Mr. Right Now (6 page)

“The lies she’s shoveling are the story. Get them or get a new job.”

He was banging his head against a wall and he knew it. Haynes wasn’t going to go for the nice blurb about Miss Romance’s book deal. He wanted the expose on Miss Romance’s sex life. Great.

Between this story and his snitch caving a few weeks back, his reputation was over. He’d be lucky to get a job in Boise.

Cut your losses.
If he quit now, he could enjoy the rest of the cruise with Casey Cash and job hunt at the same time.

The phone crackled in his ear.

“You’re breaking up, Drury, must be passing the Keys. You’ll be out of range until you’re closer to Jamaica. Don’t screw this up.” Haynes barked the words into the phone. “Get the dirt, get it written and message it up here when you hit a hot spot.” The phone crackled once more and Haynes was gone.

Crap.
Haynes didn’t give him the chance to quit. No, Mason hadn’t had the balls to say those two little words. What a chicken he had become since the mayoral scandal hit. He was letting Haynes walk all over him. So what if the man was the editor at the second largest daily paper in the US? Mason didn’t need this. Snapping the phone closed, he returned up the steps to the deck, stuffing the phone in his pocket.

Two older couples passed by him, talking about dinner. Glancing around, he saw the deck was mostly empty and leaned against the rail. The bartender in the grass hut looked like he was ready to close up shop, and his last few customers were gathering their things and heading inside. Probably closing up so they could re-stock before the stargazing party crowd showed up in a few hours.

Casey obviously wasn’t coming up. His watch read a quarter past six. He’d come on too strong. Or looked too desperate showing up at her door. If she really was coming out of a bad break-up, the last thing she would want was a clingy man.

“Hey, stranger.” A tap on his shoulder made him turn his head. Casey. She was wearing the same outfit as before—fitted white t-shirt, blue and white checked mini-skirt. Pink toenails flirted with the edges of high-heeled sandals laced around her tiny ankles. “Did you think I was standing you up?”

And just like that, he was back in the game.

He grinned and took up position leaning his back against the railing. “The thought crossed my mind. And you were going to be tough to replace. Next to you, she seems to be the youngest unattached woman on board.” He pointed across the deck at a middle-aged woman just leaving the bar hut.

She had a pretty face, recently colored white-blond hair, a heavily made-up face and sad expression. Wearing flashy turquoise and silver jewelry, a red cowboy hat, tight denim jeans and a white-fringed Western shirt, the woman looked like she took a wrong turn on the way to Santa Fe.

He’d talked to her for a while before landing on Casey’s doorstep, listening to her sad story while a man down the bar hung on every word. The man looked like an accountant with his Bermuda shorts and Hawaiian shirt, black socks and brown sandals. Safe. Mason had introduced them, and now the two were leaving together.

“I overheard her talking,” Mason said. There was no need to let Casey know what a soft touch he was. “Her name’s Tilly. Forty-three, recently divorced from Tire Salesman Herb, who apparently never sold the one around his waist until Healthy Heather came along.” He watched carefully as Casey’s face turned from amused to sympathetic. Yep, she’d been dumped. Haynes was right. There was probably a story here. One Mason didn’t want to tell, but would have to. “This cruise is her first outing without Herb, their five kids—age five to seventeen—or the family dog. I understand the dog also threw her over for the bitch.”

Casey’s sympathy turned to a chuckle at his analogy. “She deserves better. And the dog probably deserves the bitch.”

Mason pulled a wry face. “Probably. I’m just not sure I’ve got the stamina to keep up with Tilly. And if you hadn’t shown up when you did, I probably would have had to at least try. Luckily she’s leaving with Wally.”

“Wally had better be nice to her. You sound a little possessive.” At his astonished expression, the chuckle turned to a laugh that transformed Casey. The smile stretched across her face, creating a dimple in her left cheek. Deep red lips contrasted with sparkling white teeth and her eyes closed.

“I wouldn't say ‘possessive’, exactly.”

“Face it, you're a nice guy, Mason Drury.” Casey looked up through her lashes, a flirting light to her eyes. She reached out her hand, grasping Mason’s forearm, then squeezing lightly. Mason’s jeans tightened with the simple contact. “Tilly looks like she could hold her own, and you know with five kids she has to at least
like
sex. You could have your own private geisha girl. Even if she is blond.”

And then Mason knew. He wanted to know Casey Cash. Not get the dirt on Cassandra Cash, Miss Romance. He wanted to know what her favorite food was, her favorite place in New York. To feel her lips on his again. To know whether she liked breakfast or brunch.

“I’ve always been partial to brunettes,” he said, straightening from the railing. He reached a hand around Casey’s wrist, pulled her body hard against his. “Brunettes with blue eyes that sparkle in starlight.” His chest brushed against hers and he felt her stomach muscles tighten through the thin cotton of her shirt.

Okay, the line was corny, and the stars weren’t out yet, but with the darkening sky lit only by a few tiki lights, he could easily imagine it.

Casey expelled a short breath, the smile never leaving her face. “Blue eyes and brown hair, huh?” Her tongue sneaked out of her mouth and slid across her full lips. “I guess it’s a good thing Tilly and Wally found one another. You just keep surprising me.”

“That’s the plan,” he said, pulling her more fully into his arms.

She fitted her arms around his neck and a hint of jasmine wafted in the air. Her perfume? Shampoo? He didn’t know, but he sure as hell wanted to find out.

Oh, but it wasn’t the plan. This was so wrong. He should pull back. Go with the original plan. Have a drink, get the interview over with and get on with getting to know Casey.

* * * *

Casey needed things to slow down. And she desperately wanted whatever was happening to speed up. She didn’t know who Mason was. Didn’t know if he was the reporter or just some random guy. Her head said he was the reporter. Why else would he have hit on her so hard from the time she came on board? It had to be part of his plan.

But then, why would a reporter waste time talking to a random woman about her life? Setting her up with another harmless guy who would bolster her self-confidence and help her bounce back from rejection. That was something a nice guy would do. Casey wanted badly for Mason to be a nice guy. Just for a little bit.

Then she’d go back to the craziness of Tyler and figuring out who the reporter was. How to avoid him and save what was left of her reputation.

Surely her future could spare her a few more minutes with Mason Drury.

“What’s your plan?” he asked, his eyes intent on hers.

What was her plan? She knew she had one. It was a good one, too. What was it again?

He pressed his lips to hers and she didn’t care about plans or who was following whom.

One little kiss.

What could it hurt?

One kiss wasn’t going to be nearly enough.

At the first touch of Mason’s lips, the craziness that had taken over her life disappeared. Casey sank into the kiss like a drowning woman who didn’t want to be rescued.

She had been lying to everyone. She wasn’t okay with the break-up. Nate leaving was okay, but the way he had done it...the things he said...

For just a few minutes, she needed to feel like a woman.

Mason’s tongue sparred with hers and then there was only him and a hot, sultry night.

He tasted like Corona and lime. Casey stepped in closer, reaching around his neck to play with the hair at his nape, bringing his mouth into closer contact with her own.

Mason raised his hands to cradle her neck, running his thumbs seductively along her jaw. He pulled back for a minute, but kept his thumbs moving. Casey forced her eyes to open. In the dying light his pupils were dilated, making his eyes look more black than green.

“You’re a wicked, wicked woman,” he said huskily.

“You’re not so saintly yourself,” she said, grinning up at him. She felt like a teenager, kissing her first crush. Kissing Nate had never felt this way, like her belly was filled with molten lava. If Mason didn’t start kissing her again, quickly, she had a feeling her world would explode.

Taking her hand, Mason led Casey to the private cabanas on the Serenity Deck. Cabanas with tied-back, gauzy curtains. Mason undid the tiebacks, separating them from the rest of the deck. Not that they needed to shut out the world, even metaphorically. The bartender had closed his grass hut bar a few minutes before. Mason led her to a chaise with fluffy green and blue pillows atop it. They sat in silence for several moments, looking at the wide expanse of sky through the opening in the cabana ceiling and the first stars of the evening.

The sun finally sank below the water and it was as if the last lamp in the world had been turned off. A few more stars glimmered to life.

Casey sighed. This was heavenly. No one knocking on her door. No questions about Nate or her book or anything. Just the wide-open sky, a light breeze and Mason. Assuming he wanted her the way she wanted him. Casey turned her head, and found him watching her intently. His glorious green eyes glimmered in the shadows thrown by the ship’s twinkle lights. Her stomach clenched at the promise in his eyes. Seduction brought them into this quiet piece of paradise. Definitely seduction.

Make the move
. Casey barely held the words inside. It had taken all her resolve to leave the suite and come up here. She’d never chased a man like this before. Never put her physical needs above that tiny Sunday School Teacher voice saying, “Good girls don’t.”

This time the good definitely
was
. She would take what she wanted for the next seven days. After that, Sunday School Cassandra could put Saturday Night Casey back into the corner.

Casey channeled Sahara once more; it was the best she could do. She couldn’t jump his bones. As deeply as she wanted to, she couldn’t strip off his board shorts and tee. She couldn't instigate. Reaching across the chair, Casey walked her fingers along his arm. “Well, you’ve got me here. We’re on a private deck behind a screen of curtains and the rest of the world seems to have deserted us. Whatever are you going to do with me, Mr. Drury?”

His green eyes deepened to an almost blue. “I think I might make you scream. In pleasure.”

Biting the corner of her lip, Casey gulped down a shot of panic. Scream from pleasure? It was the most delicious thing anyone ever said to her.

“But first, I think we need to talk.” His deep voice filled with an emotion that Casey couldn’t decipher.

Sunday School Cassandra cheered. Saturday Night Casey cried. This was not about talking. She didn’t need to talk about expectations. She didn’t want to talk about what brought her to the ship or even this damned deck. Casey wanted fifteen minutes of mind-blowing kisses. Fifteen minutes when she could be just Casey, not Cassandra Cash. They would take the rest from there.

She needed to forget about Tyler and the mess back in her room.

Forget about the reporter.

Forget about the book she couldn’t write.

Forget about whether Nate was lying or telling the truth.

So screw talking about whatever it was Mason worried about. Was a few minutes too much to ask for? Whatever the attraction between them, it didn’t have to be about more than spending the next seven nights doing ridiculously hot things to each other. Then she would go back to being Cassandra Cash. She would play the part of guru, figure out how to break this numbing case of writer’s block and make it through the next few weeks without tearing her reputation to shreds.