“Are you with Verbena Cruise?” a sweet round woman with merry blue eyes asked. Her white name badge had Mary embossed in black.
“Yes, I’m Mary Keefe. Sorry I’m late. There was an accident.”
Cruise Mary flipped through a stack of papers. “Good name. I’ll get you squared away and give you the key card to enter the ship and your stateroom, but you’ll need to carry on the luggage.”
A few moments later, her bag was going into a scan machine. The attendant sorted through several documents to verify Mary was who she claimed to be. Finally, the papers had been nodded over and approved. Her luggage had dropped off the conveyor belt. Before she could change her mind, she grabbed the bag and ascended the gangway. It felt more like walking the plank. A few stragglers were strolling along the ramp. Passengers leaned over the railing, waving to their friends and loved ones.
The larger than life whistle blasted, vibrating the wooden platform as she scanned her card and went onboard. On deck, she dropped her bag to the floor.
“Welcome to Verbena Cruise lines. May I have your name?” The uniformed attendant–Purity, according to her name badge–held a clipboard with pen in hand. Her voice sounded chipper, but her face looked angry. Maybe her expression was a result of the tight white uniform pulling apart at the bust line.
“Mary Keefe.” She held onto the railing as the gangway was disengaged from the ship.
“You’re on Deck Eight, Oceanview Ninety-eight. Take the elevator around the corner.” Purity pointed to her left. “Up one flight, turn right, four doors on the left.”
“Thanks.”
Mary snapped the handle of her wheeled case. The sound of it locking in place was lost in the noise of the ship’s motors grinding and whinnying. She tugged her luggage down the corridor, around to the elevator. Most of the passengers must have been unpacking or celebrating setting sail because no one waited on the lift and it arrived in a moment’s call. A finger to the Deck Eight button, and the doors closed.
A whoosh and ping later, she’d arrived. She glanced at the locator map on the outside of the elevator. Right looked to be the correct route. Handbag settled on the handle of her wheeled luggage, she started down the corridor. A pleasant baritone voice came over the speaker as the ship tilted toward the ocean. She double-stepped to the left.
The announcement became background noise as she rocked from one side of the aisle to the other. An older man started to exit a room when the ship shifted again. Mary took the opportunity to fly down the carpeted passageway until she located Ninety-eight. While dragging her purse closer, intending to remove her bag and snap the handle in to get a tighter grip on the luggage, the door opened. The ship tilted portside.
Mary jolted forward, smashing into something hard covered by soft cotton and smelling of spice. Propulsion sent both of them down, to land partially on the sofa. The thud of her plastic luggage hitting the wood floor blasted through the air. Mary glanced into his face. Handsome. Brown-black hair. Sharp cheekbones. Her purse clung to her forearm, snagging the tail of the guy’s shirt along the way and exposing a good portion of tight, dark beige skin. From the way his body fit snug against hers, they were equal in height. He weighed in at…a little heavy. Muscle mass? She’d have to wait and see him in a bathing suit to find out. He smelled delicious, like those hot cinnamon nuts she loved to eat.
Lifting her gaze to his face, she stared into his dark brown sparkling eyes. “Sorry, I guess I don’t have my sea legs yet.”
“Definitely off to a rock hard start,” he replied, but didn’t bother to separate from her.
Chapter 2
John couldn’t move. Somehow during the collision, her purse had attached itself to his shirt button, limiting his mobility. The woman’s softness sank into the length of his body. Lush curves and warm, succulent heat made him lose his focus on why he was aboard the ship. The fragrant scent of wisteria had filtered through the air as she’d hurled them onto the sofa. He had to keep both feet grounded to the floor.
Her eyes, the color of fresh seaweed, widened, then her glance connected with his. “I’m supposed to be in Ninety-eight.”
She waved her hand, the key card’s silver band shining under the artificial light.
He gave in and shifted to the side. Had she noticed the painful rise beneath his zipper?
The purse strap, wrapped around her wrist, followed. She gripped the chain and tugged, agitating the beast below. He grabbed her hand and flipped the room key around, placing the large writing in front of her eyes. “Mary Keefe, Stateroom Ninety-six, Deck Eight.”
“Damn, flaky greeter told me Ninety-eight.”
He released the card and she lowered her hand to rest on his side.
John had considered the assignment a cake walk. The girl had arrived, to a semi-confined area. He’d secure proof of obvious fraudulent insurance practice and possibly gain information regarding the location of the diamonds, all the while protecting her–if needed. Mentally reviewing the data file he’d collected before he’d started his on-site investigation, he now understood. Mary Keefe was gorgeous, charismatic, and innocent-looking. All the characteristics, making her appear not guilty of grand theft.
A fascinating and beautiful red glow crept from her neck onto her cheeks, giving her a hot, desirable appearance. His arousal stiffened making his trousers seem much too snug.
Lips pressed tightly, she said, “If you move, I’ll go to my room.”
“Your purse chain is stuck to my shirt.” He lifted the edge of his dark blue polo. “John, by the way. John Wang.”
“Oh, sorry. I’m Mary Keefe from Keefe, South Carolina.” She slipped her arm from the purse and sat up and away from him. Her dark green pants matched the little vest-type blouse she wore. The top didn’t have sleeves and her arms were muscular, very sexy. His gaze was drawn to the valley between her breasts. The satin material slipped lower to the point where a mound slid into touch range. His cock pulsed.
Delicate work was needed to get the purse chain off his shirt without tearing the material, and John knew she had the skill.
John tugged the bag close and pulled the shirt around. When he shifted on the sofa, the chain jangled, adding background noise to the people walking in the hallway. The entrance door was propped open by her luggage, with the wheels in the corridor. “Maybe you should move your bag inside, so people won’t trip.”
Mary glanced at the exit. Traffic had increased since the ship had leveled out. Her long, slender legs untangled from the lotus position. She hurried forward. A quick jerk to her bright red luggage and the clack of the handle sounded. As she crossed the threshold, the door whooshed and snapped shut.
Her short slacks were huggers with no visible panty outline. His head whirled with the fantasy possibilities her beauty created. He’d worked a tiny hole in his shirt, making the ring more attached than before.
“Let me help.” She sat on the sofa, legs crossed Indian style. The moment she leaned forward and took the purse and his shirt in hand, John’s throat dried to the point he couldn’t swallow.
Mary, focused on the task, apparently did not notice his discomfort. He tried to look at everything, think about anything except whether she had any undergarments on at all and how he’d fit nice and snug inside her. Didn’t work.
He studied her, not that he needed to. He’d memorized every aspect of her life and every feature of her face. Her soft, nearly perfect body had been a welcome surprise.
“There you go. It’s left a small hole, but that can be stitched.” She threw the bag over her shoulder. “How about after I unpack, we go get a drink?”
He wasn’t