her belly. His eyes went a bit darker in the middle.
Jane was a goddess. When Casey got back to New York, she would...do something. She couldn’t think. Could only stare into the green depths of Mason Drury’s eyes, could still feel his thumb pressing against the back of her hand. Jane was right. Casey did need relaxation, and if she wasn’t mistaken, Mason could relax her all the way to Jamaica and back.
He arched one eyebrow and grinned. “If you need any help finding that satisfied look some morning, I’ll be around.”
Her mouth went dry. “I...um... Why don’t we meet up on the Serenity Deck, say around six or so. We could have a drink. Or something.” Nice. Just what an experienced romance novel heroine would say. Where had the Sahara who had just come on to him gone? Casey sounded desperate. Mason Drury would run in the opposite direction.
“Six o’clock. See ya then.” Mason held her captive with his eyes. He moved to the side and picked up his bags. “Casey Cash,” he said. Even the shortened version of her name sounded refined coming from his lips. “It was very nice meeting you.”
Whew.
Mason Drury. Casey leaned against the counter, waiting for the purser to check her in.
Why shouldn’t she use him for sex? She needed a man just like him to live in the pages of her new book, so she could write about having it all without feeling like the fraud dumped by a media personality. Mason could so be the model hero. He already had the body for it. From the way he handled her in front of the crowd, she’d bet he knew his way around a woman without the crowd, too. His lines were a bit corny, but she could rewrite them for him. Let him romance her on the cruise.
No, she couldn’t use him for a book.
Of course, he was using her for a paycheck.
His tight butt appeared in her mind, quickly followed by legs, chest, arms and face. He would enjoy their time together as much as she would, Nate’s claims be damned. Jane was likely right. His claim to be gay would fuel headlines and since he hadn’t been quoted in any of the stories, he could deny them whenever he wanted, creating even more press for his career.
No point wasting Jane’s money. Mason had the kind of face and body a woman wanted to keep around, but he probably broke women’s hearts. She would do all the other women on board a favor by keeping him occupied.
“Ms. Cash?” The words came in a haze to Casey’s ears. A white plastic card with the ship’s emblem waved across her vision, pulling her back to the check-in counter. “Ms. Cash, your room is ready.”
Mason’s butt worked its way into her mind again.
“You’ll be in Penthouse Suite 1102. If you need anything else, please call the desk. We’re here to make this a dream vacation.” The concierge waggled his eyebrows, as if they shared a private joke. “Just take the elevators to the eleventh floor.”
An image of Mason in board shorts, waiting in a cabana and with an umbrella drink in hand, distracted her again.
“And the Serenity Deck is…”
“Just one floor above your deck. If you’d like me to show you around…”
Casey pocketed the key card. “No, thank you.” Mason Drury fit the mold of cruise ship tour guide. To a
T
. It was settled, then. Six o’clock was a long way away. Why waste the time?
* * * *
Mason slowed as he walked down the passageway. Pulling his BlackBerry from his bag, he texted his editor. This job was going to be quick and easy. He’d get the interview with Cassandra Cash tonight, and then enjoy the next week getting to know the real woman. A few seconds after he sent the message to Randall Haynes, the phone rang.
“
News Daily
ran a story that Cassandra Cash’s ex is gay.” Haynes’s voice boomed through the phone. “Forget the fluff-pitch for her new book deal. Get the dirt.”
Mason stopped, leaned against the wall and squeezed the bridge of his nose. God, his career was going down the toilet fast. He’d gone from dirty politicians to a dirty Hollywood break-up in the space of a month.
“Don’t softball this, Drury, you’re already on thin ice. Get it right.”
Shit
. He didn’t need that thrown in his face. His story on the mayor’s ties to mob money had been right on. But his source had flipped, and now Mason was on the outside of the tight circle he used to run. Sidelined to report gossip, not the news that really mattered.
“You really think our readers care why Miss Romance and the actor-slash-radio guy broke up?” He wanted the paper to back the original story. At least it wasn’t hyped-up gossip. Sure it was boring, but he could recover from a fluff piece. Mason didn’t know if his tattered reputation could stand the tabloid-gossip-writer hit.
“If they don’t, we’ll make them. Her readers deserve to know everything about her, not just the pretty stuff.”
Right. Living in the public eye meant everyone needed to know what kind of toilet paper Cassandra Cash used—or why she broke things off with her latest boyfriend. He held in a sigh, knowing Haynes would read it the wrong way. He was willing to do the story; he just didn’t like it.
“Your message says you’ve already met with her. I want to go to press with the real story yesterday. And don’t expect this to be easy. She was a pro at avoiding the press even before this broke. Now that it has, she’ll be even harder to nail down.” Haynes clicked off, leaving Mason staring at the BlackBerry.
Great. He had the feeling the Cassandra Cash he’d met in line wouldn’t be thrilled to spend time with him after he asked about the break-up. This cruise sucked.
It was his fault. He hadn’t
officially
met with her, had only flirted with her in line. Crap on a cracker. His life had turned to crap on a cracker.