Rio fought back his laughter. “Pardon me if I’m overstepping, but when a woman visits the concierge wearing only a revealing robe and sexy little sandals, she’s sending a clear message about what she wants. And when three men see her in this—suggestive state of—”
“How was I to know all three of you would gang up on me? I thought you and Kingsley were on my side!”
He closed his eyes against the image of lying with her, Lola on her side and he on his, leaning into each other, kissing with mad passion. When she swung her leg over his hip so he could slide inside her, that sparkly screw-me shoe dangled from her toes.
“And we are, my sweet. At the captain’s command, I could have—”
“I’m not your sweet! Go to the chocolate shop if you want candy!”
“—escorted you to the brig instead of to your new suite. My sweet.”
“And you see a difference?” Lola threw him an exasperated frown as she stepped out of the elevator ahead of him. “My cuffs might be invisible, but they’re here! If this ship had a jail cell, you could just—”
“It does. Remind me sometime, and I’ll show you what a romantic little hideaway it can be, down there in the bowels of the ship.”
She stopped in the corridor. Glared up at him with those feline green eyes and that auburn hair flying in crazy, alluring disarray around her face. “Get real. And just get it over with, will you?”
He slipped his master key card into the door, reminding himself that once they stepped inside, he was not to touch her. She’d declared herself a free woman, with thought, word and deed—but that was before Skandalis pronounced Lola his conquest.
“Are you ready?” he asked patiently. He opened the door just enough to stick his foot inside, which left him standing so close to her he could follow the rise and fall of those breasts…could still smell the herbal scent from her shower…could count the delicate freckles on skin that shimmered with health and…a very blatant sexuality.
Why hadn’t he gone to Kingsley himself with Lola’s dilemma? Let the concierge and his computer solve her problem? Then this volatile, voluptuous redhead would be so damned grateful—would be his instead of—
“Ready for what?” she asked tartly.
With an inward groan, Rio opened the door and waved her inside. “Your prison, Miss Wright. The captain wants you to do nothing but suffer for the sins of your fiancé.”
“Ex-fian—”
Lola halted in the foyer, on a floor of mosaic tiles that glistened like stained glass. Her mouth fell open.
“Holy shit. This must be the Presidential suite, or the—”
“Castle’s keep?” Rio quipped. He glanced around, to be sure they were still alone. “Solitary confinement at its finest, wouldn’t you say? The Aphrodisia Suite’s a bit of an upgrade from your stateroom where the joggers could gawk in at you.”
Lola’s eyes widened. “It’s one-way glass, that picture window.”
“So they say.”
Before she could spin off into another conversation that would only make him silence her with a ravenous kiss, DeSilva walked to the center of the spacious front parlor to point out its amenities.
“Living room here, complete with home theater entertainment and a sound system with speakers throughout the suite. Fresh flowers to welcome you, compliments of your despicable Captain Scandalous—”
She stopped gaping at arrangements of tropical lilies and red-orange hibiscus. “How’d you know I called him that?”
He grinned. Thought about hedging, just to get her more riled up. “You said it to his face, remember? Not that you’re the first. He secretly loves that nickname, so you made some points—along with winning favor by painting those other points.”
She pulled her lapels together, miffed again. “He’s an arrogant bastard and you know it! Please don’t tell me you obey his every rule and whim.”
DeSilva kept his gaze steady, considering how much to reveal.
“He’s the captain of the ship, Lola. When he says you’re his alone, I must honor that command. And besides,” he went on, gesturing toward the large bedroom to their right, “didn’t you get what you wanted? Nearly a week with a man so hot he makes you melt—who has put you in this room and provided you a companion—and you’re complaining! Or so it would seem.”
Lola glanced at the lush king-sized bed swaddled in plush and pillows, and the balcony that beckoned her through French doors. The entire suite was done in cranberry and royal blue with ivory accents; lots of gold and glass details to make it a sumptuous hideaway any woman would love to wile away endless weeks in.
So why was Rio’s point hitting home? Why was she acting so pissy, when she had indeed won the attention of that Greek god she’d gawked at on TV?
“OK, so I got what I wanted,” she replied. “But it was on his terms!”
“Skorpio’s a man who craves control. Again—that’s what you said you wanted.”
It was all he could do not to laugh at her—not to make love to her on that huge bed that just called out for a man and his woman to get lost in its cushioned depths. Lost in each other.
But thoughts like that would get him into more trouble than he could afford right now. While he didn’t like it that Lola was disappointed in him, for not being her white knight, it was the best way to keep this relationship at a safe distance. Because that’s where it had to stay.
Her sigh lingered in the room, like the languid scent of the scarlet roses on the dressing table. Lola’s expression told him she wasn’t accustomed to such luxury; her wistfulness suggested she didn’t feel she belonged here—or deserved such a room.
Perhaps his new mission should be to change that attitude…to convince Ms. Wright with every bit of his body and soul that she was a woman who should be living out those fantasies of becoming a man’s queen. He could see her now, wearing only a royal purple robe trimmed in ermine, which would slither off her to provide them a cozy pallet on the floor, where he could—
The door opened, and Rio’s brief fantasy ended. “Ah—and here’s your companion.”
“My new best friend,” she said with a roll of her eyes. But when she turned to get a look at him, Lola stopped in her tracks.
The warden Skandalis had sent looked to be about twenty-something years old. Had a lithe body and a mop of sun-streaked, tangled curls that partly hid his eyes. He walked with the easy grace of a guy who’d sauntered along hundreds of white sand beaches, and who had no higher ambition than to spend the rest of his life doing that.
And why wasn’t she surprised that he had a cell phone at his ear? Or maybe it was some sort of walkie-talkie like DeSilva wore on his belt, for staff communications.
Then, when the kid grinned at her as he listened, it hit her full force: Cabana boy. Omigod, I’ve got a cabana boy to die for!
“Lola, this is Aric,” Rio announced. “He’s at your beck and call for the rest of the week, so don’t hesitate to keep him busy. And Aric—”
Beach Boy held up one finger while he finished his conversation.
“Yes, sir, I understand. She’s right here, and I’ll have her in the spa waiting for you.” He holstered his walkie-talkie on the loop of his low-rise boxer trunks, giving her a slow once-over. “The captain sends his regards, Ms. Wright. Fifteen minutes. Naked.”
“Send the captain this!” she replied with a flick of her middle finger.